“I have no fixed engagements,” he mumbled then picked up the book he had moments earlier foresworn and hid himself in the opening chapter.
Saturday 18 April 1812, Kent
Elizabeth returned to Hunsford parsonage to find her friend awaiting her in the parlour. Tea things were spread upon the table in readiness, and at Charlotte’s invitation, she sat down and accepted a cup.
“Did you enjoy your walk?”
“Very much,” she replied, hiding behind the steam from her tea lest the lie reveal itself in her half-hearted smile. In truth, unwelcome reflections had plagued her all through the grove, as they had all week long, ruining her last opportunity to enjoy it.
“I shall be sorry to see you go.” Charlotte’s odd little frown seemed to suggest she had something else less innocuous to say.
“And I shall be sorry to leave you.” Though not sorry to leave. “I hope the house does not seem too quiet without us.” Looking around, she added, “Will your sister not join us?”
“She is repacking her trunks. The poor dear was up half the night fretting that Lady Catherine would somehow discover she had not folded her gowns the right way.”
“Poor Maria! Her ladyship was particularly urgent on the matter. But then there is excessive urgency to all Lady Catherine’s advice.”
Charlotte laughed lightly but adopted the same strange look as before.
“I am pleased you are not made so anxious by her tyranny,” Elizabeth hastened to add.
“Oh, you know me. I try to be practical about these things. There is little point chafing at the bit having submitted to the harness. Besides,” she added wickedly, “some of her advice has proved rather useful.”
“Indeed? Such as?”
“Such as the several methods she has described for discouraging my husband’s attentions once I provide him with an heir.”
Incredulity prevented Elizabeth’s amusement from turning into a full laugh.
“Do not pretend to be shocked. I know very well you are in possession of all the facts, for you enlightened me long before Lady Catherine or, indeed, my husband.”
“Yes, well,” Elizabeth admitted, grinning, “I probably ought not to be in possession of quite as many facts as I am. We are both indebted to Mr Craythorne for our prescience. Were it not for his evident admiration that day, I should never have petitioned my aunt for such intelligence.”
“Mrs Gardiner probably ought never to have consented to provide it, but I must say I am grateful she did.”
Elizabeth opted to drink her tea rather than answer. She disliked how closely the conversation had veered towards Charlotte’s intimacies with Mr Collins, with whose admiration she had only narrowly avoided becoming fully acquainted herself. His had been the first offer of marriage she refused—the memory of which brought her perilously close to thinking about the second.
“You have been uncommonly quiet this past week,” said her friend, taking shameless advantage of her distraction. “Will you not tell me what troubles you?”
Elizabeth surprised herself with the violence of her aversion to doing so, though she was stranger to none of the sentiments that swarmed nauseatingly at the prospect. Indignation, confusion, shame, affront—she had kept constant company with them all since Mr Darcy’s astonishing and offensive proposal and even more shocking letter. Until she settled the matter for herself, however, she could not begin to justify it to anybody else.
“Has it something to do with the gentlemen’s departure?” Charlotte pressed.
“What makes you ask that?”
“Only that it coincided with your low spirits. I wondered whether you had set your heart on Colonel Fitzwilliam.”
“Goodness, no! He is perfectly amiable but quite above my reach.”
“And not nearly so handsome as his cousin.”
“Nor so insufferably proud!” she replied in a flash, exasperated thatsuch an inane remark should have made her blush. With a concerted effort at composure, she added, “If I have been quiet, it is only that I am ready to be home. I hope you will not mind my saying so.”
“Not at all. I know you must be eager to see Jane.”
Seizing upon the change in subject, Elizabeth launched into an account of all the things she and her sister meant to do together in London before travelling home to Longbourn. Charlotte graciously let the other matter drop, referring to it only once, obliquely, with a firm reminder that Elizabeth could write to her at any time with any concern.
At length the chaise arrived, the trunks were fastened on, the parcels placed within, and it was pronounced to be ready. After an affectionate parting, Elizabeth and Maria set out for London.
