But scarcely ten steps later, the horrible weight of his error fell upon him. The pain and anger on Miss Elizabeth’s face—once so full of warmth—told him the truth and left him in silent despair. Darcy had saved Bingley from one of Miss Bennet’s sisters, and he had revealed this thoughtlessly. She took her leave with but a few curt words, aware that they were departing the following day. Almost running, she disappeared,while he did the same, albeit in the opposite direction, desperate to find his cousin and confess his blunder.
He rushed back to Rosings, striding directly into the drawing-room, where he hoped to find Darcy. Yet, he discovered only his aunt and Anne, accompanied by Mrs Jenkinson.
“Where is Darcy?” he cried, his voice echoing with an urgency that filled the room. The ladies lifted their eyes in astonishment, for his countenance expressed an intense turmoil he did not try to hide. And that was strange.
“He has not returned from Hunsford, where I sent him,” Lady Catherine replied superciliously.
“Has something happened?” Anne asked, leaving her timidity behind in the face of his desperation, her gaze flitting anxiously from her cousin to her mother, who remained indifferent.
“No, do not worry,” the colonel reassured her, striving to smile and regain his composure for her sake. Darcy still being in Hunsford was the sole piece of good news that day.
“But still, what is the matter, Richard?” Anne persisted.
“Leave the man be,” Lady Catherine interjected sharply, and Anne cast her eyes downwards. The colonel, observing her submission, resolved to take her with them to London to free her from the stifling atmosphere that suffocated her every breath.
“I must speak to Darcy. It is urgent,” he said, turning to Anne, who regarded him with grateful concern. “I shall explain later,” he added, merely to fill the silence and soften the awkwardness he had stirred up. In truth, he wanted nothing more than to vanish from sight and drown in self-reproach. He had made a grave error that might cost his dearest cousin his happiness, and that was a burden he could confess to no one but Darcy himself. And Darcy was nowhere to be found.
He bowed slightly to Anne and left in hurried strides, his resolve unwavering as he set off on the road to Hunsford, determined to find Darcy.
But he had scarcely taken a few steps when he saw his cousin’s horse tethered before the Parsonage, and his world crumbled. Regardless of what Darcy was doing inside—whether taking a mere farewell or proposing marriage—one thing was certain: his cousin’s mission had been made infinitely harder by his previous foolishness. And, most selfishly, the colonel hoped it was not a proposal. But then, almost instantly, he felt remorse about such a thought.
He wished to flee from that place, but he was not a man to desert. Concealed by a small copse, he waited for Darcy to emerge from the house, hoping that by some miracle, he might behold a smiling countenance while a joyous woman would lead him to the gate.
A dense spring rain began to fall as though to whisper to him that a happy ending was unlikely, and indeed, after a while, Darcy appeared. With a single abrupt motion, he mounted his horse. The colonel barely had time to call out to him to stop. The man who dismounted again before him seemed the embodiment of despondency.
“What is it?” asked the colonel.
“She has refused me,” Darcy answered, barely managing to unclench his jaw, so tense was he.
They set off on foot together, the colonel holding the reins of the horse, heedless of the rain, the only sounds being the horse’s hoofs and the wind rustling through the branches.
“It is my fault,” murmured the colonel in despair.
“Do not speak nonsense,” Darcy said, glancing at him with a flicker of surprise, which swiftly vanished, replaced by sorrow.
“I told her this morning that you had separated Bingley from a woman who sought his fortune, without knowing that the lady in question was her sister.”
Darcy made a sweeping gesture with his hand. “Fear not, I told her the same thing—and others.”
“What?” the colonel cried in profound distress as though awakened to a reality where the rain poured upon them and the world seemed on the brink of ending.
“I would never embark upon anything as important as marriage with a lie. I told her the truth—that I love her but that her family is utterly…”
“Utterly?” the colonel murmured, aghast.
“Utterly insufferable. I believe I even used stronger words to convey my feelings.”
“Good God, Darcy, how could you do such a thing?” the colonel demanded. “That was not a proposal of marriage!”
“If she was the woman I imagined she was, she would have accepted precisely because she valued my honesty.”
“Many other women would have accepted who were indifferent to your honesty, uncaring of their families, desiring only to marry you for your wealth. The only woman genuinely suited to you could only have answered no in the face of such a proposal,” answered the colonel, deeply saddened.
∞∞∞
The following day, on the grand staircase at Rosings, Darcy and Richard were bidding farewell to Lady Catherine and Anne. The only one saddened by their departure was Anne; however, she consoled herself with the hope that an invitation from Lady Matlock would soon arrive, allowing her to leave for London, the first place where she had ever felt truly at ease.
“Lady Catherine does not seem particularly distressed by our leaving,” Richard murmured in Darcy’s ear. Darcy merely shrugged with indifference. Their aunt, in unusually good spirits, even stood to wave them off as they rode away, watching until they passed through the gates of Rosings. They had chosen to travel on horseback to the nearest posting station, where their coach—sent ahead earlier that morning—awaited them.
