Darcy was still, reflecting on his cousin’s words, then he spoke with obvious regret. “It seems I have revealed my feelings to the wrong person. I have had no indication from Miss Bennet that she has understood.”
“Perhaps she has understood you admire her but not how profound your admiration is. There is a difference between having an interest or affection for a lady—flirting with her—and appearing resolute in your intention to ask for her hand.”
Darcy sighed and shook his head. The colonel was correct. His heart burned; he was in love for the first time in his life, yet he was uncertain about marriage. A critical consideration had stood in the way of such a decision. But in the end, he had overcome all the obstacles—which had, in truth, been entirely within himself. The opinion or wishes of Lady Catherine did not concern him. Neither she nor his family could stand in the way of his decision; he alone had the power to choose.
“I am finally resolved,” Darcy said, and the colonel exhaled in relief. He had never seen his cousin so unsettled, so deep in thought, or so uncertain. But since meeting Miss Bennet, he had come to understand she was the wife heneeded. Beautiful, intelligent, and fiercely independent, she was the woman who would create the atmosphere required within Darcy’s home—love and laughter, seriousness, and a particular state of perpetual battle that would keep a marriage alive. Over the last two weeks, he had come to know her, to appreciate her, and, above all, to wonder why his cousin did not see clearly that she was the woman for him. But such a thing could not be said aloud. He knew Darcy too well; he was stubborn—and sometimes arrogant enough to dismiss advice outright.
“My God, you have finally come to your senses!” he dared to exclaim yet immediately regretted it as Darcy seemed once again overwhelmed by his old doubts. Nevertheless, he answered as he needed to talk, and the colonel was the only one in the world who could listen to his concerns.
“I resolved to make peace with her family—her mother, sisters…Mr Collins,” he finally said, and the colonel approved with a slight nod.
“A good decision, Cousin. Her family cannot be an obstacle. I am glad you understand.”
“You have not grasped the depth of my worry.”
“So tell me,” the colonel replied, but faced with Darcy’s silence he continued, “Tell me, even though I am confident I have understood everything.”
“First…” Darcy hesitated. “First…you tell me what you think about me navigating this strange situation and not finding a solution while I am sure of my feelings for her.”
But the colonel shook his head in denial; it was difficult to tell Darcy the truth.
“Come, Richard, you are like my brother. You cannot hurt me, and I need your honesty.”
Finally the colonel’s forthright nature led him to decide in favour of complete candour, indifferent to the consequences. “Then… Well… I am not the most subtle man in the world, yet Ithink the real obstacle is your pride regarding yourself and our family that has made you regard with arrogance anyone who seemed below your…our social status.”
Darcy’s grimace was difficult to interpret, but luckily his words came at once. “Lately…I have tried to move beyond pride. But it is not about lacking refinement or elegance—I would not expect such a thing—but the fundamental conduct befitting society. I find it difficult to describe them, and I do not wish to do so tonight, for I fear that by morning, I shall awaken resolved to leave directly for London.”
“But Darcy, I met her aunt, Mrs Gardiner, in London. I found her to be a highly respectable lady—kind, and a close friend to Lady Oakham.”
“Unfortunately, one decent person in the family is not enough. I assure you that I have hesitated for so long precisely because what I encountered in their household was a mother entirely devoid of decorum—indeed, outright vulgar—and with a shocking lack of scruples in her relentless pursuit of husbands for her five daughters, all of whom, except for Miss Elizabeth, resemble her in every way.”
“It cannot be as dreadful as that,” the colonel said in a conciliatory tone. “I do not think you should judge them so harshly. We have dear Lady Catherine in our family. And you are mistaken if you think our aunt’s siege upon your hand has only just begun. When she first brought Anne to our house, I recall that, during the first dinner, she declared the engagement between you two was as good as settled.”
Darcy sipped his brandy and said nothing.
“My father seemed to agree, but my mother, later that evening when it was just us, without Anne and Lady Catherine, laughed heartily at the notion along with Lady Oakham and said that no one could force you into marriage. I believe both ladies know you quite well.”
“Lady Matlock is a woman of subtlety and refinement, who knows human nature well,” Darcy agreed. He had even secretly hoped that, in the event of a marriage, she and Lady Oakham would guide Elizabeth, helping her to become acquainted with London society.
“Lady Catherine is not my main problem now,” he continued reflectively.
“Obviously. But still do not misjudge her power. I do not think inviting Anne to your home was a wise decision,” the colonel said.
Darcy looked at him, waiting for him to explain.
“You were too angry to notice, but Lady Catherine calmed herself when you extended the invitation. She will, without a doubt, send Anne to you—either to London or Pemberley—hoping she might sway your resolve.”
“It will be too late,” Darcy said, setting down his glass. “For I hope that I shall be engaged by tomorrow.”
Chapter 16
The following day ought to have dawned clear and bright, bringing at last that long-awaited event that would have rendered Darcy happy for the rest of his life. The colonel wished and hoped that his cousin, at last, had quieted his doubts and unrest and overcome the prejudices he had long held concerning Miss Elizabeth’s family. The entire day lay before him—ample time to find Miss Elizabeth alone and ask for her hand in marriage.
Yet matters did not unfold in so straightforward a manner. Immediately after breakfast, Lady Catherine dispatched Darcy to her solicitor with a set of documents, an errand that might have been performed by anyone, yet she insisted he undertake it under the pretence that it was of grave importance. She had gone so far as to make a scene, nearly shouting that no one ever offered her any assistance. To the colonel’s astonishment, Darcy had acquiesced after only a half-hearted attempt at protest. Saddened, the colonel surmised that his cousin had relinquished his intention of proposing to MissElizabeth, especially since their departure had been fixed for the following day.
He had accompanied Darcy to the stables, still hoping to discern something of the turmoil within his cousin’s heart and mind. But the closed expression, the crease between his brows, and, above all, the resolute silence bespoke a fierce inner struggle. As he watched Darcy ride away through the wide gates of Rosings, the colonel set off on a solitary walk, his thoughts steeped in regret. He reflected on how well-suited his cousin was to Miss Bennet and how, through a foolish pride in his supposed noble bloodline, he was now forsaking the woman who might have secured his happiness.
That morning, however, Miss Elizabeth’s charming smile deepened his regret for his cousin’s loss. Thankfully, she saved him from any effort; conversation with her was always easy—her wit found something engaging or amusing in even the most trivial subjects. When their discussion turned to Darcy, the colonel believed it an opportune moment to reveal something of his cousin’s character, those traits that often remained concealed: his unwavering devotion to Georgiana, his absolute loyalty to his family and friends. And then the catastrophe unfolded from nowhere. Without thinking, he recounted how Darcy had rescued a friend from an unwise match with a woman interested only in his wealth. He suspected that the friend in question was Bingley, yet Darcy had never confirmed it.
