Chapter 25
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
The journey to Kent was an easy one under the care of Mr Darcy. Lady Matlock joined them at the last, having decided to pay her sister a visit.
Rosings Park was quite grand, as was the lady who inhabited it. When they had settled into their rooms and changed from their travelling clothing, the group assembled in the drawing room for tea and refreshments. Elizabeth was quick to congratulate their hostess on her daughter’s nuptials.
“I understand your daughter is recently wed. You must count it a joy to see her so well settled and at so easy a distance.”
Lady Catherine disagreed. “If you should call such a distance easy—it is nearly twenty miles. My daughter is of a delicate constitution and cannot be subjected to frequent travel.”
“You will go to her, then. I understand the roads are good. It will be but half a day.”
Lady Catherine made some sort of indignant noise.
“And how is Mr Maddox?” Lady Matlock asked. “Is he accustomed to his new position as yet?”
Another noise of disgust. “My new son is an artful sort and is all for what he can get. I have no doubt he will continue as much the same.” Lady Catherine screwed up her mouth in a disapproving frown and would say no more on the matter.
With Lady Catherine in such an evident ill humour, it was difficult to know how to continue the conversation. It seemed their hostess was determined to meet any topic with vexation. They stumbled about a bit, trying at various topics, until Darcy abruptly stood.
“Aunt, if your custom has not changed, I believe we have well over an hour until we dine. Is that so?”
“Why would my custom alter? It has long been the practice of fashionable society to dine—”
“Excellent,” Darcy interrupted and held out his arm. “Lady Courtenay, would you join me in a call on the parsonage?”
Elizabeth looked up at him in astonishment as Lady Catherine expressed her clear disinclination for the plan. “A call on my parson! Darcy, whatever can you be about? I assure you, such condescension is neither required nor expected.”
“I made the acquaintance of Mr Collins and his wife in Hertfordshire,” Darcy informed her.
“As you know, Mr Collins is heir to the estate of Lady Courtenay’s father and Mrs Collins is her dear friend from girlhood.
I would not overlook them. Come, my lady.
” The last was directed at Elizabeth as he took her arm and tugged her from her seat.
She recovered her surprise sufficiently to send for her bonnet, and they quickly departed, Lady Catherine’s displeasure ringing in their ears.
As soon as the door to Rosings closed behind them, Elizabeth looked up at Darcy. “This is unexpected.”
“Knowing my aunt as I do, I would not be surprised if she had discouraged Mrs Collins from any familiarity or intimacy with you during this visit. I do not know Mrs Collins sufficiently to predict how she might react to such a directive, so I thought it best if we began early to encourage comfort and ease.”
“You are kind,” Elizabeth said, looking at him thoughtfully. “I would be sorely grieved to be here without seeing my friend often.”
Darcy gave her a half smile. “I do, on occasion, like to break from my usual routine of selfish disdain for the feelings of others.”
She laughed. “You will surely pay a price for it; while Charlotte and I share all the gossip of Meryton, you will be the captive audience of Mr Collins.”
“We have already been through all the bowing and scraping; he will surely be able to meet me as an established acquaintance and speak of sensible, if not witty, things.”
Not likely. “Let us hope your kindness is not punished too severely.”
Mr Darcy proved utterly wrong in his belief as Mr Collins, overcome by the presence of elevated personages in his home, was merciless in his attentions and effusions.
Darcy bore it with continued good grace.
The time passed away too quickly, and soon, Elizabeth knew she must leave, not wishing to be a poor guest within her first hours of being in Kent.
As she and Mr Darcy strolled back to the house, she sneaked occasional glances at him as he remained deep in thought. Finally, she said, “Mr and Mrs Collins were pleased with our visit. I must again thank you for thinking of their concerns in this.”
“It is what any feeling person would do.”
“It required quite a bit of consideration and forethought, much more than many would give. Even I, who had spending time with Charlotte as my object, did not consider how she might have been discouraged from approaching me. So, I must persist in my gratitude, sir.”
“I believe that I must thank you as well.”
“Me? Why?”
“You demand of me a better man,” he told her quietly. “I find I rather like the version of myself that meets with your approval.”
Elizabeth seized upon the warmer weather of Kent gratefully, departing on an early walk the first morning she was in residence at Rosings.
She strode towards the parsonage, uncertain of Charlotte’s daily routine but hoping to catch her at it.
Charlotte was feeding her poultry and instructing her housekeeper and could not come away.
Elizabeth promised to call later that morning.
Free to walk, Elizabeth chose a lane at random, delighting in the burgeoning verdure before her. She inhaled deeply, drawing the fresh spring air into her lungs and feeling the bounce return to her step. She soon came upon Mr Darcy.
“May I join you?” he requested. “It is a lovely morning, is it not?”
“It is splendid, and yes, you may join me.” They began to walk, and Elizabeth asked, “Do you always rise early, or did the sounds of the country awaken you?”
“I am an early riser. Are you?”
“I am,” she admitted. “Not the mode, I know! I much prefer a walk at dawn to a promenade during the fashionable hour.”
“As do I.”
They walked on, sometimes silent and other times voluble. Elizabeth had many questions about the grounds, the house, and the parish that Darcy was happy to answer.
From that morning on, their rambles together became a regularity.
At first, Elizabeth counselled herself to be kindly to him, honouring her promise to Lady Matlock, but she was soon surprised to realise she anticipated his company.
When at ease, Darcy was a good conversationalist with a wry sense of humour.
The length of their walks increased daily as they found more and more to speak of, from his home at Pemberley to her closeness with the Gardiners.
He had formed, independent of her praise, a good opinion of her aunt and uncle, and it pleased her.
She told him they had always been good to her and had taken pains to see to her education and the development of her manners in a way her own parents had not.
“I saw early on that my parents were not like others I knew.”
“How so?”
She shrugged. “My mother is vulgar and silly, and my father is unconcerned and sarcastic. It is, for both, a means of surviving a situation they both abhor, but it puts them in an exceedingly poor light as spouses and as parents.”
Darcy spoke of his family as well, confiding his struggles with Georgiana.
“There is nothing a girl of that age wishes for more than to be seen as an adult, yet there is a girlish sensibility present that cannot be denied,” she advised.
“Her behaviour is so brazen at times; it perplexes me.”
Elizabeth considered for a moment and then continued with delicacy.
“If I might say—and this is purely conjecture on my part—that I saw in my father an awkwardness that arose when my sisters began moving from girlhood to womanhood. They had all the appearance of women, and it was disconcerting for him. He showed them less interest, and they, in turn, behaved in silly ways to get his attention.”
“Do you suggest that Georgiana sees I am at ends in trying to manage her?”
Elizabeth smiled sympathetically. “Your relationship must change. I would imagine it is difficult enough, being that you are not her parent but her brother. You have been more the father, but now, you might attempt to form a friendship of sorts as adults. There is bound to be some difficulty and some discomfort. She might behave as she does to draw your attention or because she does not know how to act.”
He appeared dubious. “Drawing my attention can hardly be her object as I am most often admonishing her.”
“Perhaps,” Elizabeth replied. “But if I might be so bold as to offer a suggestion? Put aside your feelings of awkwardness and seek to understand her and spend time with her. It will serve your purpose far more than admonishment could.”
“You may be right. In any case, nothing I have done has worked; a new tactic can hardly do worse.”
As they continued their stroll towards the house, Elizabeth considered him.
Their conversations these past days had revealed a side to him she would not have suspected: a well-intentioned man with an honourable character and true heart and with similar frailties and problems to anyone else.
It was endearing. When she had sketched his character in Hertfordshire, she had seen only a small portion of his true self.
“May I enquire as to your thoughts, my lady?”
“Forgive me.” She blushed lightly. “You have caught me in recollection.”
“Of what?”
“I was thinking of my initial impression of you. My opinion has improved markedly now that I know you better.”
He looked down, the brim of his hat putting his face into shadow. “How far improved is that opinion?”
She glanced at him quickly, her heart skipping a beat.
He stopped them, turning to her and looking into her eyes. Her hand, which had been in his arm, dropped and somehow found a place within his grasp. “You must know my feelings and wishes are unchanged. You may have me; nay, you already have me. On your word, we shall be husband and wife.”
Dismayed, Elizabeth spoke quietly and as gently as she could. “Forgive me if I have led you to think my feelings have changed. I treasure the time we spend together, but I cannot marry you.”
There was a bench nearby and he led her to it. “You do not doubt the sincerity of my love for you?”
“No, not that.” She looked down at her lap.
“Then what? Do you not think we would be as happy in marriage as we are in friendship?”
“No, I confess, I do not. We would argue and fight; you would grow resentful over what I could offer you, and I would grow weary of trying to love you well enough to satisfy you. I already know the pain of losing love, and I could not dare begin with a love that burns hot and see it grow cold. I could not bear it.”
She looked up; pain smote her chest in seeing the sadness in his eyes. She caressed his arm. “I am sorry. I have pained you.”
“I am only pained with my understanding of your sorrow. I should not be surprised. To have lost all you did and endure all you have, that you should be care-worn is expected. You do such an excellent job of appearing content and in good spirits, it deceives me into believing you truly are well.”
He removed her glove and brought her hand to his lips for a gentle kiss. “I am happy to wait for the day when you again have the courage to be loved as I intend to love you.”