Page 2 of Sketching Mr. Darcy

E lizabeth listened to her cousin Mr Collins confess, with equal ardour and self-confidence, his reason for coming into Hertfordshire with the design of selecting a wife. His words left no doubt about the identity of the woman who was fortunate enough to be selected by him.

Mr Collins’s proclamation, offered with such solemn composure, made Elizabeth so near laughing that she could not use the short pause he allowed for an attempt to stop him further, so he continued to list his reasons for marrying—insisting upon the fact that Lady Catherine herself advised him to do so—and also the motives that drove him to choose as a wife one of Mr Bennet’s daughters.

He declared he was perfectly indifferent to her lack of fortune, and then he started to speak about the violence of his affection.

At that moment, Elizabeth understood it was absolutely necessary to interrupt him.

However, a quarter of an hour later, after a long, contradictory discussion during which she struggled to make him understand that she had no intention of accepting his marriage proposal, Mr Collins seemed still unmoved in his decision to secure a positive response.

To such perseverance in wilful self-deception, Elizabeth ceased to make any other.

She opened the door and, with quick steps, moved to the staircase then entered the breakfast room.

A moment later she heard her mother’s shocked voice and Mr Collins’s affected response.

She easily understood that they were coming to talk to her again, so she seized her bonnet, coat, and gloves and left the house.

She could not endure a confrontation with both Mr Collins and her mother without becoming truly uncivil. .

She angrily paced along the yard and through the gate until an obstacle forced her to stop. She laughed and petted the dog, who was rubbing against her feet.

“Lucky, you should stay home. It is very cold, and you are not quite so young anymore, boy.”

But the dog—a splendid English Setter, spotted black and white—seemed determined to contradict her words and impetuously ran through the gate then waited for her to follow him.

She laughed and ran after the dog, suddenly light hearted.

For more than ten years, Lucky’s effect on her mood had been immediate and beneficial.

Pacing in a hurry, she admitted to herself that neither Mr Collins’s proposal nor the manner of his address had been a surprise to her.

For more than a week, she had noticed not only his special attentions to her but also her mother’s encouragement.

Could she have done aught to deter Mr Collins’s decision and make him see reality before the awkward moment occurred?

Had a woman any means to avoid such unpleasant moments in her life?

Likely not. Mr Collins appeared to be a master of seeing and understanding only what he wished.

Consequently, it happened at the ball that, when he unceremoniously introduced himself to Mr Darcy, Elizabeth vividly remembered that gentleman’s stern countenance, unpleasant surprise, and complete disapproval and disdain at being approached by the parson.

Yet, Mr Collins had declared himself to be content with Mr Darcy’s reception.

In truth, the entire ball had been a continuous source of mortification.

Mr Wickham’s absence, the first set with Mr Collins, Mary’s unworthy performance at the pianoforte, her mother’s incautious statements about Jane and Mr Bingley, Lydia and Kitty’s improper flirtations with the officers, her father’s careless tolerance of every faulty behaviour, and on top of everything, Mrs Hurst and Miss Bingley’s disdainful glances and Mr Darcy’s contemptuous looks.

Not to mention his unexpected request for a set—it had been an equal surprise for her as well as for those in attendance. What could he mean by dancing with her? Merely to make her uncomfortable? That was not unlikely, coming from him.

Elizabeth walked until Longbourn was left far behind. She stopped to catch her breath, and suddenly she shivered with cold. It was the twenty-seventh of November, and winter already seemed to demand its due.

Lucky had slowed his pace too. The ground was muddy and slippery on the narrow footpath that took her through the grove up towards Oakham Mount.

She found a wooden stump and rested on it a moment with Lucky rubbing against her feet.

She petted the dog and allowed the fresh air to calm her before returning home. It would be a long, tedious day.

She eventually gathered herself together enough to return at a steady pace.

Through the trees, she spotted the pond where she spent time fishing with her father and uncle and playing with her dog when she was a child.

Lucky recognised the surroundings and ran towards the pond, and Elizabeth impulsively followed him.

When she was near the edge of the pond, her shoe slipped and she slid down the steep bank into the dirty, cold water.

She cried from the shock of the frigid water that covered her instantly, and she scrambled to stand.

The water was only a little above her waist, but she felt her feet sinking into the mud.

She tried to walk towards the bank and climb out, but the ground was soft, and it was difficult to move her feet.

She stood still for a moment, shivering and laughing nervously at the absurdity of the situation: there she was—stuck in the mud.

A fair punishment for rejecting Mr Collins, her mother would have said.

She looked around to find a spot where the pond’s edge might be easier to climb, and with great effort, she finally clambered out. She needed a few moments to regain her breath, then attempted to rise—which seemed more difficult than ever, as her shoes were muddy.

Elizabeth walked reluctantly towards the main path, the dog following her closely. Cold, shivering, and barely feeling her feet, her hands, or her face, she continued to walk as quickly as her frozen feet allowed.

Suddenly, Lucky scampered off in a great hurry, barking loudly and oblivious to her calling him back.

She recognised the sound of a rider approaching and her heart skipped a beat.

Her first thought was to hide and avoid being seen in such a dreadful state.

Immediately, she thought better of it: she clearly needed help to reach her home.

***

After five years of friendship, Darcy still could not understand how Bingley was never ready on time despite having so many servants around. They had planned to leave for London early that morning. Yet at noon, Bingley was not at all prepared for the journey.

With all his belongings waiting in the main hall, Darcy decided to take a final ride around the neighbourhood.

He was certain that he would never see those grounds again nor those who lived there.

It was time for them to return to their lives—which had little to do with Netherfield, Meryton, or Longbourn.

Charles was determined to return in a week’s time, but Darcy was confident that his friend would finally see how unreasonable were any plans regarding Netherfield—or the Bennet family.

If Darcy had any remaining doubts about the validity of his judgment, all disappeared before the preposterous lack of decorum displayed during the ball by almost every member of the Longbourn family—except Jane Bennet. And her.

If he were to be honest and fair, her behaviour was not beyond reproach either.

The conversation during their dance was just at the edge of rudeness, and he did not miss her allusions regarding Wickham.

She seemed—for some reason—upset with him, and if he were forced to stay in that county longer, he knew he would be tempted to discover the reason.

Fortunately, fate was good to him, and he would be gone soon with no chance of meeting Elizabeth Bennet again.

He spurred the horse, growing angry at his own weakness. How was it possible that he was counting on fate to decide for him? How could he dismiss the unreasonable attraction he felt for a young country girl with nothing to recommend her but a pair of fine eyes, a witty mind, and a sharp tongue?

He had known—in a most private way—many women who could easily surpass Elizabeth Bennet in many respects.

Yet, not for a single moment had he ever had difficulty keeping his senses and his reason under good regulation.

He never needed to make any effort to master his self-control—as he had never lost it before.

What on earth is happening to me? How is it possible to be so ridiculous as to dream about her, to fantasise about her, to seek her company, to stare at her while she speaks or dances with others, to chat and flirt with her in such an adolescent manner…

? That was precisely the kind of behaviour for which he used to scold Bingley so many times, and no one—himself included—would imagine that he, Fitzwilliam Darcy, could act in such a way.

Yet he did so each time he was in her company—either during the day when fate ensured their meeting or at night in the darkness of his room when her image, her laughter, her teasing voice, her sharp glances, and her sparkling eyes troubled his sleep and tormented his mind and his body.

He had not been himself since almost the first day he arrived in Hertfordshire and could only be content and relieved that everything would end soon.

He was abruptly wakened from his reverie by the loud barking of a dog, and his horse reared, almost throwing him from the saddle. He cursed and yelled at the dog, but the animal continued to bark, dashing back and forth.

Darcy dismounted and tried to touch the dog, but he growled then ran and returned again. Darcy followed him. Only then did he hear a woman’s voice. Not far away, he noticed a silhouette that was walking hesitantly, as though injured.