“Since I have this opportunity, I have something else to tell you, Mr. Darcy. The night after our…encounter at the parsonage, I took one of my ill-advised night walks. I saw you through your window as you wrote your letter to me. And that same night, I witnessed Miss de Bourgh faint.”
He was stunned into silence for a moment, amazement written plainly upon his face. “Thank you for telling me,” he said at last, his voice subdued. “It must have been a horrible spectacle.”
“Not at all,” Elizabeth replied with heartfelt remorse. “The horrible spectacle was my own stubbornness in accusing you of every wrong, particularly regarding that dreadful Mr. Wickham. For that, I have no excuse and deserve no forgiveness.”
A faint, rueful smile touched Mr. Darcy’s lips. “You already have my forgiveness, Miss Bennet — if it matters to you. No further apologies are needed on your part, since I owe you so many more.”
A few moments of silence followed — what else could be said at that particular time? With the awkwardness between them dissolved into something gentler, almost companionable, they continued to walk together towards the parsonage’s back gate.
Their steps fell into a quiet rhythm, the path seeming less solitary than before. And though much still remained unspoken between them, Elizabeth felt a lightness of spirit that promised better days ahead.
Chapter 7
Elizabeth could not pretend she was calm and composed after the encounter with Mr. Darcy, but she did not know how to describe her state, not even to herself. It was a particular exhilaration, combined with concerns — new, different, strange, distracting — all caused by Mr. Darcy. It was there, growing within her, and could no longer be denied. What was happening to her? She had suffered such a change of mind and feelings that it all felt impossible to master.
The anger and disdain that had once burdened her every thought of Mr. Darcy had dissolved, leaving in their place a tentative esteem, mingled with something softer, more disquieting — a fluttering awareness of the man beneath the reserve. It was not love, she told herself firmly, yet neither was it indifference. The memory of his rare smile in the soft morning light, the warmth that had stolen into his dark eyes as they spoke of Jane and Mr. Bingley, stirred an unwelcome tenderness in her breast, one she hastened to attribute to mere relief at having been proved wrong in so many particulars. How singular a transformation, that the proud gentleman she had once declared the last man in the world she could be prevailed upon to marry should now occupy her thoughts with such persistent gentleness!
She had hurt him again with her presumptions; why did she so easily assume the worst about him? Even now, when her opinion had improved. She had not been reasonable at all in her response to him, not since the beginning of their acquaintance.
She thought also of Dr Rease — his easy manners, his gallant defence of her nocturnal habits, and the quiet bravery hinted at by his limp. So, he was an old acquaintance ofLady Catherine’s family? She chose not to reveal that particular detail to the Collinses, for how could she explain the source of her knowledge? She could not possibly reveal the private walks and conversations that had lately become so dear and so enlightening to her. No, she could not speak of anything that had transpired between her and Mr. Darcy. Charlotte, dear sensible friend though she was, might discern more than Elizabeth wished to admit even to herself.
The afternoon provided Elizabeth more reasons for delight, in the form of a letter from London that chased all heavier thoughts away. It was from Jane, whose words danced across the page with unaccustomed joy. Mr. Bingley had called unexpectedly upon the Gardiners, declaring with the utmost sincerity that he had only just learnt of her presence in town from Mr. Darcy himself. He had stayed above an hour, his company as pleasant as ever, Jane said, and Elizabeth believed that her sister’s heart, so long wounded, was on the very brink of healing. So Mr. Darcy had kept his word, and Mr. Bingley had proved worthy of Jane’s loyal affection. What more could she hope for?
Elizabeth pressed the letter to her bosom, thrilled beyond measure for her dearest sister and filled with a gratitude towards Mr. Darcy that warmed her deeply. She resolved to thank him at the first opportunity, though when, or indeed whether, that opportunity might arise, she could only hope, not foresee.
The rest of the day passed with the usual activities, and the next morning, Elizabeth indulged herself in her favourite habit again. She set out for the grove with expectations she scarcely acknowledged. The familiar path took her to her favourite spot, which was empty. Still not discouraged, she waited for quite a long time, gazing about, waiting, startled by every sound. To no avail, though. The spot and her heart both remained empty. Disappointment settled heavily within her, and she carried it back to the parsonage. She was fully aware Mr. Darcy had notmentioned another encounter; she had no reason to expect him, and her disappointment was unjustified.
At that moment, the truth struck her with startling force: she had been delighted to meet him, to converse with him, to witness the gradual softening of his reserve. She missed him. The revelation stunned her, returning her to a state of turmoil, though of an altogether different and more dangerous sort than before. What strange power had this gentleman gained over her peace?
But how could she complain, given that he must have suffered an even deeper and more painful torment, loving her ardently all those months. Ardently. And how hurt he must have felt by her refusal, since she was disappointed by his mere absence. Would this torment ever end? Would her relationship with Mr. Darcy ever be deemed ordinary or usual? But what sort of relationship did she wish to have with him?
Around noon, Mr. Collins returned from his daily visit to Rosings in a state of agitation, his face transfigured by a mixture of importance and dismay.
“My dear Charlotte! Maria! Cousin Elizabeth!” he cried so loudly that the windows shook, scarcely pausing to catch his breath. “This is a tragedy, a tragedy indeed!”
“What is it, my dear? What tragedy? Are you hurt? Is someone injured?” Charlotte replied in panic, while Elizabeth and Maria gathered around them.
“I would gladly accept the worst injury rather than such a tragedy! Lady Catherine is distraught, distraught indeed! And angrier than I have ever seen her! I tried to help, but she sent me away! And I cannot blame her! If I could only take on the turmoil myself on her behalf!”
“Lady Catherine? Did something happen to Miss de Bourgh? Surely she did not die!” Charlotte insisted.
“Her death would have hurt Lady Catherine less!” Mr. Collins replied, and Elizabeth stared at him in disbelief, while Charlotte’s eyes widened in amazement.
“I am sorry, but you speak nonsense, husband! Nothing is worse than death!”
“It is, Charlotte! Miss de Bourgh departed for London this very morning, accompanied by Mr. Darcy, Colonel Fitzwilliam, and Dr Rease, in direct opposition to her ladyship’s wishes! She disobeyed her mother! Can you imagine? She is to stay at the house of Lord and Lady Matlock, though Lady Catherine forbade it!”
Elizabeth breathed in relief, then she sat, trying to soothe her racing heart. The news, though not entirely unforeseen, left her dumbfounded. So Mr. Darcy was gone? That he had taken his cousin to London was good news, but then, what was that grip in her chest?
“Mr. Collins, I beg you to calm down,” Charlotte said, gently touching his arm. “Here is a little wine — sip it and breathe! It will not do for you to suffer an apoplexy! You must stay calm so you can comfort Lady Catherine until she sees reason. I am sure Miss de Bourgh went to town simply to seek advice from the doctors there and to improve her health. There is nothing wrong with that!”
“Nothing wrong? Everything is wrong! Lady Catherine said Mr. Darcy took her to London but refused to marry her! And Dr Rease betrayed her confidence and supported the shameful scheme! And her brother, Lord Matlock, is to be blamed too! Even as we spoke, her servants were packing her luggage so she might follow them without delay!”
Mr. Collins paced the room, mumbling, “What should I do?”
“Do? What do you mean, my dear?”
“I cannot let Lady Catherine go alone! I offered to accompany her, but she banished me! She is so furious that she cannot thinkproperly! I should follow her to London regardless. She might need my assistance in town.”
