Page 37 of Look on the Heart (Darcy and Elizabeth Variations #10)

Elizabeth laughed. “I am certain my father would commiserate with you, Maria, though his situation is quite the opposite. I dare say he feels the same, surrounded by the plethora of women within Longbourn’s household.” Sir William joined their laughter, and Elizabeth felt her heart grow lighter.

Around the midpoint of their journey, they paused to stretch their legs.

Elizabeth strolled about the yard before a handsome inn, where the carriage now waited.

They had stopped in Bromley, at The Bell Inn, a fashionable establishment that catered to wealthier patrons.

Another inn stood several miles distant, but Sir William, being a knight, preferred to stop where the company would reflect his station.

As she strolled, Elizabeth observed other travelers milling about. Ladies in fashionable attire walked on the arms of gentlemen of equal consequence. A few children trailed behind, with maids and governesses following to attend them.

“Come now, Miss Elizabeth. It is time to depart.” Sir William appeared at her side.

“Only a few hours remain, I believe.” He offered his arm, and together they returned to the carriage.

Maria already waited within, one of the baskets resting on the seat beside her, the cloth pulled back to reveal the delights within.

“Will you have some bread and cheese, Lizzy?” she asked, holding out a napkin with a generous portion of each.

Elizabeth accepted it gratefully and ate in thoughtful silence as their journey resumed.

In time, Sir William dozed, and Maria followed soon after, leaving Elizabeth alone with her thoughts.

Inevitably, they turned to Mr. Darcy, and the ache she had tried so diligently to suppress stirred once more.

I believed myself healed, she reflected dismally. But I was mistaken. A heart that is broken does not so easily mend.

A pang of guilt accompanied the memory of her flight from the park. Mr. Darcy had called her name—and she had fled.

My courage always rises whenever I face trials or intimidation, she mused. And yet, at the first sign of distress, I fled. My word, what a fickle creature I have become !

Had she not longed for the chance to speak with him, to hear his explanation? And when that opportunity was presented, she had turned away. When did I become so contrary?

There was nothing for it now. The moment had passed, and she was already well on her way to Kent.

Mr. Darcy might seek her at Gracechurch Street—or he might not.

Should he go, the Gardiners would surely guard her whereabouts from those unworthy of such knowledge.

It was poor consolation. A traitorous, fanciful part of her longed for him to pursue her—for some proof, however irrational, that he still loved her.

Even if he did speak with you, ’tis unlikely he would renew his unofficial addresses.

She huffed, crossed her arms over her middle, and turned once more to the window. He made me no promises. There were only implications—allusions. Still, she had hoped he might offer for her, and when he had left without a word, it had devastated her.

Elizabeth had no desire for thoughts of Mr. Darcy to overshadow her lovely holiday in Kent.

She gathered every memory of the gentleman—and all the feelings attached to their acquaintance—and wrapped them, in her mind, with proverbial paper, locking them away in some imaginary trunk.

Her visit with Charlotte would not be marred by the longings of her heart.

Instead, she would celebrate her friend’s felicity and enjoy the comfort of the Collinses’ hospitality.

Perhaps if fortune smiled, she would even meet the great Lady Catherine de Bourgh herself.

By the time the carriage slowed before a handsome, gray-stone house on a quiet lane, the hour was such that their hosts had already laid out tea.

A low stone wall enclosed the parsonage, its base bright with spring blossoms. Trees shaded part of the dwelling, and Elizabeth suspected a kitchen garden lay behind it, well out of sight.

Awaiting them were Mr. and Mrs. Collins , Elizabeth thought wryly.

Charlotte wore a white mobcap and apron, and her arm looped through her husband’s.

Mr. Collins stood tall and proud, his usually greasy hair clean and freshly combed, his typically rumpled attire pristine.

When he grinned, it was without sanctimony or condescension—merely genuine.

Sir William descended first and then offered his hand to assist Elizabeth and Maria. Together, they approached their hosts.

“My dear Sir William! Cousin Elizabeth! And Miss Maria!

Welcome to our humble abode. Come! We have tea waiting, and I—that is, we— wish to show you the parsonage.

“He seemed inclined to say more, but Charlotte placed a gentle hand on his arm.

He fell silent, casting his wife a look of grateful admiration.

She stepped forward and greeted her friend and family with warm embraces.

They entered a pleasant drawing room at the front of the house.

“Mr. Collins’s study lies across the hall,” Charlotte explained.

“This room is reserved for callers. I have a private parlor at the back of the house for my own use. ’Tis very comfortable—but I shall show you later.

We have a lovely tea prepared: biscuits, tarts, and an herbal blend called Kentish mint—all locally grown. ”

“It sounds delightful,” Elizabeth said, taking a seat beside Maria as Charlotte began to pour and serve the tea. Mr. Collins soon launched into conversation with his father-in-law, leaving the ladies to their own.

“I trust your journey was an easy one,” Charlotte said, passing Elizabeth her tea. She next served Maria, who accepted with a grateful smile.

Elizabeth nodded. “Indeed, it was. What lovely country! I believe I could live in Kent forever.” She smiled happily and took a sip. “This blend is excellent! What sort of mint is grown here that would give it such a robust flavor?”

“I have yet to learn the secret. The garden behind the parsonage boasts three varieties.” Charlotte sipped her tea and gave a small hum of satisfaction. “We have other herbs as well, some of them imported. I wished to welcome you with a taste of Kentish fare.”

“I heartily approve. Never have I had a mint tea so fine! Thank you, my dear friend.”

After their repast, Mr. Collins conducted them on a tour of the house, proudly pointing out various improvements. When they reached the bedchambers, he paused before one of the closets.

“Lady Catherine had shelves installed here,” he declared.

“They have since been removed. I once managed well enough with folded garments—after all, a gentleman’s attire differs greatly from a lady’s.

But now that I am married, my dear Charlotte has wisely observed the necessity of having a place to hang her gowns.

I dare say, my shirts are far less wrinkled when not folded and kept on a shelf. ”

Elizabeth exchanged a look with Charlotte, her eyes dancing with amusement. Inwardly, she wondered what other changes her friend had quietly introduced into her husband’s habits.

This may prove a most diverting visit indeed.