Chapter 25
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
T he following morning, Elizabeth woke bleary and muddle-headed, a proper reflection of the weather, which had turned overnight for the worse. It was not quite raining, but the sky was woolly and overcast, perhaps foretelling a storm rolling in. The baby wriggled as if unsettled by this forbidding change, and she stroked her stomach to quell its discomfort, though she herself felt little solace.
Her attention was distracted from the window by the entrance of Darcy, who emerged from the dressing room tugging at his cuffs. He slowed to a stop upon seeing her sitting up in bed. “I hope I did not disturb you.”
Although Elizabeth could not shake her irrational sense of gloom, she forced a smile for his sake. He already worries so much. “Not at all, I only just awoke. Are you on your way down to breakfast?”
“No, Fitzwilliam and I agreed to meet in the library first thing this morning to tackle that mountain of papers we unearthed yesterday. If you require me, that is where I shall invariably be until dinner.”
“Is it really necessary to hole yourselves up for an entire day?”
Seemingly aware of her dismay, which must have been apparent in her tone, Darcy’s air became conciliatory. He sat beside her on the edge of the mattress and took up one of her hands. “If we hope to conquer the pile before we leave on Saturday, yes. Otherwise, I cannot see how we might accomplish it.”
“Very well, but at least promise me you will take a few breaks to walk about. I would not have you exhaust yourself.”
He pressed a firm kiss to her forehead. “I promise you I shall. Fitzwilliam is impossible to deal with unless one exercises him properly. Worse than Freddy, even.” He snickered at his own jest.
Elizabeth gave him another weak smile. “Is he as awful an object as you when you have nothing to do?”
“Have I been an awful object since marrying you?” Darcy’s good cheer dimmed as his eyes roved Elizabeth’s face. “If you require me to remain with you, I shall.”
She cupped his cheek and touched her lips to his. Upon withdrawing, she forced herself to be rational. “I thank you, but no. Finish your business so that I may have you all to myself without distraction later.”
“Are you certain?”
“Entirely.” A weary sigh escaped her. “I dare say I am affected by the weather. I had hoped to go walking again, perhaps with Freddy, but such seems improbable now.” She nodded at the bowed window and the sombre grey sky visible through it.
“Perhaps you would care to join me and Fitzwilliam in the study?”
Elizabeth wrinkled her nose as she recalled the great deal of sneezing she had endured the day before in the attic. “I think not. With the pair of you up to your necks in dusty old documents, I do not think I could bear it. I believe I shall remain in our rooms and read Anne’s diary by the fire.”
“An excellent notion. I shall order your breakfast when I do so for myself.” With another kiss to her forehead, he was gone.
As soon as Darcy left, Elizabeth rang for Blake to help her dress. Her breakfast arrived in a timely manner, just as Darcy had promised, and she settled herself at the table by the fire to partake of it.
After finishing, Elizabeth found herself too warm to continue sitting by the hearth and adjourned to the window seat with Anne’s diary. The rain had begun in earnest now, fat droplets sliding down the panes in haphazard patterns while a creeping fog rolled across the grounds. It encircled the base of the house like a moat, discouraging anyone from either entering or escaping. She dearly wished she had been able to walk to the tower—just visible above the trees in the near distance—but instead she was trapped within Rosings.
Nothing for it. I shall have to make the best of where I am. She wrapped herself up in her favourite shawl—a soft green cashmere that had ably seen her through a Derbyshire winter—and opened the volume at the last page she had marked. Setting the pink ribbon aside, she began to read.
March 29, 1812, Easter Sunday
Mr Collins’ sermon might have been interminable if not for what I observed amongst the congregation. Darcy has been behaving oddly since his arrival, but until I witnessed him in the company of Miss Bennet I could not put my finger upon the cause. Now I believe I have figured him out: he is in love !
This sounds absurd even as I pen it here, but I have never seen Darcy so attentive to any lady, not even his sister. I might have chalked his interest up to mere ennui—Mr Collins does not inspire rapt attention in his congregation—except his eyes continued to follow Miss Bennet about the drawing room when she and the Collinses arrived after dinner. He even moved closer to hear her play!
Even if the symptoms of his attachment are clear to me, his cousin who has known him most of his life, I do not think Miss Bennet is aware. Neither is Richard, if his flirtations are any indication—I imagine it is now equally painful to Darcy as it is to me to watch him make himself agreeable to our pretty visitor. Let us hope that Mother continues to see only that which she wishes to; I should hate to see her wrath unleashed upon poor Miss Bennet, who knows not what she does to inspire it.
In any case, Miss Bennet shows no sign of returning Darcy’s affections, or even recognition of them. He really ought to make more of an effort to show his feelings, else his reticence will leave her entirely in ignorance. Mrs Collins joined with me in this opinion when I slyly mentioned it to her.
A wry curl lifted one end of Elizabeth’s mouth as she read this passage, knowledge of what came after it rendering the contents darkly amusing. She found Anne to be an exacting observer with a keen understanding of those around her; far better than she herself had been at the time. She was entirely correct—I was blind to his affections.
She turned to the next page with a sigh and read on through several months’ worth of daily minutiae of life at Rosings Park. She smiled fondly at Anne’s witticisms and observations, rolled her eyes at each reference to Mr Collins, and gritted her teeth at every report of Lady Catherine’s thoughtless cruelty. It seemed to Elizabeth that, while her ladyship certainly took a great deal of interest in her daughter’s doings, rarely did she express it with any tenderness.
At length, she reached the entry that detailed the state of affairs at Rosings Park after word of her marriage to Darcy had arrived. Elizabeth could not help wincing but did not lift her eyes from the page. She was morbidly curious to know how Lady Catherine had responded to the news.
September 10, 1812
As I sit to write this, it is with a trembling pen, for a report has reached Rosings that my cousin Darcy has lately married Miss Elizabeth Bennet, and we are all in uproar. Or rather, Mother is in uproar, and that amounts to the same thing .
Dear Lord, I have never seen her so undone. It was a fearsome thing to behold. I have not words to adequately describe the expression on her countenance, nor the horrible sound she made after reading Darcy’s letter. At first, I thought she was having some sort of terrible fit and asked Mrs Jenkinson to fetch her some of my tonic, but Mother dashed it out of her hand and screeched such invectives that we did not dare attempt to calm her again. Even now I can still hear her unholy howls of rage. They must be echoes in my mind, for I made haste to abandon the manor for my tower once I understood what had upset her so. I think Mrs Jenkinson and I shall shelter here for the night.
Despite Mother’s response, I must say here, even if I shall not be able to do so anywhere else, that I am happy for my cousin and Miss Bennet—or Mrs Darcy , rather. I do not regret refusing his hand all those years ago, even for an instant; had I accepted him, I would have deprived him of the happiness which must now flow from so perfect a union. Miss Bennet, from what I know of her, is his ideal match: clever, bold, fearless, and kind. I say so from my own paltry observations and also the recommendation of Mrs Collins, who has been a good friend to me since coming to Kent. (I cannot say that marrying Mr Collins was the wisest thing she has ever done, but as it has benefited her—and myself—greatly, there is no cause to repine.) I had hoped that Darcy might speak to Miss Bennet of his feelings some months ago, when they were both still here at Rosings, but I suppose the timing was not right or he feared Mother’s wrath—given what I have seen of it, he was right to do so .
I sincerely wish them both every happiness in the world. God willing, I shall live long enough to see them again and offer my best wishes in person. As I write this, however, I suspect that I hope in vain, because Mother can nurse a grudge like no other, and it is not at all certain that I shall outlive her.
A month’s worth of entries followed this one, each of them along the same vein. It seemed that Lady Catherine had not taken the news well at all, and Elizabeth found herself consumed with guilt that Anne had been forced to endure such histrionics. Not for the first time, Elizabeth felt a great swell of pity for poor Anne.
October 15, 1812
More than a month after learning of my cousin Darcy’s marriage, Mother continues to rage. Sometimes at Darcy himself, more frequently at Mrs Darcy—whom she still stubbornly refers to as ‘Miss Bennet’, though that has not been her name for many weeks now—and lately her ire has turned to me. ‘Why did you not capture him when you had the chance, Anne? Now we shall never restore Rosings to its former glory’, and ‘Just look at you! This is why Darcy married that lowborn strumpet’, and ‘Had you only listened to me, you would be Pemberley’s mistress by now’, etc. Only the last one gives me pause, but not for the reasons she thinks. I merely wish I were anywhere but Rosings of late. Some days I really wish it would fall down around my ears.
I admit to being stung by her words, but no more than that; I have already endured a lifetime of cruel remarks, vicious pinches, and vituperative lectures so cannot be unduly wounded by her tantrums now. I am inured. Even so, I keep as much out of her way as possible lest her cane strike me when she is least in control. There are times that I think I even see some ill intent gleaming in her eye, though Mrs Jenkinson says I am imagining it. I shall keep to my tower, regardless.
At least Darcy need not endure Mother’s temper. I have successfully preserved him from it and count it as a great achievement.