From Longbourn to Pemberley - Spring 1811 Read online

  ‘There’s no need, Miss Elizabeth, you making a charming tableau: you, the foliage, and the little stream meandering through. In my opinion, all that is missing are some ruins on that distant hill.’

  Elizabeth burst into laughter. Though he was not always pleasant, Mr. Darcy undeniably had a sense of humour. Isn’t that what Anne Elliot had confided in Elizabeth when she had heard about the Darcy incident at the Meryton ball?

  ‘Should I conclude that you have chosen to hide yourself so that you could read in peace?’

  ‘Perhaps.’

  ‘And this time, may I inquire as to the title of the book that you discretely slid underneath your hat?’

  Elizabeth laughed, somewhat embarrassed, and looked off in the distance, towards the fields where the sheep were peacefully grazing.

  ‘You are under no obligation to show me,’ Darcy continued, conscious of the young woman’s discomfiture. ‘Something tells me that, much like the book by Adam Smith, it is not from your father’s library. I know, it’s a novel! Probably one of those written by Mrs. Burney, no less!’

  Elizabeth burst into laughter a second time.

  ‘Mr. Darcy, you have perhaps read Evelina or Cecilia? What a surprise! I did not expect that at all.’

  ‘You are mistaken about me, Miss Elizabeth, if I seem to know of it, but I have a young sister who is rather sentimental, and I recently had to purchase Camilla for her, as she urgently requested it. You see, you are mistaken.’

  ‘You too are mistaken.’

  ‘No, I don’t think so. After all, you have every right to be sentimental, just as Georgiana does. One simply has to be able to abide by one’s choices.’

  ‘You are trying to intimidate me, Mr. Darcy, yet you know that this will only cause my courage to grow! You wished to know, so here is my book. Now laugh at me if you dare!’

  ‘I will not allow myself to do so. Some Reflections on Marriage. Even if I had expected this!’

  ‘Do you find the subject controversial? Do you disagree with these ideas? Nonetheless, I attempt to cultivate my intelligence through a wide range of reading; you can but encourage me on this point, Mr. Darcy!’ Elizabeth stated, raising one eyebrow provocatively.

  Convinced that she had scandalised him, she gazed at him while he opened the book to the page where she had placed her bookmark. If, up to that point, he had appeared to scorn her, and then observe her - admire her, Charlotte would have said - from this point forward, he would avoid her.

  ‘ “… If they mean that some men are superior to some women, this is no great discovery; had they turn’d the tables, they might have seen that some women are superior to some men...” This warrants reflection,’ commented Darcy, without the slightest hint of irony.

  He closed the book and handed it to its owner, who was astounded by his reaction. How difficult it was to understand this gentleman from Derbyshire!

  ‘I am willing to gauge that you found this in Mr. Collins’ library,’ he stated, a twinkle of amusement in his eyes.

  ‘That goes without saying,’ she replied, partaking in his game, ‘just beside his copy of Mrs. Wollstonecraft’s Vindication of the Rights of Woman.’

  And then, with a more serious demeanour, she added, ‘I would prefer that the subject of my reading remain between us, if that is not too much to ask.’

  ‘Have no fear, I will not disclose your secret, no more than I would discourage your endeavours. We shall have to discuss this one day, Miss Elizabeth!’

  On this, he bowed and disappeared along a path, leaving her alone under the large willow and under the impression that she had dreamt everything that had just occurred.

  This young woman was decidedly very different from those in the circles he frequented; she was refreshing. Yes, that was the right word! After the parade of young, eligible women, all the same and all so accomplished, Elizabeth Bennet astonished him, and her spirit illuminated everything she touched. No subject was mundane, she aroused his interest through the way in which she imagined even the simplest of situations. Life with Elizabeth Bennet would certainly not be banal, and Darcy, leaning against the trunk of an oak tree a short distance away from the path, said to himself that this life attracted him, that this young woman attracted him. More than that, he admired her and loved her, and he imagined her on the paths of Pemberley, and this thought pleased him to no end. Drawn from his thoughts by the sound of quick footsteps, he lifted his gaze and saw her running; he would have liked to join her, but he sensed that she thought herself to be alone and that his interruption would embarrass her. He watched her as she disappeared, lively and nimble, and he had no difficulty in imaging her eyes, made brighter through exercise.

  *****

  Rosings Park, the 3rd of May, 1811

  Dear Georgiana,

  I hope that you are doing well and that this magnificent spring allows you to get outside often. Do not hesitate to ask Mr. Jackson to prepare and hitch up your little phaeton; Mrs. Annesley would surely enjoy accompanying you. Our cousin also takes advantage of this and goes out almost daily with Richard; she is less pale and her appetite has improved. But you are aware of the convictions of Lady Catherine regarding the health of her daughter, who most often goes out when our aunt is having her afternoon nap, so as to avoid ceaseless comments and advice. I have almost finished checking the state of affairs at Rosings; I only have a few more trips to make with Mr. Gurney, the steward of the estate.

  I must admit that our stay here this year is the most pleasant of all those I have made since overseeing the management of the estate. I believe that Richard would enthusiastically confirm this. There have never been so many visitors at our aunt’s, and they include people whose acquaintance I made in Hertfordshire. Reverend Collins, the new rector at the Hunsford parish, married Miss Charlotte Lucas, whose father has an estate near Netherfield Park. Her younger sister, Miss Maria, as well as her best friend, Miss Elizabeth Bennet, have come to visit her. Incidentally, this is not the first time that I have mentioned her name in my letters. I believe that you would greatly enjoy her; she is a young woman who is curious about everything, who has a sense of humour, who likes to read and play the piano. I feel that you and she would get along very well. You can therefore conclude that there are interesting conversations, music, and pleasant walks. In fact, ...

  ‘Darcy, there you are! I should have thought of that earlier; the library is like an office for you. Are you in the process of completing your inspection of the Rosings accounts?’

  ‘No, I’m writing to Georgiana. I will return to the estate’s finances as soon as I have finished writing this letter. As for the rest, I have almost finished the work.’

  ‘I wanted to go for a walk and was wondering if you would like to accompany me, but I see that your afternoon will be busy.’

  ‘Indeed. Enjoy your walk, Richard, and be sure to not get lost, like you did when we were young!’

  ‘Don’t remind me of this embarrassing incident. I was nine years old, and stubborn. Have no fear, Fitz, I shall be back for tea. The people from Hunsford will be here. Isn’t that a good reason? See you soon!’

  Ever since she’d returned from her walk, Elizabeth Bennet had been dwelling on her conversation with Colonel Fitzwilliam. She had chanced upon him on the path lined with linden trees, where she liked to go, far from Maria’s innocent chatter and the aphoristic words of William Collins, which were most often directed at her. She delighted as much in the air saturated with the scent of fields as in the picturesque view of the lush valleys criss-crossed by winding dirt roads bordered by low stone walls. Reverend Gilpin would have been thrilled, of this she was certain, particularly if a few ruins, as Mr. Darcy had suggested, had embellished the small hill to the left... While her thoughts flitted about pleasantly, the silhouette of Colonel Fitzwilliam cut through the daylight, requiring that she bid her reveries farewell. From that point forward, she could not rid herself of her anger. The conversation, pleasant at first, had taken a different turn. She did
not exactly remember what had led them to talk about the Bingleys, but something had led her companion to share a confidence that had truly shocked her. How could Mr. Darcy have dared interpret the sentiments Jane had towards Charles Bingley? What right did he have to play the role of judge in this situation that did not concern him? Did he really commend himself for having managed to keep his friend from entering into an “imprudent” marriage? Elizabeth could simply not believe it. The Colonel, surprised by her tone, had wanted to justify the intervention of his cousin: there had been some serious objections, particularly against the young woman’s family. Bingley had seemed to be seriously smitten and had really needed the help of an experienced friend to extract him, even if it was without his knowledge! However, as the gesture could seriously slight the family in question, it was better to remain discreet, he had concluded, with a smile. And how! Elizabeth might have exclaimed. It was everything she could do to remain impassive, so much so that this led to a migraine. An accomplished gentleman, Richard Fitzwilliam had helpfully extended his arm, so that she could lean on it, and he quickly offered to accompany her to the rectory.

  Seated in her room, which she had managed to reach without coming across any of the residents, Elizabeth massaged her temples while attempting to calm her indignation. She had, of course, had a few suspicions as to the involvement of Mr. Darcy in the affair; however, she had been certain, at least up to this point, that all the plotting had been the work of Miss Bingley. Had she not wanted to separate Jane from her brother Charles, in the hopes that an alliance be formed with Miss Darcy? Caroline Bingley had clearly expressed this in her letter, but now new light had been shed on the situation and Elizabeth had difficulty understanding the motives of the master of Pemberley in all this. What could Jane be accused of? She did not know anyone more worthy of this inclination. How could anyone have made a young woman as mild and tender as her older sister suffer intentionally? And the accusations against her family? Mr. Darcy must find that the family on the maternal side was not worth mentioning, never mind being acquainted with. An attorney and a merchant. What a fall from grace! Her father: an educated and respectable gentleman. Her mother... Her mother... In that moment, Elizabeth hesitated somewhat, and then even longer when her thoughts turned towards her young sisters. Irritated, she dismissed all comments that might have shamed her family. It was Mr. Darcy’s pride and contempt that had prevailed over Jane’s happiness, of that there was no doubt. So much so that her migraine worsened to such an extent that, half an hour later, she had to ask Charlotte to apologise on her behalf with the residents of Rosings. Mr. Collins was offended; what a slight towards his noble benefactress! He spent some time chiding his cousin, attempting to demonstrate to her the ingratitude she was exhibiting whereas she had been welcomed several times with great condescension and... Charlotte interrupted him, reminding him that they would be late and that Lady Catherine made a point of punctuality. Thus, if he were to stand by his position and his privileges with respect to Her Ladyship, he would forthwith have to leave the rectory.

  ‘Thank you, Charlotte,’ murmured Elizabeth, closing her eyes.

  The shooting pain obliged her to return to the small drawing room and settle into an armchair that beckoned her. She curled up there and, in the semi-darkness and the stillness, she was able to release her emotions: tears of rage, frustration and pain. She eventually fell asleep, the pressure on her temples having diminished. It was the ringing of the doorbell that awoke her. She had just the time to get up and put down Jane’s letters, which she was still holding, when her visitor was announced: it was Mr. Darcy.

  *****

  Tea had been served, along with scones, and a basket of fruit had been placed on the buffet for all to enjoy. Anne took only a cup of tea; the colonel took everything that was served to him, and Darcy took nothing at all. The Collins and Maria, who were seated near Lady Catherine, drank in her words and drank their tea. It must be said that the discussion was grandiose; the topic was a book written by a certain Mrs. Hannah Glasse: The Art of Cookery Made Plain and Easy. Her ladyship had started to explain to Mrs. Collins the benefits that reading this work could provide to any woman wishing to run an exemplary household, a statement that was energetically approved of by the reverend. It was when she wanted to convince her guests by reading a passage to them that the Master of Pemberley, who was reaching a point of exasperation, decided to slip away. Busy stoking the fire beside which his cousin was seated, the Colonel did not immediately notice his departure. One might have been tempted to believe that, as a result, he would have made a connection between Darcy’s sudden disappearance and the absence of Miss Bennet, but this was not the case. He simply assumed that the revelations on how to wrap a chicken or make a good fricassee had put off his cousin and he had decided to withdraw to the library under the guise of having some correspondence to catch up on.

  Time and again, Fitzwilliam Darcy had repeated to himself what he would say, but, contrary to what usually happened, nothing went as he had foreseen. Nothing. Starting with his confession:

  ‘In vain I have struggled. It will not do. My feelings will not be repressed. You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you.’

  Struggle, repress.... When he uttered these words, he realised that this was not really a good start. The continuation did not at all improve the situation: highlighting the lower rank of her family, the unacceptable behaviour of several of her family members, and the mismatch which he had finally deigned to lower himself to was not the most eloquent of arguments with which to plea his case. However, to Elizabeth Bennet, he must have appeared very eloquent, as she had not a moment’s hesitation.

  ‘I have never desired your good opinion, and you have certainly bestowed it most unwillingly. The feelings which, you tell me, have long prevented the acknowledgment of your regard, can have little difficulty in overcoming it after this explanation. I might as well inquire why with so evident a desire of offending and insulting me, you chose to tell me that you liked me against your will, against your reason, and even against your character?’

  And it was an aghast Fitzwilliam Darcy who learned from the very mouth of Miss Bennet that she could not for one instant imagine marrying the man who was responsible for having perhaps eternally ruined the happiness of her dear sister; for having been the artisan of this separation and for having exposed to censure and scorn two beings who absolutely did not deserve this most acute misery. It was in vain that he attempted to explain why he felt that he had acted in a rational manner by saving a dear friend; Elizabeth barely listened to him, so strong was her resentment. She relaunched her attack: And this poor Mr. Wickham? Did he think she was unaware of the young officer’s misfortune? Already several months ago, she had concluded that it was he who had, by forsaking the last wishes of his father, denied this worthy young man his independence. What did he have to say in his defence? And no, she did not wish to hear this, either! It was at that moment that Darcy lost his haughty composure, or at least that which was remaining, and exploded. What eager interest she took in George Wickham’s concerns! Did she really believe everything that this manipulator had said? Is this the impression she had of him, Fitzwilliam Darcy? And his marriage proposal had been refused with no consideration for him. Did she not understand that he’d had to silence his scruples and fight all his apprehension to reach this decision? After all, who could rejoice in forming blood relations with people whose social class was so obviously inferior? Who? And who, she had replied dryly, could accept a proposal formulated in a manner that was so ungentlemanly? The arrow had reached its mark, and Darcy’s eyes widened in an expression of incredulity. She left him no time to retort, dealing a final blow.

  ‘From the very beginning—from the first moment, I may almost say—of my acquaintance with you, I was struck by your conceit, and your selfish disdain of the feelings of others. I had not known you a month before I felt that you were the last man in the world whom I could ever be prevailed on to marry.�
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  How had Darcy managed to retain his composure? He had no idea. How had he managed to wish her good health and happiness and leave, without looking back? Her happiness! But no, had he really said that? Yes, and he was unable to erase anything of this scene from his mind. Mortified, humiliated, he, Fitzwilliam Darcy of Pemberley in Derbyshire… rejected by a young country lady with no fortune and no relations! Rejected, although he was one of the most coveted bachelors in the capital, the object of attention of many young women who would have given everything to be the object of this proposal! Rejected. His bitterness was suffocating. She had not wished to listen to him and had unleashed all her prejudices, starting with those regarding cursed Wickham. No, he would not accept this injustice, he had the right to defend himself! And he would. If he had, at this very moment, been able to see Elizabeth Bennet, trembling with emotion while she collapsed into a chair and cried for a very long time, he really would not have known what to think. Paying no heed to his surroundings, he crossed the threshold, strode up the stairs four at a time, and retreated into his rooms before anyone even noticed that he had returned.

  He spent part of the night there. At last, around four-thirty a.m., he blew out the candle and stretched out on his bed in an attempt to rest. His eyes open wide, he contemplated the sky, watching it slowly brighten and telling himself that, if he was struggling with his regrets and his humiliation, she must be sleeping peacefully; after all, it was her decision. His thoughts continued to return to certain statements in the letter he had just finished composing, compelling him to justify himself over and over.

  … But from the severity of that blame which was last night so liberally bestowed, respecting each circumstance, I shall hope to be in the future secured, when the following account of my actions and their motives has been read.