Chapter One
Elizabeth Bennet sat with Charlotte Collins and her sister Maria in Charlotte’s parlour in Hunsford parsonage when they were startled by a ring at the door.
“I heard no carriage,” said Maria nervously. “Do you suppose it to be Lady Catherine?”
They all exchanged a worrisome look. Since her ladyship’s nephews had arrived at Rosings for Easter last week, Mr Darcy, Colonel Fitzwilliam, and now and then Lady Catherine had called every day. Sometimes the men called together, sometimes alone, and on occasion they both came with her ladyship.
“I think it not unlikely,” Charlotte said. “It is Tuesday, and we have not seen her for a few days.”
Maria professed she was not up to the task of facing such a visitor and fled the room, and Elizabeth was of half a mind to leave herself. When they were honoured with a call from her ladyship, nothing escaped Lady Catherine’s impertinent questioning. Elizabeth put away her half-finished letter to her sister Jane with a sigh. It would be an irksome visit.
Mr Darcy might have joined her, and I take no pleasure in seeing him either.
The quiet way her first fortnight at Hunsford had passed had now given way to regular encounters with the proud Mr Darcy. He had called once while Charlotte and Maria were in the village, and they spent an awkward quarter of an hour alone together. Their conversation reminded her of how hastily Bingley had left Hertfordshire last November and of Jane’s subsequent heartbreak.
Worse than that tête-à-tête, Mr Darcy now even interrupted her solitary rambles within the park. She had previously enjoyed an open grove that edged a side of the park where there was a nice sheltered path that no one seemed to value but herself. She had only ever seen one other person in the grove—a broad-shouldered man with a disfigured nose who yesterday seemed about to approach her—but then Mr Darcy had come from the other direction, and the man quickly left.
Mr Darcy, however, had turned back with her as he had on two other occasions. She could not say why he walked with her, for he never said a great deal and hardly seemed to take pleasure in her company. Talking with him a little was a disagreeable necessity, but aside from a few formal enquiries and answering his direct questions, Elizabeth did not give herself the trouble of talking or listening to him.
“Why do you look cross, Eliza?” Charlotte asked as they heard the visitors in the hall.
“Oh, I only wish it was not Mr Darcy. He spoils all the pleasure of my walks, and now here he is about to spoil a cheerful morning at home with you.”
She could only think on Mr Darcy with hatred and contempt for what he had done to her former favourite George Wickham, and she suspected he had encouraged Bingley to forget Jane, too.
The door opened, and Lady Catherine, Mr Darcy, and Colonel Fitzwilliam were shown in. Her ladyship strode in asthough it was her own house, the colonel greeted everyone with an amiable smile, and Mr Darcy sat near to Elizabeth without saying a word.
Mr Darcy seldom appeared animated when he called, and Elizabeth wondered if he joined the others because he had nothing better to do. It was plain that Colonel Fitzwilliam came because he had pleasure in their society. Elizabeth enjoyed his conversations and felt a little satisfaction at his evident admiration of her. It reminded her of Wickham’s attentions, although the colonel had a better-informed mind.
“When my nephews said they were calling today, I had to join them,” her ladyship said upon entering. She handed Mrs Collins a small bottle. “I have brought you some of Rosings’s cherry brandy. Everyone says that mine is the finest in the neighbourhood. It is because I use cherries grown here and only the best English brandy.”
Elizabeth noticed Colonel Fitzwilliam and Mr Darcy share a meaningful glance. Mr Darcy even gave a small wince. She supposed the men drank wine at the table rather than their aunt’s weak brandy. Charlotte kept a civil expression as she accepted the bottle.
“You are kind, your ladyship.”
“I know that you rarely host gentlemen in the evening—the style of living here is above your reach—but you can make cordials with it. Although, Mr Collins will drink it as it is. Darcy, I know, enjoys Rosings’s cherry brandy.”
Elizabeth, seated near to Mr Darcy, noticed how he shifted his weight. He looked at her before she could turn away, and she knew he saw the half smile she gave at his expense. He huffed, but she could not tell if he was amused or insulted at how she laughed at him.
“Yes, Darcy likes it very much,” Colonel Fitzwilliam muttered, smiling. Anyone of sense could tell he meant theopposite, even if they could not see Mr Darcy’s pained expression.
“I shall instruct my housekeeper to send you my receipt for ratafia,” Lady Catherine went on. “Miss Bennet enjoyed the ratafia I served at Rosings, I remember, and my cherry brandy is its base.”
All eyes turned to her, and Elizabeth gave a strained smile. Mr Darcy gave her a look—unseen by her ladyship—as if to say, “Now it is your turn.” She had choked down the vile drink and complimented Lady Catherine on it out of politeness. No amount of champagne, gin, or sugar added to that brandy could salvage it.
“Yes, ma’am. The ratafia was very good.”
“Then this small bottle will not be enough if it is wanted as brandy for Mr Collins and also to make cordials for the ladies. I shall have a half-anker of Rosings’s cherry brandy sent tomorrow, along with my receipt for ratafia.”
Colonel Fitzwilliam stifled a laugh, and she dreaded to ask the question. “How much is that?” she asked softly, leaning forward to be heard.
“Half an anker is four gallons.”
Her eyes widened as she sat back, and again Mr Darcy looked her way. He pressed his lips together, holding back a smile as their eyes met. He gave her a commiserating shrug. How could they ever drink four gallons of the dreadful stuff?
“Mrs Collins, I have always thought this chair should be placed by that window,” her ladyship said while sitting on the chair in question. “Have you considered moving it to take better advantage of the afternoon light?”
Lady Catherine went on to ask many questions respecting Charlotte’s house, and as she did not answer them all herself, Charlotte was required to pay attention.
