“No, not now. In the same way, I finally understand that Mama must rent a house on a main street to continue to matter. I do not agree with it, but I understand why such demands must be followed.”
“You will understand these matters far better once you are married,” said Mrs Cooper, watching her closely, but Elizabeth returned her look with remarkable serenity.
“I liked Pemberley, that is the truth. In general, I have altered my opinion of Mr Darcy or rather, not altered it, but completed it. It is natural to observe a man’s good qualities as well, instead of dwelling only upon his faults.
“Mama is desperate, I know. Jane conveys it constantly without meaning to. She makes little allusions. Mary ismore direct and tells me plainly that their life is difficult, exceedingly difficult. The sorrow of losing Longbourn, which distance softens for me, still possesses them deeply. Even Papa…sometimes I forget, and because I am here, I still imagine I may find him at home. But they, poor creatures.”
“Why do they not go to London?”
“Mama will not leave, precisely because her departure would appear a complete defeat.”
“But the girls? Why do they not come here?” And there was such sincerity in her voice that Elizabeth truly believed she would receive her sisters with pleasure.
“Jane does not wish it. I think she will eventually go to London once Mama has found a house. Mary is surprisingly devoted to Mama. But Kitty…I do not know. Might she come?”
Instead of replying, Mrs Cooper seated herself at her writing table to write an invitation to Kitty to come to Derby, beneath Elizabeth’s grateful gaze.
Chapter 23
“You look exceedingly handsome,” Darcy whispered to Elizabeth as he assisted her into her seat at table. Mrs Cooper, seated at the head of it, concealed a smile. Quite unintentionally, she had overheard him, or rather observed his lips. The expression upon his countenance revealed everything.
“Are you attempting to make me forget the first opinion you expressed so clearly at the Meryton assembly?” asked Elizabeth, though her voice betrayed little beyond amusement.
He looked at her attentively before replying. He seemed anxious to discover whether her words were merely ironical or still touched with resentment.
But her face reassured him, or rather her eyes, which met his openly.
“Will you ever forgive me for those words?”
“Probably not,” she smiled, and though they were only two words, they affected him more than he cared to admit. He had asked the question as though the friendship or understanding between them were to continue indefinitely, and she had not protested. Their friendship, it seemed, might continue in her view as well.
“Eternity is a severe punishment, Miss Elizabeth. Could I do anything to shorten the period of my atonement?”
“I shall consider it, Mr Darcy,” she promised.
The old skirmish between them might continue, but at present it was marked by irony, perhaps even sarcasm; it had become almost a game.
Elizabeth’s face, however, suddenly clouded. Only moments before, everything between them had appeared easy and harmonious, and he could not understand the change.
“I am not seeking punishment, pray do not imagine it,” she said. She hesitated before continuing, but then, perceiving the concern upon his countenance, confessed with sincerity, “I sit here with all of you at this table, and I begin to forget. Then, almost immediately, I remember again, and I feel terribly guilty.”
Darcy, struck by her sincerity, recollected with pain that he, too, had once endured the same struggle.
“When my mother died, I was not much younger than you are now, and for months I lived with the guilt of being able to smile, or ride, or do anything at all whilst she no longer existed.”
Elizabeth sighed softly, grateful for his understanding.
“But my life continued and…yes, I forgot her. That is to say, the sharpness of the grief transformed itself into beautiful memories of her. Then I was obliged to assist my father almost immediately. He remained entirely paralysed by sorrow.”
“It is much the same with me. Mama is somewhat better, but I have a duty towards them. That is what I wished to say when we met in the street, though in a very awkward and angry manner, to show you that I had come to Derby only because I hoped to be of some use to them…without realising that you did not know my father had died. It seemed to me that I ought to justify myself to you, that you ought to know I was there to work.”
But their conversation could no longer continue. Dinner had begun in earnest, and as so often happens, they were obliged to become part of the general current around them. The company was cheerful, the food good, and with genuine relief, Elizabeth observed the difference between that evening and the dining room at Rosings.
“How do you like Derbyshire, Miss Bennet?” asked Mrs Russell.
“A wonderful region. Derby, compared with a market town like Meryton, is sophisticated and busy. I was impressed to discover that you have circulating libraries, theatres, and almost every day, some concerts in the parks.”
“When it does not rain,” said Lady Fletcher with a smile, “for lately it seems autumn has arrived instead of summer.”
