My husband insisted on accompanying the cart all the way to Rosings, pointing out each agreeable feature as we walked by.
I decidedI would have to tell my husband at least some of what had transpired as we walked back to our home. My nose felt almost frozen with the cold. I was only going to tell him what was necessary. I was going to makesurehe didn’t overreact and fly into a panic. I was not going to ask for help, because I did not need help.
I tried to relate the incidents casually, stripping Lady Catherine’s melodrama from them, suggesting that perhaps the acrostic necklace had been mislaid and Wilberforce and Julia merely the innocent victims of a silly prank.
Mr. Collins, however, was aghast at such disrespect to Rosings.
“Does her ladyship have any need of me?” he asked eagerly. “Has she suggested any solutions to this vexing problem? She has such a sharp, ready wit, but of course I would be happy to take this burden from her.”
I bit my hasty retort back. Not for the first time, I wished my husband was alittleless confident in Lady Catherine’s advice, a little less ready to consult her on everything.
“I think the best thing to do is downplay it,” I said firmly. “The disappearance of the pigs, for example, may be nothing more than a silly prank.”
A look of horror crossed his big ruddy face.
“Not to such noble, dignified creatures as Wilberforce and Julia!” he protested. “I can’t imagine anyone sinking to such depths of depravity.”
He tucked my hand under his big, warm arm, and patted it enthusiastically. “Youunderstand, my dear. I know you are too tender-hearted not to understand the plight of those poor pigs, out in the cold somewhere.”
I didn’t know how tender-hearted I was, especially when I privately thought it would be several days before the well-nourished Wilberforce and Julia would even notice the cold, but I was pleased at what he said. However, my husband seemed to be embarrassed at even those words of praise, and he harrumphed and changed the subject.
I felt a little stab of distress. Did he so little regard me that even those words of praise were too much for him?
We arrived back home and I hurried to warm my frozen hands and feet, thinking about how William had seemed embarrassed. Why on earth would he be embarrassed to give me a silly little compliment? Was it because he hadn’t meant it? Was it because it was the best thing he could find to say about me? The thought depressed me, so I bustled about the house preparing for the holidays and tried to put it out of my mind.
The next guests to arrive were the Darcys, and they stopped by our home before heading to Rosings. I watched from the window as Mr. Darcy helped his new bride of less than a year out of their well-made, luxurious carriage. It would be only the best for Mrs. Darcy. Her husband, usually a quiet, severe man, adored her.
I greeted them both with pleasure as they came in. Mr. Darcy was tall and dark-haired, with a well-made, athletic body and powerful thighs. He brought in his wife, Mrs. Elizabeth Darcy, on his arm, his tall body leaning down affectionately to catch what she said to him as the winter wind whirled around them with chill strength.
“Our humble abode,” said my husband, bending into another deep bow, “is honored by a visit from Mr. and Mrs. Darcy.”
We all sat down together, slightly awkwardly, in the sitting room.
“Your garden is looking lovely,” said Lizzy.
I knew my friend. She was smiling at me, but I could read the expression on her face. She pitied me. Lizzy had been disgusted when I married William Collins, and she had pitied me ever since.
“Thank you,” I said, as my husband, inaccurately interpreting her response as a genuine zeal for horticulture, leaped into the brief pause to discourse enthusiastically on all of the winter preparations he had done for starting our garden again in the spring.
I had never been a particularly warm or effusive person, so I struggled to make Lizzy understand why I had married him.
I just hadn’t felt like I had a lot of options. A year ago I had been 27, with a plain face and a poor portion. I had unfashionably reddish-brown hair that was so thick it resisted the latest styles, brown eyes, too many freckles, crooked nose, slightly crooked teeth.
It felt like a world away from Lizzy, who was exquisitely beautiful with her soft rich brown curls and her sparkling blue eyes. She also had such a witty personality that men always loved. I had watched as she charmed Mr. Darcy with her rapier wit and clever comebacks. As for me, I had no wit, no cleverness, no ability to entrance men with my conversation. I always felt awkward and choked up around men, only managing commonplaces. My wit seemed forced and left them staring at me in confusion.
I got choked up when it came to Lizzy, too. Even though she was my closest friend, I was too embarrassed to tell her the truth. I didn’t want to tell her “my parents are so bad with money there is no money for a dowry.” I also didn’t want to say “I don’t want to dwindle to nothing on my brother’s sufferance for therest of my life. I want the security of a good home, even if the man in it is rather ridiculous.”
So I said very little and left her thinking I was insane for marrying William.
I wasnotinsane. William is not a bad man, even if he is pompous and silly sometimes. But even his worst enemy couldn’t deny that he’s a very diligent clergyman. And he’s never raised a finger to me, never even raised his voice to me.
I’m not in love with him. But so what? What do I need that for? We rub along tolerably well together.
But I can’t help thinking it would be even better if he didn’t take every word of Lady Catherine’s advice.
All these thoughts went through my head, not for the first time, as I served the tea and we made conversation.
Mr. Darcy had never been particularly chatty, and for a moment the conversation languished after William finally realized that Lizzy’s answers on gardening were merely perfunctory.
