What a shame you are too busy to visit me, though I am pleased you and Darcy are enjoying your time with the Bingleys. I daresay you are mistaken about either gentleman’s wish to return to Netherfield, however. If they would not be pleased with Kent, then Hertfordshire cannot boast anything they would regret. Certainly not sharp-tongued country misses.
Regrettably, my mother has not yet returned. Mrs Fortescue’s condition has worsened. Terribly sad, if a little inconvenient, yet there are two very good reasons that you need not fear I shall be downhearted. The first is that you were correct in your conjecture that I do not want for other sources of entertainment. Indeed, I have been well attended by Mr Collins this past fortnight. His manner is somewhat affected, but I can forgive it, for such a mode of oration must be a necessary habit for a man who delivers sermons for a living. He is certainly eager to please me, an inclination that disposes me to be far better pleased withhimthan I might otherwise have been. I must say he has painted a very different picture of his cousin than you sketched in your letter. He has very little good to say of her at all, in fact, other than she is handsome—and looks are of far less importance to sensible men than good breeding and fortune. Therefore, despite your panegyric of Miss Elizabeth Bennet’s charms or Darcy’s unfathomable forbearance of her impertinence, I am disinclined to think any better of her.
The second reason you may set aside all concern for my entertainment is that I have decided to accompany Mr Collins when he returns to Hertfordshire on Monday. Since it was on my mother’s advice that he affianced himself in the first place, and since he is so eager that she and I approve of his choice, it seems fitting that I employ my newly unencumbered time travelling to meet this Miss Lucas to give my consent in person. It is a stimulating prospect, for I have not left Kent for above two years, and I vastly anticipate the change of scene.
If I should happen to meet Miss Elizabeth Bennet while I am there, and she should happen to see for herself the vast distinction in our relative situations in life, then all the better. Perchance she will drop whatever false hope Darcy might have given her when he singled her out for a dance at his friend’s ball. This I learnt from Mr Collins. Whatever was your brother thinking?
Wish me well. It will be quite the adventure, I am certain.
Yours &c.
Anne de Bourgh
Darcy stared at the letter, incredulity steadily curdling into fury. He had left—Devil take it—he hadleftHertfordshire, leftElizabethand her blasted impertinence behind! He had come away—andstayedaway—despite the insuperable urge that plagued him to return at every moment, waking or otherwise. He waited, day after day, for the cloying feeling of having made a mistake to pass. He told himself repeatedly that his only mistake had been in allowing so many preposterous imaginings of what might have been had he stayed. For had he not indulged inthose, it might not presently be taking such a damnably long time for the infernal fascination to loosen its grip.
Nevertheless, he had not gone back. Nor had he admitted his partiality to anyone, for it could lead to nothing, give nobody any pleasure, and end no other way than in disaster. Yet, somehow, he was discovered, andAnneof all peoplehad gone to Hertfordshire with what appeared to be a resolve to intimidate Elizabeth out of any misplaced aspirations towards the family—towardshim.
Hell’s teeth!
Darcy held his countenance motionless, unwilling to reveal any hint of vexation. Yet, oh, how he wished to rage at his sister! To demand of her what she thought she knew of his acquaintance with Elizabeth, to enquire what madness had induced her to discuss it with Anne, to upbraid her for being so indiscreet after allhisendeavours to protectherreputation the previous summer—but what did it matter? Though she was likely to be as subtle as an ox, Anne’s visit would ultimately serve him well. It would do no harm for Elizabeth to be told categorically that he would never return for her, and it would save him having to waste any further thought on the matter.
He handed the letter back to Georgiana. “I suggest you are more careful what nonsense you write to our cousin in the future. Lady Catherine appears to have allowed her to become unduly fanciful of late.” He walked towards the door.
“You are not angry?” Georgiana enquired timidly.
He paused without looking at her.Angrywas a term applied when one had spilt coffee on one’s ledgers, or been spoken to uncivilly, or dropped a precious trinket in a puddle.
Whereas in his case, his hapless sister had somehow begun a rumour that he was romantically attached to the penniless young woman from an unheard-of and vulgar family, with whom duty and good sense forbade him fromeverconsidering an alliance, but whose extraordinary wit and captivating eyes he had been entirely unable to banish from his thoughts at any point in the eight weeks, two days, and twelve hours since he first met her, who had bewitched him to the point that he knew not where his memories of her ceased and his dreams of her began.
Now, thanks to his sister’s imprudence and his cousin’s unaccountable precipitance, any hope of somehow finding a way to overcome every impediment and give in to his incessant longing to be with Elizabeth was lost forever. It was possibly why what he felt was far more visceral, far more alarming, far uglier than mere anger.
“No,” was all he said. Then he left the room.
* * *
The fields surrounding Longbourn were crisp with frost, but since Elizabeth’s stockings had been soaked through within five minutes of leaving home, she was not discouraged. She put her foot to the next stile she reached, determined to venture farther than the lane on her morning’s walk.
“Lizzy!”
She stopped mid-clamber and stood tall on the stile to see her two youngest sisters dashing towards her along the lane, waving frantically. She withdrew her leg from over the rail and jumped back down to greet them.
“Lizzy,” Lydia panted, first to reach her. “Mr Collins has arrived, but he is not to stay with us after all.”
“Really? Well, I cannot say I am sorry, though such short notice is inconsiderate. Mama will be most put out. Do you know where he does mean to stay?”
“At Lucas Lodge, and you?—”
“You will never guess whom he has brought with him!” Kitty interrupted, catching up with them. She promptly found herself in receipt of a vicious swipe of Lydia’s reticule. “Ow!”
“Letmetell her!”
“I do not see why I should. I saw her first.”
“Saw who?” Elizabeth enquired as she confiscated Lydia’s reticule with an admonishing look.
“Miss Anne de Bourgh,” both girls said at once.
Elizabeth stared, all astonishment.
