Chapter 4

16 th February, 1812

Dear Jane,

I find myself both amused and abashed as I respond to your latest letter. As you grow more cynical, I discover that I have, perhaps, been overly proud of my ability to understand the characters of those around me. A surprise awaited me at Rosings, but I must start at the beginning.

We went to dine at Rosings on the appointed day, and I was already heartily sick of it before we ever set out. Mr. Collins was omnipresent, reminding us incessantly of how grand everything would be and assuring us that we need not feel overwhelmed by the myriad servants and great appointments of the house, nor ashamed of our simple garb for, he declared, Lady Catherine, who will herself be dressed finely indeed, prefers to maintain the distinction of rank. Preserve me from Lady Catherine and her worshiper!

Still, dinner passed largely uneventfully. Mr. Collins fawned, Miss de Bourgh – who is remarkably small, and thin, and unprepossessing to look at – spoke hardly at all. Poor Maria Lucas was reduced to quaking silence, and Sir William was little better. All discourse was held almost exclusively by Lady Catherine, whose condescension appears to largely take the form of managing to the minutest detail every aspect of the lives of all around her. Poor Charlotte was forced to endure, for much of the meal, the most impertinent searching questions about her housekeeping and how she manages her household. Every question and answer was followed up by an extensive lecture of advice on what Lady Catherine would suggest that she do instead, from how she arranges her linens and how she dusts to how she cares for her pigs and her poultry.

I myself drew Lady Catherine’s notice as well. She inquired all about my family, my sisters, my parents, Father’s income and land and management practices, our accomplishments, our education – oh, everything! She is very rude indeed, Jane, and abominably proud, and she takes little pains to conciliate. I am very glad that she and Mamma are unlikely ever to meet, for she would certainly bring on an attack of Mamma’s nerves that would last for days.

I confess that I became rather impertinent and sought to thwart her will when she began demanding of me my age. She did not care much for that and dismissed me from her notice shortly after, but I do not count it a great loss. The meal itself was very good and much admired by our cousin and Sir William. The house scarcely disappointed from our cousin’s descriptions, though I fear he found my awe and reverence somewhat lacking. You know I do not intimidate easily, dear sister! Rosings is nice for a visit, but it does not seem a comfortable sort of place to live, as it is entirely too gilded and showy for my taste. We were informed by Mr. Collins on the way there precisely how many pounds the glazing on the windows cost Sir Lewis de Bourgh, but I do not recollect the sum, only that it was great.

I was doomed to disappoint our cousin once more during the carriage ride back. He asked our opinions on Rosings and its mistress, and though Maria was overflowing with awe and Sir William said all that Mr. Collins could wish, I had to take a great deal more care over my own assessment. It was not as plain as I might have wished, for poor Charlotte’s sake, but it did not satisfy our cousin, and despite all the pains I took over my words, he was soon enough obligated to take back into his own hands his patroness’s praises.

One good thing, at least, arose from our visit – I was invited to walk along the paths at Rosings, for when Mr. Collins told Lady Catherine of my habit of walking, she declared it ‘very healthful’ and declared that I could ramble the grounds at my pleasure. It is an invitation I have indulged heavily, for though my taste and Lady Catherine’s do not run precisely the same, some of the walks are delightful, with charming vistas.

Two days ago, I was on one such stroll when Miss de Bourgh’s phaeton approached me. She was riding with Mrs. Jenkinson, a singularly colorless creature who acts as her companion. Miss de Bourgh promptly surrendered her reins to the other and alighted to hurry towards me. I confess that I was surprised by such sprightliness of movement, for she had not shown herself energetic before, and I stopped to wait for her, of course.

And thus, to the surprise I mentioned at the beginning of my letter! I was quite mistaken in my initial assessment of Miss de Bourgh. She was not at all the pallid, uninteresting wisp of a girl I first thought her to be, but clever, amiable, and possessed of a sharp mind behind her pale face. Immediately after greeting me, she asked directly that I not mention to her mother, nor to my cousin, her alighting to walk with me. Lady Catherine is convinced that her daughter is a sickly, frail creature, unequal to the effort of a brisk stroll and has flatly forbidden it.

I promised, of course, and we set off together side by side, leaving Mrs. Jenkinson reading in the phaeton. Miss de Bourgh disclosed to me that they often come out on the Rosings land so that Miss de Bourgh can do as she pleases without the oversight of her mother, and Mrs. Jenkinson can rest from the constant dancing of attendance on Miss de Bourgh that Lady Catherine insists on. It makes an unfortunate amount of sense. I had already arrived at the conclusion that Lady Catherine is dictatorial, and it was but little wonder to learn that she is a tyrant of a mother.

She explained to me, as we walked, that she quite likes Charlotte – as one must! – and wishes that they might deepen their acquaintanceship. It is Mr. Collins’s reverence of her mother that hinders such, for he, of course, would never dream of keeping such a secret from his patroness. Thus she maintains her facade around her rector and his wife and seeks instead the solace and company of her books.

Her books, Jane! The library at Rosings is as grand as the rest of it, and Miss de Bourgh reads much and often. We enjoyed a companionable discussion of our favorite books for nearly two hours as we walked; longer, I know, than usual visiting hours, but we were both enjoying the other’s company and the exercise. Miss de Bourgh was so kind as to show me her best-loved paths for the season. Most of them were lined with trees to either side, and none of them were visible from the house and its immediate surroundings. The flowers were in full bloom, and the air was heavy with their scent and the humming of insects as they buzzed from blossom to blossom. We sat for a time beside a secluded fountain before starting back for the phaeton and the parsonage, and all was wonderfully congenial.

I am glad you are enjoying yourself and will pray for God’s will regarding your relationship with Mr. Russell. I agree that there is no particular rush, and it would, perhaps, be better to allow your friendship to grow and mature slowly.

Sincerely,

Lizzy

/

27 th March, 1812

Rosings

Kent

Darcy,

I really cannot imagine how you convinced me to come to Kent alone. While you hide in your glorious estate with Georgiana, I am forced to eat dinner every day with Lady Catherine and, if I am not careful, tea as well.

Our mutual aunt does not grow any less certain of herself with age. My father is a confident man, as you are aware, but he does not pretend to know about squashes and melons and music – she would be the best musician in all of England, if ever she had learned – and the best way for the army to win battles … it is maddening.

Well, enough complaining. I do not, of course, resent your decision to stay with Georgiana as she recovers from her illness. My young cousin needs her brother as she recuperates, especially after such a physically and emotionally taxing year. I am very pleased to hear from you that she is improving, though slowly.

By the by, there is a new mistress of the Hunsford parsonage, newly married to Mr. Collins. She is, I believe, acquainted with you. She was previously Miss Charlotte Lucas, whom you met while with your friend Bingley in Hertfordshire? Is that correct?

Mrs. Collins is a sensible woman, far more so than her husband, but it is her guest whom I find most tantalizing. Her name is Miss Elizabeth Bennet, and she is, apparently, Mrs. Collins’s closest friend from Hertfordshire. She mentioned that you have been in company with her. Darcy, what a charming woman she is! That pretty face, those sparkling eyes! More than that, she is obviously intelligent and well read.

I have every intention of visiting the parsonage as often as possible during my time here, as the inhabitants are far more enjoyable than those of Rosings.

You asked about Anne. She is very much the same as she has always been. Quiet, wrapped in blankets a great deal, and she does not eat enough. Lady Catherine hardly allows our cousin to talk, but she also praises her to the skies – Anne would be the best artist, and the best musician, and the best dancer – if only her health had permitted it.

Poor Anne!

It is visiting hours at the parsonage, so I will finish this and send it off.

Sincerely,

Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam

/

Pemberley

1 st April, 1812

Richard,

Georgiana is entirely well from influenza, which is to say that she is no longer coughing or feverish. On the other hand, she is still pale and thin and tired. The doctor assures me that after two serious illnesses in a row, it is no great surprise, but it is worrisome. My little sister has always been healthy, but now she reminds me of my mother, who was weary and listless for the two years before her death.

But I must not give way to excessive fear, and indeed, I probably ought not to have mentioned my concerns. I suppose I do feel guilty at forcing you to deal with our aunt alone. It is definitely a sacrifice on your part, likely similar to charging up a mountain in the teeth of French musket fire.

I am grateful, Richard. I would stay with Georgiana even if you wanted me at Rosings, but I appreciate your support.

I do remember Mrs. Collins and Miss Bennet, of course. The former is a sensible and intelligent lady and the latter is, as you say, pretty, charming, and well read. I am thankful you have pleasant companions to visit at the parsonage.

Sincerely,

Fitzwilliam Darcy