Chapter 9
Nine
Elizabeth awoke with the sun, her mind already filled with thoughts of the day ahead. She had little cause for such high spirits, yet she found herself unaccountably cheerful, almost giddy, if she were honest.
Dressing with more care than usual, she chose a muslin gown she knew to be becoming and pinned back her curls with deliberate precision. By the time she descended to the breakfast parlour, a smile was already playing at the corners of her mouth.
Jane and Charlotte were sitting together at the table, teacups in hand, a basket of fresh rolls between them.
“Good morning,” Elizabeth began, taking the seat beside her sister.
Jane returned the greeting with her customary kindness, saying, “You are just in time for breakfast.”
“Is Mr Collins not joining us?” Elizabeth asked, helping herself to a pastry. “I cannot imagine him sleeping late on such a momentous occasion.”
Jane chuckled. “He is already at Rosings Park. He left an hour ago to convey his gratitude to Lady Catherine for the use of one of her carriages and, I suspect, to be of service in any way possible.”
Elizabeth laughed lightly, taking a sip of her tea before turning to her friend. “And how is your head this morning, Charlotte? I hope you are feeling well recovered.”
“Yes, much better. Thankfully, a day of rest and willow-bark tea worked wonders.”
“I am glad to hear it,” Elizabeth answered. “We must all be grateful that it was not so severe as the headache you suffered the day the Gibsons came to dine at Lucas Lodge, else we might have had to go without you.”
Jane’s head lifted, her eyes sharpening. “Lizzy, did you say the Gibsons? The couple that leased Netherfield?”
Elizabeth looked up, her knife paused mid-stroke. “Yes, of course, I—”
But she broke off as the name unlocked a sudden flood of images: Sir William Lucas beaming as he extended the invitation to dine; Mr and Mrs Gibson, both fair-haired and affable, sitting at the long table; their talk of Brighton and Bath, of naval officers and absent-minded aunts; Mrs Bennet’s eyes lighting when Mrs Gibson mentioned an unmarried brother expected on leave; Charlotte, pale and subdued throughout the meal, excusing herself just as the second course was brought in.
The recollection struck with such force that Elizabeth swayed slightly in her chair.
Jane reached out, capturing her hand. “Lizzy? Do you truly remember?”
Elizabeth nodded, her voice barely above a whisper. “Yes. I do. Or at least, I remember some things…”
Charlotte glanced between them in open confusion. “Remember? What is this?”
“Elizabeth has had some gaps in her memory since the accident,” Jane answered. “We have tried not to trouble her with them, but this is the first time she has made mention of something from…before.”
Comprehension broke gradually across Charlotte’s face, and her expression softened. “That is wonderful, Eliza. I am certain that now you have begun to recall the past, everything will come back to you in time.”
But Elizabeth did not feel wonderful. She felt shaken. The pieces of her world, once so solid and orderly, had begun to shift again. Setting aside her half-touched breakfast, she offered a weak smile and murmured something about needing to ready herself for their trip.
Moments later, she was upstairs, her hands moving instinctively as she gathered gloves, bonnet, and reticule.
But her thoughts roiled. Charlotte had spoken of her memories returning as if that would be a blessing, a simple remedy to set all to rights.
But Elizabeth knew it was nothing of the kind.
The new recollections did not fill the empty spaces left by her accident; they pressed in beside the old, each as sharp and certain as the other.
Two versions of the past, existing together in her mind.
Forcing a sense of calm she did not feel, Elizabeth descended the stairs once more to join Jane and Charlotte for the walk to Rosings.
The morning air was crisp and cool, but the sun shone brightly overhead, promising a fine day.
A breeze stirred the branches of the trees, and her sister and friend conversed in enthusiastic tones.
But Elizabeth barely noticed. Her mind was too full of ghosts—ghosts that, until that morning, she had not even known were haunting her.
Her fingers came up to touch her throat, seeking the locket’s steadying presence, only to remember that it was gone, missing like so many pieces of the life she had once believed to be her own.
By the time the two de Bourgh carriages passed through the gates of Fairbourne Grange and ascended the long drive that led to the banqueting house, it was evident that the space had been completely transformed.
Lady Catherine’s footmen, clearly dispatched in advance, had made every preparation: the doors of the elegant pavilion stood open to the spring air, and within Elizabeth glimpsed a long table laid in white linen, gleaming with silver and cut glass.
Covered dishes and decanters were arranged with precision, while footmen moved quietly about the room making final adjustments.
The tall windows afforded expansive views of the lawns beyond, promising the company ample space to ramble amidst the fresh greenery.
Elizabeth leaned forwards slightly on the squabs, peering out of the window as their carriage drew to a halt.
From her seat, she could just make out the shimmer of a stream in the near distance.
A pair of robins flitted through the trees overhead, and the breeze carried the distant scent of pine and wildflowers.
It was, she had to admit, a most agreeable setting.
Lady Catherine’s barouche, directly in front of them, appeared to have arrived only moments before, the horses still tossing their heads as the grooms moved to settle them.
Mr Darcy was already out, handing down his future bride with quiet care, while Colonel Fitzwilliam assisted her companion, Mrs Jenkinson, who had been seated on the box.
Lady Catherine herself remained inside the compartment for some moments longer, issuing directives to a waiting footman before deigning to descend, her sharp gaze sweeping the preparations like a field marshal surveying her troops.
Mr Collins was out of the second carriage almost before it had stopped, hurrying to extol the elegance of her ladyship’s arrangements. Elizabeth, stepping down with Jane and Charlotte, was not surprised to see him bowing so low as to nearly topple himself into the grass.
Lady Catherine acknowledged the praise with a distracted nod, her attention already diverted by the state of the table laid out inside.
But before she could move to enter the pavilion, the sight of a neat curricle approaching at a brisk pace drew everyone’s notice.
The driver, a tall, well-turned-out gentleman in a dark coat, handled the ribbons with practised ease.
As the vehicle drew nearer, Elizabeth’s surprise deepened when she recognised Dr Latham, Miss de Bourgh’s physician.
Bringing the curricle to a halt, he stepped down with a lightness that belied his height, as Colonel Fitzwilliam moved towards him with an affable smile.
“Latham! I had no idea you would be of the party,” he called out.
The physician’s gaze darted briefly towards Lady Catherine’s daughter—who, Elizabeth could not help but notice, looked uncommonly pleased by his arrival—before returning to the colonel.
“Miss de Bourgh was gracious enough to ask me,” he said, looking faintly embarrassed. “I trust I am not intruding?”
Lady Catherine’s answering smile was thin, though when she replied, her tone was as commanding as ever. “Certainly not. It is only fitting that you should be here to attend to Anne, should the afternoon prove at all fatiguing.”
Her tone suggested this was more a matter of protocol than preference, but Dr Latham bowed with polite gratitude.
Elizabeth took in the scene with quiet amusement.
Meanwhile, Miss de Bourgh, who stood beside her mother, blushed lightly as Dr Latham escorted her into the banqueting house.
Within, Elizabeth could see that chairs had been arranged near the tall windows, affording a comfortable place to rest and relax while the company awaited the meal.
Mr Darcy, meanwhile, lingered somewhat apart, his hands clasped behind his back as he surveyed the area.
He looked composed, but Elizabeth could not help but notice how his eyes found hers.
Charlotte touched her arm, capturing her attention. “It is all very grand, is it not?”
Elizabeth responded with a brief nod. “Yes…though I daresay it is rather more ceremony than I should have thought necessary for cold ham and lemonade.”
Charlotte chuckled softly. “Hush—Mr Collins may be listening.”
Elizabeth grinned but said no more. Her gaze drifted to the edge of the wood. The setting was idyllic and the day fair. Yet there was something restless and unspoken in the air. She could not name it, but she felt it, nevertheless.
As they approached the pavilion, Elizabeth could hear Lady Catherine’s voice rising above the rustle of the breeze. She stood near the long table, her gloved hand gesturing decisively as a footman adjusted the placement of a tray.
“No, no, Edwards, those glasses are sitting far too close to the edge,” she was saying brusquely. “And move those chairs closer to the windows but out of the draught. Anne must not be left to sit in a chill.”
Mr Darcy, standing just outside the door, frowned at his aunt before turning at the sound of their approach. “Ah, Mrs Collins, Miss Lucas, Miss Bennet,” he said, offering them a correct bow. “I trust your journey was a pleasant one?”
“It was, thank you,” Jane answered, as Mr Collins hurried in their direction.
“Indeed, my good sir!” he called out, loud enough for Lady Catherine to hear. “Her ladyship’s carriage is the very model of refinement! And so excellently sprung that one scarcely felt the road! We are all deeply indebted to her unrivalled generosity.”
Noting the faint spots of pink that had appeared on her sister’s cheeks, Elizabeth shared a glance with Charlotte. Mr Darcy merely inclined his head in acknowledgment, and Elizabeth, seeking to turn the conversation, ventured, “Do you expect your sister and Mr Bingley soon, sir?”
Mr Darcy withdrew his pocket watch, flicking it open with a practised movement. “If all goes according to plan, they should arrive within the hour.”
Elizabeth nodded, her gaze drifting once more to the surrounding woodland. Beyond the wide lawns, a narrow path meandered between beeches and elms. Feeling restless after the long carriage ride, she turned eagerly to her companions.
“The scenery is so lovely. Shall we stretch our legs a little before luncheon?”
Jane and Charlotte agreed at once, and out of the corner of her vision, Elizabeth could see Mr Darcy step forwards, as though to speak. But before he could open his mouth, Lady Catherine’s voice cut through the air.
“Darcy! Come inside and sit with Anne. She has been overtaxed by the journey and requires your company.”
Mr Darcy’s jaw tightened, but he turned to her with forced composure. “Certainly, madam.” He then bowed briefly to the ladies, bidding them to enjoy the excursion.
As he entered the banqueting house, Colonel Fitzwilliam approached, offering a wry smile.
“If you ladies will allow me the honour, I would be happy to accompany you. There is a charming little stream just beyond that rise, with a stone footbridge and a view of the valley that I believe you will find worth the walk.”
Elizabeth immediately expressed her approbation as Charlotte said warmly, “We should be very glad of your company, Colonel.” But they were forestalled once again by the sound of Mr Collins’s voice.
“Mrs Collins,” he huffed, breathless from his brief dash in their direction, “you must come at once. Her ladyship is requesting your presence, and she does not look kindly upon married ladies who traipse about the countryside. Pray, make haste. Your attendance is required.”
Jane’s eyes widened briefly, and she took a deep breath before she turned to Elizabeth. “I should join my husband. Enjoy your walk, Lizzy. I shall see you when you return.”
Elizabeth frowned, watching her sister follow Mr Collins inside the pavilion. A tightness gripped her chest. It was not the summons that unsettled her but the certainty with which it was issued, the presumption that Jane would yield without protest.
She drew a steadying breath, willing her frustration to settle as Colonel Fitzwilliam extended his arm with a gallant air; and with Charlotte on his other side, Elizabeth allowed herself to be drawn down the shaded path.