Maria chattered about their visitor and the upcoming dinner at Rosings, but Elizabeth paid little attention despite the younger woman’s enthusiasm. Her mind had drifted elsewhere. Was this the woman to whom the proud Mr. Darcy was expected to be engaged?
She was certainly not pretty. Plain, excessively thin, with woolly hair and mousy features, Miss de Bourgh carried an air of nervous restlessness that Elizabeth found particularly unappealing.
The perfect wife for an arrogant gentleman.
Chapter 2 – Shadows Over Rosings
The ascent to Rosings Manor was as arduous as it was foreboding. Although the distance from the parsonage to the great house was not far, the steep incline and uneven terrain made the journey slow and wearying. Elizabeth, ever eager for exercise, relished the climb, as did the Collinses, accustomed to frequent walks. However, for Sir William, who was not an avid walker, the journey proved far more taxing. He laboured slightly behind them, pausing now and then to catch his breath, though he bore the effort with good humour.
“This is the perfect setting for a Gothic novel!” Elizabeth murmured, in awe at the imposing structure. Dark stone walls, aged and weather-worn, jutted against the grey sky like the remnants of a forgotten fortress. The narrow path twisted through thorny hedges, and in the distance, the restless sea crashed violently against the cliffs below. The manor was a bastion built to withstand the onslaught of both time and men, yet Elizabeth doubted it provided its occupants with the warmth and comfort of a real home.
“Beyond that cliff lies a private beach reserved for the family,” Mr. Collins said with great reverence. “Her ladyship has, on occasion, granted me permission to walk along its shores.”
“How generous of her,” Elizabeth said dryly.
Charlotte offered her a knowing look but said nothing. The parson, however, went on to describe the private beach and itscharming harbour as one of the most beautiful places in the entire region.
Upon reaching the gates, they were promptly admitted by an elderly butler whose stern countenance offered no welcome. The air inside was close and faintly musty as he led them through dimly lit passages covered with dark, wood-panelled walls. Ancient tapestries hung in heavy folds, their intricate designs dulled by time and neglect.
The morning room where Lady Catherine de Bourgh awaited them was no less imposing. So many details had been included to observe and to admire—if only they were better cared for. The widows, the elaborate carvings and faded paintings, all spoke of a bygone splendour. A faint melancholy stirred within Elizabeth’s soul at the idea of such beauty left to decay. Had it been better preserved, it might have been one of the finest morning rooms in Wales.
Matching the timeworn solemnity of the hall, her ladyship occupied a high-backed chair, her piercing eyes scrutinizing each guest as Mr. Collins performed his reverent introductions, which were somewhat in excess of the necessary formalities, as was his wont. Beside her, Miss de Bourgh sat as if she had a poker up her spine, her pale features drawn, while her companion, Mrs. Jenkinson, hovered nearby with quiet solicitousness.
“Miss Bennet.” Lady Catherine addressed Elizabeth at last, her voice imperious. “I trust you are well acquainted with the expectations of proper society?”
Elizabeth met her gaze steadily. “I should hope so, your ladyship.”
Lady Catherine’s lips pursed. “I am seldom disappointed in my expectations, Miss Bennet. I presume you are proficient in all the accomplishments a young woman ought to possess.”
“I play and sing tolerably well, I draw occasionally, and I am particularly fond of reading,” Elizabeth replied, her tone laced with quiet amusement as she recited her supposed accomplishments.
“Hmph.” Lady Catherine’s scrutiny did not waver. “I suppose that will have to do. You shall play for us later, and I shall judge for myself.”
Dinner was a strained affair. Lady Catherine dominated the conversation, pausing only to request more wine or deliver sharp rebukes to the Collinses over various trifles no one else would havedeemed worth mentioning. Charlotte appeared to endure them with practiced composure, a quality Elizabeth admired—though not without pity. Surely it was tiresome to face such critique at every visit without the liberty to reply. Mr. Collins, predictably, met each remark with obsequious agreement, whether to curry favour or to shield his wife from further attack.
Her Ladyship grew more insidious as the evening wore on. Prudence, for once, won out over debate, and Elizabeth kept her gaze fixed on her plate, speaking only when directly addressed. There was little sense in crossing swords with a woman whose glass had been refilled too often—and none at all when every word might be turned against her friends. Like the others—with the exception of Sir William, whose appetite remained intact—she barely touched her food. A shame, really, for the cook’s efforts had been entirely wasted. The dishes were excellent, yet her Ladyship’s relentless diatribe turned each course into a trial of endurance rather than a pleasure.
At one point, Miss de Bourgh turned to Maria. “Miss Lucas, I hope you are enjoying your stay at Rosings. I imagine you must find it somewhat rugged compared to the meadows of Hertfordshire. Mrs. Collins always speaks so fondly of her homeland,” she said, her voice barely audible.
“Anne, do not burden our guests with such idle observations.” Lady Catherine said in a loud voice before Maria could reply. “You know nothing of Hertfordshire. Rosings’ landscape is quite unique and cannot be compared with any other part of the country.”
Miss de Bourgh fell silent at once, her cheeks colouring. Elizabeth exchanged a glance with Maria, already pitying the young lady’s situation.
Her curiosity deepened as she continued to observe the young heiress. Miss de Bourgh possessed a skittish energy that set her apart in a way Elizabeth could not quite discern. She moved with restless apprehension, as if bracing for reproach at every turn. Like the Collinses, she seemed quietly fearful of Lady Catherine, enduring her mother’s tirades with flushed cheeks and a posture held in constant tension, as though restraining some impulse that threatened to break through, her lips twitching whenever the strain grew too great. Mrs. Jenkinson, ever vigilant, remained close by, ready to soothe or intervene should the young lady falter. Elizabeth could not but respect her steadfast devotion. The elder woman appearedimpervious to her Ladyship’s barbs and knew precisely how to manage Miss de Bourgh without drawing notice, a skill she must have honed over years of care since the young lady’s childhood.
As the evening wore on, Lady Catherine’s superciliousness took a sharper turn. “You said your uncle lives in town. What precisely is his profession?”
“He owns warehouses and deals in fabrics and imported goods,” Elizabeth replied.
“Ah. Trade. A most ignoble profession,” Lady Catherine said. “Unlike my daughter, who shall inherit a vast fortune and an estate, you have little to recommend yourself in the way of marriage.”
Elizabeth held her composure. “I consider myself fortunate in many ways, your Ladyship. I am a gentleman’s daughter, and I believe my chances of making a good match are as good as any other lady in my sphere.”
Lady Catherine smirked. “Fortunate, indeed. Beauty is a fleeting matter, Miss Bennet. A young woman who is too captious in her youth may find herself quite alone in her later years. Many unmarried ladies become a burden to their families or are compelled to a life of servitude. I say, it was most imprudent of you to have rejected Mr. Collins’s proposal, considering the entail on your father’s estate. Though, in truth, your recklessness has been to my benefit. The current Mrs. Collins is a more suitable choice for him. You are too opinionated to be a parson’s wife.”
Elizabeth’s face grew warm, but she refused to rise to the insult. It was a needless humiliation to remind everyone that Charlotte had been Mr. Collins’s second choice, and to respond or argue with Lady Catherine would only deepen her friend’s mortification.
By the time Lady Catherine finally dismissed them, several hours and half a bottle of sherry later, Elizabeth could hardly disguise her relief. That her Ladyship did not offer a carriage despite the late hour came as no surprise. The guests began a slow walk to the parsonage in silence, their footsteps heavy, their thoughts heavier still. At last it was over.
