Meryton – November 1811
THE FOLLOWING TWO WEEKS brought with them a chain of small but consequential events—each threading the quiet fabric of Longbourn life with unexpected change.
Mr. Collins, flushed with self-importance and a zeal of clerical confidence, took his leave for Kent to inform Lady Catherine de Bourgh of his engagement and to prepare the parsonage for his future bride. His departure was accompanied by so much pomp and ceremony that even Mrs. Bennet, though deeply mortified by the loss of such a match, was glad to have the air cleared of him for a while.
The next morning brought Charlotte Lucas to Longbourn. Her manner was serene, but her eyes—those clear, steady eyes Elizabeth knew so well—held a weary resignation. She explained her decision with quiet practicality: that marriage to Mr. Collins was no romance, but security, and that she had neither youth nor fortune to be delicate in choosing.
“If you had shown him the least encouragement, Lizzy, I would never have accepted,” she said. “You know I would not.”
Elizabeth took her hand, touched by her candour. “Then we shall say no more on it. I hold no resentment, Charlotte. I am sincerely happy for you. I only wish your happiness may prove greater than I expect.”
Charlotte smiled faintly. “Happiness is a word with many meanings, my dear.”
And with that quiet truth, the matter rested.
***
MR. BINGLEY AND MR. DARCY called at Longbourn four times over the next fortnight. Mrs. Bennet’s delight grew with each visit, for she read in Mr. Bingley’s every look the assurance of Jane’s future happiness. Her satisfaction, however, was tempered by a growing curiosity she could not easily suppress.
That Mr. Darcy should have accompanied his friend once or twice might be accounted for by civility, but to appear again and again — to linger so long in conversation with Elizabeth, speaking little to anyone else — was beyond her comprehension. She declared at last that he must come only to “see how Apollo fared in company with Pippin,” for what other motive, she demanded of her household, could a man of such consequence have for sitting half an hour together with Lizzy, as if there were no other young lady in the county worth addressing?
When Kitty reminded her that Mr. Darcy had danced with Elizabeth at the Netherfield ball, Mrs. Bennet waved her hand with impatience. “Oh, nonsense, child! He only did it to make up for that dreadful slight Lizzy told us of at the Meryton assembly. You cannot think he meant anything by it! A man with ten thousand a year, and so proud too — why would he look twice at our Lizzy?”
Elizabeth offered no correction.
Her time with Darcy was filled with an ease that astonished her. They spoke of books and music, of places they each had travelled—or longed to see—and of the curious follies of society. He confessed that he once detested gatherings such as the Meryton assembly, not for their simplicity, but because he had been too proud to feel at ease. She laughed, admitting that shehad been equally guilty of prejudice, and that her quickness to judge had often been her undoing.
It was strange, she thought, how natural their conversation had become—how silence with him no longer felt oppressive, but companionable.
***
ON THE FOURTH visit of the gentlemen to Longbourn within those two weeks, a bright afternoon tempted them all into the garden. The air was sharp and clean from a night’s rain; the hedges glistened, and the earth smelled rich and new. Jane and Mr. Bingley walked a little ahead, their voices low, their laughter mingling like a melody in the distance.
Elizabeth and Darcy followed at a slower pace along the gravel path, where Pippin and Apollo chased each other through the orchard.
For a while, they said nothing. Then Darcy spoke.
“Your garden has the charm of being truly lived in,” he said, glancing around. “It has not the perfection of a landscaper’s design, but something far better—character.”
Elizabeth smiled. “This is the fourth time we are taking a turn about this garden sir. You comment as if you are seeing it for the first time.”
“There is just something about it.” Darcy said.
“Well, as I said to you before, It is my father’s doing. He says a garden should be like a household: imperfect, but thriving.”
“I think him very right.”
They walked on for a few moments in companionable silence. Then Elizabeth looked up at him, amusement flickering across her face.
“Do you agree with my family, Mr. Darcy?”
The question caught him unawares, but he gave a small, self-conscious laugh. “Not always. But far more often than I once expected.”
Elizabeth studied him thoughtfully—the candour of his expression, the quiet humour that now softened what had once been proud reserve. “Family is important to me, sir. And so, should I ever consider anyone, it must be someone who respects my family, even if he cannot always agree with them.”
“Family is everything, Miss Elizabeth,” he replied, his tone warm but earnest. “I would expect nothing less of you.”
Elizabeth chuckled contentedly, shaking her head. “You are way different from the man I thought you were.”
