13. Charming Contradictions
Charming Contradictions
With no invitations forthcoming from Rosings, where Elizabeth imagined Lady Catherine was content with the company of one lively nephew and another less talkative but more useful one, she thought she would see no more of Mr Darcy.
But the two men called again the following day, this time arriving in a curricle with their frail cousin wedged into the seat between them.
Miss Anne de Bourgh’s presence made no difference in the conversation, beyond Colonel Fitzwilliam’s attempts to enlighten her on the personalities and topics of their discussions.
When the lady stared doubtfully at Elizabeth, as if they had not been in company three times in the last fortnight, Mr Darcy laboured to explain the acquaintance.
“The Bennets and the Lucases are neighbours in Hertfordshire. Mrs Collins and Miss Lucas are good friends with Miss Bennet and her sisters.”
“Miss Bennet has many sisters, far too many to keep comfortably,” replied Miss de Bourgh. “Sisters are not like kittens you can shut away in a cupboard.”
Only Mr Collins, who had vowed to remain at home in the event of another call from the lofty gentlemen, could attempt to reply in any reasonable manner.
“Cousin Elizabeth has a surfeit of sisters. Although I will allow that Miss Mary is admirably pious, none of them are educated in the ways of well-mannered ladies such as yourself. The eldest has been called a beauty, but her attachments—a generous statement, I must say—are brief and somewhat curious. First, a poet when she was but fifteen”—Elizabeth looked sharply at Charlotte, whose startled dismay was clear in her expression—“and more recently, a genial gentleman from London, whom I believe the Bennets counted on to deter other equally impressive prospects.” Mr Collins turned his nose to the air.
“But they did not marry, nor, to my knowledge, were they ever engaged as was hinted. However—”
“Mr Collins!”
For the second time in as many days, Elizabeth’s voice was joined by another’s. She looked at Mr Darcy. His fist was clenched, his face hardened in anger, and when he spoke, his voice was severe.
“Speculating on the private affairs—affairs of the heart, no less—of a young woman, one who is gently bred and dear to her sister and her friends, is beneath the dignity of any gentleman or clergyman.”
Mr Collins paled, plainly shocked at being upbraided, and launched into a debasing apology to Mr Darcy.
Elizabeth turned to the latter gentleman, wishing to acknowledge her appreciation for his having censured her cousin, but he had stood and stalked to the other end of the room, giving his back to Mr Collins and all others in the room.
Mr Darcy’s surprising defence of my sister was not meant solely for Jane, but for all young ladies, surely.
Could another person besides my cousin have provoked such a speech from him?
She glanced at Maria. Her wide, watery eyes darted between Mr Collins and Colonel Fitzwilliam, who was sipping his tea and staring amusedly at the sputtering clergyman.
The silence was broken when Charlotte began speaking to Miss de Bourgh, offering her a piece of shortbread and enquiring as to the health of her pet rabbits.
The young heiress gave a meandering account of soiled silk pillows in which Elizabeth could take no interest. Instead, her thoughts dwelt on the sharp sting of Charlotte’s betrayal of Jane’s youthful shame.
This is what marriage requires? To reveal whatever secrets are asked of you by your husband, no matter how it may wound the feelings of your family and friends? What has she told him of me?
Pity overtook anger when Charlotte looked away briefly from Miss de Bourgh and gazed at Elizabeth.
Charlotte’s expression was marked with chagrin.
How must it be for her, wed to such a man?
Although she did not wish to emulate her own parents’ marriage, Elizabeth could appreciate that her father disdained the gossip and the confidences Mrs Bennet exchanged with her sisters and friends.
Mr Collins likely read every letter Charlotte received, but worse, he clearly knew of more than one conversation she had shared with Charlotte before he had even come to Meryton.
When Elizabeth turned her attention towards the window, she discovered Mr Darcy was gazing at her. Desperate to occupy herself within the suffocating confines of the room, she reached for her tea.
The next quarter of an hour was made bearable only by Colonel Fitzwilliam’s cheerful manner. Mr Darcy remained quiet, the familiar hauteur in his expression, although once he had sat again in his chair, he leant towards her.
“Miss Bennet, I recall the pleasure you take in walking the countryside. Have you found Rosings’ landscapes to be of interest?”
All too mindful of the conversational opening Mr Darcy had inadvertently provided to Mr Collins, Elizabeth quickly replied. “The scenery is pretty. It is unlike that in Hertfordshire, but the change is not unwelcome.”
Mr Darcy seemed prepared to further his interrogation, but her cousin loudly interpolated. “It is a most welcome change for you, Cousin Elizabeth! The most glorious paths in all of England are to be found at Rosings. Lady Catherine—”
And with that, somewhat rudely but understandably so, Mr Darcy rose, bowed, and left the parsonage. The colonel smiled apologetically and followed with Miss de Bourgh.
The nerve of the man, spewing nonsense about Miss Bennet and interrupting my conversation with Elizabeth!
Darcy stalked back to Rosings, uncertain of his ability to sit politely with his cousins in a curricle that desperately needed its wheels oiled. If he had wished to know what had affected Elizabeth’s temperament, Mr Collins’s behaviour had made it clear.
Her low spirits struck him. He might envy Fitzwilliam’s easy manner in drawing her out, but he could not begrudge the effect.
After the events in Ramsgate, Georgiana’s smiles had returned only after his cousin had arrived, all light-hearted bluster and joviality.
Darcy’s own earnest companionship was comforting but little more to a sister desperately sad about upsetting him.
But he could not allow Fitzwilliam to be Elizabeth’s friend and comforter as well.
He would do it himself. Clearly, she wished to enjoy the countryside here, as she had done in Hertfordshire, and he could point out the natural beauties of Kent outside of the manicured lawns and gardens of Rosings.
He fought a smile. Far be it from him to take pleasure in her melancholy, but it was a heart-warming notion to know that he was needed. She must wish to escape Mr Collins’s company, and he would help her do it!
Drawing a deep breath, his disposition grew as warm and bright as the afternoon sun.
He would make up for the familial mortification that she had not left behind in Meryton but that plagued her still through her repellent cousin.
He could do more than accompany her on a stroll and provide conversation.
He could speak out, even declare himself.
Declare myself?
Darcy flushed, heated with embarrassment.
Since the previous autumn, he had struggled with an ungovernable onslaught of thoughts and dreams. In Meryton, he had become used to his heart leaping at the unexpected sight of her, or at the sound of her laughter, or the feel of her eyes on him.
In town, he had chastised himself for thinking he had seen or heard her.
He had fought in vain against her irresistible allure, for day by day, her power over him had grown.
He had foolishly dismissed it as infatuation but could no longer question his heart.
Although only twice in company since November, the feelings stirred then were mere shadows of what he now felt.
Such was her appeal, to create such a yearning to be near her. To have her as his wife.
Darcy paused on the path and looked up at the sky.
He felt the warmth of the sun, smelled the freshness of the spring breeze.
He had seen Elizabeth do this same—hold still and delight in the pleasures of nature.
Had she understood his desire to join her on her walks?
If only she had had opportunity to reply before her nodcock—
Do not think of idiots and obstacles. You know what must be done.
Hearing the sound of Anne’s carriage behind him, Darcy resumed walking at a speedier pace, eager to avoid his cousins’ notice and continue his contemplations.
He had made his decision. Acting upon it was daunting.
Certain though he was that she would welcome his addresses, Elizabeth Bennet was a wilful lady who delighted in teasing.
With a wry comment, she could make one doubt the sky was blue or the moon’s shape.
Even if overwhelmed by the compliment of his affection, she might somehow still make light of it.
He would have to prepare himself for nearly anything before he received a sincere reply from her.
Did it matter that her wit seemed muted, that she seemed even downcast, as would be anyone forced into company with her mutton-headed fool of a cousin?
No. Here in Kent, neither of us resides in a situation which much suits us.
I must ensure she knows I share her discomfort with our current company.
Now understanding their mutual commonality of thoughts, Darcy needed to contemplate his declaration.
The words must be considered and properly conveyed.
He had never felt this depth of attraction to a lady and never would again.
He could not blurt out the first thing that came to mind and botch his proposal!
He must charm her, engage with her.
His decision made, Darcy returned to Rosings and, after dropping his hat and gloves with Hawes, the ancient butler, strolled to the small parlour he used as a study.
The post, neatly piled on the writing desk, held letters from his solicitor and from Lady Matlock, who, if she had bothered putting pen to paper and sent a letter to him here, was undoubtedly urging him to do as Lady Catherine demanded and propose to Anne. He dropped it into the drawer.
I will choose my own bride, dear aunts.