Page 12 of Beyond Pride, Past Prejudice

Nevertheless, Elizabeth had to admit that she was wrong in both assumptions—Mr Darcy’s attention or need to meet her did not diminish, while her old friend Charlotte flickered again with that light she had possessed in Hertfordshire.

Both revelations unfolded on a morning when Elizabeth found herself alone while the two Lucas sisters called on parishioners in Hunsford.

She excused herself from joining them on the pretext of writing letters, when, in reality, she just wanted to be alone for an hour or two, a luxury rarely found at the Parsonage.

The unexpected sound of the doorbell startled her, the unmistakable herald of a visitor clouding that carefree morning.

Having heard no carriage approach, she supposed it could be Lady Catherine coming.

Under that apprehension, she hastily put aside her half-written letter to avoid any impertinent enquiries.

However, when the door opened, a wholly unexpected sight met her—Mr Darcy, and only Mr Darcy, entered the room.

He, too, appeared astonished upon finding her alone.

“Oh,” he said, visibly embarrassed, an expression Elizabeth had never seen on his demeanour. “I am sorry to intrude, but I could not imagine finding you unaccompanied.”

Elizabeth had that unexpected feeling the man in the room was not the Mr Darcy she knew.

“Mrs Collins and Miss Lucas have gone into Hunsford,” she murmured, offering an explanation he neither sought nor required. He took his seat nevertheless, undisturbed by the oddity of the moment—decorum demanded he acknowledge the lady with a proper greeting then leave, yet he remained.

Elizabeth was not the kind of young woman to shy away from conflict in any form.

Mr Bennet would have said she actively sought it, yet now she felt entirely blameless; it was Mr Darcy who had transgressed the dictates of propriety.

And so she secretly laughed, content in the thought that she was nothing more than a mere victim of circumstance.

After a rather long silence, she made the requisite enquiries concerning Rosings, but then it became absolutely necessary to find some topic of conversation.

In this predicament, she considered it a good opportunity to learn more about the Netherfield party’s departure from Hertfordshire four months prior.

The subject seemed well-suited to the morning’s conversation.

Elizabeth hoped to continue the letter she was writing to Jane, filling its pages with a few truthful accounts of what had transpired in the autumn.

“How very suddenly you all quit Netherfield last November, Mr Darcy. It must have been a most agreeable surprise to Mr Bingley to find you all following him so soon, for if I recollect correctly, he left but the day before. I trust that he and his sisters were well when you parted from them in London?”

“Perfectly so, I thank you,” Mr Darcy replied indifferently, as if he did not remember their departure clearly or it was unimportant.

Finding that she was to receive no further response, she paused briefly before adding, “I have been given to understand that Mr Bingley has little intention of ever returning to Netherfield.”

“I have never heard him express an intention of returning. He will probably spend little of his time there in the future. He has many friends and is at a period of life when friendships and engagements are continually increasing for someone living in London.”

Elizabeth felt anger rising within her. Mr Darcy appeared to have entirely dismissed their time in Hertfordshire, though for her family, it had been a period when their peace of mind had been utterly shattered. Struggling to master her composure, she spoke in a tone carefully devoid of emotion.

“If he intends to return only seldom to Netherfield, it would be far better for our neighbourhood were he to relinquish the property altogether. We might then, perhaps, secure a more permanent family in residence. However, it may be that Mr Bingley did not take the house so much for the benefit of the neighbourhood as for his own convenience, and we must therefore expect that he will retain or surrender it upon the same principle.”

“I should not be surprised,” Mr Darcy said, and his lack of eloquence convinced Elizabeth that he did not want to discuss the subject, not out of compunction or mere uneasiness but simply because he considered it uninteresting.

Elizabeth made no reply, still feeling furious, and resolved to leave the burden of sustaining their conversation to him.

He accepted the tacit invitation and remarked, “This appears to be a most comfortable house. I believe Lady Catherine made considerable improvements when Mr Collins first took residence.”

“Indeed, she did, and I am certain her generosity could not have been better bestowed,” Elizabeth answered honestly.

“Mr Collins appears to have been most fortunate in his choice of wife.”

“Yes, indeed. His friends may well rejoice that he has met one of the few sensible women who would have accepted him or could have made him happy. My friend possesses an excellent understanding, though I am not entirely convinced that her acceptance of Mr Collins was her wisest decision. Nevertheless, she appears perfectly content, and from a prudent perspective, it is certainly a most advantageous match for her.”

“It must be a great comfort to her to be settled within so easy a distance of her family and friends.”

“It is nearly fifty miles, a whole day of travelling. From my perspective, that is not an easy distance,” Elizabeth said, looking attentively at him.

He avoided her eyes, yet he answered in a leisurely tone, “On a well-maintained road, it is little more than half a day’s journey. I should certainly consider it an easy distance.”

“I would never have described Mrs Collins as residing near her family,” cried Elizabeth, and this time, her annoyance showed. Yet, again, he did not seem to see or care about it.

“That is but proof of your own attachment to Hertfordshire, Miss Bennet. Anything beyond the immediate neighbourhood of Longbourn, I suppose, would seem distant to you.”

As he spoke, there was a confident smile upon his countenance that Elizabeth believed she understood; he must be supposing that she was thinking of Jane and how close Netherfield was from their home.

A flush rose to her cheeks as she replied, “Mr Darcy, neither nearness nor distance from one’s family should be a reason for marriage.

There are far more significant criteria when choosing a spouse. I hope you agree.”

“And yet, for you, the nearness to Longbourn is essential. Fifty miles, it seems, is a distance you deem far too great,” he replied.

“I love my family, indeed, and living near them might be pleasant,” Elizabeth answered with a trace of exasperation; she did not understand his reason for persisting in such a trivial subject unless it was still a criticism addressed at Jane and that she barely supported.

Then, to her surprise, Mr Darcy moved his chair slightly nearer and said, “You cannot have a claim to such an extreme attachment to place. You cannot live all your life at Longbourn or in its immediate proximity.”

Elizabeth looked at him in some surprise. A sudden change seemed to pass over him; he drew back his chair, took up a newspaper from the table, and, glancing at it, asked in a colder tone, “Are you pleased with Kent?”

A brief conversation on the subject of the county followed and was soon interrupted by the entrance of Charlotte and her sister, newly returned from their walk.

The scene that met their eyes startled them; Mr Darcy explained the misapprehension that had led to his unexpected intrusion, and, after remaining a few minutes longer and presenting a relatively informal invitation to dinner that evening, he departed.

“What can be the meaning of this?” Charlotte exclaimed as soon as he had left. A playful smile could be seen on her face, which, until now, had reflected only the seriousness of a married woman. “My dear Eliza, he must be in love with you, or he would never have visited in so familiar a manner.”

“Charlotte!” she exclaimed reproachfully. “What a preposterous thing to say!”

But then the three ladies burst into merry laughter.

When Elizabeth recounted his visit, the idea seemed unlikely even to Charlotte’s wild imagination.

After much speculation, they could arrive at no other conclusion than that his visit had been prompted by sheer lack of occupation, a supposition rendered more probable by the season of the year.

All field sports were at an end. At Rosings, there was Lady Catherine and Miss de Bourgh, a selection of books, and a billiard table, yet gentlemen could not always remain indoors.

“The proximity of the Parsonage, or the pleasantness of the walk to it, or an hour of leisurely conversation with us could present sufficient inducement for the two cousins to visit us almost daily,” Charlotte said, searching for an explanation.

“Colonel Fitzwilliam visibly enjoys our presence, and we all take pleasure in our conversations,” Elizabeth said.

She had secretly discovered in his company a satisfaction that echoed, albeit faintly, her former partiality for George Wickham.

In weighing the two against one another, she found in Colonel Fitzwilliam less of that effortless charm Mr Wickham possessed that had once beguiled her.

Yet, she could not but accept that the colonel’s understanding was the superior of the two, his mind more cultivated and his judgment sounder.

“But for Mr Darcy’s frequent visits…their cause is far more obscure,” Elizabeth continued.

It could hardly be for conversation, as he frequently sat in silence for ten minutes at a time. When he did speak, his words appeared more the product of necessity than of inclination, an obligation to decorum rather than a source of personal enjoyment. He seldom exhibited genuine animation.

“And we return to my explanation,” Charlotte said with the same unexpected playfulness. “He is interested in you. Even smitten by you. How can we explain in another way his new-found dullness, which we did not know in Hertfordshire?”

Even Colonel Fitzwilliam’s occasional jests at his cousin’s taciturnity proved this was not his usual disposition.

“And he expressed his affection by boring me to death, indulging in trivial discussions about the meaning of a short journey,” puffed Elizabeth in her sarcastic way, which, for once, did not bother Charlotte, who seemed to genuinely wish to participate in the conversation the way she would have done in Hertfordshire a few months ago.

“Perhaps you intimidate him,” ventured Maria hesitantly, but both ladies smiled.

Encouraged by her friend’s openness, Elizabeth replied, “He is far too arrogant to be intimidated.”

Yet the flush that coloured Charlotte’s cheeks told Elizabeth she had overstepped the delicate boundary between Charlotte and Mrs Collins.

Still, she took comfort in what remained, for at the very least, they could still converse and even amuse themselves as they once had—albeit within certain limits.

“In any case, we shall see how matters unfold this evening at dinner,” continued Charlotte, looking more composed than she felt.

∞∞∞

Yet that evening, something unexpected occurred in what they already considered almost a routine, casting a shadow over the enjoyment Elizabeth had anticipated.

Just before she began to prepare for dinner, a message arrived from Rosings, announcing that dinner had been cancelled as Lady Catherine was not feeling well enough to receive guests.

Charlotte brought the news, settling on the small bench at the foot of the bed, waiting for Elizabeth’s response.

“Oh,” said Elizabeth, “I would not have thought to say this, but I am sorry we shall not be dining with Lady Catherine tonight.” She then laughed at her own words and took a seat beside Charlotte.

“Does this happen often?” she asked with far more curiosity that she wanted to show.

“Not frequently, but it has happened before,” Charlotte admitted, well accustomed by now to the whims of the formidable mistress of Rosings.

“It is of no consequence,” Elizabeth replied in the same light-hearted tone. “We shall have a quiet dinner amongst ourselves, and afterwards, we shall retire early, for the past few days have been rather exhausting.”

And as if perfectly following her plans, she received a letter from her aunt at that moment. The timing could not have been more fortunate, for nothing could be more satisfying than to read Mrs Gardiner’s words in the quiet solitude of her chamber immediately after dinner.