Chapter 7
Seven
The day following their visit to Rosings brought with it a steady downpour that confined everyone indoors, affording Elizabeth little occupation beyond reading, mending, and turning over in her mind the events of the previous evening.
After the conclusion of the meal, they had adjourned to the drawing room, where coffee was served and conversation flowed more freely.
Elizabeth had passed a pleasant hour speaking with Jane, Charlotte, and Colonel Fitzwilliam, whose easy humour and unflagging good spirits had proved a welcome diversion.
It was he who had eventually coaxed her to the pianoforte, and, after some initial protest, she had complied.
To her amusement, the colonel had drawn a chair up beside her, while Lady Catherine, after listening to half a song, had begun addressing Mr Darcy in tones far too loud for the size of the room.
Although Elizabeth kept her eyes on the music, she could not help recalling another evening when Mr Darcy had stood near the instrument, observing her with an inscrutable gaze.
His absence from that place last evening had given rise to an unexpected pang of melancholy.
She had not imagined she might miss his piercing scrutiny, or their occasionally barbed repartee, and yet she had.
Still, her attention had not been wasted.
From her place at the keyboard, Elizabeth had watched as Mr Darcy, at his aunt’s insistence, seated himself beside Miss de Bourgh.
What followed had surprised her more than she cared to admit, for he had made several attempts to draw the lady into conversation.
Although she could not hear his words, his tone and expression had been kind, almost gentle.
Miss de Bourgh had responded only sparingly, and never without hesitation, yet Elizabeth had been struck by Mr Darcy’s civility and effort.
It was, she thought, not at all what she would have expected from the proud, taciturn gentleman she remembered.
By the time she retired that night, Elizabeth’s thoughts were no less unsettled than the weather.
The rain continued through the night, drumming softly against her windowpanes, but when she awoke the next morning, the clouds had at last broken.
Eager for a ramble after a day confined indoors, she dressed without delay.
Slipping from the parsonage with her bonnet and gloves, she made her way along the familiar path that skirted the edge of Rosings Park.
She was nearly to the stand of elms when she spied a solitary figure approaching from the opposite direction.
Her chest rose as she drew in a startled breath. It was Mr Darcy!
He appeared not to have noticed her at first, his gaze bent upon the gravel path. But when he looked up, their eyes met, and to Elizabeth’s astonishment, she felt a flutter of something dangerously close to pleasure.
Lengthening his strides until he stood before her, Mr Darcy bowed politely.
“Miss Bennet. Good day.”
She dipped a curtsey. “Mr Darcy. I trust you are enjoying the morning?”
“I am, though I had not expected company,” he said, his tone not displeased.
“Nor had I.” A small, uncertain smile touched her lips. “But I suppose the paths at Rosings are not so numerous as to prevent the occasional coincidence.”
He inclined his head. “A fortunate one, in this case.”
They fell into step together, their pace unhurried. For a time, neither spoke, the faint squelch of damp earth beneath their boots the only sound.
At last, Elizabeth said, “I must confess, I was surprised to hear that your wedding would take place so soon. Though I had heard the connection spoken of, I had not imagined matters would advance with such haste.”
Mr Darcy’s colour heightened, though he kept his eyes on the path beneath their feet.
“It has long been my aunt’s wish that Anne and I should marry.
In truth, I never felt we would suit. But lately…
” His words drifted on the breeze, the stillness that followed broken only by the trill of a skylark somewhere overhead.
At last he continued, his voice quieter now, “My parents had a love match—rare, I think, even amongst their circle. I once hoped I might be so fortunate myself.” He paused, the note of reflection deepening.
“But perhaps love is merely an illusion…or at least too fragile a foundation on which to build a life. I have yet to meet a woman who embodies all I once imagined.”
Elizabeth kept her gaze on the passing scenery, uncertain how best to answer.
“Anne is a prudent choice,” he added after a moment.
“That much is clear to me now. She has a gentle nature, and we were raised with the same expectations. In truth, I ought to have fulfilled my duty long ago. She is seven-and-twenty, and I a year older. It is high time I stopped delaying and began to live the life that is required of me.”
Elizabeth did not respond at once, her thoughts turned inwards. She recalled her conversation with Jane only days earlier, when her sister had spoken of her own marriage.
“I was three-and-twenty, Elizabeth! It was high time I set aside my romantic notions. Mr Collins was a prudent choice. Steady. Respectable. And in marrying him, I secured Longbourn’s future…”
The memory of Jane’s voice, so calm and steady, left her with an ache she could scarcely describe.
Had her sister truly given up the prospect of joy for duty’s sake?
And had she been unable to stop it? How could her recollection of so momentous an event as Jane’s marriage have been erased so completely, only to be replaced with an alternative history so alarmingly vivid and precise?
The question haunted her at every turn.
She looked over at Mr Darcy. “But must duty always lead the way?” she asked, her voice steady yet edged with purpose. “Might it not be possible to choose a life that is both prudent and fulfilling?”
He gave a low huff in reply. “If one is fortunate, perhaps. But I have found that fortune is not always inclined to favour sentiment.”
“You speak,” she said slowly, “as if affection were merely a hazard to be avoided at all costs.”
He turned to face her then. “I have long been aware that duty and contentment are not always at odds.”
“But contentment is not joy.”
Mr Darcy’s expression changed, something unreadable passing across his features. “No,” he said. “No, it is not.”
For a moment, Elizabeth kept her counsel. The silence between them stretched—not uncomfortable exactly, but heavy with the weight of things left unsaid.
Turning her gaze to the trees beyond the path, she chastised herself inwardly. She had said too much, pressed too far.
Seeking a way to retreat from the intimacy of the moment, her mind searched for a safer topic, and, to her dismay, landed on their conversation the morning after her accident. Her face warmed as she recalled the boldness of her words.
When she finally found her voice, her tone was gentler than before.
“I believe I owe you an apology, sir. In fact, I have been remiss in not saying anything sooner. The morning after my accident, in the gardens at Rosings…I fear I spoke rather strangely to you.”
Mr Darcy glanced at her, brows drawn slightly, but said nothing.
“My thoughts were…still muddled,” she continued haltingly. “And I…well, I may have said some things I should not have.”
To her relief, a faint smile touched his lips. “You need not apologise, Miss Bennet. You were recovering from a serious injury. No one could fault you for being disoriented.”
The words were kindly chosen, and she could only nod her thanks, though the mortification remained.
Her lips lifted in gratitude, and he returned the expression with a single nod. They continued on without speaking for a short while before offering polite farewells and turning back towards their respective paths to resume their mornings.
The next few days passed uneventfully. With the weather remaining fine, Elizabeth ventured out most mornings, but if she privately hoped to encounter Mr Darcy again, she was left disappointed.
She wondered whether he still walked the grounds, or if he now actively avoided her company.
Not that she could fault him if he did after the impudent way she had addressed him during their last meeting.
What could she have been thinking, to question him so boldly about his personal sentiments?
Who was she to lecture him on the proper balance between duty and happiness, especially after the way she had once so definitively rejected his affections?
Elizabeth sighed and shook away the memories.
She had returned from her walk nearly an hour before, and after taking a light breakfast had settled into the small parlour at the back of the house with Charlotte and Jane, while Mr Collins retired to his garden.
They had not been long in this arrangement when her cousin burst in, flushed with anticipation.
“Oh, my dear Mrs Collins! Pray, make haste and come into the drawing room at once! For we are soon to be honoured with a distinction beyond all others. It is Miss de Bourgh and Mr Darcy, come to pay their respects! Cousin Elizabeth! Miss Lucas! We must attend them without delay!”
He fluttered out again, scarcely waiting for a reply, as the ladies rose from their seats.
With tranquil composure, Jane smoothed her gown and followed her husband through the narrow passage.
Elizabeth lingered just long enough to catch Charlotte’s wry look before they, too, moved towards the front sitting room.
They had scarcely taken their places when the knocker sounded, followed swiftly by the clatter of boots and the murmur of voices in the entry. Moments later, the door opened to reveal Mr Darcy and Miss de Bourgh, attended by a maid who was quickly dismissed.
The lady entered first, her slight figure swathed in a pale-green pelisse and a bonnet that shadowed her face. Mr Darcy followed more deliberately, his gaze settling momentarily on Elizabeth before he turned to pay his compliments to her sister.
Mr Collins instantly launched into a florid speech of welcome but was soon, if subtly, checked by Jane, who greeted their visitors with ease.
“Mr Darcy. Miss de Bourgh. How very good of you to call.”
Charlotte crossed to Miss de Bourgh, taking her hand and guiding her to a chair by the hearth while murmuring something about the cheerful view from the nearby window. Elizabeth, uncertain of her own composure, offered a brief curtsey before the remainder of the party took their seats.
What followed was the usual exchange of pleasantries, with remarks on the fine weather, the excellent state of the gardens, and Lady Catherine’s indomitable health.
Mr Collins, encouraged by Mr Darcy’s presence, made several attempts to direct the conversation towards his own horticultural triumphs, but Miss de Bourgh, who appeared unusually alert that morning, diverted him with a comment on the lilac bushes, which Charlotte seized upon with relief.
Mr Darcy, who had remained largely silent, at last cleared his throat.
“I hope you will pardon the interruption to your morning,” he said, his gaze settling briefly on each of the ladies in turn, “but I come with an invitation.”
The room stilled with polite expectancy as Mr Darcy continued, “My sister is to arrive in Kent the day after next, accompanied by my friend, Mr Charles Bingley. In settling the particulars, Colonel Fitzwilliam proposed that, should the weather prove favourable, we might ride out to meet them partway and enjoy a small collation together.”
At the sound of Mr Bingley’s name, Elizabeth’s eyes had instantly moved to her sister, but Jane’s expression betrayed nothing beyond calm attention as Mr Darcy continued to speak.
“At my aunt’s suggestion, it has been arranged that we shall gather at Fairbourne Grange. The family are in London for the Season, but Lady Catherine has secured the use of their banqueting house, which should provide a most convenient and agreeable setting for the purpose.”
“How delightful!” cried Mr Collins. “A retreat to so distinguished an estate! And what more fitting way to mark the occasion than to partake of refreshment amidst such noble grounds. Lady Catherine, I am certain, must be applauded for her gracious forethought.”
Mr Darcy offered a mild inclination of his head before saying, “My aunt is attending to every detail, so you need only arrive at the designated hour. If you would do us the honour of joining our party, we shall set out from Rosings at half past ten.”
After casting a look about the room, Jane murmured a heartfelt acceptance. Elizabeth, who had remained quiet throughout, now looked up to meet Mr Darcy’s eyes.
“I have heard much about Fairbourne’s beauty. I am eager to see it.”
Mr Darcy smiled back at her. “I am glad you approve of the scheme. I look forward to your—to all of your—society.”
A brief discussion about the details of the journey followed before Mr Darcy rose, prompting the rest of the company to do the same.
Farewells were exchanged, along with the assurance that they would meet again the morning after next, before Mr Darcy and Miss de Bourgh at last took their leave.