Chapter Three
Elizabeth focused on breathing, very slowly, in through her nose and out from her mouth.
She had survived Mr Darcy’s proposal and a torturous night of replaying it over and over in her mind.
She could survive one tea. As the carriage bumped over the short road to Rosings, she tried to quiet the part of her mind that urged her to wrench open the door and throw herself out.
They were travelling at a sedate pace and any injury would surely be minor.
She had always been a fast runner and she thought it likely she could have her most important things gathered and be on her way to the nearest coaching post before Mr Collins overcame his shock and horror at her behaviour and thought to try and retrieve her.
Her cousin, Mr Collins, was currently sitting opposite her, his thick greasy lips moving rapidly as he explained the virtues of Lady Catherine de Bourgh’s tea service.
It seemed it had once belonged to a duchess and was much to be admired.
Elizabeth suppressed a sigh and turned to look out the window at the grand house that was rapidly coming into view.
She felt a soft hand cover her own on the bench and looked over to see Charlotte smiling at her gently.
She mouthed "courage" and gave a reassuring nod.
Elizabeth was thankful to have her friend beside her, but it was difficult to forget that Charlotte was also largely responsible for her present predicament.
Had she been permitted to follow her own excellent instincts, she would already be halfway to Hertfordshire, with every mile placing a comforting distance between herself and Mr Darcy.
Instead, she was being conveyed directly towards him while Mr Collins described the painted violets upon Lady Catherine’s sugar bowl.
"And the delicacy of the workmanship must be seen to be properly appreciated," he said, leaning forwards with great earnestness.
"Her ladyship once informed me that there is not another service to rival it in all of Kent.
Although I should not be surprised if there were few to equal it in Derbyshire or even London.
Lady Catherine has always possessed a most superior understanding of domestic arrangements. "
Charlotte’s fingers tightened briefly around Elizabeth’s hand as she turned back towards the window.
Rosings filled more of it now, the pale stone front rising above the lawns like a grand mausoleum.
Somewhere inside that house was Mr Darcy.
Perhaps he would remain in his room or he was out riding with his fair-haired, jovial cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam.
Better yet, he might have left for Pemberley or have been confined to a sanitorium, after flinging himself into the ornamental lake in despair.
Although Elizabeth thought the latter unlikely.
Mr Darcy was too proud to give in to such overwhelming emotions.
He had probably spent the time since they had parted writing a list of her deficiencies and congratulating himself on having escaped such an imprudent match.
A flash of his handsome, pained face entered her mind.
She recalled the moment she had refused him in such sharp terms to leave no room for doubt.
The vision was accompanied by a stab of guilt so sharp that it made her breath catch.
No. She would not feel guilty for speaking the truth.
His pain did not undo the harm he had caused Jane, and it did not make his treatment of Elizabeth any less insulting.
If he had been wounded, it was because his own pride and disregard for her feelings had caused him to behave so insultingly that she could give him no other answer.
The carriage rolled to a halt before the broad stone steps.
Mr Collins was already rising, although the carriage door had not yet been opened.
"We must not keep her ladyship waiting. She has frequently observed that lateness is the worst form of disrespect, and I should be most distressed if she believed any member of my household capable of it. "
Charlotte released Elizabeth’s hand and adjusted her gloves. "One tea at a time," she said softly.
Elizabeth drew in another measured breath. "One tea at a time."
A footman opened the carriage door, and Mr Collins descended with his usual peculiar gait, taking quick little steps while keeping his upper body pitched forwards as though he were already halfway through a bow.
Without looking back, he made directly for the house, leaving the footman to assist Charlotte and Elizabeth from the carriage.
There was still time to run. The drive curved back through the park, and the woods beyond it appeared thick enough to conceal her. She looked towards them with longing.
Charlotte slipped her arm through Elizabeth’s. "Do not even think of it."
"I have no notion what you mean," Elizabeth said with a wry smile as she allowed herself to be led inside.
The entrance hall was cool and dim after the brightness outside.
Mr Collins had already reached the far end and was bowing deeply to a footman who looked alarmed to be receiving such an honour.
They were shown into the drawing room, and Elizabeth’s gaze swept across it so quickly that she barely noticed the excess of gilding and heavy dark furniture.
Lady Catherine sat beside the fire, while Miss de Bourgh occupied the sofa opposite.
There was no sign of Mr Darcy. It was a strange day indeed when the sight of Lady Catherine de Bourgh could improve one’s spirits, but relief rushed through Elizabeth with such force that she almost laughed.
She had prepared herself to find him standing before the mantel, tall and forbidding, his expression carefully arranged to remind her how far beneath him she was and how greatly he regretted the temporary lapse in judgement which had led him to propose.
Mr Collins hurried forwards. "My dear Lady Catherine, how deeply honoured we are to attend you upon this most agreeable afternoon.
" He dropped into something between a curtsey and a sweeping bow and for one horrible moment Elizabeth thought he might prostrate himself on the floor before his patroness.
Lady Catherine looked at him as she might a dog who had deposited something unpleasant on the rug.
"Yes, well, sit down all of you." She swept her hand vaguely around the selection of chairs that, while all very fine and expensive-looking, clashed with one another in a bewildering collection of garish colours and patterns.
The party arranged themselves in various states of discomfort as Lady Catherine demanded tea from a maid who stood against the wall as if hoping to disappear into the wallpaper.
She turned an assessing eye over her guests.
"You look tired, Miss Bennet. Do not tell me you are unwell.
Anne is particularly susceptible to every sort of illness, and I cannot have you bringing malady into the house. "
"I am only a little tired, ma’am. I slept poorly."
"Then you had better sit over there, as far from Anne as possible. If you begin coughing, you must leave at once."
Elizabeth looked towards Anne, who gave her a small, sympathetic smile.
Anne de Bourgh had pretty, even features, though she was so pale that it was easy to miss her delicate beauty.
She wore her pale golden hair swept back severely, and her gown, a washed-out shade of lavender with a high lace collar, made her appear older and more fragile than she was.
Her eyes were dark and assessing, not unlike her mother’s, but there was kindness in them too.
Elizabeth had the impression that Anne noticed far more than most people gave her credit for.
Their conversations had been minimal and on the most superficial of topics, but Elizabeth liked her and felt sympathy for the young woman who lived forever in the shadow of her forbidding mother.
Elizabeth took the chair she had been commanded to sit in and lowered herself into it with as much dignity as she could muster.
She could manage one tea, she again repeated to herself.
And she could endure Lady Catherine’s high-handed behaviour tolerably well, so long as she was not also required to endure Mr Darcy.
He was not there, and she ought to be grateful for it.
She refused to examine the faint disappointment which accompanied the thought.
"You have been walking this morning, Miss Bennet?" Anne asked quietly, breaking the heavy silence of the room.
Lady Catherine answered before Elizabeth could reply. "Of course she has. Miss Bennet is forever walking. I have told her more than once that such excessive exertion is quite unnecessary and may prove injurious to a young lady’s beauty."
Elizabeth kept her gaze upon Anne and tried to school her features into one of polite deference.
"I assure you I have taken your advice to heart, my lady.
I did indeed walk but it was such a short stroll to be of little consequence.
" A smile played around the edges of her lips as she saw the amusement reflected in Miss de Bourgh’s gaze.
Anne replied, her voice slightly firmer now. "The woods are pleasant at this time of year."
"They are very beautiful. I am very taken with your lovely park."
"I should like to walk there more often."
Lady Catherine gave a sharp sniff. "The ground is damp and the paths uneven. You would catch a chill before reaching the edge of the formal gardens."
Anne lowered her eyes to her lap. "Then I shall be sure not to walk in the formal gardens, Mama." The answer was delivered so meekly that Lady Catherine appeared to hear only obedience.
Elizabeth, however, caught the firm line of Anne’s mouth before she dropped her head. She was beginning to think there was much more to the pale heiress than she had given her credit for.