Dear Lizzy,
Well, Lizzy, it seems you are surrounded by eligible gentlemen and spoilt for choice. It sounds like Mr. Darcy is very agreeable, as are his two friends! I have half a mind to join you in London just to meet them. I am funning, of course. I can only imagine Mr. Darcy will disapprove of you even more if he thinks you are trying to match me with his friends!
Elizabeth shook her head as she read to the end of the letter, which was mostly in the same vein. Poor Jane! She was determined to believe that something would come of Elizabeth’s stay in London.
In response, Elizabeth felt obliged to correct her sister’s misconceptions, and ensure that no one in the family shared them. She did not want to dampen their hopes, but at the same time, it was all too clear that Elizabeth would not be attending any public entertainments, which meant she had no chance of meeting anyone eligible. It was better to make it clear than face their disappointment when she returned empty-handed to Longbourn. The heavy weight of expectation pressed down on Elizabeth’s shoulders, but she could not see a way to fulfil them.
It was time to write a long letter to Jane, and make sure Papa read it too.
Dear Jane,
Spoilt for choice? It is nothing like that. Most of the time, Mr. Darcy stares at me disapprovingly. His eyes follow me like a hawk’s. I do not know if it is because he is worried I will run off with the household silver, or if he has other reasons. It is obvious he only brought me here because he wanted me to entertain Miss Darcy and cheer her up. He can hardly wait for me to return to Longbourn. It is not all bad, however. There are times when we manage to put our differences aside, and I enjoy his company. He is intelligent and well read, and at times we debate about the most surprising things. I enjoy matchingmy wits with his, and I feel he enjoys it too. Then, the next time I see him, he is the same reserved, withdrawn person whose presence is like a thundercloud filling the room. It is as if he wants to remind me of my place.
I do not see how any of the gentlemen could become smitten with me, when I have barely set eyes on any of them. Mr. Darcy wrote his sister a letter, which she showed to me, in which he instructed her to follow my instructions and do whatever I say, but he did not mention when he will return. Thankfully, Miss Darcy and I have plenty of things to occupy us. We have a list of twenty-two places we are planning to visit. We have only covered three, so we have a long way to go before we die of boredom, as Lydia would say. The main problem we are having is rain. It has persisted for three days, which has put a damper on our outings. I have refused to go out. I do not want to be blamed if Miss Darcy catches her death of a cold. Mr. Darcy will hound me out of the house in the dead of night! I would rather leave with my dignity intact!
But funning aside, I am beginning to grow comfortable at Miss Darcy’s establishment, especially now that her brother is away. It is nice to know that you will not turn some corner and find a glowering gentleman looking down at you.
You asked me to describe the three gentlemen. I will attempt to do so, but I will not promise to be fully accurate. You have already met Mr. Darcy, so I do not feel I need to describe him, but since you have asked, I will do so. Mr. Darcy is tall. He has a fine figure with broad shoulders and a distinguished look, even if his cravat is too tight. Oh, and he has dark curly hair kept fashionably long. Do not ask me what color his eyes are, because I have not stood close enough to him. I will say no more. You already know what he looks like.
As for the colonel, he is of a pleasing appearance, not as tall as Mr. Darcy, but he has a way of walking that shows he isaccustomed to being in command. His manner is very friendly and less formal than Mr. Darcy’s. He has light brown hair and bushy eyebrows.
He has called on Miss Darcy twice since her brother left. I find him very affable, but there is no point pining after him, Jane, or hoping something will come of it. From what Miss Darcy tells me, he is a third son and is penniless, with nothing but his army wages to support him, so he is in urgent need of an heiress.
Colonel Fitzwilliam called three days ago and drove us to Hyde Park in the fashionable hour. It was all very proper, with Mrs. Annesley as chaperon, and two footmen standing at the back and a coachman. The inside of the carriage was made for an earl’s son – worthy of royalty. You would have loved the red silk with its gold and cream stripes and lace edges.
If I had any doubts about it, the drive made me certain, that despite having no material prospects, he is out of our reach. He knows half of London. He stopped to greet so many people along the way that it would have been faster to walk. He introduced me as Miss Darcy’s friend, which was good of him. However, I am in the unfortunate situation of not being able to match a single name to anyone’s face!
That leaves us with the third gentleman I have met, Mr. Bingley. He has blond hair arranged in the latest tousled style, and he has kind blue eyes. He dresses fashionably and, unlike Mr. Darcy, he wears bright waistcoats. He smiles a great deal. I would call him handsome, but in a very different way from Mr. Darcy. He never once mentioned Pemberley to me, which is a measure of his considerate nature. However, as you say, his sister is another matter. She will be returning to London soon. I am not looking forward to spending time with her, but perhaps I will be pleasantly surprised as I was with Mr. Bingley. Cross your fingers for me, Jane.
There. I hope I have given you a good idea of the three gentlemen so you can compare them.
Elizabeth read the letter through twice, to make sure she had expressed herself clearly, then sealed it and sent it to Darcy House. It would not go out to Longbourn until Mr. Darcy returned and franked it, but at least it would go out soon after his return.
Darcy stepped out onto the extensive grounds of Rosings with a happy sigh. After the rain that kept him indoors for the last three days, he was finally able to take a long walk. The scents of vegetation and wet earth met him, and he drew in a deep breath, filling his lungs with pure air. A sharp azure sky provided a stark contrast to the outlines of the oak and chestnut trees. There were some early signs of autumn – the occasional bright yellow leaf, brown leaves breaking the continuity of the verdure, an acorn dropping with a small pop onto the ground. As he strode through an avenue of trees, he was thankful that his aunt had not cut down the trees to make way to some grandiose garden arrangements.
The Park at Rosings was one of its most redeeming features. Much of it had been left as nature intended, untouched by his aunt’s interference. He did not care for the stuffy display of opulence inside the manor. Lady Catherine seemed unaware that no one these days admired gilded, ornate furniture, nor was anyone impressed by the profusely carved baroque fireplaces she had installed at great expense. He loathed every one of them. They were an eyesore, and only civility prevented him from pointing out to his aunt that she should tear them down and install something more along the simpler, classical style.
His stay at Rosings had extended longer than he had expected. His aunt was resistant to hearing his arguments, and at times he had been tempted to give up and remove Mr. Preston to Pemberley. However, his patience had finally yielded results, though it was only a temporary reprieve. Darcy had offered to pay part of Mr. Preston’s lapsed rent in return for Lady Catherine allowing the discharged soldier three years to prove himself. Of course, she had mocked Darcy for what she called his ‘misplaced charity’, but at least Mr. Preston still had a chance.
With his business concluded at Rosings, it was time now for him to return to London. He felt a thrill of anticipation. He would be seeing Georgiana again, and he was looking forward to more pleasant forms of conversation.
The image of Miss Elizabeth Bennet intruded on his thoughts, making him smile. It would be a pleasure to pit his mind against hers again. There was a freshness about her, a refusal to take life too seriously, that he had never come across before. Even when she was trying to hide her amusement, her eyes sparkled with humor. He felt freer in her presence, more able to be himself than with anyone else he knew. It was a novel experience.
At the same time, there was no denying the tension between them. She still held a grudge against him for what happened at Pemberley, and he still had his doubts about her trustworthiness. He had come to Rosings thinking being away would clear his head. Instead, he was going round in circles. It was very frustrating. The more he willed himself to stop thinking about her, the more he seemed to do so, and the more confused he became.
There was no point trying to find answers when he did not even know what questions he was asking. He turned back to the house. Lady Catherine would be expecting him at breakfast, and she had very little tolerance for tardiness.
As he entered the breakfast room, the bright sunlight faded to a mere slanted line across the floor. The curtains were drawn, blocking the large windows. Lady Catherine worried that sunlight was too bright for his cousin, Anne de Bourgh, who had been sickly for years. Anne was sitting listlessly at the table, picking at her food. She did not look up when he entered.
Darcy felt hemmed in, trapped in the gloomy breakfast room by an aunt who loved the sound of her own voice. He went to the sideboard and took what he wanted, then sat at the table, trying his best to ignore the droning of her voice.
She drew his attention by striking the edge of the table with her knife.
“You are becoming a scatterbrain, Nephew.”
“I beg your pardon, Aunt. Did you ask me a question?”
“I did not. I said, when you and Anne marry, Anne can move to Pemberley, while I will continue to run Rosings as I have done since my late husband was unfortunate – or drunk enough – to fall off his horse.”
