But she was looking away. He could not catch her eye. She was all smiles, and her pleasure at her sister’s engagement was apparent, but he was forgotten.
He had no reason to stay.
“If I might take my leave,” he said. “I am expected for dinner at Netherfield.”
“Oh, Mr. Darcy,” said Jane. “Youmuststay for dinner. I am sure Charles—” she blushed furiously as she said Bingley’s name, “—Charles would wish you to join us.”
“Well, of course, any friend of Mr. Bingley’s is welcome, I am sure,” said Mrs. Bennet, stiffly.
And so it was decided. If it were not for Bingley’s obvious jubilation, he would have turned away and returned to Netherfield to lick his wounds, but for his friend’s sake he resigned himself for an evening that could bring him only misery.
***
THE DINNER WAS A TORMENT. No other word could describe it. His original impression that Elizabeth was giving him the cold shoulder was confirmed as she studiously avoided looking at him. Mrs. Bennet was full of joyous exclamations, and her conversation revolved around marriage settlements, dates, and trips to London to visit the modiste and measure for wedding clothes. Darcy felt like a starving waif looking through a window at a dining table full of food. He could observe, but he could not touch, and he felt consumed with bitterness at being left out of this merry party.
Darcy was intensely relieved when the covers were removed, and the ladies sauntered out of the room, leaving the four gentlemen to their brandy and cigars.
Darcy watched Elizabeth go wistfully. He had not had a chance to speak to her privately all evening. She was too absorbed in her sister’s happiness to heed him, or worse, she was deliberately ignoring him.
Unlike him, she had not forgotten their quarrel. While he had been able to forgive and forget, it was clear that she did not feel the same. He remembered his words that day at Netherfield in the library, when he had pronounced – sounding like an utterly pompous fool – that his good opinion, once lost, was lost forever. What if Elizabeth was inclined to hold a grudge? A cold chill settled into his very soul. Would he ever obtain her forgiveness for misjudging her?
He was gripped by the urgent need to stalk over to her and throw himself at her mercy.
“I am looking forward to seeing you at Rosings—my esteemed patronesses’ house—particularly after a certain happy event takes place,” said Mr. Collins, sending a significant look towards Mr. Bennet. “It will all feel very familiar, since we have been thrown into each other’s company so often.”
Mr. Bennet looked bemused, while Bingley looked puzzled. Had Lydia succeeded in capturing Mr. Collins’ attention after all?
“And what event may that be?” said Darcy, curious to discover the outcome of Mrs. Bennet’s stratagems.
“Why, my marriage to Cousin Elizabeth.”
The air was squeezed from Darcy’s lungs. He gripped the edge of the table to steady himself. He felt as if the ground had moved beneath him.
“Mr. Darcy,” said Mr. Bennet. “Are you unwell?”
Darcy fought to emerge from the sensation that his ribs were being crushed. He took a shuddering breath. Everyone was looking at him. He could not allow them to guess the reason for his reaction.
“A sudden spasm,” said Darcy, forcing his voice to be calm. “It will pass, I am sure.”
Another deception. When would all this end? Another untruth added to the others.
He rose to his feet shakily. “If you will point me in the direction of the outhouse? I hope you will excuse me a moment.”
It was humiliating to use such a vulgar excuse, but he needed air. He needed to think.
Mr. Bennet hastened to give him directions, while Mr. Collins blathered on – something about a tincture Lady Catherine had recommended to him for just these kinds of situations.
Darcy did not go to the outhouse, but he wentout. He could not stand to be indoors with the walls closing in on him. It was a bitterly cold night, with a clear, crisp sky dotted with stars and a white moon that spread its cold light over everything. It was December already, Darcy thought, and observed in a curiously detached way that there would be frost by morning.
The cold gave him the kick in the teeth he needed, and he began to breathe again, each breath forming a cloud before dispersing. It was strange to be wandering about on the grounds of Longbourn in the dark alone like this. His footsteps crushed the gravel under his feet, sounding loud in the still winter night.
This was her territory, he thought, Elizabeth’s. Her footsteps as a child must have taken this path very often, running, skipping rope, chasing her sisters. He was certain she would have climbed these trees and fallen from these branches.
There was a swing tied to a thick branch of an old oak tree. He went and sat on it, twisting the rope, and twirling it back and forth. He could imagine Elizabeth doing the same, perhaps holding a book in one hand.
He sat in the swing, where he imagined she liked to sit, and let the torment wash over him.
Elizabeth was about to marry Collins. Collins had proposed while Darcy had been busy nursing his pride and licking his wounds and trying to decide what to do. She had agreed to marry her cousin because she believed Darcy to be leaving and never coming back.
