Chapter 21
“I want news,” said the colonel, as together they watched the carriages departing from before the house, among them that of Mrs Cooper and Elizabeth.
In the bustle of departure, little had been said; yet throughout the visit, both Darcy and Mrs Cooper had extended invitations. He felt certain they would meet again.
“News?” asked Darcy. “It was unexpectedly…pleasant.”
“Pleasant?” cried the colonel in his rather abrupt manner. “That is all you can say after seeing Miss Elizabeth again and, at last, having the opportunity to observe what her family truly are.”
“Mrs Cooper is family only by alliance.”
“It is astonishing how readily you discover arguments whenever something displeases you.”
“What should displease me in Mrs Cooper?” asked Darcy with amusement, as they made their way towards the stables, determined upon a ride.
“You are difficult to reason with. Your principal struggle with yourself concerned her family.”
“And I repeat, Mrs Cooper is not the family in question.”
“A man has but one family—parents, siblings, cousins, and in-laws of every description. If you examined our own, you would discover we are far from perfect.”
“It is of less importance how the in-laws are. They may be exceptional without offering the measure of a family.”
“So your reservations remain, and they still concern her family.”
Darcy paused to inspect a section of fencing which appeared improperly secured. He summoned a servant to repair it and only then turned again to the colonel.
“No, I shall not ask her to marry me. Let us not continue to circle the matter. I do not know whether it is a final resolution, and I have learnt—from mistakes and suffering—not to pronounce definitive verdicts to which I must afterwards remain bound. At present, to offer her marriage would not be right.”
“Towards whom?”
“Towards myself. Towards her.”
“God, Darcy, if life were merely black and white, I should understand you.”
“Then take this explanation: it is no longer enough that she should become my wife. I want more; it is not the first time I have told you so. Her feelings for me are essential now. What is so difficult to accept in that?”
“And did you observe nothing of the sort?”
“Positive feelings?” Darcy gave a short laugh.
“I had a very interesting conversation with Mrs Cooper—”
“I observed how rapidly the friendship was formed.”
“In sarcasm, you are unrivalled,” exclaimed the colonel, though without offence. Between them it was perfectly natural. “Yes, she is a remarkable woman—”
“And wealthy.”
“How do you know? Have you been making enquiries?” The colonel was genuinely curious, gossip of any kind was foreign to Darcy’s nature. Though they discussed everything freely between themselves, among their acquaintances in Derby and London Darcy’s aversion to idle conversation was well known.
“There was no need to enquire. It is astonishing what people are willing to relate unprompted. Mrs Cooper has been a widow for perhaps eight years; she cannot be more than one-and-thirty or two-and-thirty; she has two children and a remarkable fortune, which, it seems, she manages exceedingly well together with her father.”
“She is handsome as well, and very elegant.”
“Those, I believe, are your own observations.”
“They are the observations of the younger son of an earl, who stands in much the same position as the Miss Bennets in point of fortune—”
“Do not exaggerate. Lady Matlock would never permit you to live beneath the station to which you are accustomed.”
“Principally because she is seeking me a wealthy wife, not because she could interfere in the division of the Matlock fortune, which passes chiefly to my brother.”
“To seek you a wife is not an especially difficult undertaking.”
“In London it is more difficult than you imagine. In our society, wealthy heiresses are inclined to make their own choices. Those without title desire one, while the rest desire…love.”
“Not all. Miss Bingley would marry you immediately, though you possess no title, merely to be admitted to your mother’s circle.”
The colonel made rather a sour face, though he offered no reply.
“I perceive you do not like Miss Bingley excessively.”
“And do you admire her? Why do you not marry her yourself?”
“Because, by chance, I am now in love with another woman—”
“Precisely,” said the colonel, pleased that they had returned to the subject which interested him.
“Let us forget myself and allow me to tell you that, with considerable subtlety and delicacy, Mrs Cooper hinted that Miss Elizabeth has altered greatly; that tragedy has rendered her more realistic, and many of the harsher edges of her character have been softened by sorrow.”
“Or by anxiety over their dreadful entail.”
“No matter what has changed her.”
“It is certainly so; I observed it myself. But that does not signify that she loves me, only that she would now reflect before refusing an offer of marriage. Her struggle would still concern her family; only in Kent it was a matter of honour, whereas now it is one of material survival.”
“You are cruel.”
“I am realistic and, as I told you, changed.”
“You may begin to court her, to win her affection.”
“I do not think it would be right to do so while I remain uncertain whether I shall ultimately marry her. It is not my habit to flirt merely for the sake of flirting. But I do intend to do something for her. That much is certain.”
As they rode away at a walk, the colonel cast one last glance towards his cousin.
To do something for her other than marry her was indeed sorrowful news.
“And I shall do something more. I intend to write to Bingley and tell him the truth about all that occurred—”
“All?”
“Yes. It is only right and honest. In Hertfordshire, I believed I was doing him a service by keeping him from a young lady who appeared to desire nothing but his fortune.”
“Very much as I do,” said the colonel mercilessly of himself.
Darcy looked at him and hesitated a moment before replying; but the steady rhythm of the horses’ quiet pace, the beauty of the day, perhaps even the woods towards which they rode, gave him a sense of peace he had seldom known.
People were both good and flawed at once, and, as his cousin had said, there were shades in all things.
“Yes. In the end, who am I to judge the motives of others? If he loved her, I ought not to have stood in his way. It was his concern what he desired in a wife. I shall tell him all this, and afterwards I shall write of my failed proposal of marriage without sparing myself or the Bennets. Only this time I shall temper my opinions by admitting that they were merely personal impressions, perhaps formed without truly observing people…even his sisters contributed to them, as they too detested the Miss Bennets.”
“You will also tell him that Mr Bennet is dead and that Mr Collins has entered into the rights granted by the entail.”
“Certainly.”
“It is well what you are doing,” said the colonel, and put his horse into a gallop, Darcy following soon after.