Page 3 of Unwillingly Mrs. Darcy

Darcy

25th April 1812

D arcy walked through the grove at Rosings Park, his thumb and index finger rubbing together to release some of the pent-up strain that coursed through him. A fortnight had passed since Elizabeth Bennet had issued her stern rebuke, and since she had received the dreadful news about her father. There had been no news from Meryton, and Darcy knew that, really, he should not concern himself with what happened at the Bennet family home. She had rejected him. Indeed, she had made it quite clear that she thought nothing of him.

And yet, he couldn’t help but worry. He knew William Collins well enough to understand that the moment he had a chance, he would take charge of the estate. And what would become of the Bennet women?

He might allow them to stay under his thumb, he might ask them to leave. If he did, where would they go? He shook his head. This was not his concern, he reminded himself once more.

Such things happened to families across the country every day. If a family had no son, these circumstances could happen. Indeed, he had to fault Mr Bennet for this. For while, once upon a time, entailments were almost impossible to break, they weren’t now. An involved negotiation, an exchange of money, sometimes a hefty sum, might be required but it could be done. And with five daughters, he had to have considered it. It was only responsible. Had he not been able to afford the cost?

Perhaps, when his wife was younger, he had still held out hope for a son. But with Jane Bennet now two-and-twenty and the youngest daughter almost the same age as Georgiana, he had to know that a son would not be forthcoming.

His gaze fell upon Hunsford Parsonage, which rose out from the surrounding trees. Before he could make up his mind, his feet were already taking him in that direction.

He made his way over to the unassuming building and knocked on the front door. To his surprise, the mistress of the house herself answered.

“Mr Darcy,” Charlotte said, her blue eyes widening with surprise. “What brings you here? My husband has not yet…”

Darcy clenched and unclenched his hands, feeling a little foolish for having come here. What did he want? He cleared his throat.

“Right. Of course he hasn’t. Has there been news? From your husband, that is, regarding the circumstances at the Longbourn estate?”

Even to his own ears, he sounded stiff and awkward. However, if Mrs Collins noticed, she did not say anything and instead beckoned him to come inside.

“Would you like a cup of tea? I can have one made.”

“I would not wish to impose.”

“You are not. In fact, I was going to have one, and I can have the cook make one just as easily for two. Would you like tea?” She dipped her head to one side, and when he nodded briefly, went into the hallway and in a gentle tone spoke to her servant.

She soon returned and, beckoning him to sit by the window, she sat in the exact same seat where Elizabeth had sat when he made his proposal to her. And he noted he was in the same chair where he had received her rejection. He shuddered at the memory but then banished it from his mind. That was the past now.

“You asked about the Bennets? I received a letter from my husband yesterday. The report is not good. It appears that Mr Bennet has suffered not only an accident, but an accident caused by – well – apoplexy.”

“Goodness gracious,” Darcy said, taking his hat off and realising that he had neglected to do so earlier. “I did not realise.”

“How could you?” she said. “No one could have imagined. Mr Bennet was so healthy. Of course, he always had strain with the lack of an heir and such but his physical health has always been well. But anyhow, it is quite dreadful. They have taken care of him as best they can, and a surgeon is looking after him, but as far as I know, it took several days for him to be fully conscious, and even now he cannot speak properly or move his right side at all. He cannot sit without assistance.” She looked out of the window. “It is quite dreadful.”

“Goodness, so is his life still in danger?” Darcy asked.

“It appears not to be, at least not immediately. But if he will ever be who he was before, I cannot say. My mother wrote to me as well. She and Mrs Bennet are—I will not say friends, for they are not, but they are well acquainted—and she has voiced her concern.” Charlotte glanced down at her hands. “Mrs Bennet, apparently, is rather concerned about my husband’s presence.” Her voice was quiet, barely a whisper.

Darcy looked at her. It was unseemly to speak negatively of one’s spouse, of course, so he understood that she could not say more. She didn’t need to. Darcy had already imagined that Mr Collins might have his eye on the estate, and he doubted that the man was very skilled when it came to estate management. One had to be raised in that environment to be able to know the ins and outs of such estates.

“It is such a shame that poor Jane was left disappointed when Mr Bingley left town,” Charlotte said, and Darcy looked up.

“Why do you say this?”

“Well, Mr Bingley may not own an estate, but he is a businessman. He would have connections to help the family. He would be able to perhaps even help the family break the entailment. It is not that I do not wish to be lady of a larger home, but I have always known Longbourn as the Bennet estate. The idea of me being mistress of Longbourn one day—it does not sit well with me, even if Mrs Bennet thinks otherwise.”

Darcy took a deep breath. “I understand. It is indeed a shame that the family does not have a male benefactor.”

“Not just that. Jane and I, we get along very well, and she has written to me many times since I moved here. And I still recall how joyful she was when she wrote to me about Mr Bingley. She would tell me how lovely a dancer he was, and how charming, and how he made her heart glow.” She smiled briefly, but then the smile faded. “But it seems she was mistaken in her feelings for him. For if he had cared for her, I doubt he would have left in such a manner.” She looked up at him. “I know I ought not to speak of him in such terms. You are his friend, after all, and surely have more insight into his character.”

“I assure you, my friend’s character is sound,” Darcy said, although he wasn’t sure if he could say the same about his. The last two weeks he had been plagued with doubts about his own actions. His friend had truly cared about Jane. He had to admit, after hearing Elizabeth’s fierce defence of her sister, he had to believe Jane felt the same. And now Charlotte Collins. Had he made a grave mistake?

A maid entered then with a tray of tea and served it quickly. Darcy looked at his tea, drinking it down far too quickly. He didn’t want tea, really. He wanted to go back to his chamber, but there was much to think about. His feelings on the topic were more than conflicted. He felt guilty for his actions regarding Jane, and still ashamed at the accusations Elizabeth Bennet had levelled against him in regard to Bingley—though he also felt anger at her similar accusations involving Wickham, where he had acted blamelessly. It still bothered him that Elizabeth Bennet would think so ill of him, to believe the word of a scoundrel over him.

He finished his tea and politely bade his hostess farewell, requesting that she let him know if she received any more news from Longbourn.

He had to come to terms with what he had done, but the more he considered it, the more he wondered if Elizabeth Bennet had been correct all along.

He had ruined her sister’s happiness guided by nothing but his observation. And if he had been wrong about that, if he had let impressions guide his actions, could he fault her for having done the same to him?