Chapter 4
“Forgive me, madam,” came a pleasant voice, warm and steady. “I did not mean to alarm you. Are you lost? May I be of some assistance?”
“No, no, all is well, thank you. I am just enjoying a stroll before bed. I believe we have not met, have we?”
The man stepped forwards, releasing his horse and revealing himself in the pale light: young, not yet thirty, with a handsome countenance, his expression open and amiable.
He bowed to her and continued with a light tone and easy manner.
“No indeed. In fact, I just arrived at Rosings this morning. Allow me to introduce myself. Dr Rease, at your service — nephew to Dr Blake.”
“Oh! Dr Rease, I heard about you from my cousin Mr. Collins. What a surprise to meet you here, at this time.”
“I am afraid I do not recall Mr. Collins either.”
“You were not formally introduced, I believe. He is the rector of Hunsford parish. He and his wife live here, at the parsonage.”
“I see… Forgive my boldness, but might I enquire what brings a young lady out alone at such an hour?”
Elizabeth recovered her composure with a wry smile. “As I said, I just came for a stroll. I am Elizabeth Bennet. I am visiting Mr. and Mrs. Collins.”
“I see… A stroll might be beneficial, though I do not know many young ladies who favour such exercise.”
Elizabeth’s smile widened. “I am one of the very few. It is my habit to walk when sleep evades me, sir, though I own it is not the most prudent. However, here, near Rosings, I am not concerned for my safety.”
Under the moonlight, his smile looked amused and his expression even more pleasant.
“And you? I do not wish to intrude, but I assume you have been attending Miss de Bourgh. Is she better, I pray?”
He inclined his head, his expression growing more serious. “I have, and I shall return in the morning. My uncle remains with her. Her case requires the utmost care, and I cannot yet offer a clear opinion. Time and close observation will tell. And prayers would certainly help.”
There was a brief pause before he continued. “I shall leave you now, Miss Bennet. May I escort you back to the house?”
“Oh no, that is not necessary, sir. I shall be home in no time.”
“Good. Then I shall wait here until I see you enter the house.”
“You are very kind. I assure you once again it is not necessary. It was a pleasure to meet you, Dr Rease.”
“Likewise, Miss Bennet. A most lovely surprise.”
She returned to the parsonage, turning as she reached the door to look back at the doctor.
He raised a hand in farewell, then mounted his horse and departed.
From the few steps she had watched him take, Elizabeth noted with mild curiosity that he walked with a slight limp.
She wondered about it, just as she wondered whether Dr Rease was nearly as good a doctor as he was a pleasant gentleman.
Inside the parsonage, she was stunned to meet Mr. Collins, who stared at her with a most displeased frown.
“I was out just for a moment to breathe some fresh air,” she explained. “I was worried my headache had returned, but it is gone now.”
“You should not leave the house after dinner, Cousin, not for a moment. I am responsible for you, and I take my duty very seriously. I am glad your headache is gone, though. You must try your best not to fall ill. Everyone is already busy with Miss de Bourgh, and we have no time for more problems. Now let us sleep — I shall lock the door.”
She quickly parted from him with a brief good night, but returning to her chamber, sleep still kept its distance.
Her agitation had only slightly diminished.
Mr. Darcy’s letter haunted her still, and her own foolish missive, now in his possession, burned in her memory like an unquenchable flame.
To all this was added Miss de Bourgh’s situation, which affected her more than she expected.
Elizabeth eventually fell asleep in the early hours of the morning, but at the first rays of daylight and first calls of birds, she woke up abruptly.
Another night of restless torment had exhausted her and ruined her disposition.
She read Mr. Darcy’s letter one more time, then folded it in her reticule, which she hid in a drawer.
She had nothing to do at such an early hour, so the only way to employ her time was with a walk.
She dressed properly, even with particular care, knowing that she might have to face another unexpected encounter.
If only Mr. Collins would not find out that she had met Dr Rease in the middle of the night!
Or that she had written a letter to Mr. Darcy!
Or that Mr. Darcy had written her a letter after she had refused his marriage proposal.
Dear Lord, she had so many things to conceal from Mr. Collins and from any other soul!
She unlocked the door and stepped out. Dawson was already awake, so she mentioned her whereabouts, in case someone might enquire.
Her feet carried her instinctively towards the secluded grove where she had encountered Mr. Darcy the day before.
Why there? She could not say, or she did not dare answer that question.
She certainly did not expect to meet anyone, but she had not gone far when the gentleman himself appeared, riding his horse along the path as if summoned by her thoughts.
Elizabeth halted, mortified into silence, her cheeks aflame.
“Miss Bennet,” he said, his voice low and composed.
“Mr. Darcy. What a surprise,” she whispered.
He dismounted and approached her, while she struggled to meet his eyes.
“I confess I am not surprised to meet you. In fact, I planned to wait for you in the grove, hoping you might appear. There is something of great importance that I feel we must clarify.”
She held her breath, waiting.
“What could that be, sir?”
He extended a folded piece of paper — her letter. She gasped, and her heart skipped a beat.
“I was surprised to receive this,” he said. “Yet upon reading the first lines, I understood it was never meant for my eyes. I have come to return it, if you so wish.”
She stared at him in surprise, her tongue tied by confusion. At length, she managed, “It was not meant for you, indeed. I mean, it was…but not meant for you to read it… I know I sound foolish, just as I feel…”
“You have no reason to feel foolish, I assure you.”
“I certainly have more reasons than I am willing to admit. You are just being too kind. You have read the letter, I assume?”
The answer came after a brief hesitation.
“I have. I struggled with my conscience after the first line and attempted to stop reading…but I could not. I know that was most ungentlemanly on my part, but I cannot lie to you.”
“Yes, I remember you saying that disguise of every sort is your abhorrence.”
He frowned. “I did once say that, but since then, I have disguised my feelings several times — something I am not proud of. Still, I never chose a lie over the truth just because it was easier.”
“I assumed as much…” She glanced at the letter, then at him. He was still holding it out so she could take it.
“Since you have already read it, you may as well keep it, if you wish. Though you would do better to throw it into the fire.”
Mr. Darcy’s gaze held hers with quiet intensity. “I would like that very much. To keep it, not to throw it into the fire. But it is not for me to decide.”
Even against her better judgment, some impulse — curiosity, perhaps, or the strange pull of the moment — compelled her. “You may keep it,” she murmured, dumbfounded by her own words. “It is only fair since I have your letter to keep.”
He seemed pleased, a subtle smile softening his stern features. “I thank you. You may of course throw my letter into the fire if you so prefer.”
“I certainly do not prefer that,” she answered, surprised by his suggestion. Again, he seemed pleased with her answer.
“Then…do you have any questions regarding its contents?”
“I have many,” Elizabeth admitted, her voice gaining strength, “yet I am not prepared to speak of them at present. For now, I can only offer my apologies for the unfair accusations I laid at your door. They were unjust, and I regret them deeply.”
“No apologies are needed, Miss Bennet. I stand ready to answer whatever questions you may have, whenever you feel equal to addressing them.”
“Likewise,” she said, a spark of her former wit returning, “if you have any regarding mine. Though I wonder when either of us might find the opportunity since you are to leave Kent today and we are not likely to meet again soon, if ever.”
Why in the world did I mention that? She could not comprehend it. It was too bold a statement since his travelling plans should not be her concern.
Mr. Darcy smiled then — a rare, genuine expression that transformed his countenance. “I shall not depart just yet. Anne’s health has declined, and we must determine the best course for her care.”
Their eyes met briefly in the soft morning light. Elizabeth could not explain the glimpse she saw in his dark gaze, nor the strange sensation that fluttered in her stomach. It was most inconvenient, this stirring of feelings that often overwhelmed her and she could not control.
“Yes, I heard…about Miss de Bourgh. We all pray for her and hope she will make a complete recovery soon.”
“So do we. Until we see signs of improvement, we cannot depart. So perhaps more opportunities will arise for further clarification. I know this spot is one of your favourites.”
“It is… I try to come here every morning when I have no other fixed engagements.”
He nodded, and their eyes locked again, though only briefly.
“I must return to Rosings now, Miss Bennet.”
“I must return too. My cousin insists on punctuality. I believe he learnt that from your aunt.”
He offered a slight smile, then bowed and took his leave, while she remained rooted to the path, her heart a tumult of wonder and uncertainty.
Unlike the previous nights, the solitude of her chamber brought Elizabeth a measure of calm at last. The morning’s encounter with Mr. Darcy lingered in her thoughts, not as a source of fresh agitation but as a curious revelation that invited reflection rather than criticism.
Standing in front of the open window, she replayed their conversation in her mind with a clarity born of restful consideration: his composed demeanour, the quiet intensity with which he had returned her ill-fated letter, and his generous offer to answer whatever questions she might pose.
That he should wish to keep such a document — her own unguarded effusion of self-reproach — spoke of a generosity she had not expected from the proud gentleman she had once so thoroughly disliked.
Once? So did she not dislike him any longer?
No, probably not. But she still had much to condemn him for.
Particularly separating Jane from Mr. Bingley; he had broken Jane’s heart and ruined her felicity, and for that, Elizabeth would never forgive him.
But, in all fairness, Mr. Bingley’s behaviour had not been flawless either.
If he truly held Jane in regard, if his admiration for her was as deep and strong as Jane deserved, he would not have been so easily deterred from his promise to return to Netherfield.
Even if he had trusted his friend’s opinion about Jane not returning his feelings, a gentleman should at least want to be certain, to find proof of that claim.
After all, he had been at Netherfield for less than two months; in such a short time, he could hardly be sure of his own feelings, let alone those of a young lady he had just met.
Nobody was forcing him to propose to Jane, to enter into a marriage about which he was not certain.
But if he considered Jane worthy of his affection, he should have tried harder to win hers!
If he allowed his friend and sisters to persuade him so easily, perhaps Mr. Bingley was not the man Jane deserved.
Being handsome and amiable was not enough to define a man’s worth — something she had learnt recently in a painful way.
How will Mr. Darcy alter his plans? Elizabeth wondered, gazing out towards the place where their paths had crossed.
He had appeared calm, civil, even with a hint of warmth, utterly changed from that day at the personage and the night that had followed.
She had expected him to treat her with resentment and arrogance, to avoid her during the remainder of his stay.
Yet he had called the previous day with the colonel — probably to allow her the chance to ask his cousin for proof to support the claims in his letter.
And that morning, he had purposely waited for her one more time.
His improved manners and inclination for forgiveness, despite the harshness of their quarrel, made Elizabeth feel worse, more embarrassed.
Not for rejecting him — that had been the correct decision.
Even though she had admitted her errors and acknowledged her misjudgment of his character, her feelings for him were still far from what they should be towards a husband.
Accepting him just for his situation in life would have been unfair to him and dishonourable of her.
But the unjust accusations and vile offences she had thrown at him — calling him ungentlemanlike and the last man in the world she could ever be prevailed upon to marry — what man would condone such an outburst?
Could any apology ever make amends for such insults?
Would she even dare to ever bring that subject up again?
Probably not. But she might, if she gathered all her strength, venture to speak to him again of Jane and Mr. Bingley.
Perhaps in few more days, another fortuitous meeting would provide her with the opportunity; Mr. Darcy had indicated to her that he was favourable to such encounters, so her hopes were reasonable.
There was another matter that occupied her thoughts, as unpleasant as it was — Mr. Wickham.
How artfully he had deceived them all in Meryton!
His pleasing manners and ready tales had blinded her, and everyone else, to the truth of his character.
What was to be done with the facts she now had at her disposal?
She could not remain silent while he continued to impose upon others.
Perhaps — oh, the irony — she might seek Mr. Darcy’s counsel on the matter.
He, who had suffered most from Mr. Wickham’s schemes, would know best how to prevent further harm without exposing his sister’s tender history.
These reflections, though weighty, brought with them a soothing resolution. That night, for the first time since the fateful proposal, Elizabeth slept deeply and restfully.