Chapter 4

Four

Marching away from Rosings towards Hunsford, Elizabeth was impervious to the chill in the air. Vigorous activity and the vexations of life kept her blood heated. Such was her undignified stride that the long-legged footman—whom Lady Catherine had insisted accompany her—dog-trotted to keep pace. Exasperated thoughts knew no moderation, particularly regarding Mr Darcy, that gentleman's meddlesome aunt, and her own marriage-minded mother.

I shall take to my grave the fact that Mama suggested I somehow inveigle an invitation to Miss de Bourgh's ball for all my sisters.

Just as Elizabeth, with considerable exaggeration and not a little self-pity, wondered whether her circumstance could possibly become any more wretched, icy pellets with a hard, sugary consistency began pelting her face and forming sloppy conditions underfoot. Slipping and sliding, she grumbled to herself for half a mile. Misery, thy name is spring sleet.

Not customarily formed for prolonged ill-humour, upon arrival at the parsonage, Elizabeth spent an inordinate amount of time struggling to untie a wet bootlace with chilled fingers. Botheration! It was the same one Mr Darcy had secured with such a knot as would have defeated a strong, seasoned seaman.

After requesting tea, she settled, warm and dry, upon a small sofa beside the fire. Just as she broke the seal on the gentleman's letter, Molly entered balancing a tea service complete with toasted, buttery muffins and damson preserves. The maid was thanked, and Elizabeth was left alone to tuck into a second breakfast.

Mrs Collins soon ducked her head round the door jamb. "I shall join you in a moment, Eliza."

While awaiting her friend, Elizabeth consigned the letter to her pocket again and turned her thoughts to Miss de Bourgh's forthcoming celebration. Under ordinary circumstances, the anticipation of a private ball would have filled her with eager expectations of pleasure. But Mr Darcy will be there. And my cousin with his clumsy feet and inability to move separate parts of his body together gracefully.

A line from her mother's letter came to mind. ‘Your father says that by staying longer, you will have time to further observe the follies and foibles of Mr Collins and his patroness.'

In comparison to the long-suffering Mrs Collins and Miss de Bourgh, Elizabeth admitted her lot in life was not so very wretched. After all, she would have to remain in Kent only three additional days.

I shall persevere…even if it kills me. I simply shall avoid seeing Mr Darcy until the night of the ball. And Lady Catherine had the right of it. Dear Charlotte cannot object to my staying a little longer. But how awkward I shall feel making such a request.

The lady of the house then joined her on the sofa and poured herself a cup of tea. "You had an extraordinarily long walk in the cold this morning. I trust your outing helped alleviate whatever ailed you last night and earlier today." It was more question than statement. "Still, you seem out of sorts."

Not even to her dear friend would Elizabeth divulge what had transpired the previous evening in that very room. Surely Charlotte would think her a simpleton for refusing a gentleman of such consequence. It had taken her own mother an entire se'nnight to forgive her for refusing Mr Collins.

Mama must never know that not only our cousin but another of the men invited to Miss de Bourgh's ball made me a marriage offer and was rejected. For an instant, Elizabeth felt like the most selfish, ungrateful daughter on the face of the earth, but she refused to be sacrificed on the altar of her mother's ambition.

"I find myself most awkwardly circumstanced this morning, Charlotte, and I fear what I am about to say will result in mutual embarrassment." With all mention of Mr Darcy's involvement carefully omitted, a compendious history was given of what had transpired at Rosings.

"The audacity of her! Such presumption was beyond belief." Drawing in slow, steady breaths, Elizabeth stilled her restless hands upon her lap. "What business had she going behind my back and writing to my parents with no regard whatsoever for my wishes? And to prevail upon you to accommodate me beyond my scheduled departure is unconscionable. Wretched woman! I do not wish to be a burden but find myself obliged to impose upon your hospitality a little longer."

Charlotte had listened to Elizabeth's litany of complaints with earnest attention. "Lady Catherine admires you—almost as much as Mr Darcy does—though neither of them ever would admit such. Her ladyship would not have gone to such trouble for someone of whom she disapproves. And truly, your remaining is no imposition at all. I am happy to have you here with me. You know I value your friendship beyond that of any other person." She gave her friend's shoulder a gentle nudge.

The gesture was returned. "I have no doubt of your warm regard, Charlotte. Thank you."

It had taken Elizabeth quite some time before becoming reconciled to the November engagement and January marriage of Mr Collins and the then Miss Lucas. Esteem for her friend had sunk under the weight of disappointment and disapproval, and there had existed between the two a restraint. Absence, however, had increased Elizabeth's desire to see Charlotte and even weakened her disgust of the woman's husband. It saddened her to suspect the couple shared no grand passion. Had her cousin ever spoken of how much he admired and loved his wife? Will anyone ever again speak such ardent words to me?

Those thoughts were interrupted by Molly who informed them Mr Chapman, a parishioner, was at the door beseeching Mr and Mrs Collins to attend his dying wife. Elizabeth considered accompanying them, but although she was not insensible of their plight, she was unknown to the Chapmans and would be neither welcome nor helpful at such a time.

Instead, she went to her bedchamber where the fire of curiosity could be extinguished in privacy. Once seated upon the edge of the bed, she opened Mr Darcy's letter and read it through twice in its entirety and thrice those sections regarding Mr Bingley and Jane as well as Mr Wickham and Miss Darcy. With each reading, the written words caused outrage, sorrow, and pain of the heart. Afflicted by a coalescence of feelings, she tossed the pages aside and paced the small room in trembling wretchedness.

The clanging and clattering of pots and plates from the kitchen could not drown out the clamour in her mind—a jumble of ire, mortification, and commiseration. Fairly vibrating with it, she could scarcely contain her animosity towards Mr Darcy's obtuse defence of his action against her dearest sister and the disdain he felt for the rest of her family.

Then there was the matter of how gravely disloyal the despicable Mr Wickham had been to the Darcys. How mortifying it was for Elizabeth to realise she, too, had been endowed with susceptible naiveté and had courted prejudice and ignorance.

Duly ashamed of her mistaken first impressions of the two men, Elizabeth gave an anguished cry and dashed away tears of frustration with herself and of sympathy for Miss Darcy. How could she possibly face the girl's brother again with any degree of equanimity?

Prone then upon the bed, she chastised herself over and over again. Since the very beginning of my acquaintance with Mr Darcy and Mr Wickham, I drove away all reason. Stupid girl.

Tears soaked her pillow, but after much reflection and self-reproach, she admitted Mr Darcy's explanations vindicated a portion of his insufferable behaviour but not her own.