Page 2 of Elizabeth Bennet Says Yes to Mr. Darcy

“I fear these will run faster than I can.”

We went downstairs. Mr. Collins awaited us in the small parlor and informed us, with all the gravity of a man announcing a royal favor, that Mr. Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam had promised to dine at the parsonage the following day.

“Her Ladyship,” he added, “herself suggested that her nephews do us this honor. She believes, and I entirely share her view, that a clergyman attached to so distinguished a house must not be deprived of suitable connections.”

“That will certainly make up for all our deprivations,” I murmured.

Charlotte shot me an amused warning look.

I drifted through the meal in a fog of distraction that Mr. Collins generously attributed to the emotion of Mr. Darcy's upcoming visit. Afterward, I took my hat and went out alone. Charlotte was detained by a domestic matter, and I needed a silence more complete than her company could provide.

I followed the path that ran along Rosings Park. I had walked it often enough to know the places where the trees concealed me from the great house. That day, I saw neither the young leaves nor the light playing between the branches. I was calculating.

How much did my mother's annual maintenance cost? What would become of Lydia and Kitty if Longbourn's income were reduced by half? Mary might accept an austere existence with almost triumphant resignation. Jane would work herself to exhaustion to spare us. As for myself, what could I do? A young woman of good family did not find employment as easily as she found a walking path. I could become a lady's companion or governess, if someone would hire me despite my lack of preparation. My earnings would barely cover my own keep.

And if my father died?

This possibility, which I had always kept at a distance for the sake of my peace of mind, rose before me with cruel precision. Mr. Collins would take possession of Longbourn. My mother would receive the income from her small capital, perhaps diminished by debts. Five women would be left to the kindness of relatives who loved them but had no obligation to support them.

I stopped near an old beech tree.

“Miss Bennet.”

Mr. Darcy's voice behind me made me start, which I masked by turning slowly.

He stood a few paces away, dressed with that perfect restraint that made his tall figure all the more striking. His face wore the same reserve as always, yet his gaze lingered on mine with an intensity that troubled me more than I wished to admit.

“Mr. Darcy. I did not hear you approach.”

“I fear not. You seemed deeply absorbed.”

“It is a less dangerous fault on a deserted path than in a drawing room.”

He inclined his head, without quite smiling.

“May I walk with you?”

I would have preferred to remain alone. Yet I reflected that refusing abruptly would draw his attention to a grief I could not explain.

“If you can bear a distracted companion.”

We walked side by side. His presence made the path suddenly too narrow. He spoke little. Since my arrival in Kent, his repeated visits to the parsonage and his curiously frequent encounters during my walks had been a source of amusement to me. I had thought him incapable of deciding whether he disapproved of me or found my faults an unwitting diversion.

That day, I had no desire to provoke him.

“You have received bad news,” he said at last.

It was not a question.

“You deduce a great deal from a little silence.”

“You are not usually silent.”

I turned my head toward him. A slight flush rose on his cheekbones, as if he regretted revealing how closely he had been observing me.

“That is a singular accusation.”

“An observation only.”