Darcy and Miss Elizabeth Meet Again, and Darcy Makes a Huge Miscalculation
Darcy hardly thought of Miss Elizabeth over the next four months. In London and at his Aunt Fitzwilliam's (a brief weekend visit that coincided with a ball), he found himself comparing the young ladies present to Miss Elizabeth. They always fell short. That was to be expected. Miss Elizabeth set a high standard of kindness, sisterly devotion, and genial, unaffected good manners.
He certainly didn't dwell on her personality. Perhaps, he remembered one of her merry quips. Perhaps, he retained a clear image of her smoke-colored eyes. Perhaps, he even mentioned her to Georgiana once or twice--without suggesting any kind of attachment, of course. But he was sure when he arrived at Lady Catherine's estate of Rosings with his cousin, Colonel John Fitzwilliam, that given a few more months he would mostly have forgotten Miss Elizabeth.
Lady Catherine greeted Darcy and Fitzwilliam with complacent condescension.
"The Collinses have the oddest visitor," she said at the dinner table. "A friend of Mrs. Collins from before she was married. I can't speak to modern manners, but the friend seems a very forward sort of person. Of course, she claims to know you, Darcy, but I can't believe--"
Mr. Collins had married Charlotte Lucas, a friend of Miss Elizabeth's (in Darcy's world, reports of marriages and death seemed to travel faster than special messenger). Darcy set down his knife and fork and concentrated on his aunt.
"--and very self-assured which I'm sure is not entirely proper for a young lady, even a young lady of twenty--"
Will she never state the visitor's name?
"-and all five sisters already out."
It was Miss Elizabeth. Darcy's stomach churned.
"Five sisters," John was saying in his mild humorous way. "Good heavens."
"Astonishing, isn't it," Lady Catherine said without hearing John's irony; she never did. Had Miss Elizabeth tried to laugh at her? If so, Darcy couldn't imagine the encounter had been a success.
"Do you remember this Miss Elizabeth?" John asked on their way to the drawing room to play cards.
"Yes," Darcy said.
"A bit more entertaining than our aunt?"
"Yes."
* * *
John was all for meeting the single ladies--Mrs. Collins's unmarried sister was also visiting. The next morning, they headed to the Hunsford parsonage, encountering Mr. Collins in the lane. Mr. Collins bowed, reminded Darcy of their last meeting, and apologized for forcing Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam to walk all the way from Rosings without his companionship. Darcy decided that Miss Elizabeth's current living situation provided her with a surfeit of follies and nonsense.
He entered the parsonage parlor after John. "Hello," John said, striding up to Miss Elizabeth. "A pleasure to make your acquaintance."
Darcy turned to Mrs. Collins. With is easy affability, John could bypass such basic courtesies; no one ever noticed. Darcy remembered Mrs. Collins vaguely from Hertfordshire and was surprised all over again that Mr. Collins had snagged such a calm, self-possessed young woman. Presumably the benefits of having her own household outweighed the drawbacks of her odd, ineffectual husband.
Darcy sat beside the imperturbable Mrs. Collins and watched John discuss the Kentish countryside with Miss Elizabeth. She responded with a glance at Darcy. Their last conversation had been at the Netherfield ball, where they had discussed Wickham. He could hardly raise that subject now. He could ask her about poetry, but no, that was too complex a subject for this brief meeting. John had already asked her about the countryside. Darcy could ask her about her travels to Hunsford, but no, John had covered that topic too.
"How is your family, Miss Elizabeth?" Darcy said.
Miss Elizabeth cut short a light remark to John and turned to him. "They are well," she said. "My eldest sister has been in London for several months. You didn't see her there?"
He'd known Miss Bennet was in London. He hadn't seen her. The correct response was "No," except the question implied knowledge of Miss Bennet's whereabouts as much as an actual meeting. But if he said, "Yes," Miss Elizabeth would want to know how her sister appeared, and he couldn't answer that, so: "No," he said.
She cocked her head slightly and Darcy felt a sudden qualm, but he could hardly explain his thought process at that immediate moment.
"Very nice gel," John said as they left the parsonage.
Darcy nodded. She was indeed.
* * *
He spent the next few days closeted with the house steward going over Rosings's household books. Lady Catherine had a tendency to underpay her land servants and lower house staff while vastly overpaying her upper house staff. The house steward made some rather pleading suggestions and Darcy agreed to effect certain changes. He would simply tell Lady Catherine that the changes had been made. She would respond with long rants about the grasping demands of the serving class--which rants Darcy never heeded--but she wouldn't counteract Darcy's decisions. Until Darcy left, anyway. He told the steward this, and the steward agreed, looking depressed. But Rosings wasn't really Darcy's responsibility.
Every evening, John and he took a walk to view the grounds. Rosings was a lovely estate with long vistas of mustard-tipped meadows and beyond them, the Kent Downs. During these walks, Darcy learned that John was spending almost every day at the parsonage."Miss Elizabeth is very clever," John would say of his visits, or "Miss Elizabeth agrees that Evelina lacks sparkle," or "Miss Elizabeth is quite the walker."
She was clever. She had interesting opinions about literature and people. She was quite a walker. Darcy could tell John--but no, he decided. John might not understand about Miss Elizabeth walking over three miles to see her sister; he might misinterpret Darcy remembering the incident. Darcy thought of Miss Elizabeth's dark eyes and glowing cheeks and friendly smile and kept his thoughts to himself.
He saw her at church where the congregation sat through a rambling sermon on the importance of respecting one's betters. He thought about speaking to her; he could ask her about--about--
She was already gone, her arm linked with Mrs. Collins's.
* * *
"I've invited the Collinses and their guests for a small party," Lady Catherine announced that evening, and Darcy felt reprieved. He would have an entire evening to come up with a conversational gambit.
John got Miss Elizabeth's attention first, of course. Darcy was stuck listening to Lady Catherine's critique of Mr. Collins's sermon while Mr. Collins bobbed his head in abashed agreement.
Darcy watched John question Miss Elizabeth about Kent and Hertfordshire and poetry: "What do you think of Scott's latest?" Miss Elizabeth answered his questions with her usual ease, laughing occasionally.
John could be droll.
"--of course, Fordyce is always an excellent resource," Lady Catherine was saying.
John was the fourth of five sons with little in the way of inheritance, though he had good prospects and was a dependable man. Miss Elizabeth wouldn't balk at being a soldier's wife. She had the strength and self-reliance to survive her husband's absence to war.
Darcy frowned at his unexpected train of thought. She was just being friendly. There was nothing personal about her conversation with John. Darcy was making untenable assumptions. He was getting as bad as Mrs. Bennett.
Lady Catherine ended her critique of Mr. Collins's sermon and shouted to John, "What are you telling, Miss Bennett? Speak up."
John turned, brows raised. His eyes met Darcy's, and he winked. Darcy felt a sudden chill. Surely, John and Miss Elizabeth's conversation had been general, impersonal. One couldn't have intimate conversations in drawing rooms--
One could actually, as Darcy knew.
"We were talking of music, ma'am."
Darcy let out a breath.
Lady Catherine informed the company that she prized music, declaring, "If I had ever learnt, I should have been a great master." To Darcy, she said, "How is Georgiana coming along with her studies?"
"She is quite accomplished," Darcy said. After Christmas, Georgiana had returned to school where she would stay until Darcy collected her for the summer months. A year ago, Darcy had begun the process of setting Georgiana up in her own London establishment. Unfortunate events had altered those plans with Georgiana agreeing instead to return to school. She was happy there.
Darcy had recently attended a recital at the school and been impressed by his sister's progress with both singing and playing. He said so to Lady Catherine.
"Pray tell her from me," said his portentous aunt, "that she cannot expect to excel if she does not practice a great deal."
Trying not to snap, Darcy explained that Georgiana practiced constantly. Snapping never made any difference with Lady Catherine. She hardly heard him now.
"I have told Miss Bennett several times that she will never play really well unless she practices more."
Darcy glanced at Miss Elizabeth, expecting an acerbic rejoinder, but Miss Elizabeth only folded her hands in her lap and looked demure. Darcy tensed.
Lady Catherine tapped his arm to regain his attention. "She is welcome to come to Rosings every day and play on the pianoforte--"
That was a kind offer and Darcy looked again at Miss Elizabeth, hoping to see a sign of appreciation.
"--in Mrs. Jenkinson's room. She would be in nobody's way, you know, in that part of the house."
Darcy winced and stared at the carpet. He was beginning to wish he'd stayed away from Rosings this year.
"You'll perform for us surely!" John said to Miss Elizabeth.
Darcy wished he'd said it first, but it wasn't the sort of thing he could say without sounding forcedl. Despite his aunt's rudeness, Miss Elizabeth agreed to play and sing. She chose an adagio. Darcy sat back, relaxing as she began.
"Of course, Anne prefers pieces by Charles Avison," Lady Catherine said, and Darcy stiffened with annoyance. He hated when people interrupted performances, musical, theatrical, or otherwise. He got up abruptly and walked across the room so he could hear better.
Miss Elizabeth addressed him: "You mean to frighten me, Mr. Darcy, coming over here so seriously. But I will not be alarmed though your sister does play so well."
So, she had attended to his comments about Georgiana.
Miss Elizabeth continued, "My courage always rises with every attempt to intimidate me."
Darcy grinned. She knew he would never try to discomfort her; she knew him pretty well, in fact. She was teasing, pretending alarm she didn't feel. He said so, and she laughed. Darcy relaxed some more. This was the kind of camaraderie they'd had in Hertfordshire.
Miss Elizabeth began telling John that she could expose Darcy's character if she wished. Darcy wasn't worried. John knew his character pretty well, and Darcy had learned that Miss Elizabeth was never as critical in her judgments as she threatened.
"I am not afraid of you," he told her.
Chuckling, John asked for particulars. Miss Elizabeth lowered her voice to a scandalized murmur: Did he know, could he comprehend--the first time she'd met Darcy he had only danced four times "though gentlemen were scarce and more than one young lady was sitting down in want of a partner."
It took Darcy almost a minute to realize she was speaking of that first ball in Hertfordshire--when he had refused to dance with any one but Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst. He had refused to dance with a young lady suggested by Bingley.
He had refused to dance with Miss Elizabeth.
He blushed. He hadn't noticed the imbalance of men and women. He had barely noticed who Bingley recommended, but Miss Elizabeth had noticed and remembered; all this time, she had thought him uncivil, deliberately rude.
He said, "I am ill-qualified to recommend myself to strangers." She must understand that. She knew him well enough.
But she was shaking her head.
Trying not to plead, Darcy said, "I have not the talent of conversing easily with those I haven't met before." She must have noticed that.
She still shook her head. She took the time to practice the piano, she pointed out. Surely, Darcy could take the time to be sociable.
She didn't practice that much. But she did practice enough to give pleasure to her friends and family. Darcy was the same although he admitted to himself that sometimes even his friends and family were stymied by his behavior.
He would have to try harder. He said so, adding, "Neither of us performs well to strangers."
She eyed him, brows drawing together. Darcy couldn't imagine what she might have said next, for Lady Catherine approached, and Miss Elizabeth resumed playing. Darcy sat down near the pianoforte where he could watch her.
He needed to dissect Miss Elizabeth's comment about the first ball in Hertfordshire--an assembly ball, he remembered now. Usually, he disliked people dwelling on minor social infractions: the time Mr. Jones sneezed on Miss Smith, the time Mrs. Brown wore an ugly gown. Such remarks were no better than jeers, gossip for cruel people with too much time on their hands.
Refusing to dance with Miss Elizabeth was rather worse than spilling a drink or wearing a dirty shirt.
Why didn't she tell me? She hadn't mentioned the assembly ball when she stayed at Netherfield. But then she'd been occupied with her sister. On the other hand, she and Darcy had conversed there--he could remember all their conversations, nearly verbatim. She had never seemed angry with him.
She never seemed angry with Lady Catherine, either, who was pointedly rude. Miss Elizabeth was a gracious young lady who hid her emotions behind a wry smile.
Yet she bantered with Darcy, asked him questions, smiled at him.
She smiles and banters with John.
She didn't study John. She didn't ask John about his faults. Darcy glowered at the fireplace and hardly noticed when the party broke up.
* * *
The next morning, he left Rosings early, without John, and went to the parsonage to visit the household. Perhaps Elizabeth would be there and he could make sure she bore him no ill-will.
She was there and alone. Darcy stiffened on the parlor threshold. He wasn't prepared for a tête-à-tête. He didn't have his thoughts ordered. Mrs. Collins was supposed to be present to carry the conversational ball: that's what married ladies did.
He entered, sat slowly. Miss Elizabeth asked after the occupants at Rosings. Darcy replied, getting his bearings. He hadn't expected a tête-à-tête, but he wasn't sorry for it. He sank back deliberately in the parlor armchair and watched Miss Elizabeth at the desk. She was dressed in something soft and bright, her hair informally arranged. Darcy found that he liked it best that way.
She was studying him as well, without censure, and the anxiety in Darcy lessened. Their relationship was back to normal--to the way it had been in Hertfordshire, to the way things should be between them.
The way they should always be. Darcy realized he had forgotten he was not interested in Miss Elizabeth. There was no point denying it: he was interested.
They discussed Netherfield, whether Charles would let or sell. They discussed the parsonage and Mr. Collins's marriage to Mrs. Collins.
"It must be convenient for her to be settled within so easy a distance of her family and friends," Darcy said.
Miss Elizabeth was surprised. "Easy distance" for Miss Elizabeth apparently meant "in the same neighborhood of." Miss Elizabeth blushed when Darcy said so, and Darcy's heart beat a little quicker.
This was marriage talk: how far a woman wished to live from her family; how often she wished to visit her childhood home. Miss Elizabeth had never seemed like someone who wanted to spend her married life a hop, skip, and a jump from her parents' door. He couldn't think of anything more frustrating than trying to manage a household with Mrs. Bennet's interference. Pemberley, at least, was a long way from Hertfordshire.
"You are not that attached to Longbourn," he said, leaning forward.
Miss Elizabeth looked surprised, and Darcy retreated. He was being too forward; he was making assumptions; he was hardly prepared to--to--
To propose?
* * *
He left the parsonage in a state of utter bewilderment. She was too genteel, too intelligent, to assume an offer where none was made. But she must know--she was so good at reading people--how Darcy felt. She wouldn't be surprised if he proposed.
Which put the decision back on Darcy. He'd decided four months ago in Hertfordshire that she was wrong for him. Why change his mind now?
He'd thought about Elizabeth often over the last four months, more than he'd wanted to admit. He'd saved up things to tell her, the kind of things he could never actually tell her unless they were engaged. He'd spoken of her to Georgiana.
And he'd put off departing Rosings, much to John's surprise; Darcy rarely varied from his schedule.
I can't marry her. It was not an appropriate connection. He sat in his room, elbows on knees, head bowed. He'd intended to marry a woman of his own status with a similar background--someone to be chatelaine of Pemberley, who could handle the work involved and be a role model for Georgiana.
Elizabeth was an excellent role model, but Elizabeth's family came with her. Mr. and Mrs. Bennet were not acceptable role models for any young person. Nor did they supply an appropriate environment for a future Mrs. Darcy. He didn't doubt that Elizabeth could manage a household, but she'd had little experience with well-run estates. Longbourn was less than half the size of Pemberley, and Mr. Bennet ran it at less than full potential.
If only she were a member of his set. If only she had a stronger pedigree. Darcy's mother--Lady Anne Fitzwilliam, whose ancestry was linked to William the Conqueror--had brought money, stability, and worth to the Darcy line.
The line didn't need more money, but it could use stability. Georgiana needed positive female examples. She would find one in Elizabeth. But not in Elizabeth's sisters--except Jane, Jane whom Bingley had wanted to court. Darcy had told him the connection was a bad one, which was true. What would Bingley think if Darcy married a Bennet sister?
Elizabeth would understand Darcy's conflict. Darcy had seen her blush at her parents' and younger sisters' behavior. She knew what they were like. She knew what Darcy was like.
But he couldn't discuss the matter with her--not until he made an offer. Once she accepted, she would ease his mind.
If he offered. If. If. If.
He visited the parsonage several times over the next few days; he watched Elizabeth talk and laugh, listened to her good sense, observed her animated yet appropriate manners with John, Mr. and Mrs. Collins, Mrs. Collin's younger sister. He took her expressions and witticisms and occasional smiles at him back to his room at Rosings where he replayed them in his mind.
He shouldn't propose.
But he would.
He was going to get married.
What an absolutely astonishing thought.