“Only you cannot show it plainly any longer.”
“No, it is not that. It is a matter of behaviour. I cannot be the way I was…the way you are. Not that there is anything wrong with you. God forbids it! I must be more like our mothers—at least on the outside. It means being a wife, and Mr Collins expects this from me.”
Elizabeth merely nodded, for she could not but grant her friend the benefit of the doubt even though she was not entirely sure Charlotte still wanted to be someone different inside from the mistress of Mr Collins’s house.
“What will that mean for us?” she asked nevertheless, striving to maintain a tone of detachment.
Charlotte did not answer at once; hesitation was evident in her demeanour. Yet, at length, she said, “To speak as we are today when we are alone.”
Then she departed, leaving Elizabeth to wonder whether this was indeed what she desired and whether the friendship that had once bound them could now exist only in fragments—stolen minutes in the morning or evening, snatched between the duties of Charlotte’s married life.
Charlotte considered their conversation concluded in perfect understanding, while Elizabeth felt, once again, that Charlotte had irremediably changed into Mr Collins’s wife, a lady she knew and liked only by virtue of their old friendship.
Chapter 12
Nevertheless, Elizabeth had to admit that she was wrong in both assumptions—Mr Darcy’s attention or need to meet her did not diminish, while her old friend Charlotte flickered again with that light she had possessed in Hertfordshire. Both revelations unfolded on a morning when Elizabeth found herself alone while the two Lucas sisters called on parishioners in Hunsford. She excused herself from joining them on the pretext of writing letters, when, in reality, she just wanted to be alone for an hour or two, a luxury rarely found at the Parsonage.
The unexpected sound of the doorbell startled her, the unmistakable herald of a visitor clouding that carefree morning. Having heard no carriage approach, she supposed it could be Lady Catherine coming. Under that apprehension, she hastily put aside her half-written letter to avoid any impertinent enquiries. However, when the door opened, a wholly unexpected sight met her—Mr Darcy, and only Mr Darcy, entered the room.
He, too, appeared astonished upon finding her alone.
“Oh,” he said, visibly embarrassed, an expression Elizabeth had never seen on his demeanour. “I am sorry to intrude, but I could not imagine finding you unaccompanied.”
Elizabeth had that unexpected feeling the man in the room was not the Mr Darcy she knew.
“Mrs Collins and Miss Lucas have gone into Hunsford,” she murmured, offering an explanation he neither sought nor required. He took his seat nevertheless, undisturbed by the oddity of the moment—decorum demanded he acknowledge the lady with a proper greeting then leave, yet he remained.
Elizabeth was not the kind of young woman to shy away from conflict in any form. Mr Bennet would have said she actively sought it, yet now she felt entirely blameless; it was Mr Darcy who had transgressed the dictates of propriety. And so she secretly laughed, content in the thought that she was nothing more than a mere victim of circumstance.
After a rather long silence, she made the requisite enquiries concerning Rosings, but then it became absolutely necessary to find some topic of conversation. In this predicament, she considered it a good opportunity to learn more about the Netherfield party’s departure from Hertfordshire four months prior. The subject seemed well-suited to the morning’s conversation. Elizabeth hoped to continue the letter she was writing to Jane, filling its pages with a few truthful accounts of what had transpired in the autumn.
“How very suddenly you all quit Netherfield last November, Mr Darcy. It must have been a most agreeable surprise to Mr Bingley to find you all following him so soon, for if I recollect correctly, he left but the day before. I trust that he and his sisters were well when you parted from them in London?”
“Perfectly so, I thank you,” Mr Darcy replied indifferently, as if he did not remember their departure clearly or it was unimportant.
Finding that she was to receive no further response, she paused briefly before adding, “I have been given to understand that Mr Bingley has little intention of ever returning to Netherfield.”
“I have never heard him express an intention of returning. He will probably spend little of his time there in the future. He has many friends and is at a period of life when friendships and engagements are continually increasing for someone living in London.”
Elizabeth felt anger rising within her. Mr Darcy appeared to have entirely dismissed their time in Hertfordshire, though for her family, it had been a period when their peace of mind had been utterly shattered. Struggling to master her composure, she spoke in a tone carefully devoid of emotion.
“If he intends to return only seldom to Netherfield, it would be far better for our neighbourhood were he to relinquish the property altogether. We might then, perhaps, secure a more permanent family in residence. However, it may be that Mr Bingley did not take the house so much for the benefit of the neighbourhood as for his own convenience, and we must therefore expect that he will retain or surrender it upon the same principle.”
“I should not be surprised,” Mr Darcy said, and his lack of eloquence convinced Elizabeth that he did not want to discuss the subject, not out of compunction or mere uneasiness but simply because he considered it uninteresting.
Elizabeth made no reply, still feeling furious, and resolved to leave the burden of sustaining their conversation to him.
He accepted the tacit invitation and remarked, “This appears to be a most comfortable house. I believe Lady Catherine made considerable improvements when Mr Collins first took residence.”
“Indeed, she did, and I am certain her generosity could not have been better bestowed,” Elizabeth answered honestly.
“Mr Collins appears to have been most fortunate in his choice of wife.”
“Yes, indeed. His friends may well rejoice that he has met one of the few sensible women who would have accepted him or could have made him happy. My friend possesses an excellent understanding, though I am not entirely convinced that her acceptance of Mr Collins was her wisest decision. Nevertheless, she appears perfectly content, and from a prudent perspective, it is certainly a most advantageous match for her.”
“It must be a great comfort to her to be settled within so easy a distance of her family and friends.”
“It is nearly fifty miles, a whole day of travelling. From my perspective, that is not an easy distance,” Elizabeth said, looking attentively at him.
