The road from London to Netherfield for Bingley’s wedding proved exceedingly unpleasant both for Darcy and for the colonel.
“If we stop once more, I shall take a horse and ride ahead,” the colonel said. He understood Darcy’s agitation, yet they must arrive; twilight was falling, and there remained at least five miles to travel. But Darcy found endless reasons to delay. They had stopped at every station and inn, and when no such place was near, he halted merely upon imagining that his perfectly maintained carriage might have some fault.
“Or tell me what troubles you. Why are you so restless? It is not the first time you have met within these past months,” the colonel said.
“How can she marry Mr Clinton?” Darcy said at last.
“How can you marry Lady Elizabeth?” the colonel replied sharply, and it was now Darcy’s turn to look astonished, for the colonel was seldom the one to speak with temper.
“How? Lady Elizabeth is a young woman of sense and beauty who would never marry for money, for she has fortune of her own. Mr Clinton might be her father.”
“And what then? Have you not seen such marriages before? They are common enough.”
“Miss Elizabeth is not one to marry for wealth…if she were—”
“She would have taken you, though you have not the least idea how to make a proposal of marriage. Yes, I grant it. Then, if the report is true, she marries Mr Clinton for other motives—”
“What other motives could there be?” Darcy asked in despair. “I shall speak with her—”
“Heaven forbid that you do any such thing. It is none of your affair. Go to London or to Kent, break off your engagement with Lady Elizabeth, and afterwards speak as much as you please…but for now you have no right. She is not Bingley, to be guided by your counsel.”
“Why are you angry?” Darcy asked, pausing for a moment in his disquiet to observe his cousin.
“Because I too may have my difficulties…as you, or any man.”
“You manage yours more decisively, and it is well that you do so; it shields you from suffering.”
The colonel reflected for a moment, glancing at Darcy, who looked out through the window. Dusk was deepening, yet within the carriage the light still lingered enough to show that Darcy was indeed much disquieted, and that his agitation would not subside.
“You cannot marry one woman while you love another so entirely,” the colonel said with determination, even with anger. “It is unjust to Lady Elizabeth.”
Darcy turned towards him with a shadow of wonder. “Only to Lady Elizabeth?”
“She is the victim here. You and Miss Elizabeth have both chosen, at one time or another, this absurd course; no one compelled you to it.”
“Nor was Lady Elizabeth compelled to accept,” Darcy said unexpectedly, and with a trace of resentment ill-befitting the subject.
“You are angry with her for accepting?” the colonel asked in disbelief.
Darcy did not reply.
“She accepted because she believed that you liked her, that you were drawn to her.”
“How do you know?” Darcy asked, with a faint touch of irony. “Have you two spoken upon such matters?”
“Perhaps we have,” the colonel said. Still, the conversation went no further, for the carriage stopped before Netherfield, and Bingley, with Jane upon his arm, came forth to receive them.
Memories overwhelmed Darcy the moment he entered the parlour. It seemed not a year had passed, but rather that he had entered that room for the first time. He saw Miss Mary and Miss Kitty, shook hands with Mr Hurst, the husband of Louisa, and perceived Caroline, Bingley’s second sister. Then he greeted all the others—only Elizabeth was absent. For an instant, he rejoiced, yet immediately afterwards, regret oppressed him. For, strive as he might to remain firm, the truth was otherwise: he had counted upon those two days to be filled with her presence, her beauty, that half-ironical smile, and even that misted glance, trembling with tears, with which she had once met him by the lake when he had turned back to speak with her…to make that promise he was glad to have done.
But she was not there. He saw Mr Bennet conversing with Mr Clinton, Mrs Bennet, and other people—but not her, nomatter how hard he looked around. Suddenly, all he desired was to reach his chamber unseen.
Chapter 31
Two miles away, Elizabeth gazed into the night across the garden. Longbourn lay in perfect stillness. Not even the servants remained, for all had gone to assist at Netherfield; yet the silence, so long desired, brought her no comfort. On the contrary, as she imagined that he had by now arrived at Netherfield, all returned vividly to her mind; even that evening of the ball when he had declared that she was not handsome enough to tempt him appeared, in recollection, more beautiful than the present hour.
She had resolved to remain at home, yet now she repented. Unfortunately, there was nothing to be done. The carriage was at Netherfield, and she dared not walk by night.
She bitterly regretted her decision. In the weeks and months to come, there would be no other opportunity of seeing him, and she now wished, with painful longing, to be near him—though it should increase her suffering.
