“Not her. Mr Collins.”
The colonel was nearly relieved, but something in Darcy’s face stopped him. The man before him was deeply shaken as he continued, “Mr Collins is her cousin. He calls hermy cousin… It was a dreadful conversation. Her mother and sisters are vulgar and without scruples, while her cousin is conceited, pompous, narrow-minded, and absurd. He nearly broke in two as he prostrated himself before me and seemed ready to kiss my hand. It was revolting. I imagined him calling medear cousinand felt physically ill. It is impossible. I am sorry. I cannot marry her. We shall return to London.”
“Darcy…be reasonable… We cannot leave just yet.” The colonel spoke in a calm tone, hoping to lend Darcy some steadiness. “Let us take a long ride through the countryside. I am certain you will see things differently upon your return. Do not decide anything yet. Allow a few days to pass, I beg you. You said you would listen to my advice. I am not asking you to propose today or tomorrow, only to reflect a while longer. You must see that her family matters, but they can be avoided.”
“We cannot avoid her family for the rest of our lives.”
“But you can endure them from time to time.”
The colonel fell silent, watching him. To his relief, Darcy nodded, though without saying precisely what he had agreed to.
He seemed angry and disheartened, but in truth, Darcy was relieved. Once the first waves of fury and frustration had passed—that overwhelming revulsion he had felt towards Mr Collins and the family he represented—what remained was only pain and regret. The colonel had imposed upon him what he had secretly wished to do: to stay. His heart urged him forcefully not to leave that love behind, though it seemed more like a battleground, even as his mind insisted he must go. The colonel, luckily, offered a solution that temporarily calmed his turmoil: he would remain not because he genuinely desired it but because it would be improper to leave so soon after arriving.
That small act of cowardice, the failure to make the decision himself—something that had never happened to him before—left a bitter taste beneath the quiet satisfaction of staying. He felt he had changed, become someone else, and he did not quite like the man he was becoming, for the thought of being joined by family ties to the Bennets had grown even more intolerable.
Torn between his love for Elizabeth and his desire to flee as far as possible from her family, he was left unmoored. Once confident and resolute, he was now driven by a pregnant sense of discomfort emerging from the war within himself. He wished for distance, when, in truth, the only thing he truly longed for was to be near her.
Chapter 11
Elizabeth had been flattered by the attention she had received at dinner from Mr Darcy, acknowledging this both to herself and to her aunt with the honesty that was so characteristic of her. Though she did not imagine it would continue.
But with each passing day, that gentleman became ever more present in her life, seemingly seeking any excuse or opportunity to be near her.
They met in the morning or in the afternoon, walking through the shady paths of Rosings Park or along the quiet road to Hunsford. Nearly every evening they were invited to Rosings for dinner, and their days began to follow a strange, steady pattern. But it was when Mr Darcy began visiting the Parsonage more often—sometimes alone, sometimes with Colonel Fitzwilliam—that Elizabeth could no longer overlook the feeling that something unusual was happening. And Mr Darcy’s behaviour was not the only oddity in the Parsonage. A few days after expressing her displeasure with Elizabeth, Charlotte changed abruptly. Perhaps Maria had influenced the matter, butto Elizabeth’s genuine pleasure, one morning Charlotte knocked on her door before breakfast and, entering, seated herself upon the bed, watching in silence as Elizabeth completed her preparations.
“Have you come so that we may sit in silence together?” Elizabeth asked at last, her tone light, and Charlotte smiled, though somewhat faintly.
“It is not easy to tell you—”
“Charlotte,” Elizabeth interrupted gently. “I expect nothing from you. I am glad you are well. That is enough for me.”
“Is it truly?”
At that, Elizabeth sat beside her and took her hand, gazing at it silently, uncertain what Charlotte wished to say.
“I have changed because one cannot remain a young girl without cares once one becomes a wife.” Charlotte’s words echoed the profound transformation in her that was not lost on Elizabeth.
“I understand, Charlotte. Believe me, I do. I have accepted that your life has altered fundamentally, and you have had to keep pace with those changes.”
“I never wished for our friendship to change. It happened without my realising it. But I want you to know that I am still Charlotte, your friend. Only…I am also now a wife.”
The confession left Elizabeth somewhat disconcerted. Since her arrival, she had not once glimpsed in Mrs Collins the friend with whom she had once laughed, sometimes wept, but above all, shared the same vision of the world.
“From my perspective, nothing has changed between us,” Elizabeth murmured, and Charlotte embraced her—a gesture that might have signified regret or apologies.
“From my perspective, so much has changed—because it had to. When my husband is present, I cannot be Charlotte Lucas.”
“But are you still Charlotte Lucas when he is not?” Elizabeth asked, astonished by this admission, their first candid talk since her arrival. Charlotte’s response was not immediate, her uncertainty palpable in the air.
“No, I am not, even when he is not present. The only place wherethatCharlotte still exists is when I am with you.”
“Oh!” Elizabeth exclaimed, uncertain whether she ought to be pleased, angry, or concerned. Yet she betrayed none of these sentiments, for she loved her friend too dearly not to listen to all she had to say.
“I see that you are surprised.”
“I am,” Elizabeth answered with the same honesty that had always governed their friendship. “Yet, I wonder whether a person can be divided into multiple selves.”
“Of course one can. My love for you has not diminished.”
