“Yes, thank you,” she said as she stepped in, folding herself gratefully into the comfortable interior, smoothing a hand over the luxuriously upholstered seat. Was this Mr Darcy’s own carriage? The door closed behind her, and they jolted forward.
“What a strange evening,” she said aloud to herself. She had spent a silent half an hour with Mr Darcy once before, in the Netherfield library, when she and Jane stayed at the estate. Elizabeth had thought it the oddest thing in the world that he made no acknowledgement of her presence there. Perhaps in a home or a ballroom, it was rather odd. Tonight, she had discovered that when one was in mourning—and shewas, mourning for a life for which she might no longer even hope, for choices she could no longer make—a mostly silent companion was a good deal more desirable than one who recited blessings one was loath to count or gave encouragement one was in no mood to hear. Mr Darcy had been, she realised, just the sort of friend she needed.
With a little start of surprise, she recalled how, earlier this very day, she had wished to confront Mr Darcy regarding his injustice to Mr Wickham. It felt like that was another Elizabeth, so profoundly had her father’s demands altered her. Shemighthave even taunted Mr Darcy with his sins—pretending cleverness while truthfully only wishing to satisfy her own curiosity. However, their interlude together allowed her to recognise in him a deeply bredcivility, for lack of a better word. Whatever the troubled history between those two men, she was no judge of it. Besides, curiosity had been burnt from her like a spent coal.
Leaning back into the softly padded cushions, she turned her thoughts to the future, wondering how she could possibly change it.
Two days after the ball, Elizabeth found herself tramping between Netherfield and Longbourn. Her own house was in too much of an uproar to bear, and she sought the privacy and pleasure only nature could provide. Her attempt that morning to discuss with her father other avenues of rescuing their home and his honour had devolved into furious ultimatums; in the end, she felt fortunate that they had reached an uneasy truce with his agreement that she would be given time to adjust to the situation. The duration of such a reprieve was undetermined. Would it be long enough for her to think of some other way, though? She very much feared even several years would be too short an interlude.
She was startled when Mr Darcy appeared before her, for the weather was uncertain, and she was just as far from Netherfield as from Longbourn.
“Mr Darcy!” she said stupidly.
He seemed taken aback on finding her alone and greeted her soberly.
“This is a favourite path of mine,” she informed him, in case he wished to avoid encountering her in the future.
“You are at least better prepared for the out of doors today,” he said approvingly, instead of commenting on her lack of accompanying maid, as she might once have expected from such a proper gentleman.
She wore her oldest, heaviest coat, and her black umbrella was hooked over her arm. “I was hoping you would forget our last meeting.” She blushed at the recollection. “I thank you for prevailing upon Mrs Hurst to present my excuses regarding my early departure from the ball. Mama could only speak well of her solicitousness.”
He shook his head dismissively. “How do you fare?”
Sighing, she began walking again, too restless to stand still, leaving him to follow if he wished. It was possible he only asked out of politeness, but her thoughts were too full of that morning’s row to prevaricate. “Papa and I are at a draw, for now. In exchange for his unwilling silence and delay, he gains my unwilling obedience. However, I feel we are bound to disappoint each other. I do not know whether I have three weeks or three months before he presses for the betrothal, but I cannot imagine much more than the latter.”
Mr Darcy had fallen into step beside her, shortening his pace to match her own. He did not respond to her explanation. Suddenly, she wished for nothing more than to break into a run and never stop. She did her best not to resent Mr Darcy’s presence, for it was not his fault she was in no mood for company; had he tried to engage her in conversation, she might have even tried sprinting away. But he was his usual taciturn self, and once again, after several moments, she managed to forget him.
Well, that was not quite true; he was too large, too outsized a presence to forget. However, she was not required to chat, entertain, charm, or divert; in other words, he asked nothing of her presence except to allow his own. It was a kindness, as it had been the night of the ball.
After walking some time in complete silence, he broke it. “How do your sisters do?” he asked politely.
She glanced at him, and almost to her own surprise, found herself telling him. “Mr Collins proposed marriage to my sister Mary yesterday.”
He lifted a brow. “Are congratulations in order?”
For the first time in two days, a ghost of a smile touched her lips. “I really cannot say.”
His head crooked a bit towards her in unspoken enquiry.
“He proposed to her while they ate breakfast. Mama, Lydia, Kitty, and I were in the next room, with both doors open. We could hear every word. He carefully explained to her all the reasons he had decided to marry, including Lady Catherine de Bourgh’s insistence that he take a wife and that Mary’s home must belong to him one day when her father is dead. He promised to generously overlook her impoverishment and, finally, claimed he was overcome with violent affection for her.”
“Indeed.” His expression was unmoved, but there was a slight sign of…something. It was possibly humour, but probably only incredulity.
“Mary instantly thanked him for the compliment of his offer but assured him she could not accept. With that, I thought the matter was done.”
“It was not?”
“No. He claimed it was a usual practise for young ladies to reject the addresses of a man whom they secretly meant to accept when he first applied for their favour. Further, sometimes the refusal is repeated a second or even a third time. He was, therefore, by no means discouraged.”
“How did your sister respond to this, um, lack of discouragement?”
Elizabeth shook her head. “She did not. To the best of our hearing, they both continued with their meal. At one point, she asked him whether she could refill his cup. At another, he offered to cut her viands into a more manageable portion for the delicacy of her lips.”
“Indeed,” he repeated, in tones of some wonder.
“I cannot decide whether it was a ruse upon Mary’s part, allowing him to think himself successfully engaged without actually committing herself, or whether she truly wishes for him to propose two or three times yet in the future.”
“Once he is no longer a guest in your home, she could have her father present her refusals,” he noted. “It might be less awkward for her.”
