Chapter 5
FIVE
“I agree.” Elizabeth nodded, thrilled that Mr Darcy listened to her and promised to amend the situation, almost disbelieving that they had come to an agreement.
She tentatively touched his arm. “This is the first genuine conversation we have ever had, is it not?”
It had been less than a full day since they had thrown bitter, angry words at one another.
She felt she was finally seeing him not as he presented himself, but as an ordinary man with feelings and strengths and vulnerabilities.
As if she had only seen him as a pencil sketch before, but now he had come to life, with shades and colours and light and expression.
“Perhaps it is,” he said slowly. “I have not revealed myself to you, have I? Perhaps I have forgotten how. I felt that I knew you, but now I think you also do not express yourself fully.”
She folded her arms and averted her eyes.
“There are things that I find difficult to speak of. Again, a small community has its advantages. The good people of Meryton and its surrounds have known my parents and my sisters all their lives. They may not approve of their behaviour, but they generally accept us as we are.”
She looked down at her feet and wrapped her arms more tightly around herself.
“It is when I see them through the eyes of strangers that I am once again mortified. Jane and I have tried to correct my younger sisters, but my parents are of no help. My mother encourages ridiculous conduct as liveliness; my father is entertained by it and so does not discourage it.”
With a quiet gasp, Elizabeth abruptly stopped speaking, her eyes wide.
“What is it? What is wrong?” Darcy demanded. Elizabeth set her hand on his arm and put her finger to his lips.
“Hush!” she whispered. “It is Mr Collins! He is coming this way!”
Unsettled by the feeling of her hand on his arm, and reeling from the touch of her finger to his lips, it took Darcy longer to focus, but then he heard it, just barely; a rapid babble that sounded like a conversation, an enthusiastic conversation, rising and falling, gradually growing louder as its source grew nearer.
“He cannot find us here!” Elizabeth whispered urgently. “He will go straight to your aunt and tattle. I can tell you that he has been displeased with me, and he will insinuate terrible things. He will paint me as the worst sort of hoyden!”
“Why would he be displeased with you?” Darcy whispered.
“I declined his offer of marriage. He took it as an insult.”
Darcy stared at her, his eyes wide. “He offered for you,” he repeated flatly.
Elizabeth, her eyes wide, put her finger to her lips. “Shhh! I pray you, lower your voice, sir!”
Darcy wished she had put her finger on his lips again. He would have kissed it. “When?”
She huffed and folded her arms tightly. “It was the morning after the ball. He visited Longbourn with the idea that he would choose one of us to marry, as if it was his right to do so, and as if he were picking an apple out from a bushel basket. It was disgusting, the way he looked at us. Especially Jane, as if she was a particularly appetising dessert. My mother gave him to understand that Jane was spoken for, but that I was available and anticipating his attentions.”
Darcy felt the bile rise in his throat. “That explains why he was so often at your side.”
Elizabeth shuddered. “He was. Like a barnacle.
It was difficult to shake him off. At breakfast that morning, my mother forced me to sit with him and left us alone.
In a long and convoluted fashion, he explained that his patroness had instructed him to marry, and that he was generously willing to overlook the absence of a dowry.
He said that my wit and vivacity would surely be reduced to respectful silence by exposure to my betters.
“I refused him as courteously as I could, but he was unperturbed.
He did not believe me when I refused. He would not listen to me.
He treated me like a fool, and insisted that he could teach me to improve my conduct upon the advice of his patroness.
He stated with great confidence that I would never have another offer of marriage due to my family situation and my meagre portion; that I should humble myself and be happy to accept.
My mother was of the same opinion. It is fortunate that my father supported me in my refusal.
“Three days later, he proposed to Charlotte and was accepted. I was disappointed in her but I understood her reasons.
“For my entire visit here, he has taken great delight in showing off the advantages of his home and the favour of his patroness, as if showing me the life I could have had, hoping to make me regret him. He does these things even in front of his wife. Charlotte is a better wife than he deserves.”
Darcy winced at the similarities between Collins and himself.
The fool had mistaken her refusals for coquetry, and he himself had taken her provocation for flirtation.
Both had assumed their offers would elevate her; that they would be flattering and irresistible to her.
Both he and Collins had assumed that they were her superior.
Both had proposed in the most demeaning, insulting manner possible.
Neither had recognised what a rare jewel she was.
Neither had respected her as they ought.
Neither had recognised her own superiority.
He pushed these thoughts away, thinking of their predicament.
Darcy leant in and whispered back, his lips almost touching her ear. “If he finds us, I will inform him that it is my fault. That I lured you here somehow.”
She vehemently shook her head. “No, do you not see?” she hissed.
“He will carry the tale to your aunt, no doubt with added embellishments to please her. Your aunt will use it as an excuse to send me home in disgrace, and she will force you to marry your cousin. She will not hesitate to excoriate my character far and wide. She will never accept that you would entrap me. Our stations in life are too far apart.”
Darcy realised that she was correct.
Collins appeared at the rear of the garden, walking in short bursts, speaking continuously, making expansive gestures with his arms. Every few steps he paused, bowing at nothing, then moved forwards again.
“Pray do not stand at the window sir! Duck down!” Elizabeth whispered urgently.
Darcy grumbled that the window was too dusty and covered with cobwebs to be seen, but he complied.
They both hunched their shoulders, making themselves as small as possible.
They were no longer watching through the window but keeping Collins in view through the cracks in the walls.
The rector was oblivious, declaiming as he walked to and fro, his arms waving through the air, performing the occasional bow. The folder of papers he clutched in one hand did not slow him down in the least. He never ceased his monologue, only pausing every few steps to stop and perform a deep bow.
As he haltingly moved closer, his words gradually became clear.
“Miss de Bourgh, the jewel of the county! What a magnificent bride she will be!” He bowed as he declaimed, with a wave of his arm.
A few more steps, another bow, then: “Miss de Bourgh’s intelligence and taste make her the ornament of any society. ”
Collins stopped, his hand rising to his chin.
“No, that will not do! Lady Catherine abhors bluestockings.” He paused for several minutes, seemingly deep in thought, and then tried again.
“Miss de Bourgh, with her beauty and exquisite taste, will be the finest ornament of London society.” He stopped to congratulate himself.
“Oh, that one is fine! I shall use it today!”
This seemed to inspire the sapskull to greater heights. “Miss de Bourgh, born to be a duchess!”
As Collins passed near the garden shed, he broke off. “How has that door been left unlocked? I am certain I locked it yesterday.” He hurried over to the shed.
Darcy quickly put his arm around Elizabeth’s waist and moved her behind him. “I shall not let him see you,” he whispered.
The shed door did not open. Rather, it shut decisively, and they heard Collins shove the peg through the lock.
“There,” said the rector, brushing his hands together.
He began walking away again, not towards the house, but skirting the lawn, towards the lane that led to Rosings.
His obsequious declamations continued as he attempted to make a leg— “Lady Catherine, you must allow me to tell you how much I admire and…” —tipping himself over in the process.
He laboriously hauled himself up off the ground, brushed himself off, and continued on his way, still talking.
Darcy gaped after him, mouth open in disbelief, when he heard Elizabeth’s low voice behind him, shaking and uneven with repressed laughter.
“For a moment, I thought he was preparing to propose to your aunt,” she gasped, and clamped a hand over her mouth.
Darcy stood up straight and stared through the window after Collins. “What was that about? What was he doing?”
She bit her lip in an attempt to compose herself enough to answer. “He was practising.”
“Practising.”
“My cousin told my father that he is happy to take every occasion to offer what he calls ‘little delicate compliments which are always acceptable to ladies’. He has told Lady Catherine on many occasions that Miss de Bourgh was born to be a duchess, and other such things. Though he carefully plans and rehearses them, he says that he expresses them in as unstudied an air as is possible,” she said in as solemn a tone as she could manage.
Darcy shook his head in disgust. “My aunt chooses the recipient of her gift to suit herself and not his flock. She expects to be met with fulsome compliments wherever she goes. She will accept nothing less.”
“She could not have found a more appreciative subject.”
They regarded each other in silence.
“How shall we get out of here?” she said, gesturing towards the door.
He did not want to get out, or he did, but not at present.
He liked being here with Elizabeth, speaking with her with no others to judge or interfere.
His anger towards her had dissipated, evaporated like the morning dew.
She had read his letter and believed him.
She had never loved Wickham. She cared about his sister and her recovery.
She would, if he could only earn her good opinion, be a caring sister, a capable and active mistress of his home, and the wife of his dreams. She would bring Pemberley, and himself, back to life again.