“Indeed?” exclaimed Darcy, startled by the colonel’s vehemence. “Are you certain of that?”
“I am very certain. I have a reliable method for discerning the honesty of ladies who seek to marry—their behaviour towards me.”
“What do you mean?” asked Darcy, laughing, suddenly somewhat more at ease.
“I mean that I am a man of nearly thirty, tall, elegant, from a prestigious family, and relatively entertaining.”
“And handsome.” Darcy laughed again. “No one would dispute that.”
“Well then, I have learnt to judge young women by how they approach me. To first observe their behaviour in your presence or my brother’s—both of you being wealthy. The women interested solely in fortune pay me no mind at all, while they fawn over you—and Andrew, too, before he was married.”
Darcy ceased laughing and studied his cousin attentively. It was, indeed, a good method—perhaps not infallible, but not without merit. In truth, he had considered the same matter himself, though less deliberately. When the two of them were together, most women hung upon his every word and scarcely glanced at the colonel.
“There may be something in what you say,” Darcy admitted. “And Lady Olivia?”
“She is the worst of them.”
“You are unjust.”
“I am realistic, Darcy. Lady Olivia belongs to that category of women who would stop at nothing to ensnare a man like you. Yet she would never marryyou, only your fortune. You saved your friend from such a match—but who will save you?”
“You?” asked Darcy, smiling once more.
“Me? You never listened even to Lady Anne, whom you adored. How could I possibly dissuade you from marrying Lady Olivia or another of her kind?”
Darcy did not reply, though it was clear he was reflecting. A faint trace of concern passed across his face, though he made no effort to share it. Instead, he said, “Then I shall marry Cousin Anne. She is surely not of that kind.”
He was joking, but the colonel did not find the remark amusing.
“You jest, but Lady Catherine is dangerous in her own way—as dangerous as Lady Olivia, I would say.”
“Then what is left to me?” asked Darcy.
“The young lady from Hertfordshire?” replied the colonel with conviction.
Chapter 5
If Elizabeth had ever questioned the capacity of people to change, she found the answer that had tormented her for weeks—ironically enough—within only ten minutes of stepping into her friend’s house. Mrs Collins had little in common with Charlotte Lucas, the girl Elizabeth had known since infancy, with whom she had shared all her secrets until the day her friend had followed her husband to Kent, two months ago.
They were received with great warmth, and for a moment, Elizabeth allowed herself to imagine that she had found the same friend, the one who had simply adopted the role of wife while remaining, at heart, the witty, good-humoured, and kind young woman she had always been. The one who had chided her when she was indifferent, combative, or too proud. The one who had urged her to set aside her grudge and dance with Mr Darcy, who had rightly observed that Jane had been too reserved with Mr Bingley. But as soon as they settled into the drawing-room of the Parsonage, that hope crumbled, leaving Elizabeth with profound disappointment.
Before her, after scarcely two months, stood a married woman for whom house and husband were all that mattered. Charlotte’s transformation was so striking that it took Elizabeth some time to accept it and find a way not to express or show her bewilderment. The drawing-room, though spacious, was furnished in the heavy style of past centuries. Although immaculately kept, it seemed to carry the imagined dust of bygone times. Enormous, impractical pieces of heavy furniture, blocking the light from outside, and dreadful paintings—once the subject of their shared amusement—all contributed to an atmosphere of antiquated gloom. Charlotte had written that Lady Catherine, with genuine generosity, had allowed them to make whatever changes they desired in the house. But, when Elizabeth asked her how she contemplated changing the drawing-room, Charlotte lifted her gaze in mild surprise and assured her, with genuine conviction, thattheyliked the house exactly as it was.
Later, when Elizabeth recounted, in her usual playful manner, the latest events in Meryton, not once did a smile appear on Charlotte’s face.
Elizabeth had come to Kent in search of a change from Meryton, and indeed, she had found something different—only for the worse. And from that moment, all her hope turned towards Rosings. She did not doubt that Lady Catherine was as arrogant as her nephew, Mr Darcy, yet between arrogance and the appalling dullness of the Parsonage, she preferred the sharp glances and the not-always-courteous words of those who belonged to theton. Ultimately, a battle of wits was far more stimulating to her mind than the lethargy induced by Charlotte-the-wife.
The only redeeming quality of the Parsonage was that conversation revolved incessantly around Rosings and its inhabitants, fuelling Elizabeth’s curiosity. All her questionswere answered even before the first dinner at Rosings, which, according to Mr Collins, would take place very soon.
“Did you have the chance to admire Rosings?” was the first question Mr Collins asked his guests at the dinner table, his eyes shining with anticipation as if that house was his. Indeed, Sir William had requested that the carriage stop at the entrance to the estate, following the instructions of Mr Collins, who had hoped they would arrive before nightfall to witness the grand spectacle.
“Yes, it is indeed charming,” said Sir William, though he seemed far more preoccupied with the food on his plate than the view of Rosings.
“Charming?” Mr Collins almost shouted in indignation. “It is magnificent! You should see the park in spring and summer, while the house is fit for a prince. It has at least thirty rooms, and the ballroom on the ground floor can accommodate a hundred people, at the very least.”
“And are there many balls at Rosings?” Maria asked, and Elizabeth concealed a smile, for it was so easy to extract details.
“Balls?” Mr Collins repeated, somewhat perplexed. He had arrived the previous spring to take up his position, but there had been no such event since. “No, at least not in the way they are held in Meryton. Lady Catherine hosts dinners, and sometimes, there are over twenty guests. But I do not believe she holds annual balls. Perhaps due to Miss de Bourgh.”
