Chapter 13
Chapter Thirteen
The hours crept until it was an appropriate time for a call.
Darcy had remained in his rooms to avoid unnecessary conversation with his aunt, for, though he honoured her as his mother’s sister, he could not abide the way she spoke to others, particularly those she deemed beneath her, which was nearly everyone.
He wished he could be more like his cousin, who entered into conversation directly and talked very pleasantly.
He feared the same could not be said of him.
At times he could, but when he felt uneasy, he retreated, and his judgement was difficult to hide.
At luncheon, he spoke as generously as he might with his aunt, and offered to take her out for a walk, hoping she might refuse.
She said, “Take your cousin.” At first, he thought to say that he already intended to have him join in on a visit to the Parsonage, but she said, “Anne is in need of air, having spent too much time indoors these past months.”
His heart sank, for it would be slow-going, not really even a walk but more of a hobble.
“No,” said Anne. “I have not the strength for it.”
Lady Catherine said, “And the way to gain strength is to begin a walk.”
“Let us,” Darcy said, in a moment of generosity, “walk once about the gravel drive out front, and call that a beginning. Then more on the morrow.”
Anne nodded, and his aunt looked more pleased than she ought.
His body seized. His aunt and mother had discussed a tacit engagement between him and his cousin, but he had agreed to no such thing, nor would he ever.
His aunt believed his having remained unmarried spoke of an understanding rather than the truth that he had not found a woman he deemed worthy. Yet he had.
Anne said weakly, “Upon further thought, I believe I ought to return to my chamber to rest before dinner.”
Though relieved, Darcy did feel for his cousin, as her illness narrowed her activities so dramatically that he thought it hardly a life worth living.
Darcy turned to Colonel Fitzwilliam and said, “James, let us go for a walk ourselves, then.”
His cousin nodded and they readied themselves, meeting in the entryway as planned. Darcy then said as casually as possible, “I thought we might call at the Parsonage.”
James agreed, and they were off.
“That Miss Bennet is a lovely creature,” James said as they walked.
Darcy murmured his agreement.
“Bingley was not in love with her?”
“No, with the eldest Miss Bennet.”
“Why did he not offer for her when you were in Hertfordshire?”
“He might have, but he was interrupted by a family illness. He has returned of late.”
“You do not object to the lady? I thought you objected to all ladies.”
Darcy punched his cousin’s arm in a friendly manner, though a bit harder than was required. “To all I generally meet, yes, but I hold out hope. Bingley found a perfect match in Miss Bennet.”
“She was not good enough for you, then?”
“Not of the correct temperament. She is quiet and kind.”
James snickered. “Heaven forefend you had to endure such a woman.”
“I would be bored and I would resent her.” They walked a few paces. “Do you think we were correct in allowing Georgiana to go to Ramsgate without one of us?”
“Yes. We pay Mrs Younge handsomely for her services, and you and I cannot chaperone Georgiana every time she wishes to go out of doors.”
“It is not simply going out of doors.”
“Ramsgate is quieter than London and thus gives me less pause.” They had arrived at the Parsonage, and he stepped aside to let Darcy through the gate.
Darcy knocked and a maid opened the door, ushering them in and announcing them.
Darcy noted that the maid had blushed when she had looked upon him.
How odd to have such an effect on women.
His face was his face. His height was his height.
Those facts, like his wealth, were accidents of birth.
He did not desire such attention. That is, unless it was Miss Elizbeth who took on such maiden blushes.
In the parlour waited Mr Collins, his wife, and Miss Elizabeth, at whose sight his knees weakened. It was deplorable and he told himself to cease such foolishness.
After all of the proper greetings and inquiries, they were offered a decent cake and hot tea, which was welcome on such a cool day.
James began the conversation well with, “This seems a very comfortable house. Lady Catherine, I believe, did a great deal to it when Mr. Collins first came to Hunsford.”
Mr Collins said, “She did!”
Before he might recount each detail, Miss Elizabeth cut in with, “I am sure she could not have bestowed her kindness on a more grateful object.”
James said, “And Mr Collins, you appear to have been very fortunate in your choice of a wife.”
Mrs Collins looked down modestly while Mr Collins thanked him profusely for the compliment, adding, “As it says in the Bible, ‘An excellent wife is the crown of her husband…’”
James lifted his teacup as if to toast the comment and to remind Darcy that smiling was expected in this dreary conversation.
“And it is certainly a very good match for her,” Miss Elizabeth said. “My sister has always been drawn to the serious and the moral, and Mr Collins offers both, along with great kindness.”
And dullness, Darcy thought. Imagining Miss Elizabeth as their guest made him shudder.
How did she ever find satisfaction for her mind and spirit in this company?
Worse, in life, she had to find it difficult to meet with many who engaged her intellect satisfactorily.
She did not even have the advantage of attending university where one could not only read and listen to learned scholars, but meet others who cared to expand their awareness and knowledge of the world.
Of course, young men did not spend all of their hours in study, and some hardly at all, but there were other diversions, and not just women, that could entertain and enrich.
He wished he might show her some of the intellectual pleasures beyond Hertfordshire and now Kent.
Her sister was different. She seemed incurious about culture, though a kind enough woman, and well suited to Mr Collins, from what he could tell. Darcy said, “It must be very agreeable, Mrs Collins, to be settled within so easy a distance of your own family and friends.”
Miss Elizabeth answered instead of the lady to whom he had addressed the observation. “An easy distance, do you call it? It is nearly fifty miles.”
Darcy replied, “And what is fifty miles of good road? Little more than half a day’s journey. Yes, I call it a very easy distance.”
“And what is it from Pemberley to Longbourn?”
He paused. “About 125 miles. Two days. Three if one was not in a great hurry.”
As he spoke there was a sort of smile upon Miss Elizabeth, which Darcy fancied he understood.
She might be thinking that was not too far for her to move should he propose.
Or was he thinking such a thing? Did she realise he had calculated the time and distance many times over, considering how far they might remove themselves from the clutches of her distressing family so he might have her all to himself?
She could not know such a thing, but he longed for a moment alone so he might tell her that and so much more.
“Speaking of distances, it is a short one into our meadows,” said Mr Collins.
“As it is a fine day, might the ladies don proper shoes so we might venture out? I would like to show you how the great kindness of your aunt, the Right Honourable Lady Catherine, has enriched our lands and not merely our lives, for each visit with her is like a gift that feeds the soul.”
Darcy’s eye caught James’s, and both looked away quickly lest they laugh.
“I was prepared for such a walk,” said Mrs Collins, pointing to her sturdy boots, but Miss Elizabeth said, “Yet I was not. Excuse me for a moment.”
The men all rose at her departure, and Mr Collins suggested they don their coats while Miss Elizabeth readied herself.
She took longer than expected, and the rest of the party was ready to go out. Mrs Collins said she would wait for her, but Darcy said, “I do not mind.”
“You know where the meadows are?”
“You forget, dear lady,” he said in an attempt to urge her on without sounding desperate, “that I grew up on these lands with frequent visits to my relations.”
“Of course,” she said, and followed her husband out of the door.
James threw a desperate look to Darcy that begged to not be left alone with the couple for longer than necessary.
Darcy dismissed the maid, who waited to help Miss Elizabeth with her pelisse, saying he could assist her. The maid appeared dubious, but returned to the kitchen.
Miss Elizabeth came down the stairs, and seeing it was only Darcy, asked, “Did I take too long? I—”
He closed the distance between them swiftly, and his lips were upon hers. She sank into him, and it was even more heavenly than he recalled. He wrapped his arms around her and held her tight, kissing her and kissing her until she pushed him away.
“Mr Darcy!” she exclaimed, worry marring her perfect features. “We cannot be found like this. Let us go outside. They are waiting.”
“Yes.” He pulled at his coat to straighten it. “Yes. That is sensible.”
He looked about to be certain the maid had not been witness to this break in decorum.
He pulled Miss Elizabeth’s pelisse from its hook and held it out so she might slip her delicate arms through the sleeves, which she did so smoothly it made him shiver.
Why? How could this small movement undo him so completely?
She turned around and looked at him, her expression grave. “We…I thought we were finished with such deviations from propriety. It is foolishness.”
“It is not,” he said, his voice hoarse, “foolishness to me. I have thought of little aside from you for the past months.”
“I…” she said, but clapped her mouth shut.
He stepped into her, lifting her chin as he had done the first time they had kissed. “I cannot bear being away from you.” He kissed her again, just once this time, took her hand, and led her to the door. However, as they passed through it, he let go lest someone see.
How could he want her forever yet fear others knowing? It was perplexing.
When he looked over his shoulder at her, she looked equally perplexed.
“Mr Darcy,” she said, coming to his side, “I do not understand what you are playing at.”
“I am not playing.”
In mere steps they would be within hearing of her sister and the others. He wanted to stop. To kiss her again, but he could not.
“Then—” But before she could say the rest, Mr Collins was waving wildly, calling, “Come see the crocuses! They are in bloom. Winter ends at last!”
Darcy murmured, “He has an extraordinary capacity for enthusiasm.”
She might have laughed, but he could only be aware of his body thrumming from his proximity to her.
Then she hurried ahead, and they were amongst the others, and the conversation turned to the lands and the animals and the plans for a better fence, whose directions for design and materials had been suggested by his aunt, and which, no doubt, Mr Collins would endeavour to follow to the letter.
Once enough time had passed that it seemed respectable, he suggested that he and his cousin needed to return to Rosings.
How would he find an opportunity to speak with Miss Elizabeth alone? And if not alone, in a way that did not include the constant intrusion of Mr Collins?
“My aunt,” he said without thinking, “would like to invite you for dinner.”
“Tonight?” asked Mr Collins. “After having been there just last night? What an honour.”
His cousin cleared his throat. That invitation was a lie, and his aunt would be displeased to have them on a night where they were not only unexpected, but when no proper arrangements for food had been made.
“I-I meant tomorrow. Pardon, I forgot myself.”
His eyes met Miss Elizabeth’s and her expression was inscrutable, but they were such lovely eyes, especially in the sunlight.
“We have been asked to dine at Rosings,” said Mr Collins, “twice in a week before, but never when those as esteemed as yourselves were present. I cannot express my gratitude for such an honour.”
“Yes,” said Darcy. “Well, my aunt is a generous soul.”
His cousin turned a laugh into a clearing of the throat.
“Would you lead us back, Mr Collins?” said Darcy. “I am sure you know the best path.”
Mr Collins bowed low and marched the group towards the Parsonage as a general might lead his troops—if the general narrated the entire journey.
Darcy could not help but reach out for Miss Elizabeth’s hand as she walked in front of him. She held it a moment and squeezed before letting go.
The gentlemen declined to re-enter the house, saying they really must be off. Darcy allowed his cousin to offer kind words and compliments, which were, of course, returned three-fold by Mr Collins.
Linking himself to Miss Elizabeth had yet another challenge: Mr Collins was connected to his aunt, and he was Miss Elizabeth’s relation.
It also occurred to him that Mr Collins would inherit Longbourn due to the entail, bringing him closer to Netherfield, a disappointing proximity to where Bingley said he would like to settle.
As the men waited for a carriage to pass so they might cross the road to Rosings, James said, “Explain to me again why Bingley has not yet offered for the eldest Miss Bennet.”
“He was called away, as I mentioned, due to a family emergency.”
“Nothing else?”
“There is…some objection to the family.”
“He said as much?”
“No. I mentioned it and it gave him pause, though after further consideration, he said he did not share my concern.”
They stepped around a sizable pile of sheep dung and continued on.
“If Miss Elizabeth and Mrs Collins are any indication, I cannot imagine the complaint.”
“It is the mother and the younger sisters who are of concern, but also their station.”
James walked on in silence, pondering, then said, “With your resources, do you truly believe the latter to be a consideration? If you cared for society, I might agree, but you have made it clear that their opinions are of no importance to your choices.”
“We are speaking of Bingley,” Darcy said.
James eyed his cousin and said, “Of course we are.”
Darcy changed the subject.