As you can see, we afforded the residents of Netherfield more credit than they deserved. It is time to view them for what they are—idle members of the affluent class, drifting from one place to another, driven by their own desires and caprice.
However, I am unfair to two members of the family: Miss Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam. Both have offered me their friendship unconditionally; they are amiable individuals and remarkably unaffected by the ‘importance’ of the family to which they belong.
Although Miss Darcy and I have promised to meet in London, I doubt this will be possible, considering that my acquaintance with Mr Darcy remains far from a friendship.
Nevertheless, I am glad to have met them, as it prevents me from holding the belief that everyone in their circle exhibits the same proud and disdainful behaviour. It has been a valuable lesson for your sister, who is often quite uncompromising and prone to drawing conclusions without sufficient evidence. Warm and friendly people can be found everywhere, but it is certain that the majority of the arrogant ones belong to those families that constitute London’s elite society.
My stay at Charlotte’s approaches its end. I shall depart Kent without regret.
Your loving sister,
Elizabeth
Elizabeth refrained from sharing with her dear sister that a strange idea had been planted in her mind by Charlotte regarding Mr Darcy’s frequent visits to the Parsonage. At first, she dismissed it as impossible, not deeming it worthy of furtherconsideration. Yet, as the hours waned, the idea returned, tenacious and unrelenting. Could it be possible, she pondered, that the man who had once deemed her not handsome enough to tempt him was in love with her?
Throughout the better part of the night, she reflected, but the idea refused to release its hold on her restless mind.
She gathered the fragments of her thoughts, weaving them together to form an enigmatic and unexpected portrait. It commenced with his initial glances of admiration that had startled her at Netherfield. His countless expressions of amusement and genuine interest in her opinions, his way of defending her when she was attacked by Miss Bingley or Lady Catherine, all danced before her memory. She recalled the evening at Rosings when he had gracefully turned the pages of her music, his countenance illuminated by her mere presence. And why did he visit the Parsonage so frequently? It was a mystery that she struggled to reconcile with his previous coldness. But then, she thought of her dear sister Jane, who had once been similarly deceived by Mr Bingley’s seeming affections, only to find them a mere figment of her hopeful imagination.
Elizabeth yearned to discuss these bewildering thoughts with someone. Yet, she knew that Jane, still suffering from Mr Bingley’s departure, was not the most suitable person.
So, she wrote a long missive to Mrs Gardiner, pouring out her perplexity regarding this enigmatic man who, on many occasions, had seemed to contradict his avowed aversion to her.
Yet, as she sat down to write, a new question appeared in her mind. What were her own sentiments towards Mr Darcy?
Once more, she sifted through the memories they had created together, from their initial encounter when he had appeared as an elegant and somewhat haughty figure in the distance. Indeed, she could not overlook his earlier conceited behaviour. Still, in the course of their acquaintance, atransformation had taken place. He had revealed himself to be a man of wit and humour, occasionally displaying progressive views on matters concerning women and wealth. He was, without a doubt, the most refined gentleman she had ever encountered, and she could not deny that she waited for his smile when they met and his approval when she spoke.
Despite his imperfections, the Mr Darcy she had come to know in Meryton possessed a compelling allure and a pleasing intelligence. She fondly recalled the morning he had met her on the road to Longbourn to see her one last time before leaving—a memory that lingered vividly. However, she could not escape the disconcerting reality that the Mr Darcy she had once known either no longer existed or had concealed himself for reasons she could not imagine. And she did not like this Mr Darcy, who could offer no more than a mere acquaintance punctuated by silences and timid glances.
In her missive to her aunt, she wrote these sentiments with unreserved frankness before retiring for the night, only to find Mr Darcy invading her dreams.
When she woke up, she admitted, looking at Rosings in the morning mist, that she did not know her true feelings for him. And she needed to discover more about him. She remembered his cousin and wondered whether he might be the solution to her finally understanding Mr Darcy.
Chapter 13
During her walks through the park, Elizabeth unexpectedly crossed paths with Mr Darcy several times. Despite her attempts to avoid him, her efforts were in vain. She even took care to inform him which parts of the park were her favourite, hoping that he would understand and stay away, but it proved to be useless.
These encounters happened not just once but three times. It seemed as though Mr Darcy deliberately walked the park to meet her.Or perhaps it is a self-imposed punishment, she pondered, more amused than annoyed, as their meetings consisted of brief formal enquiries followed by awkward silences and hasty departures.
But she, too, had noticed which paths were favoured by Mr Darcy. He was drawn to open spaces devoid of trees and dense vegetation, preferring to admire the park in its splendour waking up to life with delicate shades of green and the firstflowers of the season. Aware of this, Elizabeth strolled away from the places where she might chance upon him.
As she walked, reading her latest letter from Jane, her thoughts dwelling on passages that clearly showed her sister’s profound sadness, she unexpectedly found herself not in Mr Darcy’s company this time but in the presence of Colonel Fitzwilliam. Quickly putting away her letter and forcing a smile, she greeted him, saying, “I did not know that you ever walked this way, Colonel Fitzwilliam.”
“I have been making my tour of the park,” he replied, “and I had planned to end it with a visit to the Parsonage. Do you intend to go much farther?”
“No,” she replied. “I should have turned in a moment.”
And so, they continued together, back towards the Parsonage.
“Will you truly be leaving Kent this Saturday?” she asked.
“Yes, unless Darcy decides otherwise. I am at his disposal—he arranges matters as he pleases.”
“Indeed,” Elizabeth pondered. “Mr Darcy seems to relish his power of choice. I can think of few who derive as much pleasure from doing as they please as he does.”
“He does enjoy having his own way,” the colonel admitted. “As do we all. However, his means of achieving it far exceeds that of many, for he is wealthy while others are not. I speak from experience, as a younger son must grow accustomed to self-denial and dependency.”
“In my opinion,” Elizabeth countered, “a younger son of an earl can scarcely claim familiarity with either. Honestly, what experience have you had with self-denial and dependence? When has a lack of funds ever hindered you from pursuing your desires or procuring whatever you wished for?”
