Chapter 15
“How sad the two gentlemen were to be leaving Rosings so soon and so suddenly, but then, Darcy is always in high dudgeon at the end of his visits here,” said Lady Catherine to her captive audience of Mr and Mrs Collins, Elizabeth and Maria at teatime three days later.
“I believe he almost prefers Rosings Park to Pemberley sometimes, though naturally he will not say so openly.”
The great lady of Rosings required very little input from her audience.
In Elizabeth’s case, that was just as well.
She had been in a state of unusual nervous tension for some days, hoping that no messages from Rosings Park came to Hunsford Parsonage that week, even while Mr Collins was on tenterhooks for his next invitation.
“It would be impossible for anyone to leave Rosings Park without regret, Lady Catherine,” the young clergyman assured her unctuously. “Particularly not one so close to your ladyship.”
“Never mind. Darcy will return soon enough, I am sure, and for a longer visit.”
Elizabeth had been relieved to hear of Mr Darcy and Mr Bingley’s return to London, having dreaded meeting Mr Darcy again after that astounding proposal and almost equally astonishing letter.
Even still, she hardly knew what to make of it.
As for as Mr Wickham was concerned, the truth proved capable of a turn that left Mr Darcy entirely exonerated, and Mr Wickham capable of blacker infamy than she could have imagined.
That Mr Darcy might not have been truthful, Elizabeth did not bother to consider.
It would have been entirely out of line with his general character.
When had he ever troubled himself to lie?
Even in insulting herself and her family, he had rather disdained concealment.
No, Mr Darcy was telling the truth about his history with Mr Wickham.
He certainly would not have told her the shocking story of how close his sister came to disaster if he were telling lies.
Elizabeth was left in a most uncomfortable position — certain that she had judged him unfairly, while no less resentful of the insults he had given her.
Certainly Mr Darcy had not seemed to regret them.
“Yes, Darcy has always been quite my favourite nephew, and Anne’s favourite cousin too,” Lady Catherine continued. “Likely he will miss Anne as much as he will miss Rosings Park. I have always observed their closeness and the complementary nature of their tempers with satisfaction.”
As on Elizabeth’s first visit to Rosings, Miss Anne de Bourgh and her companion sat silently on their small sofa near Lady Catherine, occupying themselves with cushions and screens. Their party was smaller and quieter than ever, for Sir William had returned to Hertfordshire that morning.
At her mother’s mention of her, Miss de Bourgh’s face showed little change of expression.
But then, Lady Catherine had scarcely bothered to look at her daughter as she spoke.
Elizabeth supposed that if her mother told her that she was to marry Fitzwilliam Darcy, Miss de Bourgh would submit to that plan with an equal lack of reaction.
It was her nephew that Lady Catherine would find harder to bend to her will, but the steeliness of that lady’s determination and her apparent disregard for human feeling gave her a chance of winning, even with the obdurate Mr Darcy.
Any previous satisfaction of Elizabeth’s in wishing Mr Darcy a disagreeable wife was now tempered by compassion for Anne de Bourgh in having such an overbearing mother.
“How lucky you are, Miss de Bourgh, to inherit such a fine estate,” Elizabeth said, directly addressing this lady for the first time and hoping to bring her into the conversation.
Surely Anne de Bourgh must have some opinions.
“It is good to find that not all estates in England are entailed away from the female line.”
For a brief moment, some sign of life flared in Anne de Bourgh’s eyes, and her lips parted as though to speak — but she was not quick enough.
“Yes, Anne is a very fortunate young woman,” agreed Lady Catherine on her daughter’s behalf. “Her future husband will be even more fortunate to acquire a wife who brings her own estate to join with his. As I have always said…”
As her mother continued to talk, the light died again in Miss de Bourgh’s eyes.
Whatever Lady Catherine might say, Elizabeth could feel nothing but sorrow at the thought of a marriage between Fitzwilliam Darcy and Anne de Bourgh, confident that neither party truly wanted it nor would be made happy by it.
Even so, his cousin might turn out to be the match Mr Darcy needed, if he were truly desperate to marry and whatever he presently wanted. Surely he could not still want Elizabeth herself — not after her too-vehement refusal, and despite all his insulting reservations.
No, likely he would be persuaded to make his cousin an offer in the end.
Miss de Bourgh possessed rank and fortune compatible with his.
She would likely acquiesce to marriage at the slightest pressure from her mother, regardless of personal inclination.
Preservation of family reputation might end up being a powerful incentive on both sides.
Lady Catherine seemed to drone on for hours, her monologue occasionally interspersed with Mr Collins’ mindless comments and compliments or more thoughtful yet anodyne remarks from Charlotte. Maria said nothing at all, and Elizabeth felt as though the afternoon would never end.
∞∞∞
“You seem low in spirits, Lizzy,” said Charlotte as the carriage drove them back towards Hunsford, and Mr Collins was explaining the de Bourgh family tree to Maria in more detail than the poor girl could ever have wanted when asking an innocent question about Lady Catherine’s late husband.
“You have been so for some days. Are you unwell?”
“No, not at all, Charlotte,” Elizabeth assured her friend, with as bright a smile as she could muster. “I have been tired, perhaps, and Jane has been much on my mind after speaking with Charles Bingley. It is hard to know how to write to her.”
All that Elizabeth said was true, but it was nowhere near the whole truth underpinning her strange mood.
That could be shared neither with Charlotte, nor Jane, nor anyone else.
Elizabeth remained deeply conflicted over Fitzwilliam Darcy and unable to confide in anyone about his proposal or what his subsequent letter revealed.
His account of Wickham’s shameful conduct and designs on young Georgiana had been profoundly shocking, and also held the ring of truth.
Elizabeth was left ashamed of having believed Wickham’s stories without substantiation.
Part of her was grateful to Darcy for opening her eyes to Wickham’s character, even while another part of her continued to resent him for every word of his hateful proposal.
“Ah,” Charlotte nodded knowingly. “Yes, I can see how that might prey on your mind. Mr Bingley spoke strangely, I thought. On the one hand, he professes great love for Hertfordshire, and by implication for his friends there. That is all very promising. On the other hand, he has not once stirred himself to seek Jane out in London. That does not bode well for his constancy.”
“Mr Bingley did not know Jane was in London until I told him,” Elizabeth insisted, wanting to believe in at least one simple, well-intentioned, and good-hearted man.
“He left Netherfield Park under Darcy’s influence and has been kept from Jane by his sisters, who scorn my family.
I am not sure that I hold him entirely responsible for his actions. ”
Charlotte did not look entirely convinced, but did not contradict Elizabeth.
“A man ought to be responsible for his own actions. Well, let Mr Bingley call on Jane in London. He knows she is there now. If he does not, that will speak for itself.”
Elizabeth nodded and then sighed, taking Charlotte’s hand and squeezing it with affection.
“At least one of us is happily married, Charlotte. I am glad it is you, even if I always expected Jane to marry before either of us.”
“Jane or you will be next, I am sure, Lizzy,” Charlotte answered. “I’m sure you will have another proposal before long, and this time it will be one you should accept.”
Elizabeth turned her head to look out of the window, lest Charlotte should read something in her eyes of what had occurred with Mr Darcy. She had indeed received another proposal.
But she had refused it, and she had been right to do so.
“What I said to you that day after Christmas still stands, Charlotte,” Elizabeth told her friend. “Without love and respect, I shall accept no man’s suit.”
“How proud you are, Lizzy!” Charlotte laughed, though kindly. “I fear you might become rather lonely if you persist in pursuing your ideals.”
Elizabeth felt herself unable to argue without giving away more of her present uncomfortable feelings than she dared. Charlotte would be horrified to learn that her friend had refused a man with ￡10,000 a year to his name. She would think Elizabeth a fool and a simpleton, regardless of her reasons.
Yet marriage to Fitzwilliam Darcy was unthinkable.
Despite his high compliments to her mind and person, he had thought nothing of asking her as a last resort, and expecting her to swallow his insults to her family in the bargain.
Such behaviour could not inspire love or respect — and if he had ever truly felt such tender emotions for her, they were surely gone now, after how viciously she had refused him.
His dreadful proposal, so full of casual superiority and contempt, had riled her temper beyond endurance.
Elizabeth could not entirely blame herself for her vehemence, even when, with a cooler head, she would have wished to be more measured.
Mr Darcy’s pride and arrogance had been like a target begging to be pricked and burst like a bubble.
How dare he believe himself so superior!