“What has happened?” cried the colonel, who was waiting at the gate. It was plain he had been watching for his cousin, and Darcy’s countenance betrayed not the faintest trace of satisfaction.
“She has said no!” Darcy replied shortly. He was not accustomed to confidences, yet that morning, for the first time in his life, he had felt the need of counsel. The colonel, withouthesitation, had offered it—Miss Elizabeth Bennet was precisely the wife he had imagined by his cousin’s side at Pemberley.
“How did she say no?” asked the colonel, almost in disbelief, for he had been persuaded that Miss Bennet felt some regard for Mr Darcy.
“In the most direct manner possible, and without the least attempt at civility. I might even say that the vehemence of her refusal was not merely shocking—it was profoundly mortifying.”
“Good heavens!” exclaimed the colonel. “But why such vehemence? Miss Bennet is a young lady of excellent breeding—”
He stopped abruptly, checked by his cousin’s look and by the sight of Mr Collins approaching with an air of officious importance—the very man they least wished to see. Fortunately, he appeared to comprehend that he was not desired and soon continued his way alone, to their great relief.
“Look at that man,” said Darcy at length. “Can you believe he is her cousin? And I assure you, such is the whole of her family. That is what I told her—”
“You told her?” The colonel’s astonishment was unfeigned; he could hardly credit that Darcy had offered his hand while censuring her relations.
“I thought that honesty—”
“What honesty, Fitzwilliam? What do you mean?”
“I mean her mother, who had already planned poor Bingley’s marriage before he had even considered such a thing; her sister, who thought only of his fortune and could not even summon a smile for the man she wished to ensnare.”
“Then the story you told me was about Bingley and Miss Bennet?” The colonel coloured, mortified as he recalled the indiscretion he had committed the previous day.
“It is my fault,” he admitted. “I told her that you had saved a friend from an imprudent marriage.”
Darcy shook his head with vehemence. “Be easy. I told her the same myself, and without the least reserve, for I believed—and still believe—it was a just action.”
Matters were beginning to grow clearer. Though the colonel still felt some guilt, he now understood that his cousin had proposed to Miss Bennet, offering her his heart in exchange for her renunciation of her family—or something very like it.
“Well, but all is not lost—”
“Enough, Richard!” Darcy’s tone grew harsh. “Enough! I have done for ever with these follies of love and independent women in which I have lately believed. I require a wife from our own sphere—one who will not be dazzled by my fortune, who belongs to a family of sense and moderation.”
“And do you suppose you will find such a one in London? How often have we debated this question while observing the young ladies about us—how many times have you declared that you could never marry a woman like Lady Amelie or any of her kind?”
“They cannot all be like Lady Amelie…but my resolution is nearly made.”
Though the colonel sought to draw more from him, Darcy moved forward with determination and entered the hall at Rosings, where their conversation could not continue.
Yet the colonel was unwilling to let him withdraw without avowing his intentions, for he recalled a conversation they had once had in London, shortly before coming to Kent, when Darcy had told him that, in the end, he would marry Anne de Bourgh. At that time, he had taken it for an idle remark; yet something now whispered that the resolution his cousin had spoken of was indeed this very one.
He compelled him to enter the library and there almost detained him by force. Standing with his back against the door, he implored him to speak his mind.
“I intend,” Darcy said with terrifying calmness, “to marry Anne.”
The sky seemed to fall upon the colonel. There could be no greater folly. Anne was a sickly, withdrawn girl, wholly unequal to the position of Darcy’s wife. If in London, he had believed his cousin jesting, he now perceived that his evident suffering might drive him to such an error. Miss Bennet had been the proper match for him, yet she was not the only one; and rather than Anne de Bourgh, almost any young lady of their acquaintance would have been preferable.
“I entreat you, I implore you,” said the colonel, searching his cousin’s eyes but finding there nothing but indifference. “Let time pass. London is full of lively, charming, and wealthy girls from excellent families who would gladly marry you. Promise me you will do nothing rash.”
“Enough, Richard! I promise nothing. Cease this absurd drama. Marriage is no more than a contract.”
“It is not what you believed this morning—”
“This morning I was a fool whom I no longer recognise!”
“Only say you will reflect—”
Darcy laughed instead; yet the sound bore no trace of mirth—it was the cry of a wounded creature.
