“What have you endured but Bingley’s struggles to overlook the defects in your character and esteem you regardless?”
She laughed bitterly. “He does not esteemme!”
“That is hardly any great wonder. What, pray, have you ever done to earn his esteem?”
“I am his wife!”
She appeared to think this would rouse him to compassion. Presumably, she did not suspect him of knowing how it came about.
“That alone does not entitle you to his unwavering affections. You cannot expect his good opinion to endure when you treat him and all those around you with such utter disdain.”
“Sir, you are unjustly severe!” she cried, her eyes moist with unshed tears.
“In voicing such censure, perhaps, but not in thinking it. And since you have not scrupled in speaking ill of Elizabeth, I am not presently inclined to be overly sympathetic to your sensibilities.”
“You do not understa?—”
“No, I do not.” Determined to hear no more of her self-pity, he reached into his pocket for Elizabeth’s letter and held it out to her. “Neither does Elizabeth, yet such is her devotion to you that she has written again with news she considers imperative that you hear.”
Jane took the letter gingerly as though it might burn her.
“She wondered whether you had troubled yourself to read any of her others since you have never deigned to reply. I recommend you read this one.”
He turned on his heel and quitted the room without taking hisleave. She deserved no such attention. He was unsurprised to discover Miss Bingley loitering outside the door and only wondered that her sister was not with her.
“I hope you are well, Mr Darcy?”
“I am, thank you. If you will excuse me, I must be on my way.”
“Oh yes, of course. If I may, though…might I enquire as to my brother’s whereabouts?”
“He is at Pemberley still, madam.”
“With Mrs Darcy?”
“Yes.” She looked more concerned for her brother than he had ever seen her, prompting him to add, “He is in good health, despite his troubles. You need not worry for him.”
She gave a poor approximation of a smile. “I do, though, Mr Darcy. Pray, send him home as soon as may be. Pemberley is not the best place for him. He ought to be with Jane.”
Darcy was no longer certain where the best place for Bingley was but gave Miss Bingley all the assurances she sought to avoid being further delayed. He later reflected, as his carriage sped across the Kentish countryside, that it was telling with what alacrity he hastened to his aunt’s deathbed, infinitely preferring it to the scene of his objectionable audience with Jane Bingley.
Rosings Park
6thMarch
Dearest Elizabeth,
Be not surprised if what I write is incomprehensible. It is late, and I am weary, but I do not wish to end another day without speaking to you.
Lady Catherine is still with us, though barely. I am increasingly relieved that neither you nor Georgiana accompanied me. No quantity of pastille burners can mask the scent of illness in the house, and her appearance grows no less shocking upon subsequent visits to her bedside than when I first arrived. When my mother passed away, her mind wandered, and her limbs trembled, but her person was otherwise unchanged. My father’s death was so sudden I never saw him aught but hale. Lady Catherine is wasted away to almost nothing.
Nonetheless, you were correct. I am pleased to have come. She sleeps a good deal, but this evening she stirred sufficiently to acknowledge me for the first time. Our exchange was brief, for she can scarcely breathe enough to speak, but we were able to share a few thoughts on Rosings, Anne, Georgiana, our unborn child—and you. It does not surprise me in the least that what might be her last ever words to me were about you. “I am pleased you married Elizabeth. I always liked her.”
I shall say no more on that. I trust we are of equal minds on the matter.
Montgomery and I spent two hours this morning with his steward and another three this afternoon with his attorney, all of which seemed painless in comparison to the ten minutes I spent with Mr Collins afterwards. I am finding the role of adviser even more onerous than I had anticipated, not least for its tedium but also the unexpected remembrance of the days following my father’s passing, which were dark indeed.
I have seen very little of Anne. It would seem her delicate health has not lent itself to the rigours of nursing a dying relative, and I understand she spends but little time with her mother. Your good friend Mrs Collins, however, has been stalwart in attending her ladyship, despite not having been long out of her confinement and having a new-born infant in need of her attention. I mean to speak to her at church on the morrow to express my deepest thanks for her troubles. I have already given her your letter.
