He smiled and seemed content. “Shall we walk a little farther?” he asked.
“Yes…for a little while. I must return for breakfast. Mr Collins is as strict about punctuality as Lady Catherine.”
He laughed, and suddenly the barrier of tension broke between them.
“Mr Collins emulates my aunt in everything.”
“Yes, Lady Catherine could not be the object of a more loyal adoration.”
“Something that she truly relishes,” he joked.
“Miss de Bourgh does not seem to resemble your aunt.”
“She does not. She is very much like Sir Lewis — both in appearance and in nature.”
The subject was on her lips, and although she knew it was highly improper to voice it, she could not restrain herself.
“I hear you are engaged to Miss de Bourgh.”
He turned his head, and her eyes met his.
“I am not. This is a ridiculous fantasy my aunt has entertained since Anne and I were infants. She claimed she agreed upon it with my mother — something that nobody else has ever heard of. Regardless, I would never marry someone to indulge a twenty-five-year-old agreement.”
“And Miss de Bourgh? Has she no expectations? She must be hurt if—”
“Miss Bennet, I have discussed the matter with my cousin many times. My affection for her is genuine — though of a different nature — and I would never do anything to harm her.”
“Of course.”
They continued to walk and — for some impossible-to-understand reason — Elizabeth felt her heart becoming lighter and lighter. She forgot that she had been so angry with him only half an hour before, that she wished to never see him again. On the contrary, she heard herself say, “I would like to see the Gilroy children tomorrow. Perhaps we may talk more if you happen to be there too?”
A broad smile appeared on his face. “I shall be there an hour after breakfast, Miss Bennet. Shall we return now? It is late already.”
They continued to walk together until they were near the Parsonage but did not speak much. After their previous storming quarrels, a peaceful silence enveloped them. They parted at the garden gate, and she entered the house while he mounted and rode off towards Rosings.
Elizabeth’s state improved drastically that morning. With anticipation, she imagined Mr Bingley’s response to hearing such news. Mr Darcy had fulfilled his duty. From that day on, Mr Bingley’s behaviour would be the only proof of his worthiness and of his real interest in Jane.
The word ‘interest’ stirred Elizabeth’s imagination even more, as she recollected the way Mr Darcy had used it. He had declared he had admired her for a long time and held a particular interest in her. What a puzzling man he was! What could he possibly mean? What sort of admiration? What sort of interest? He had refused to discuss it, and she did not dare guess what he had not said.
He had seemed hurt that she had said they were more enemies than friends. But such a description would apply to anyone in Meryton, including her family. He said he had misjudged her opinion of him. In what way? He was indeed a difficult man, and he seemed to enjoy torturing her, though he pretended he valued her friendship. Only an hour before, Elizabeth would not have called their relationship a friendship. But apparently, he had—and she was ready to agree with him.
Breakfast had already been served when she entered, and Mr Collins raised his eyebrow in reproach.
They were still eating when an express arrived from London for Elizabeth, and she assumed it was from Mrs Gardiner. Instead, it was from Jane, and Elizabeth opened it with worry and curiosity.
As she read, disbelief and then joy overwhelmed her, and she felt tears pooling in her eyes. Surely it could not be! It was certainly the fruit of her imagination! Such a perfect outcome in such a short time was difficult to believe.
“Eliza my dear, what has happened? You look troubled,” Charlotte said.
“I am not troubled, only exceedingly happy. Jane writes that Mr Bingley called on them yesterday. Apparently, he only returned to London a week ago and was informed she was in town,” she said, and for a brief though powerful moment, she felt the desire to embrace Mr Darcy. She flushed at such a bold thought, then put the letter down and resumed eating, eager to read it again afterwards, and planning how to meet Mr Darcy again to thank him.
Chapter 6
Elizabeth immediately responded to Jane; the image of her sister’s happiness, so obvious through the lines of the letter, melted her heart. All suspicion and blame against Mr Bingley vanished in a moment. The day after receiving Darcy’s letter, the gentleman had apparently called at Gracechurch Street—a haste very much applaudable.
The next morning, as planned, Elizabeth met Mr Darcy again at the same place. She was happy to see the children too — and the puppies, which had grown remarkably in only a week.
And she was thrilled to see Mr Darcy, whose smile made her knees weak, and she did not even know why.
