“A very pleasant street,” said Darcy; and though he seemed sincere, Elizabeth could discern no sign of pleasure in his countenance.
She recalled him now as he had been in Kent—less the proud man she had first met in the assembly rooms at Meryton than the one who spoke of tedious subjects and yet sought every occasion of meeting her. That man stood before her still, but she could not help wondering whether it were not merely the discomfort of seeing her again after that ill-fated proposal. It seemed as though he wished only to escape a meeting that could bring him nothing but disagreeable recollections.
But suddenly he turned to her and asked, “Are you visiting Derby?”
Elizabeth, almost against her will, became the Elizabeth of Kent again. “I am here in a capacity which renders me accountable for more than my own comfort.”
Her reply disconcerted them both—Mrs Cooper, who looked at her in surprise at the severity of her tone, and he, who perhaps saw the lady from the Parsonage who refused him so uncivilly.
“We are just returning home; you must allow us to offer you some tea,” said Mrs Cooper hastily, endeavouring to ease the strain between them.
Darcy bowed respectfully and gestured towards the distance. “I am on my way to my solicitors. I thank you.”
And, after a most proper bow, he took his leave.
“What has passed?” asked Mrs Cooper, evidently disturbed by how the meeting had concluded.
“Mr Darcy proposed to me in Kent!”
Elizabeth had hesitated but a moment before speaking. At another time, such an occurrence as that at the Parsonage would have furnished endless conversation in her family; she must surely have related all that had passed. Perhaps she would have spared the particulars of his most offensive reflections upon her relations. Still, she would certainly have dwelt with spirit upon her own reply—lively and ironical, as she had been when recounting that moment in which Mr Darcy had spoken sufficiently loud for her to hear that she was not handsome enough to tempt him. It would have been the perfect continuation—if it proved that she had, in the end, been interesting enough to tempt him to make her an offer of marriage.
“Mr Darcy proposed to you?” cried Mrs Cooper, in astonishment. She took her familiarly by the arm and nearlydrew her home; and once they were seated in the drawing room, she said shortly, “I must have the whole history!”
Elizabeth smiled, since it was precisely what would have occurred at Longbourn some months before, had misfortune not fallen upon them.
Just as in their parlour at Longbourn, she began at once, without hesitation.
“We have known one another for some time, since the autumn, in fact, when he came with some friends to Netherfield, an estate not far from…us.”
She paused a moment; she had meant to sayour home, but realised that Longbourn was no longer theirs, and for the first time in many weeks she regarded that truth with a pain that no longer tore at her. She briefly closed her eyes, yet it was enough for Mrs Cooper to understand, and to take her hand in her own.
“Oh, my dear, forgive me. I cannot imagine what you endure. You need not say anything.”
But Elizabeth gently shook her head. “I must learn to live with what has happened. Perhaps, in time, I shall be able to say that my father is dead, and we—”
“I first met Mr Darcy at the ball in Meryton, where he came accompanied by his friends.”
“I know; Maddy wrote to me in detail, and we were quite astonished at how small the world may be. She told me that Jane had an unfortunate attachment—she fell in love with Mr Darcy’s friend, and it ended ill for her; but she said nothing of you. Did Mr Darcy not admire you at that time?”
At that moment, the butler entered, as quietly as ever, though plainly with something of consequence to deliver.
“I beg your pardon, ma’am, but the young lady and gentleman are waiting for Miss Bennet in the schoolroom.”
Mrs Cooper made a slight gesture of dismissal. “Let Clara take them out for a walk—she must contrive to amuse them; for today Miss Bennet has other duties.”
She turned again to Elizabeth, smiling, and with evident impatience for the continuation.
“I behaved most abominably,” said Elizabeth.
“How? When?”
“At all times,” she confessed, “but I speak particularly of our meeting just now. That answer—”
“Indeed, it was singular—perhaps even severe. But if there exists between you so complex a history, it may be understood.”
“Unfortunately, it is neither to be understood nor excused. It is what my father has always reproached me with, in the hope of correcting me: I speak before I think, I allow my feelings to frame my replies, instead of my reason.”
“You regret it,” said Mrs Cooper, and Elizabeth had the distinct impression that beside her sat Mrs Gardiner, with the same gentleness and understanding.
