Chapter 2.1
“I do not understand why you call at the Parsonage so often,” Lady Catherine de Bourgh from Rosings Park scolded her two nephews. “Those two misses might be tempted to get the wrong impression. Especially Miss Bennet, who is at the age and in the situation that she absolutely needs marriage.”
“I doubt that Miss Bennet expects either me or Darcy to propose to her after several short calls of courtesy,” Colonel Fitzwilliam, the second son of the Earl of Matlock, replied with his usual mockery.
“You should not doubt, nor mock a serious situation, Robert. A woman in Miss Bennet’s circumstances would do anything to secure a husband.
She and her mother and all her sisters will be thrown out of the house as soon as their father dies and Mr. Collins will inherit that property,” Lady Catherine continued in earnest.
“Is Mr. Bennet’s health worrisome?” the colonel continued.
“Not at all,” Darcy finally interjected. “At least when I last saw him, he appeared to be in excellent health.”
“Well then, let us hope that Miss Bennet is not so desperate yet to trap either of us into a forced marriage,” the colonel laughed.
“Miss Bennet is a smart and well-mannered young lady. I doubt she would ever trap or force anyone into anything, regardless of how difficult her circumstances might be,” Darcy added.
“Well, you cannot know, can you?” Lady Catherine replied. “Are you so closely acquainted with her that you could testify to her character? She seems rather impertinent and obstinate to me.”
“I am acquainted with her enough to recognise the main traits of her character,” Darcy stated coldly.
“I did not get the impression that she was looking for a husband either,” the colonel said. “Although, I confess I find her easy manners and sharp tongue quite enchanting. If I had the liberty to choose a wife to my liking, I would have considered her.”
“Watch your mouth, Robert! Such statements might put you in a terrible situation!”
“Aunt Catherine, both Darcy and I have escaped from similar dangers before. Other women more skilful than Miss Bennet have attempted to trap both of us and failed. I trust we are safe to enjoy her lovely company without risking a bond for life,” the colonel laughed loudly, much to Lady Catherine’s annoyance.
“You are thoughtless and imprudent, Robert. And you do not know what people beneath us are capable of. Especially when they are desperate,” Lady Catherine insisted.
“Why desperate? We just agreed that their father is not dying yet.” The colonel found it exceedingly amusing to argue with his aunt, much to Darcy’s silent reprobation.
Lady Catherine answered in a reprimanding tone.
“They must be desperate! Mr. Collins first wrote to me from Hertfordshire that he was ready to admire his eldest cousin, but she had been close to being engaged at that time. God knows what happened, but it seems she was left behind by what would have been a very desirable husband. Then he said he was inclined to favour the second one—this Miss Elizabeth. He did not mention more details, but he suddenly changed his preferences towards the present Mrs. Collins, who I believe to be the perfect choice for him. So calm, so humble, so obedient and so grateful for any advice I give her! I am appalled to imagine Miss Elizabeth Bennet—with her reckless nature, being the mistress of the Parsonage!”
“I am appalled too,” Darcy replied coldly, shivering with disgust. “Both by the notion that Miss Elizabeth Bennet might have married Mr. Collins and by the liberties we have taken in speaking of her. I would be very upset if someone spoke of Georgiana in such a manner, just as I am sure you would be angry to hear someone gossiping about Anne. Would you not, Aunt?”
“Oh, nonsense! Surely this is not the same!”
“Why not, Aunt? Are we entitled to require propriety only from others, but not from ourselves?” Darcy continued.
“You are absolutely impossible, both of you!” Lady Catherine declared. “I shall warn you again to guard your manners when you call at the Parsonage!” she concluded, then left the drawing-room.
The two men filled their glasses with some brandy and the colonel continued his mockery. “I would propose to Miss Bennet tomorrow if I could. The mere fact that Aunt Catherine dislikes her so utterly, is a sign of her worthiness.”
“Robert, I am not joking. I find this chatting about Miss Bennet improper and distressing,” Darcy interrupted him.
“I am not talking about her with disregard. Quite the opposite. And I am not jesting that I find her a remarkable woman. Only last night, when she reproofed you about your bad manners in Hertfordshire—she was just charming. I could see even you enjoyed her teasing. You cannot deny it.”
“I have no wish to deny it. I am ready to admit I do enjoy Miss Bennet’s company and I commend her manners and conversation.”
“Yes, yes—you never disguise your true feelings, we all know you are the epitome of correctness,” the colonel made sport of his cousin.
Darcy remained silent. His cousin did not know how wrong he was.
He had done nothing but disguise his feelings for Elizabeth Bennet, from almost the beginning of their acquaintance.
The moment he had noticed her sparkling dark eyes, her sharp tongue and her bright, teasing smile, he had been bewitched.
He had struggled to escape the spell for more than six weeks, but every attempt failed.
And now she was there, in the last place he imagined to ever encounter her: in Kent, near his aunt Catherine’s house.
When Bingley decided to leave Hertfordshire and remain in London, Darcy felt relieved.
Any connection with Miss Elizabeth Bennet—the woman who had stirred his senses, troubled his peace and sleep and invaded his thoughts and his dreams—seemed broken.
He convinced himself that it had been nothing but a silly infatuation which would vanish, discouraged by distance and time. But he had been utterly wrong.
It was much more and it did not disappear. Quite the contrary.
Never in his life had Darcy been affected by a woman’s presence. He had known enough beautiful women, in a most intimate way. Women who had used their charms and allurements to gain his interest. Women who had known their own desires and imagined they could guess his too.
Even when he had admired beauty, his heart and his mind had never been touched. He never missed a woman, never longed for her nearness, for her smiles, for her gazes, or her teasing. Never dreamed of her. Never.
Until he met a country girl in a small village in Hertfordshire, who possessed no connections, no dowry, no perfect manners, no perfect beauty, none of the accomplishments required for a perfect lady.
A country girl that was absolutely perfect in her imperfections.
Or at least perfect for him. A perfect example of what he wished for in a woman, but so far from perfection when he had to consider what was expected of the future Mrs. Darcy.
What was expected of him to choose for the future Mrs. Darcy?
Elizabeth Bennet, as close as she was to his heart, his senses, his desires, was very far from what his reason, and his mind told him he needed.
For more than six months he had been engaged in a battle between passion and reason, duty and desire, a battle with no winner, only continuous turmoil.
Since he couldn’t speak of his torment to any breathing soul, and his own feelings overwhelmed and almost suffocated him, he had only one escape left: to put his thoughts and his torment onto paper.
To write to her—letters that would never be sent, nor even addressed.
Letters that he would burn soon. Very soon.
“Darcy? Are you unwell? I called you three times.”
He startled. “Forgive me, Robert. I was preoccupied.”
“Yes, I observed as much. I was asking about Bingley. Do you have news from him?”
“No. He is still in Oxfordshire, with the Crawfords.”
“You know, I was thinking…He seemed quite distressed when I saw him two months ago. He seemed changed—and not in a good way.”
Darcy said nothing, so the colonel continued.
“I was wondering if his attachment to that young lady was not stronger and deeper than you presumed. I have seen him many times charmed by lovely faces but never in such low spirits.”
“Robert, if his attachment was so strong, separating him from the lady who did not return it was an even better choice.”
The colonel rolled his eyes. “Do you not fear that you might have been wrong in your estimation? Not even slightly? Let us be fair, you are rather a novice regarding feelings. You barely recognise when young women are searching for your attention. You have never been in love, as far as I know. How can you recognise feelings that you have never experienced? I for one would never take a piece of advice from you on matters of the heart.”
“I can judge a situation, even if I have never experienced it. Besides, Bingley’s case was not even a difficult examination, cousin. The lady’s serenity and lack of apparent emotions were enough proof.”
“You are arrogant and presumptuous on this subject, Darcy. I have the highest respect for you, but this time I cannot approve your actions.”
“There is nothing to approve. It was done, and it was for Bingley’s benefit. And I did not tell Bingley what to do, nor did I even advise him. I only told him my opinion and he decided himself.”
The colonel rolled his eyes again. “Come now—we all know that Bingley would never argue with you and that he values your opinion more than his own! You cannot escape so easily—if he separated from that young lady, the person responsible is you.”
“I by no means wish to escape responsibility,” Darcy declared. “Now please excuse me, I will retire to my room, as I have something to finish.”
“I will take a ride and perhaps stop for a drink at the Parsonage. I am sure I will enjoy my time better than you,” the colonel concluded.