They passed the afternoon in the library, drinking and smoking, at a distance from Lady Catherine; but at dinner, her scrutiny was unavoidable.
“I observed you walking in the park in a most agitated manner. What has occurred?” she demanded.
“I have some concerns in my affairs, and Darcy has been advising me,” the colonel replied, meeting her gaze with steadiness.
“You must take care, Fitzwilliam. You would not wish to dispose of your resources unwisely. A poor investment might leave you with nothing. You ought to marry advantageously—and soon.”
The colonel made no reply. He knew too well that any answer would invite a lengthy lecture, and he preferred silence.
But Lady Catherine was not satisfied, and she turned towards Darcy.
Before she could speak, he said, “Indeed, Lady Catherine, I have also been discussing with my cousin the question of marriage. I intend to marry.”
The colonel laid down his knife and fork in astonishment. He could not imagine what Darcy meant by such a declaration.
“At last—a sensible resolution,” Lady Catherine said with unusual animation. “And whom have you in view?”
The colonel felt a sudden unease that Darcy was making a mistake. Words spoken at that table could not be withdrawn. Why speak of marriage at such a moment? Darcy required time to recover, to reflect, to consider his own conduct. But to declare his intention to marry in front of Lady Catherine was totally unexpected and dangerous.
“I have no particular lady in view at present,” Darcy replied calmly, “but my decision is made, and before the year is out, there may well be a wedding in the family.”
The composure of his manner troubled the colonel. Marriage was not to be resolved upon in a moment of distress. He hoped—briefly—that Darcy intended to seek a proper understanding with Elizabeth. But the next words dispelled that hope.
“I shall look for a young lady of distinguished connections,” he added, while Lady Catherine nodded approvingly.
“I always knew you to be a young man of excellent principles. Your dear mother would have been proud.”
His dear mother would have wished him happy, the colonel thought, though they were no longer of one mind. Darcy had renounced Elizabeth, and now seemed resolved to act in such a manner as would make any renewal impossible. It was a melancholy conclusion, but Darcy possessed the same firmness as Lady Catherine. Once he had formed a resolution, he rarely abandoned it.
“I trust you have not forgotten,” Lady Catherine continued eagerly, “that my dear sister wished you to marry my Anne.”
Darcy raised his eyes in evident surprise. He glanced involuntarily towards Anne, who coloured deeply, unable to respond to so indelicate a remark. Her mother’s want of delicacy was well known. The timid creature at the table bore little resemblance to the gentle young lady they had seen in Lady Eleanor’s drawing-room only a month before. Mrs Jenkinson, seated beside her, seemed the only person who showed her any real concern.
“I am only just beginning to consider the matter,” Darcy replied with composure. “When the time comes, I shall make my intentions known.”
Lady Catherine made a gesture of impatience. “I hope you will give due consideration to your family and to your mother’s wishes. But for tomorrow evening, I shall invite a larger party—Mr and Mrs Collins, and the two young ladies. You are both too grave tonight. We must have music, and more varied conversation.”
Darcy exchanged a look with the colonel. No words were necessary.
“We regret, Lady Catherine,” he said, “but I have just received a letter from my father. Our presence is required in London tomorrow evening.”
Chapter 7
Despite Lady Catherine’s protests and even her threats, the two gentlemen left Rosings as soon as breakfast was over. Darcy decided to ride. He needed that kind of exercise to calm his pain and arrive in London tired enough to sleep without bad dreams. The last night at Rosings had been sleepless, and the morning brought no comfort.
They made a brief stop at the parsonage, but declined the invitation to remain longer than a moment. They were in haste and wished only to pay their respects before leaving. While the others bowed and the colonel spoke to Mr Collins, Darcy silently placed a letter in Elizabeth’s hand.
He left the parsonage without looking back. Had he done so, he would have seen Elizabeth still standing on the path, watching them.
It had been a sleepless night for Elizabeth as well, the most dreadful night of her life. She had been sad and tormented before, but at such times she had always had Jane beside her. She could not possibly speak of any of her troubles to Charlotte, who was now a faithful wife, intent only on pursuing her husband’s interests.
Above all, Lady Catherine must know nothing of the proposal…and of her answer. Charlotte—or even Mr Collins—might eventually suffer the consequences, though her refusal was precisely what that venerable lady would have expected. The mere thought that her favourite nephew might propose to such a ‘common’ young woman would have been enough to cause a tragedy at Rosings.
She had paced her room for half the night, unable to rest. At first, she congratulated herself upon her conduct. She had been loyal to her family and to Jane, while rejecting a man who thought the worst of them all. Shocked by his words and by the manner of his proposal—as though it were an unpleasant, though inevitable, duty—she did not at first understand that his intentions were sincere. How could any rational man have declared his love in such a way? Yet all his statements about her family had been so humiliating and degrading that her anger had seemed justified. He was the dreadful man who had contributed to her dear sister’s unhappiness. Her refusal had been nothing but the expression of the rage provoked by his unjust treatment of the two lovers.
Later—when her anger had begun to subside after half a night of torment—a dreadful chill came over her. She sat at last upon the bed, all strength drained from her body, and was able to remember more impartially. Despite his tone and his words, he loved her. She then began to cry as she had never cried before, with regret and despair. He was conceited and offensive, haughty and provoking, but he loved her. Fitzwilliam Darcy loved her.
In the stillness of the night, she tried not to wake her hosts, but it was difficult to bear such feelings alone. At home she had Jane, in London, Aunt Gardiner. Rarely had she been so entirely by herself, and that it should happen at such a time! She moved between a precarious peace of mind—out of loyalty to herfamily—and the growing feeling that she had made a mistake. She loved Jane and respected her parents, but not for a moment had she thought of herself—of her own feelings or wishes.
