“What I told you then was the truth. I am here partly as a sort of guest, but also to oversee the education of Mrs Cooper’stwo children. It was merely an unfortunate form of expression, yet it was true.”
“I do not believe Mrs Cooper regards you as anything other than a valued guest.”
Elizabeth turned her eyes from his, for he was right, and she knew it herself; only at times the anger and frustration born of their dreadful situation caused her to speak and behave in such a manner.
“Unfortunately, Mamma is still seeking a house to rent and remains with Jane and Mary at my aunt Mrs Phillips’s. Kitty is sometimes in London, at other times also with Aunt Phillips; Lydia is for the present in Brighton with Colonel Forster’s family, and I am here. It is not an enviable situation.”
“No, indeed,” said he with great dignity, acknowledging an evident truth. “But after all you have told me, I am certain you shall be well. Not immediately, such a thing is impossible. But if you succeed in keeping some distance between yourself and sorrow, if you do not allow it entirely to consume you…it is certain that, from some point onward, you will be able to master your grief and seek solutions.”
“It is so true what you tell me. Yes, I believe that is what Mamma also attempted—to prevent us from being overwhelmed. But unfortunately, there are very few solutions. Or rather, we need not search for them too long, since unhappily we already know them. And then, I am constantly furious that the tragedy of losing Papa is almost overshadowed by this horrible reality of losing our home. We ought to have time to grieve for him, and instead we prepared ourselves to leave Longbourn.”
Elizabeth paused, realising that she had told him things she had never before dared to express.
“I am sorry,” she murmured.
“Do not be. It is an honour that you allow me to see what you truly think.”
“It is mostly suffering and despair, not something one ought to let others see.”
There was such pain in her words that Darcy wished to go nearer to her, perhaps even to take her into his arms—but as a friend. Yet he did nothing. He was surprised, but also happy, that she had trusted him.
“It seems to me that the past no longer matters,” said she, and Darcy looked at her with curiosity. He wished to know much more—which past, and in what measure it no longer mattered—but that evening their conversation ended with a look.
Chapter 17
Darcy entered his cousin’s apartment without knocking, so greatly was he disturbed. Fortunately, the colonel had not yet retired, and he rose in surprise, almost in alarm, from the table where he had been writing a letter.
“What is it?”
Darcy motioned for him to sit down and sank upon the sofa himself.
“Mr Bennet is dead.”
And, seeing that the colonel did not immediately understand, he added, “Miss Elizabeth’s father.”
“It cannot be,” exclaimed the colonel instantly, as troubled and distressed as Darcy himself. “How did he die?”
“A stroke.”
“Poor creatures!”
They remained in silence, so deep was the agitation of both, but then the colonel rose from his chair and began to pace furiously about the room.
“Stop,” cried Darcy. “You make me giddy.”
The colonel stopped, though he did not sit down again, but remained by the window, looking out at the rain, which still continued.
“When did you speak to her?”
“Just now. I was in the library, and she came for a book. She told me everything. That pompous scoundrel, Mr Collins, is the beneficiary of the entail placed upon their estate and their home.”
“I know, but when we spoke of it at Rosings, it seemed something belonging to a future that would never come.”
“Perhaps it was the same for them. Can you imagine such a shock? I must do something for them.”
The colonel looked at him in perplexity. Could his cousin truly be asking himself a question whose answer appeared so obvious?
Sad, preoccupied and slightly furious, he exclaimed, “What can you do, except cease talking to me this instant and go directly to her room to ask her to marry you?”
