To ask him what he thought of love, or whether a marriage ought to be founded upon it, would have been folly, for such matters were never discussed in their household.
“You must marry,” Sir William declared, cheerful at the thought that Elizabeth would witness for herself how well Charlotte fared and thus hasten the Bennet sisters towardsmatrimony, little knowing how such expectations contrasted with Elizabeth’s own aspirations.
Elizabeth might have had much to say in response to his pronouncements, but she was aware that some people held such unshakable convictions that no argument could alter them. Unfortunately, such people were in the majority in their society, men and women alike, driven only by notions they had accepted without thought and that they could not even justify if challenged. Marriage was the most commonly discussed subject, with almost everybody agreeing that a man could marry when and whom he wanted or loved, but a woman did not have this right. She must marry the moment she was asked—for a lady, what counted was themarriageand not thehusband.
To her relief, Sir William soon dozed off, and Maria fell silent, careful not to disturb her father. Relieved, Elizabeth closed her eyes, hoping for a moment’s peace to collect her thoughts. Rocked by the rhythmic sway of the carriage, she recalled a recent conversation with her father on the subject of how people viewed the world, how rigidly they clung to their beliefs, and whether anyone could ever profoundly change. These questions had preoccupied her ever since Netherfield had been inhabited by people who did not want to fit within the society of Meryton. Yet, their presence had proved interesting and their discussions stimulating in a way she had hardly imagined before when her only genuine partner in conversation had been her father.
“Change?” Mr Bennet had repeated, listening intently to her musings. “Certainly, it is possible. But it depends on what sort of change one desires. One can bring about change in decorum, behaving with greater kindness or civility and correcting faults such as pride, arrogance, prejudice, despising those beneath you, and flattering those above you. That ispossible for someone who has a conscience and responds to a personal mistake with shame and then a wish for change.
“But a shift in society’s fundamental principles? That, I doubt. Men are content with their roles, and women accept theirs because they see no escape from their circumstances. And, to be frank, most do not even contemplate such a thing. What you speak of, however, is something deeper, an alteration of the very fabric of society, in which women are afforded roles beyond those of mother and housekeeper.”
Elizabeth had smiled then as she looked at him, for there was great pleasure in knowing that her father understood her so well and even agreed with some of her thoughts.
“You wish for a transformation that, I believe, will not take place within a single generation. At least five or six must pass before such a shift occurs. And that could happen only if more women like you appear in society—”
“And men like you,” she had interjected then, gazing at her father with deep admiration.
“Oh, do not wish for more men like me,” he had replied with a wry smile. “Take, for instance, the matter of change—I have not succeeded in becoming a competent manager of Longbourn in twenty-five years. Change is no simple thing. And as for you, my dear Lizzy, if you find that those around you cannot be changed, and that is vitally important to you, then perhaps you must find a new group to belong to.”
Reflecting on that conversation, Elizabeth realised—strangely, but with a newfound clarity—that the dilemmas her aunt had about her society had, for some time now, been her own as well. Not for the same reasons—her family’s financial circumstances had not improved, but that was of little consequence to her; she had no desire to belong to a class elevated by wealth. Her motive was different. She longed to live in a world where those around her continuously challenged herintellect and knowledge, for she delighted in accomplishment and progress. And, unexpected as it seemed, the residents of Netherfield—whilst arrogant, insufferable, and even disdainful—had, for two months, provided her with the most stimulating company she had ever known.
At first, the realisation had troubled her as though she had betrayed those she loved. But now she understood: one could love one’s family and friends and still seek something more or different; just as Mrs Gardiner wished to do.
And although she would never have admitted it to anyone, not even to her aunt, her journey to Kent had an altogether different purpose from merely visiting Charlotte.
Her friend had written five long letters to her in the months since she had left home. Although it might have seemed rather unusual for a newly married woman to spend her time writing letters, Elizabeth thought that perhaps this was Charlotte’s way of adjusting to her new life; by putting her experiences into words, she sought to bring order to a reality that had certainly not been easy at first. Indeed, she had written copiously, detailing her life as a housekeeper, the people she encountered: parishioners, and above all, Lady Catherine, who had, for Charlotte as much as for her husband, become the supreme authority in their daily existence.
Lady Catherine had a daughter, Miss Anne de Bourgh, whom Charlotte had described in her first letter as a sickly young woman who rarely spoke. It was an unusual depiction, for Miss de Bourgh was a very wealthy heiress, and from all that Elizabeth knew of such young women, they seldom fitted such a description. She wondered whether this supposed reserve was, in fact, arrogance—the kind to which she had grown accustomed at Netherfield—but such questions could not be put to Charlotte, who had, in a short time, grown just as devoted to Lady Catherine as her husband.
At first, Elizabeth had found little pleasure in those detailed accounts of life at Rosings, the grand house and estate belonging to Lady Catherine, or in the descriptions of her daughter. The letters were filled with the exploits of people she had no desire to know. But then, a piece of news from Kent abruptly shifted her interest in Rosings and awakened in her a sudden willingness to accept Charlotte’s invitation, which had been extended repeatedly in every letter.
Among the many other details was the mention of a forthcoming visit: Mr Darcy was to call upon his aunt, Lady Catherine, accompanied by his cousin Colonel Fitzwilliam, a son of the Earl of Matlock.
Elizabeth had read that passage several times, though it contained no further explanation. But for her, it was enough. The decision was made, and when Sir William invited her to accompany him at the beginning of March, everything aligned in a most gratifying manner.
Chapter 4
“I am trying to enjoy my cognac in silence, but it is difficult to be quiet,” Colonel Fitzwilliam said, seeming amused by his own words while sipping from the elegant crystal glass. He gazed into the distance, focusing on the amber hue of the drink, pretending not to notice Darcy’s faint smile.
“Stop admiring the brandy and tell me what troubles you,” Darcy replied, the smile lingering on his lips. His cousin was not a man of subtleties, and his face was as legible as a book. He clearly wished to know something, and the unease in his expression was marked by both hesitation and curiosity.
“Ever since your return from Pemberley, I no longer recognise you,” he said at last. His words seemed to stir a storm upon Darcy’s face, one he made no effort to conceal.
Darcy took a sip of his own cognac, uncertain. It was not in his nature to confide in others; yet, the incident last summer—when Georgiana had come close to disgrace at the hands of Wickham—had brought them closer. The colonel had accompanied him to Ramsgate without hesitation and had been the one to stop him from challenging Wickham to a duel.
It had been a difficult decision, but it was the right one; such a confrontation would have forced Darcy to reveal the reason for the duel, and Georgiana’s honour was of far greater importance.
They had spent nearly a month together at Pemberley after Ramsgate, sharing their misgivings more openly than ever before. Although Darcy had not cared much for such candour at first, he had come to admit—even if only to himself—that those long conversations had helped him through that difficult period.
“I went to Pemberley after Christmas to run away…from myself,” he said eventually. A long silence followed, and Richard rather expected his cousin to say no more. But he was mistaken.
“Am I weaker now because I can no longer keep to myself what weighs on my mind?”
“You are asking me this?” the colonel replied, surprised.
“I am asking myself, rather—but I do not know the answer. I advised a friend not to pursue a certain young lady I believed to be interested only in his wealth. But now I do not know how to advise myself.”
“Ah…so it is about a young lady,” the colonel uttered with some hesitance.
