Page 6 of The Riches of a Life Well-Lived

Day 5: Tuesday, November 19, 1811

As Darcy lay in bed, staring at the bed curtains the next morning, his mind wandered back to his conversation with Miss Elizabeth. Before he could ask about her apparent disagreement, Mrs. Phillips had demanded they participate in card games. Miss Elizabeth had played lottery with her younger sister and two of the younger officers. He had, for a brief moment, considered joining her, but he simply could not stand the thought of participating in such a noisy, undignified game. Visions of himself awkwardly attempting to do so had floated through his mind and immediately decided him against the attempt, and so they had not had an opportunity to resume their conversation. Perhaps he would ask her again today.

He sighed. His love for Georgiana and his aunt and uncle constrained him to duty’s pathway. Even if he wished to avoid his social obligations and the requirements of his status, he would not dare to do so—particularly not when the people he loved would be the ones who would suffer.

A knock at his bedpost sounded, and with a sigh, Darcy opened the curtains and stepped out of bed.

“Good morning, sir,” Hawkin said, holding out Darcy’s dressing gown. “It is Tuesday, November 19th, and the weather looks likely to remain fine all day.”

Darcy merely took his dressing gown. There was no point in attempting to convince Hawkin that it was his fifth Tuesday, November 19th; were he not the one experiencing it, he certainly would not have believed such a claim. Unfortunately, said claim appeared to be the truth. No dream could be this agonizingly real, nor so detailed. He went to the table and poured himself coffee. Tempting though it was to remain in bed, he would rather spend the day out of doors than feign illness again. Nor did he wish to provide Wickham with the opportunity to once more bamboozle Bingley into believing his respectability. He suppressed another sigh. Perhaps, if they went straight to Meryton, rather than stopping at Longbourn, and attached themselves to the Bennets, Wickham would not dare approach. He did not know how many times he could see Wickham without consequence; landing a facer grew more appealing every time he laid eyes on the man.

“Not the brown coat today, please, Hawkin.”

“Sir?”

“After my morning ride, I will take breakfast in my room and then accompany Mr. Bingley into Meryton to see the Bennets. Perhaps the green coat today.”

“O-of course, sir. May I ask how you knew I intended to suggest the brown coat?”

“Call it an intuition.”

Hawkin studied him for a long moment but apparently decided to let the matter pass.

After another brisk morning ride—thank God that he had been trapped in a day dripping with sunshine; what would he have done if he had been forced to spend the day indoors with Miss Bingley?—Darcy breakfasted in his room and crept out to the stables in hopes of avoiding that lady entirely.

“I say, are you well, Darcy?” Bingley asked. “You do not usually take breakfast in your room.”

“I lost track of time during my ride; dressing for breakfast and then changing for a morning call seemed more than I could complete in the allotted time.”

“We did not have to leave so early,” Bingley protested.

Darcy merely smiled. “And leave Miss Bennet waiting?”

“I would have waited for you.”

“I know. Shall we go?” Darcy asked, mounting Sisyphus. Perhaps if he ended up repeating this day yet again, he could suggest they leave even earlier and thus avoid Meryton altogether. It might be a bit impolite to call at Longbourn so early, but surely Mrs. Bennet would forgive Bingley instantly, marking it down to his friend’s attraction to her daughter. He grimaced as Mrs. Bennet’s self-satisfied smile materialised in his mind’s eye. Perhaps not. “We should ride through Meryton on our way to Longbourn.”

Bingley glanced over at his friend. “But it is not on the way to Longbourn.”

“Not precisely, no, but it is only a little out of the way, and I wish to see more of the town. I was not paying close attention the last time we visited it.”

“But you do not like small market towns.”

“I do not care for them in general―” Memories of being nearly assaulted by all the people who had been wronged by Wickham every time he entered Lambton filled his mind. “But they are necessary, and you would do well to become acquainted with the local merchants.”

“I am certain we can ride through Meryton as soon as we have seen Miss—the Bennets.”

Darcy nearly ground his teeth. Bingley was so eager to see Miss Bennet and yet he was only making things more difficult for himself. “That is true. However, Miss Elizabeth mentioned that she and her sisters often walk into Meryton to see their aunt. It is entirely possible that we may see them in Meryton or on the path between Longbourn and Meryton.”

“All right, Darcy, if you really want to go to Meryton first, I suppose we can,” Bingley said, eyeing his friend.

“I do.”

Bingley’s good nature stood Darcy in good stead as his friend allowed him to turn their horses towards Meryton. As they entered Meryton, the old woman winked jauntily at him before turning to walk down the street. She must have confused him with someone else. The Bennets were not in evidence yet, so Darcy suggested they turn down the road to Longbourn. They had gone less than fifteen minutes down the lane before they met the Bennet sisters. With them was Mr. Collins. Darcy suppressed a grimace as they dismounted; he had forgotten that the gregarious man was staying with the Bennets.

“Mr. Bingley, Mr. Darcy, may I present our cousin, Mr. Collins?” Miss Bennet said.

Darcy nodded to the little man, hoping that giving him even less acknowledgement than the previous evening might serve to stem the tide of his chatter.

Mr. Collins looked as though he had been struck by lightning. “Not Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy, nephew to the great Lady Catherine de Bourgh?”

Darcy gave an even smaller nod.

“You must forgive me for not immediately making myself known to you, Mr. Darcy. Truly, it is a deep honour to meet one so intimately connected to such a gracious lady, to whom—I flatter myself—I am not entirely unconnected. Her ladyship has lately bestowed upon me the position of rector at Hunsford. I am certain that you will not be at all surprised to hear of her beneficence in choosing one so lowly as I. She is as wise as she is beautiful, and she takes prodigious care of everyone whom she encounters.”

“Indeed,” Darcy put in. He pointedly turned to Miss Bennet. “How are you, Miss Bennet? Have you entirely recovered?”

She smiled at him. “Yes, Mr. Darcy, thank you. I am quite well.”

“I am certain it is only because of the excellent care that she received,” Mr. Collins put in. “Though, of course, her ladyship would have advised you against riding in the rain in the first place, Cousin. Then you would not have caught a chill at all; colds are nothing to trifle with.”

Before Mr. Collins could utter another word, the younger Bennets declared that they wished to continue their walk.

“May we escort you?” Bingley asked.

“But you have just come from Meryton, have you not?” Miss Elizabeth pointed out.

“We would not wish to take up your valuable time,” Mr. Collins said in a rush. “I am certain that someone as exalted as the nephew of Lady Catherine de Bourgh must have many tasks requiring his personal attention, and I would not wish to hinder any of them.”

“It is no hindrance at all,” Bingley proclaimed. “We would be glad to escort you,” he told Miss Bennet.

She smiled politely up at him. “And we would be glad to have your escort.”

Bingley offered his arm, and they began walking towards Meryton. Darcy wondered if she truly wished for their escort or was merely tolerating Bingley’s attentions.

“I do apologise for my cousin’s forwardness, Mr. Darcy―” Mr. Collins began.

Darcy drew austerity around him like a cloak, hoping to intimidate the man into silence. “As my friend was the one who offered to escort your cousins—a request which I am fully content to enter into—I do not see how any apology is necessary.” He held out an arm to Miss Elizabeth. “May I, Miss Elizabeth?”

Miss Elizabeth studied him for a long moment and then took his arm.

“Thank you for allowing me to escort you,” Darcy said pointedly.

The corners of her mouth turned up. “You are very welcome.”

Politeness prodded Mr. Collins to offer his arm to his younger cousins, but they declined. Unfortunately, the path was wide enough to admit three and so Mr. Collins walked alongside Miss Elizabeth, continuing to declaim how wonderful Lady Catherine was and to turn every conversation towards Lady Catherine and her beneficence.

As they walked, the sound of their footsteps completely drowned out by Mr. Collins’s continued chatter, Miss Elizabeth grew more and more tense. Darcy could not tell whether that was due to annoyance at the man’s constant chatter or whether she was worried about something else. Finally, he could stand it no longer, and so he broke into Mr. Collins’s monologue.

“It is a lovely morning, is it not?” he asked Miss Elizabeth. “Did you watch the sun rise today?”

“Oh, yes!” Mr. Collins agreed. “I always enjoy the sunshine—particularly in the winter. I find that the benefits of a ray of sunshine are such that they lift the spirits, as well as allowing one to engage in outdoor activities that the gloom of winter often prohibits. I did not, however, watch the sun rise. Though as Lady Catherine says, a virtuous man (or woman) must also be one who is industrious and thus rises before dawn in order to begin the day well, I myself prefer to spend the time engaged in theological readings, rather than in observing the sun rise, or as some might put it, watching the day begin. After all, simply staring at the sun neither changes the sun’s behaviour nor inclines one towards industry. I would not wish to discipline my heart towards laziness by simply sitting and watching the sun rise.”

Darcy suppressed a sigh. “I would think, rather, that watching the sun rise is a way of drawing the morning’s quiet into one’s soul.”

“I agree,” Miss Elizabeth put in quickly. “There is something that rests the soul in being able to watch the sun rise. It heartens one for the day ahead.”

Mr. Collins hesitated. “I do not wish to gainsay you, my fair cousin, but if you require heartening for the day ahead, perhaps your time would be better spent in theological study.”

Miss Elizabeth’s lips twitched as though suppressing a grimace, and Darcy could not prevent his own lips from tightening. The man was a plague. Perhaps he could turn the conversation in such a way that Miss Elizabeth and he could continue their discussion from the previous evening.

“I see you are of the opinion that duty is the pathway to a life well-lived―”

Mr. Collins did not wait for Darcy to complete his sentence. “A view I am certain you share, Mr. Darcy. Lady Catherine has ever commented on how very attentive you are—and one may tell a great deal about a person’s commitment to what is right by how well they fulfil the duties towards those who are most important to them.”

“And yet you decry the importance of enjoying the bounties God has given us in order to fit us for said duty?” Miss Elizabeth asked.

Mr. Collins harrumphed. “If you are referring to the sunrise, I will once again gently remind you that a habit of laxity does not ‘fit one for duty.’ Instead, one often finds that unless one maintains diligence in pursuing one’s duties, such laziness will spread from one area of one’s life into the rest, overtaking every habit of diligence like weeds choking out ‘the good seed,’ and leaving one unfit for even the simplest of tasks. I do not wish to gainsay you, my fair cousin, but even the appearance of sloth must be avoided or you will find your duties entirely undone—though I am certain that you are industrious in all areas of your life.”

Darcy glanced down at Miss Elizabeth as she tensed. Her lips were pursed and her eyes sparkled dangerously.

“Is there nothing you enjoy simply for the sake of enjoyment?” she asked. “What of the bounties of nature or the enjoyment of a well-cooked meal or a piece of music exquisitely played? Did not God create these things to be appreciated?”

“We are not commanded to enjoy life―”

“And yet God created beauty and joy and love and sunrises and sunsets and delicious food and any number of other satisfying things,” Miss Elizabeth interjected.

Darcy stared at her. “You believe there is virtue in enjoying those things?”

“I believe that life would be colourless without those small joys that fill one’s day. I do not mean to say that one ought to pursue them to the exclusion of duty—a month of feasting would cause you to lose your enjoyment of food and hamper you in other ways. Thus, I do not believe that the pursuit of pleasure is the pathway to a well-lived life any more than the pursuit of asceticism.”

“I flatter myself that it is simply my superior theological education which has led to my more accurate view of the world,” Mr. Collins began.

Darcy stopped listening to him after a moment, still trying to grasp Miss Elizabeth’s view. She appeared to have answered his unasked question from the night before. To her, a rich life included the enjoyment of pleasure as it came. Duty had been his guiding star since the day his father had died. There had been room for precious little else amidst the constant struggle to run the Darcy estates and to care for his orphan sister. He owed a duty to his family name and to those he loved—Georgiana, his Aunt and Uncle Matlock, Fitzwilliam. If he performed his duties poorly, the results would harm their standing in the ton, not to mention that he had an entire estate’s worth of servants and employees who depended on him to make wise decisions and to implement them diligently.

The weight of it all nearly stole his breath at times. In the beginning, it was near paralysing, but he had learned to shoulder it.

However, what harm or benefit was there to be had in following one’s duty over and over again, day after repeating day? None knew or cared if he was polite to such idiots as Mr. Collins. None would know or care if he completed his estate business or toured Netherfield with Bingley. None would know or care if he avoided Miss Bingley for the entirety of the day.

Darcy stopped in his tracks, pulling Miss Elizabeth to a halt beside him. Did he even have any duties today? If everything was entirely reset at the end of the day, what responsibilities did he have, save for that of attempting to return to his normal life?

“Mr. Darcy?” Miss Elizabeth asked, looking up at him, her brow furrowed with confusion.

Darcy looked down at her. He had already begun to shirk his duty by allowing himself to spend time with her. But if nothing mattered, why not bask in her presence?

“Are you well, Mr. Darcy?”

Mr. Collins had also come to a halt and turned towards them. “Surely you cannot object that God’s call is higher than that of eating sumptuous meals and―”

Darcy held up a hand. If nothing mattered, why not shut this toady up? “Mr. Collins, I believe your constant prattling has given me a headache. Perhaps you could merely remain silent for the duration of our journey to Meryton.”

Mr. Collins and Miss Elizabeth blinked at him. Darcy’s stomach lurched, but he forced himself to begin walking. The moment the words had left his lips, he had wished he could take them back—though he desired Mr. Collins’s silence, such blunt rudeness left his stomach churning.

The rest of their walk to Meryton was conducted in absolute silence. He had merely wished for space to think and to converse with Miss Elizabeth, but he did not know how to bridge the awkwardness that had resulted from snapping at Mr. Collins. Miss Elizabeth frequently glanced at him and Mr. Collins regularly opened and shut his mouth, but no words were exchanged.