His resolve had fled in that instant. He knew, with absolute clarity, that he could not leave her. He loved her, and he longed to know whether she might return his affection. Running off to London would change nothing. “Semper in absentes felicior aestus amantes,” he muttered softly. “Always toward absent lovers love’s tide stronger flows.” The Roman poet Sextus Propertius knew of what he spoke. Fleeing would likely only deepen his attachment.
I never imagined that I would find love in Hertfordshire,he mused. He crossed to the window and looked out. In the distance stood the tree beside the bench where he and Elizabeth had nearly kissed. He wished she were there now, that he might take her on another walk and declare his affections openly.
Since that tender moment, Elizabeth had gone out of her way to avoid him. He wondered whether she felt embarrassed. Perhaps she thought him dishonorable, merely toying with her heart.I must reassure her that I have only honorable intentions,he resolved.
Never one to make hasty decisions, he resolved to wait until the ball to discern her feelings. In the meantime, he would continue to court her quietly and would request the supper set the night of Bingley’s ball. If possible, he would ease her doubts before then.
Bingley intended to propose to Miss Bennet at the ball. Would he begrudge Darcy the same privilege? Surely not. If nothing else, Darcy could ask permission to court her, or request a private audience with her the following day.
Resolved, he left the room and ascended to his chambers. He had plans to make.
Elizabeth
Jane hummed a merry tune as the carriage trundled toward Longbourn. She had regained the color in her cheeks, and she looked the picture of health. This pleased Elizabeth, for she had worried about her sister’s welfare.
“Will he wait more than a day to come?” she teased.
Jane turned toward her, rolled her eyes, and looked back out the window. “If he does, I shall be surprised,” she replied.
Elizabeth’s thoughts drifted to the other unmarried gentleman at Netherfield. She felt ridiculously foolish for having come so close to bestowing favors on Mr. Darcy.You great ninny,she scolded herself once more.What would you have done after he kissed you?
Mr. Darcy was an honorable man. He would never kiss a lady unless he cared for her—loved her. She knew enough of his character to be certain of that.
And then he would go to Papa—her adopted father—and request permission to court her. Papa would say yes. He would advise to say nothing of her past…and then what? They would begin a marriage based on a lie, and guilt would twist their tender feelings and twist them into something unrecognizable. She would confess—and then Mr. Darcy would hate her.
But what if he did not?Her traitorous heart whispered dreams of a rosy future, married to the man she was perilously close to loving.What if he does not hold your past against you and marries you, anyway? He would keep your secret.
He would. At least, she hoped he would.
She could not know whether he intended to ask for her hand, but Elizabeth understood she must be prepared to act should he do so.
They were welcomed home with enthusiasm. Mrs. Bennet examined Jane closely, seeking reassurance that her eldest child had returned to full health. She greeted Elizabeth as well, praising her efforts and apologizing for not having called.
“I knew you had it well managed,” she said.
Exhausted from all her tumultuous thoughts, Elizabeth excused herself, intending to rest in her chambers for the remainder of the day.
The next morning, Mr. Bennet came to the table looking rather chagrined. “I hope, my dear,” he began, “that you have ordered something pleasant for dinner this evening. I expect we shall have a guest.”
“Who is it?” Mrs. Bennet asked curiously. “Is it Mr. Bingley?”
“No, it is not Mr. Bingley. Indeed, it is no one that I have ever met in the course of my life. I owe you something of an apology, my dear, for his letter was misplaced amidst the chaos of my desk and I only rediscovered it this morning.”
He held up a sheet of paper. “It is from my cousin, Mr. William Collins. He is the heir should anything befall Thomas, or if Thomas fails to produce a son of his own. Somehow, he has learned that the living at Longbourn will come available next summer and wishes to speak to me on the matter.”
“If you did not reply to his letter, why do you expect him?” Thomas asked with interest.
“Because he invited himself. Here, read it.” Mr. Bennet offered the letter to his son. “Aloud, if you please.”
Dear Sir,
The disagreement subsisting between yourself and my late honored father has ever caused me much uneasiness, and since I have had the misfortune of losing him, I have frequently wished to heal the breach; but for some time my own doubts kept me back, fearing it might seem disrespectful to his memory for me to be on good terms with anyone with whom it had always pleased him to be at variance.
I recently took orders and have the great honor of holding a living bestowed by none other than the illustrious Lady Catherine de Bourgh. She resides at Rosings Park in Kent, a handsome estate. The Hunsford Parish living falls within her gift, and upon its vacancy last summer, she had the goodness to confer it upon me. I am deeply grateful for her beneficence. Her advice, offered freely and frequently, has impressed upon me the importance of cultivating congenial family relations.
And so, having overcome my hesitations and at the urging of my noble patroness, Lady Catherine de Bourgh, I send this letter in the hope that the breach between our branches of the family might at long at be healed.
Please expect me no later than four o’clock on the eighteenth of November. It would also afford me great pleasure if, during the course of our reunion, we might discuss the living at Longbourn. As you are my nearest living relation, and the advowson of Longbourn lies with you, I hope we may speak of your bestowing it upon me.
