Elizabeth required all of her nerve to stop from laughing, and when she glanced at Darcy, she could see him doing the same. Naturally, to someone who had not been scrutinising him for a fortnight or longer, he would look as stoic and bad-tempered as always, but she thought she saw through to the man beneath and knew he was barely keeping his countenance.
To be honest, she admired him for the Herculean effort and wondered what the evening might have been like if she were still angry. For certain, he had never apologised for the assembly, but her mother said worse nearly every day and she never apologised either. Why should Mr Darcy be held to a higher standard?
When coffee was over, Colonel Fitzwilliam reminded Elizabeth of having promised to play to him; and she sat down directly to the instrument. He drew a chair near her. Lady Catherine listened to half a song, and then talked, as before, to her other nephew; till the latter walked away from her, and making with his usual deliberation towards the pianoforte stationed himself so as to command a full view of the fair performer’s countenance. Elizabeth saw what he was doing, and at the first convenient pause, turned to him with an arch smile, and said:
"You mean to frighten me, Mr Darcy, by coming in all this state to hear me? I will not be alarmed though your sister does play so well. There is a stubbornness about me that never can bear to be frightened at the will of others. My courage always rises at every attempt to intimidate me."
"I shall not say you are mistaken," he replied, "because you could not really believe me to entertain any design of alarming you; and I have had the pleasure of your acquaintance long enough to know that you find great enjoyment in occasionally professing opinions which in fact are not your own."
Elizabeth laughed heartily at this picture of herself. Without the one-sided reconciliation they had enjoyed at Rosings, she might have attempted to tease him enough to know how much he had annoyed her in Hertfordshire, but in this case, she simply laughed at the ridiculousness of their discourse.
While the colonel was amiable, Mr Darcy was amusing in a subtle way when he wanted to be. She found it quiteagreeable and was left to wonder if she knew the man at all. She had quite forgiven whatever churlishness he had shown in Meryton, belatedly recognising that, for the most part, he was no worse than her father—or better. All she really still had to hold against him were Mr Wickham’s words, and did she really want to condemn a man over the words of the lowliest officer in the entire militia while much closer to thirty than twenty? Who was to say the lieutenant was not lying through his teeth? Lady Catherine was not above proclaiming an engagement that was clearly less likely than a lightning strike, so why did she implicitly trust a man she had known but a day before he started prattling worse than Mrs Bennet? For that matter, did the man not say he would never speak publicly out of respect for the father, and yet the story was on everyone’s lips once Mr Darcy was not there to defend himself?
That thought gave her pause and it was fortunate the evening was ending. They returned to the parsonage in one of Lady Catherine’smanycarriages, and she spent the next hour reflecting upon it.
The Rosings Ramble
More than once did Elizabeth, in her ramble within the park, unexpectedly meet Mr Darcy.
In truth, it was not the least bit unexpected. She told him where she preferred to walk, and he appeared three days out of four. Either he was seeking her company deliberately or he was even more obtuse than Mr Collins. She still had no idea if he and the colonel genuinely liked her in some fashion, or if she was merely the best of a bad lot regarding company. Surpassing Lady Catherine in amiability would not win her any accolades, but it was something.
He was his usual tongue-tied self when they met, but after they walked a bit, and she encouraged him a little, he usually managed to do well enough. She enjoyed speaking with him very much once he warmed up. He was one of the few men who seemed to respect her intellect, took her opinions seriously, never talked to her like a simpleton, and never looked like he was tempted to pat her on the head like a puppy. He obviously had a better education, but she thought she could hold her own well enough.
It struck her in the course of their third rencontre that he was asking some odd unconnected questions–about her pleasure in being at Hunsford, her love of solitary walks, and her opinion of Mr and Mrs Collins’s happiness; and that in speaking of Rosings and her not perfectly understanding the house, he seemed to expect that whenever she came into Kent again she would be staying there too. She thought it entirely unlikely but did not much feel like arguing the point. If he were implying the colonel had a tendre for her, it would be weeks or months before she saw any evidence of it. So far, the colonel mostly reminded her of an eager spaniel taking advantage of his agreeableness.
Since he was asking such odd questions, she replied with a few of her own, mostly hinting of anything of note that may have occurred in London. Several oblique hints did not suffice, so she finally asked him directly how his winter in London had passed.
It seemed that either nothing of particular note had occurred, or he was not willing to be explicit. They returned to the parsonage, both dissatisfied with the encounter.
The next day she was walking in the usual place, but instead of Mr Darcy, she saw on looking up that Colonel Fitzwilliam was meeting her.
"I did not know before that you ever walked this way."
"I have been making the tour of the park, as I generally do every year, and intend to close it with a call at the Parsonage. Are you going much farther?"
"No, I should have turned in a moment."
They did turn and wander slowly back to the parsonage. Through some clever questions, she eventually learned that he had no intentions whatsoever—unless she had fifty thousand pounds hidden away—and Miss Darcy had probably done something imprudent the previous summer, whichmightexplain her brother’s churlishness at the assembly.
Before they parted, she casually asked about Mr Wickham, and learned the not-shocking intelligence that he was a scoundrel of the worst order.
When the colonel learned the man was in the militia, he grinned like a stalking panther, took out a small pocketbook, and wrote down the town, the corps, and the colonel’s name. She had no idea what he was going to do, but suspected Mr Wickham would have cause to regret it.
The Bargain
They were expected at Rosings for dinner, but Elizabeth did not feel equal to the task without laughing at the sheer absurdity of Lady Catherine and Mr Collins in the same room. Mr Darcy was to leave on Saturday, and all her efforts to learn what had passed in London had produced exactly nothing. She supposed they might meet on one more walk, and the gentlemen would obviously take their leave properly, so she would have one last opportunity to speak with him—but attempting to manage it at dinner was beyond her.
She was just sitting down to write to Jane about her success as a spy—or lack thereof—when the bell rang, and much to her surprise, Mr Darcy entered. She was certainly not distressed by his visit, although meeting him alone in the parlour was tempting fate so their meeting should be brief.
He asked about her headache, and she replied that it was improved—a necessary falsehood, as it had never existed.
He walked to the fire in some agitation, ran his hand through his hair—which she had to sheepishly admit made him more handsome—and finally blurted out the most astonishing declaration.
"In vain I have struggled. It will not do.I want to know! I need to know! Imustknow!”
Feeling trapped, she thought for a moment, but when he did not elaborate, she replied curiously.
“Must know…what… exactly? Aside from the particular rule of politeness that says a very tall gentleman should not tower over a seated lady,” said she with a tiny smile to remove the sting.
