Chapter Six
The two men walked in silence for several minutes, turning their steps back toward Rosings now that Elizabeth Bennet had left them.
Darcy’s mind turned over the morning’s encounters like a puzzle with pieces that refused to fit together.
Elizabeth’s warmth toward him, her coldness toward Fitzwilliam, her meek submission to Collins’s pompous authority.
None of it aligned with the woman he had come to know, the woman whose spirit and independence had captivated him despite his better judgement.
Beside him, Fitzwilliam maintained an uncharacteristic quiet, his usual easy manner subdued.
Fitzwilliam broke the silence first, as Darcy had known he would.
His cousin had never been comfortable with prolonged quiet, particularly not when something puzzled him.
“Well, that was certainly an interesting display, Collins in full pontificating glory. He can be truly insufferable, can he not?”
Darcy made a noncommittal sound, his thoughts still occupied with Elizabeth’s inexplicable transformation. Yesterday she had been herself, sharp and spirited. Today she seemed like a different person entirely, as though some essential quality had been drained from her overnight.
“Though I suppose we should not be too surprised by his interference,” Fitzwilliam continued, his tone shifting toward something more thoughtful.
“Collins likely holds a grudge against Miss Bennet. Men like him rarely forget when their pride has been wounded, and from what I understand, she dealt his pride a rather severe blow.”
That caught Darcy’s attention. He turned to look at his cousin, noting the slight smile playing about Fitzwilliam’s mouth. “What do you mean? What grudge could Collins possibly have?”
Fitzwilliam’s smile widened into something approaching amusement. “You do not know? Collins proposed marriage to Miss Bennet before he married Charlotte Lucas.”
The words landed like stones in still water, sending ripples of shock through Darcy. He stared at Fitzwilliam, certain he must have misheard. “He... what?”
“Proposed marriage,” Fitzwilliam repeated, clearly enjoying Darcy’s reaction.
“To Miss Elizabeth Bennet. From what Miss Maria Lucas told me, it was quite the dramatic affair. Collins is the heir to Longbourn, you see, and he conceived the notion that proposing to one of the Bennet daughters would be a gentlemanly way to make amends for the entail. Probably a magnanimous gesture, in his view, securing their future and providing him with a pretty, ladylike wife without having to go to the trouble of courting one.”
Darcy had stopped walking without consciously deciding to do so. His boots remained planted on the path, his entire body gone rigid. Collins. Pompous, obsequious, ridiculous Collins had proposed to Elizabeth. Had thought himself worthy of her. Had believed she would accept him.
“When?” The word emerged more sharply than Darcy intended. “When did this occur?”
“When he was at Longbourn last autumn, according to Miss Maria.” Fitzwilliam had stopped as well, turning to face Darcy.
“He stayed with the Bennets for some weeks, apparently, and during that time he fixed upon Miss Elizabeth as the most suitable of the five daughters. He proposed, she refused him quite decisively with her father’s full support, and within days he had proposed to Charlotte Lucas instead and been accepted. ”
Darcy’s hand moved to his forehead without conscious direction, pressing against his brow as though he could somehow push this new information into proper arrangement.
Elizabeth married to Collins. The very idea was absurd, impossible, an offence against nature itself.
That Collins could have imagined such a union spoke to a degree of self-delusion that surpassed even what Darcy had previously attributed to the man.
“She refused him,” Darcy said, speaking more to himself than to Fitzwilliam. Of course she had refused him. Elizabeth would never have accepted such a man, would never have consigned herself to a life of listening to his pompous speeches and enduring his fawning devotion to Lady Catherine.
“Refused him sharply, from what I gather,” Fitzwilliam confirmed.
“Miss Maria was not present for the actual proposal, naturally, but she said that Miss Elizabeth’s rejection was definitive enough that Collins apparently took the opportunity to propose to Charlotte within only a day or two, when Charlotte indicated she would be receptive.
He was in quite a fit of pique, according to Miss Maria. ”
Darcy lowered his hand from his forehead, forcing himself to resume walking though his thoughts remained in turmoil. His cousin fell into step beside him, mercifully refraining from further comment.
The pieces were beginning to arrange themselves into a comprehensible pattern now.
Collins’s pointed disapproval of Elizabeth this morning took on new meaning in light of this history.
The man had offered her his hand, his home, his name, and she had rejected him.
For someone of Collins’s temperament, such a refusal would have been an unforgivable slight.
That she had been absolutely right to refuse him would matter not at all to Collins’s wounded vanity.
Darcy’s mind continued to turn over this new information, examining it from multiple angles.
Elizabeth had refused a practical match that would have secured her future.
Had chosen uncertainty and continued dependence on her father rather than accept a husband she could not respect.
The decision spoke to a strength of character and independence of spirit that Darcy could not help but admire.
And yet, this morning, she had submitted meekly to that same man’s pompous interference.
Had allowed Collins to lecture her about propriety and had agreed to return to the parsonage without a single word of protest. After demonstrating the courage to refuse his marriage proposal despite the practical advantages it offered, she now lacked the spirit to defend her own innocent behaviour.
Nothing made sense. The woman who had rejected Collins was the Elizabeth who Darcy knew, the Elizabeth whose independence and liveliness had drawn him despite his initial resistance. The woman who had meekly accepted Collins’s authority this morning was a stranger wearing Elizabeth’s face.
“Perhaps her illness affected her more than we realised,” Darcy said aloud, testing the explanation that had occurred to him earlier. “Some fevers can cause changes in temperament, can they not?”
But even as he spoke the words, he knew they were inadequate. Illness might make someone quieter or more subdued. It would not transform independence into meekness, spirit into submission. It would not explain the fundamental shift in character he had witnessed.
Fitzwilliam made a considering sound. “I suppose it is possible. Though she seemed entirely healthy otherwise. No signs of continued fever or weakness. If anything, she appeared more energetic than I have seen her before.”
They had reached the house now, the imposing facade of Rosings rising before them.
Darcy paused before ascending the steps, turning to look back along the path they had travelled.
Somewhere beyond his sight, Elizabeth was walking with Collins, listening to his no doubt continued lecture.
And she was allowing it without protest, this woman who had possessed the courage to refuse his marriage proposal.
Darcy could not shake the conviction that something was wrong. Very wrong.
He just could not begin to imagine what it might be.
The entrance hall of Rosings received them with its usual oppressive grandeur, all marble floors and heavy furnishings arranged to impress rather than comfort.
A servant appeared to take their coats, moving with the silent efficiency Lady Catherine demanded.
Fitzwilliam made some observation about the warmth of the morning, but Darcy barely registered the words.
Something nagged at him, a detail from their earlier conversation that he had not had opportunity to pursue.
They moved toward the drawing room, their footsteps echoing on the polished marble.
The house was quiet at this hour, Lady Catherine likely still occupied with her morning correspondence, Anne presumably resting as she always did.
Darcy was grateful for the temporary solitude.
He needed to think, needed to understand what was happening before he encountered his aunt’s penetrating gaze and inevitable questions.
But first, he needed answers to questions that had been building even before their encounter with Elizabeth and Collins.
“Fitzwilliam,” Darcy said, stopping before they reached the drawing room door. “This morning, before Collins interrupted us, you mentioned something. You said you hoped Miss Bennet would be looking more kindly upon me after the information she received yesterday.”
His cousin turned, eyebrows rising. “Did I? Yes, I suppose I did mention that.”
“What information did you share with her?” Darcy kept his voice carefully neutral, though tension had begun building in his chest. “When did you speak with Miss Bennet privately?”
Fitzwilliam’s smile widened into something that looked distinctly pleased with itself.
“Yesterday afternoon, while you were occupied with that interminable letter to your steward. I encountered Miss Bennet walking in the grove, and we fell into conversation. The lady is excellent company when one can engage her attention.”
Darcy waited, his jaw tightening with the effort of maintaining patience. Fitzwilliam tended toward lengthy explanations when he thought himself clever.