“Yes, do you not agree?” he returned, halting in the middle of their walk. Then, as if seized by a sudden impulse, he asked, “How do you wish to live your life?”
Elizabeth also stopped, her spirits lifted by the question, eager to find and give an answer.
“I should like to possess a freedom that women in our world are seldom granted. To have the right to choose my own path in life rather than have it imposed upon me,” she declared with quiet conviction.
“Interesting,” he said, and once more, Elizabeth found herself surprised. This man, who had appeared so unyieldingand conventional, now seemed interested in her unconventional aspirations and not shocked.
“Unrealistic,” she added, with a note of subtle regret, yet nevertheless he detected it. For a fleeting moment, he wished to tell her that marriage to him might provide a path to a freedom that not many men were ready to offer. Yet he remained silent. He could easily imagine her at Pemberley, but his dear house invaded by her ‘tribe’ was an image that made him sick.
“And Mr Bingley? Does he intend to remain at Netherfield for the winter?” she asked, breaking the silence that had settled between them, her tone light, though her heart beat faster in anticipation of his reply.
“I am unaware of his plans,” Darcy said, his tone abruptly colder. “Yet, even if we depart in a short time, with the officers stationed in Meryton, I trust your neighbourhood will find no lack of entertainment.”
The sardonic inflexion of his words rekindled Elizabeth’s long-held grievances against him. His haughty disdain, his affronts to her family, and his treatment of Mr Wickham all rushed to the forefront of her mind. In that instant, she found his company unbearable. Neither his newfound capacity for engaging in conversation nor the peculiar interest he appeared to harbour towards her could obliterate the memory of the haughty, pompous gentleman who had deemed her unworthy of his notice and had shown only contempt for those dearest to her.
With no further interest in prolonging their conversation, she offered a courteous yet cold excuse as she caught sight of Jane in the distance before making her departure with swift determination.
He remained motionless in the middle of the road for some time, a peculiar sadness settling upon him, for he recognised with unwavering certainty that this would mark the final occasion on which their paths would cross. Despite hisfeelings, he would never seek to make that remarkable woman his wife.
∞∞∞
Elizabeth met Jane close to their home, and together, they resolved to take the road back to Meryton, towards Mrs Phillips’s house.
“What were you doing with that gentleman?” Jane asked, though she did not pause for Elizabeth’s reply, her attention fixed on the path ahead. “Noon has come and gone, and he has not made an appearance,” she continued, her tone betraying neither concern nor doubt but rather a quiet eagerness. It was clear that she was not worried but still steadfast in her confidence that Mr Bingley would come.
“You should have seen him when you left,” Jane said, glancing at Elizabeth, yet her absent face showed clearly that she was not waiting for an answer. Her only interest was Mr Bingley and his eventual appearance.
“Whom?” Elizabeth replied, attempting to mask her thoughts.
“Mr Darcy. When you left him, he stood in the middle of the road, watching you as if seeking a final glimpse.” Jane could not help but smile, for she found the notion preposterous. It was inconceivable to her that Mr Darcy harboured any feelings for Elizabeth—or, indeed, for any member of their community. “I wonder what brought him to this particular road.”
Once more, she seemed indifferent to any answer, allowing Elizabeth to reflect on the question. Until then, she had not dwelt on why Mr Darcy might have walked in the direction of Meryton when there were many more enjoyable paths around Netherfield.
In that instant, an unsettling realisation swept over her. Every detail of Mr Darcy’s behaviour—the measured stillness of his stance, the weight in his gaze, even that morning walk—conveyed a single truth: they were preparing to leave. His presence on that road was no coincidence. He had sought an encounter with her—though she found herself indifferent to his reasons when faced with a far more pressing dread. It stood to reason that the others at Netherfield might also depart if he was leaving.
A faint hope flickered that perhaps only he intended to go. Yet his parting remark to her lingered ominously:When we depart, your neighbourhood will not lack for entertainment with all the officers around.Stripping away the layers of sarcasm and disdain, Elizabeth now recognised his words as an announcement. The gravity of that realisation settled upon her. Mr Bingley might already be preparing to leave—and her heart ached at the thought.
She turned to Jane, who continued to observe the road to Meryton and Netherfield with unwavering diligence, though no figure appeared in the distance.
Perhaps no one ever will, Elizabeth thought bitterly, though she kept such musings to herself. It was mere speculation, and she clung desperately to the fragile thread of hope.
By the next day, however, that hope was utterly gone. When they returned from Meryton, they found a letter from Miss Bingley to Jane. In clear and unapologetic words, it said that she, Mr and Mrs Hurst, and Mr Darcy had followed Mr Bingley to London, where they planned to stay for at least six months. None of them would return to Hertfordshire that winter.
Elizabeth’s heart sank as painful certainty settled in her chest. The fragile ties between their family and the Netherfield residents were broken, leaving only silence and regret.
Chapter 4
Mr Bennet took genuine pleasure in guiding and sustaining his daughters in pursuing knowledge. However, he was well known for avoiding any involvement in their romantic affairs.
In time, he came to the realisation that his attempts to subject their conflicting emotions to the filter of reason were invariably doomed to failure. His rare pieces of advice were either disregarded or, worse still, met with derision, forone cannot demand that the heart behave—as his youngest daughter, Lydia, had once remarked to him. Lydia, who sometimes appeared far more experienced in matters of love than her elder sisters, had declared this with the careless assurance of youth, leaving her father amused and dismayed by her precocious familiarity with such things.
Yet, on occasion, it was inevitable that he should become entangled in such matters, for the crucial decisions of thehousehold were invariably brought to his library, the sanctuary where he spent most of his time.
In those particular times, he relied on his sister-in-law, Mrs Gardiner, seldom seeking counsel from his wife or her sister, Mrs Phillips. This rather peculiar arrangement resulted from years of observation and discussions, making him realise and accept that Mrs Gardiner’s involvement or advice usually yielded favourable outcomes, while those of his wife and her local sister often culminated in disaster despite theiralmostearnest intentions.
The latest misstep on Mrs Bennet’s part had happened in November, when she had prematurely proclaimed the engagement—and even the imminent marriage—of their eldest daughter, Jane. Sir William Lucas had apprised him of this peculiar misunderstanding, while the real relationship between the reserved couple was different from the rumours circulating amongst their neighbours, unfortunately propagated by Mrs Bennet herself. The extent of their relationship had been confined to cheerful dances, secret glances, and thoughtful conversations.
Mr Bennet, well-versed in human nature, could easily discern what had transpired and why Mr Bingley had departed the country without a word. A quiet man, likely smitten yet hesitant, had been alarmed upon realising that the entire community eagerly anticipated an engagement he had not yet seriously contemplated. In his distress, he had failed to recognise the sincerity of Jane’s feelings, succumbing instead to the avid gazes and reckless chatter of Mrs Bennet, as well as the evident reluctance of his own family towards any deeper connection that might have blossomed between him and Jane.
