Chapter 6

O n the opposite side of the road, the scene was less dramatic but more intriguing. The Collinses and Elizabeth found themselves unable to understand the reason behind the increased visits from the residents of Rosings. Mr Collins and his wife, flattered by this unexpected attention, struggled to provide a satisfactory explanation.

A day earlier, Charlotte and her sister had returned from a stroll to discover Elizabeth and Mr Darcy engrossed in a tête-à-tête . For a brief moment, they all stood still, caught in an awkward situation. Mr Darcy, in his usual reserved manner, related the mistake which had occasioned his intruding on Miss Bennet, and after lingering a few moments longer, saying little to anyone, he took his leave.

“What could possibly be the meaning of this?” Charlotte asked as soon as Mr Darcy had departed. “My dear Eliza, it is clear that he must be in love with you, or he would never have called on us in this familiar way. ”

However, when Elizabeth told of his silence during his visit, even Charlotte’s fondest wishes could not firmly support her case. After some brief speculation, they surmised that his call might have been prompted by the lack of diversions at Rosings. The game shooting season had concluded, and indoors, there were only two older ladies, an ailing cousin, a variety of books, and a billiard table. Still, gentlemen could not remain perpetually within walls, and in such circumstances, it was only natural for the two cousins to seek enjoyment in walking the park and visiting the Parsonage nearly every day. Their calls happened at different times in the morning, sometimes separately, sometimes together, and occasionally accompanied by the older ladies. It was evident to all that Colonel Fitzwilliam came because he found pleasure in their society—a persuasion which recommended him still more. Elizabeth enjoyed his company as she once had the company of her former favourite, George Wickham. Although, in comparing the two, she saw a certain lack of captivating charm in Colonel Fitzwilliam’s manners, but she believed he had a more well-informed mind.

The only mystery that remained was Mr Darcy, who had shed much of his former aloofness but also the spirited presence that had delighted Elizabeth during their encounters at Netherfield. His visits to the Parsonage remained shrouded in mystery—a mystery Elizabeth had little inclination to unravel.

My dear Jane,

Unfortunately, my mission in Kent will end in disappointment. Despite nearly two weeks of numerous meetings with Mr Darcy and his cousin, I have received little information on Mr Bingley. And the prospect of acquiring more seems bleak, for even though Mr Darcy has curiously tempered his arrogance, he has transformed into a man I scarcely recognise. I vividly recall his eloquence in the library at Netherfield, yet the man who called upon me yesterday, while I was alone in the Parsonage, appeared sombre and almost timid, could not find any subject of conversation, and was reluctant to answer my questions.

After a long and rather fruitless discussion on whether fifty miles could be considered a considerable distance, I mustered the courage to enquire whether Mr Bingley intended to return to Netherfield. I hoped that a precise response might reveal more, but all he could offer was, ‘I have never heard him express such an intention’.

You may find it amusing, dear sister, if you are in such a disposition, for that was the extent of his reply. He added that it was likely Mr Bingley would spend little time at Netherfield in the future, given he has many acquaintances and is at a time of life when friends and engagements are continually increasing. In vain, I attempted to extract any hidden significance from these words, but they held none.

My patience waned, and I, regrettably, ventured into impoliteness by suggesting that Mr Bingley ought to quit the estate if he intended to spend so little time there. It would be more advantageous for our neighbourhood if he gave up the place entirely, allowing for a settled family to take his place.

It is clear to me that Mr Bingley did not take the house so much for the convenience of the neighbourhood as for his own, and we must expect him to keep it or quit it on the same principle.

I was afraid of talking longer of his friend to Mr Darcy, and, having nothing else to say, I was then determined to leave the trouble of finding a subject to him.

As you can see, we afforded the residents of Netherfield more credit than they deserved. It is time to view them for what they are—idle members of the affluent class, drifting from one place to another, driven by their own desires and caprice. They fritter away their time with rudeness and conceit. May this serve as a valuable lesson to us—to extend less hospitality to strangers and to judge their conduct towards us as an indication of their education or nature.

My stay at Charlotte’s approaches its end. I shall depart Kent without regret.

Your loving sister,

Elizabeth

Elizabeth refrained from sharing with her dear sister that strange idea that had been planted in her mind by Charlotte regarding Mr Darcy’s frequent visits to the Parsonage. At first, she dismissed it as impossible, not deeming it worthy of further consideration. Yet, as the hours waned, that idea returned, tenacious and unrelenting. Could it be possible, she pondered, that the same man who had once deemed her not handsome enough to tempt him was in love with her?

Throughout the better part of the night, she reflected, but the idea refused to release its hold on her restless mind.

She gathered the fragments of her thoughts, weaving them together to form an enigmatic and unexpected portrait. It commenced with his initial glances of admiration that had startled her at Netherfield. His countless expressions of amusement and genuine interest in her opinions, his way of defending her when she was attacked by Miss Bingley or Lady Catherine, all danced before her memory. She recalled the evening at Rosings when he had gracefully turned the pages of her music, his countenance illuminated by her mere presence. And why did he visit the Parsonage so frequently? It was a mystery that she struggled to reconcile with his previous coldness. But then, she thought of her dear sister Jane, who had once been similarly deceived by Mr Bingley’s seeming affections, only to find them a mere figment of her hopeful imagination.

Elizabeth yearned to discuss these bewildering thoughts with someone. Yet, she knew that Jane, still suffering from Mr Bingley’s departure, was not the most suitable person.

So, she wrote a long missive to Mrs Gardiner, pouring out her dilemmas regarding this enigmatic man who, on many occasions, had seemed to contradict his avowed aversion to her.

Yet, as she sat down to write, a new question appeared in her mind. What were her own sentiments towards Mr Darcy?

Once more, she sifted through the memories they had created together, from their initial encounter when he appeared as an elegant and somewhat haughty figure in the distance. Indeed, she could not overlook his earlier conceited behaviour. Still, in the course of their acquaintance, a transformation had taken place. He had revealed himself to be a man of wit and humour, occasionally displaying progressive views on matters concerning women and wealth. He was, without a doubt, the most refined gentleman she had ever encountered, and she could not deny that she waited for his smile when they met and his approval when she spoke .

Despite his imperfections, the Mr Darcy she had come to know in Meryton possessed a compelling allure and a pleasing intelligence. She fondly recalled the morning he had met her on the road to Longbourn to see her one last time before leaving—a memory that lingered vividly. However, she could not escape the disconcerting reality that the Mr Darcy she had once known either no longer existed or had concealed himself for reasons she could not imagine. And she did not like this Mr Darcy, who could offer no more than a mere friendship punctuated by silences and timid glances.

In her missive to her aunt, she wrote these sentiments with unreserved frankness before retiring for the night, only to find Mr Darcy invading her dreams.

When she woke up, she admitted, looking at Rosings in the morning mist, that she did not know her true feelings for him. And she needed to discover more about him. She remembered his cousin and wondered whether he might be the solution to her finally understanding Mr Darcy.