“She appraised her like she was merchandise,” said Richard, and Darcy turned to him, surprised. Such nuanced observations were not typical of his cousin. Yet, all the members of their family in London had either been moved or disturbed by Anne’s silent, sickly presence—clearly her mother’s doing. Lady Catherine preferred her daughter without will or spirit, for in the end, Anne was the heiress of Sir Lewis de Bourgh’s estate and fortune.
“To Lady Catherine, you are the best possible match,” the colonel said.
“Why me and not you? Lady Catherine is hardly in need of her son-in-law’s fortune,” replied Darcy, who had thought—particularly of late—that a marriage between Richard and Anne might well be his cousin’s salvation. As the second son of the Earl of Matlock, Richard stood to inherit only a modest sum, insufficient for the life he led. He would, therefore, need a wife with means.
“And yet the answer is simple. The master of Pemberley would rarely come to Rosings and would take no interest in managing another estate.”
“You are right. And Lady Catherine would continue to oversee the place just as she always has, far away from the prying eyes of her daughter and son-in-law, who would not interfere.”
“Precisely. Whereas I, or another man like me, willing to marry Anne, would move here at once and take up the estate through the marriage.”
“And yet she sent her to London, to Lady Matlock, to be transformed into a young woman who is less timid, somewhat more charming, and certainly far more elegant.”
“Do not be deceived. Everything has been done for your sake.”
But Darcy did not hear the final words as he was almost running to reach the gate of the estate.
“Why are we in such a hurry?” Richard asked, though understanding struck as they reached the road that led towards Hunsford. From there, the Parsonage stood plainly in view. They knew the countryside intimately, having visited their aunt nearly every year, and there were few landmarks in the area that held any particular interest.
Only then did Darcy stop what had felt more like a march than a walk before dinner.
“I must be mad. I nearly killed you,” he replied with a wry smile, and they paused to look towards the Parsonage.
“If she were to appear now, what would you do?” the colonel asked directly, interest vanquishing any reserve.
To his huge surprise, Darcy replied sincerely, “I would stand here like a fool and say nothing, for this battle with myself has left me weary.”
“You have still not decided?” the colonel asked, evidently disappointed. He had hoped to witness an engagement at Rosings, yet not the one Lady Catherine anticipated.
“No, I have not. I wish to see her, and I hope some clarity will come at that moment.”
“Which you have been waiting for in vain these many months.”
“Yes. But now it feels different. We shall meet her together, and I am curious to see how you perceive her.”
“You care for my opinion?” the colonel asked without attempting to hide his scepticism. His cousin could rarely be influenced, which was not always a virtue. Stubbornness and pride were among Darcy’s more prominent flaws.
“I do care,” replied Darcy, and in the stillness of the afternoon, broken only by birdsong, his voice sounded full of unexpected emotion.
“Yet you know that I favour your marrying the woman you love even before meeting her. Your feeling, which you described as love, counts in this story. I have deep faith in your ability to judge character. But I am also concerned by how uncertain you remain, for I know you will heed no counsel.”
Darcy looked intently at the Parsonage, as though he were waiting for the door to open and for Elizabeth to step out. Before learning of her visit to Kent, he had given much thought to finding a way to see her again, though it was likely he would never have taken that step himself. Thus, being so near to hernow felt less like a choice and more like a turn of fate, and he let himself rest in that thought, content to let destiny lead him forwards.
Chapter 8
On the evening of the dinner at Rosings, Elizabeth braced herself for battle. Whether it would be an attack or a defence, she could not tell, but she was prepared for any behaviour or conversation. She had experienced some difficult ‘initiatory’ conversations with Lady Catherine, which helped her realise there were people even more arrogant and self-centred than Mr Darcy. His aunt was a monument of selfishness and disdain for anybody she considered beneath her in social status. Elizabeth even imagined Mr Bingley’s sisters receiving an invitation to Rosings and benefiting from the same treatment, as it was clear that their wealth would not impress Lady Catherine.
However, events unfolded so differently that Elizabeth had to admit that what she had anticipated was based on her own prejudices more than reality.
The entire family and a few friends had already gathered in the drawing-room. The first who caught her attention was Mr Darcy, his gaze fixed upon the new arrivals. Elizabeth avoided meeting his eyes and turned instead to the young lady beside him, assuming with deep surprise that it must be Miss deBourgh. More than once, Charlotte had said that the heiress of Rosings was in poor health, even feeble or unremarkable, and exceedingly timid, yet the elegant young woman in front of her was far removed from the image she had constructed in her mind, helped by her friend.
She recovered from her surprise when a familiar voice spoke her name. Miss de Bourgh curtsied, and Mr Darcy smiled as one does at an old acquaintance before turning towards the gentleman beside him.
“Colonel Fitzwilliam, Miss Elizabeth Bennet,” he continued, smiling again, making Elizabeth wonder whether smiling had become his new battle plan. A circle of smiles formed at once; even Lady Catherine managed a grimace that could almost pass for benevolence.
Unexpectedly, Artemis had no place in the drawing-room that evening, for they were welcomed with a surprising warmth from Mr Darcy—a stark contrast to his usual demeanour.
And the surprises continued. Before long, Mr Darcy offered his arm to escort her to dinner, then seated himself beside her, far enough from the head of the table where their hostess presided.
