“We shall be pleased to accept,” Charlotte replied. “We have no fixed engagements. Is that not right, Mr. Collins?” Her husband nodded with enthusiasm. Elizabeth could see the effort he exerted to restrain his wayward tongue and silently applauded his success.
After they seated themselves, Elizabeth felt a measure of relief when Charlotte joined her on the settee in silent support. Mr. Darcy took a chair on her left, and Colonel Fitzwilliam sat to Charlotte’s right. Mr. Collins occupied the final seat and began conversing with Mr. Darcy as his wife poured the tea, which had just been brought in by a maid.
“How long are you in Kent, Miss Bennet?” Colonel Fitzwilliam addressed her kindly, and Elizabeth angled her body away from Mr. Darcy as she replied.
“Sir William shall return to Hertfordshire in a few days. Miss Lucas and I are to remain for six weeks. My uncle will send his carriage and a servant to retrieve us. After that, I shall go to London, while Miss Lucas returns home.”
She felt Mr. Darcy shift beside her. Part of her wondered why he said nothing; the other part felt relieved that he did not. Colonel Fitzwilliam continued his inquiries, and before Elizabeth knew it, the call had ended—without a single word exchanged between her and the gentleman seated at her side. She knew it had been impolite to ignore him, yet she could not bring herself to care.Besides,he did not lack for conversation. Mr. Collins did very well entertaining his guest.
The callers stood to take their leave, the others rising with them. As they turned toward the door, Mr. Darcy addressed her. “Do you still walk out in the mornings?” he asked.
Something desperate colored his tone. Elizabeth could not help but meet his gaze. In his eyes, she saw sorrow, remorse, apology, and something more—tenderness. It pierced her heart, and she nodded with effort, swallowing the hard lump that had risen in her throat.I still love him.
He granted her a small smile and departed, following his cousin out the door.
“Well, Lizzy, that went better than I imagined. Mr. Darcy is clearly suffering.”
Mr. Collins, ever alert to speak, responded to his wife’s words. “Mr. Darcy is suffering, my dear? I thought both gentlemen looked very well, indeed. You know, Lady Catherine attributes their early arrival to Mr. Darcy’s growing affection for Miss de Bourgh.”
Charlotte turned a sharp look upon her husband. “And we have agreed that we shall do nothing to interfere in that matter, have we not?” She shot him a disapproving glance. “I recall you telling me Mr. Darcy declared he wasnotengaged to his cousin. The situation is none of our concern.” She folded her arms and arched an expectant brow.
Her husband did not exactly quail, but he nodded, chagrined. “Yes, my dear. I remember. I shall not mention it again.” With that, he excused himself, citing the need to complete his sermon before the afternoon ended.
By either fate or good fortune, Elizabeth did not meet Mr. Darcy on her walk the next day. It was hardly surprising; the area about the parsonage offered numerous paths, and without a prior arrangement, the chance of encountering someone was slim. She would have preferred to speak with him before that evening’s dinner, but now the opportunity had passed. Neither did she see him at church. Colonel Fitzwilliam gave no explanation, offering only a vague hello before hurrying out after his aunt. Rather than fret, she intended to assist Charlotte with her parish duties and perhaps walk into Hunsford.
Time often hastens when one longs for it to slow, and lingers when one would have it fly. Thus, the hour to dress for dinner arrived far sooner than Elizabeth would have liked. Unfortunatethough it was, such was the nature of life. Resigned to an uncomfortable evening, she donned a simple gown of blue, trimmed with cream ribbon at the waist, sleeves, and hem. Her hair she arranged to match the occasion, twisting her locks into an understated yet elegant chignon, with curls that kissed her neck and framed her face, lending her a pleasing countenance.
“You look well tonight, Miss Eliza,” Sir William complimented her. “And, look! Here, too, is Maria.” He took his daughter’s hand and kissed her cheek. “How lovely you are, my dear.” Maria thanked him in a whisper, still evidently anxious about dining with such exalted personages.
Mr. and Mrs. Collins soon appeared, and the party departed. The walk to Rosings was brief, and Elizabeth took quiet note of the fresh blooms lining their path. She did not speak but listened instead to the conversation of her friends. Her stomach felt unsettled. A fluttering sense of unease made her wish she had stayed behind at the parsonage. It worsened the nearer they drew to the manor and reached its height as the party was announced in the drawing room.
“We are very grateful for your invitation, Lady Catherine,” said Mr. Collins, bowing politely. “It is an honor to dine at Rosings again so soon.”
“Yes, well, Sir William is to depart soon, and my nephews are here.” Lady Catherine waved her hand dismissively. “Take your seats, all of you. I detest looking up when I am speaking.”
Elizabeth seated herself beside Miss de Bourgh on a long settee, with Colonel Fitzwilliam on one side and an open space on the other. Mrs. Jenkinson was not in sight, and thus she felt no guilt taking the place.
“Good evening, Miss de Bourgh, Colonel.” Elizabeth greeted them pleasantly, noting how little space separated the pair. A flush tinged Miss de Bourgh’s cheeks, deepening the hue of the wine stain upon her face.
“It is a pleasure to see you, Miss Bennet.” Her quiet speech held steady as she glanced up, only to quickly look away with haste. “I am also happy to see my cousins.”
“And I am very pleased to see you.” Colonel Fitzwilliam took his cousin’s hand and pressed it lightly, before releasing it, careful to avoid the notice of a certain someone. “Does my cousin not look lovely this evening, Miss Bennet?” Though the colonel’s words seemed sincerely spoken, Miss de Bourgh scoffed quietly.
“Miss de Bourghislovely,” Elizabeth replied with conviction. “I have never seen such symmetry of feature, except perhaps in my sister, Jane.” She spoke honestly; had the young lady had not borne the mark upon her face, society might well have numbered her among London’s beauties. Her blush brought it to the fore, and Elizabeth could easily see past the wine stain mark on her face.
Miss de Bourgh lifted her eyes and met Elizabeth’s gaze. “You need not flatter me, Miss Elizabeth. I know what I am.”
“I am not offering flattery. Falsehood serves only to bring about trouble or misunderstanding. Besides, the Bard himself reminds us that, ‘beauty is bought by judgment of the eye.’ I speak only as I find.”
“Well said, Miss Bennet.”
Elizabeth started. Mr. Darcy had approached without a sound.How long had he been listening?
“I believe you once said disguise of every sort is your abhorrence, sir,” she said crisply. “Tell me—do you agree with my estimation? Does not Miss de Bourgh look well this evening?”
“My cousin is always lovely. I fear, however, that my attention is fixed in another direction at present.” His eyes held hers, his gaze so intense it made Elizabeth feel as though she might swoon.
“Best watch what you say, cousin. Lady Cat is watching.” Colonel Fitzwilliam’s timbre was low, and Elizabeth glanced out of the corner of her eye. Lady Catherine glowered, clearly displeased. They were spared a tirade when a servant announced that dinner was served.
