Darcy's Diary (10 page)

There has been a most unwelcome incident. Caroline has had a letter from Miss Bennet.

‘She writes that she is coming to London,' cried Caroline. ‘She will be staying with her aunt and uncle in Gracechurch Street. From the date of her letter, I believe she must already be here.'

‘It is not something I would have wished to happen,' I said. ‘Bingley seems to have forgotten her. If he sees her again, his admiration might be rekindled.'

‘He does not need to know of her visit,' Caroline said.

I agreed to this. ‘I doubt they will ever come across each other,' I said.

‘I think I shall not reply to her letter. She will not be in town long, and she will think only that the letter was lost. Better that, than that she thinks she is not welcome here. She is a sweet girl, and I have no wish to wound her feelings, but my love for my brother runs deeper, and I must do what I can to save him from an unsuitable match.'

I applaud her sentiments, but I find I am not easy in my mind. Anything devious or underhand is abhorrent to me. But Caroline is right. We cannot allow Bingley to sacrifice his life on the altar of a vulgar family, and it is but a small deception after all.

Georgiana is developing just as I could wish. Her accomplishments, her deportment, her manners are all those I like to see. I did not know how to proceed when she was left in my care, but I flatter myself she is turning into the young woman my mother would wish her to be.

I had a shock when visiting Caroline and her sister today, in order to give them a note from Georgiana. As I approached the house, I saw Jane Bennet leaving it.

‘What has happened here?' I asked when I was admitted.

Caroline looked out of spirits.

‘The most unfortunate thing. Jane Bennet has been here. I thought she would have gone back to the country by now, but it seems she means to
make an extended visit.'

‘This is most unlucky. What did you say to her?'

‘I scarcely know what I said. She took me by surprise. She told me she had written to me and I said I had never received her letter. She enquired after Charles. I told her that he was well, but that he was so often with you I scarcely saw him. I told her how much Georgiana was grown, and how we were seeing her for dinner this evening. Then I intimated that Louisa and I were on the point of going out. After that she could not stay.'

‘You will have to return the call,' I said.

‘It cannot be avoided. But I shall not stay long, and I hope by my manner she will see that any further intimacy is not to be expected. Charles has almost forgotten her. In another few weeks he will be out of danger.'

Of that I am not so sure. He speaks of her sometimes still. He checks himself when he sees my expression, but it is not safe for him to think of either Miss Bennet or Hertfordshire yet.

Caroline paid her call on Miss Bennet this morning. It was of a short duration, and she used her time to tell Miss Bennet that Bingley is not certain of returning to Hertfordshire, and may give up Netherfield. When she left she made no mention of seeing Jane again, and she tells me she is now perfectly satisfied that Miss Bennet will not call again.

One day Bingley will be glad of our care. It is only this thought that reconciles me to the duplicity we have been forced to employ.

‘Caroline has suggested we go to Bath for the spring,' said Bingley this morning. ‘Perhaps I might take a house there,' he added nonchalantly.

I thought it was an encouraging sign that he has forgotten Hertfordshire.

‘That is an excellent idea,' I said.

‘Would you like to come with us?' he asked.

‘I have to go to Pemberley and make sure Johnson has everything well in hand. There are a number of changes I wish to make to the running of the home farm, and some further improvements I should like to make on the estate.'

‘Then I will see you again in the summer.'

Colonel Fitzwilliam has returned to town and he dined with me this evening, bringing me all the news from Rosings. He told me that Mr Collins has taken a wife. I held my breath, hoping that Hurst had been right when he had said that Elizabeth had refused Mr Collins.

‘She seems a very good sort of girl, although I should say woman. She appears to be approaching thirty,' said my cousin.

I let go of my breath.

‘But this is a good thing,' he went on. ‘A younger woman might have been intimidated by my aunt's—'

‘Interference?'

‘Helpfulness,' he said with a wry smile. ‘But Mrs Collins accepts Lady Catherine's advice without a fuss.'

‘I believe I might have known her in Hertfordshire. What was her maiden name?'

‘Lucas. Miss Charlotte Lucas.'

‘Yes, I met her and her family. I am glad she is well settled. Mr Collins might not be the most sensible husband, but he can provide her with a comfortable life.'

And I could provide Elizabeth with so much more. But I will not think of it. I am resolved never to think of her again.

I received a letter from Lady Catherine, this morning, telling me that she was looking forward to seeing me. I was surprised to read the following passage in her letter.

It was a shock to learn that Elizabeth is at the parsonage.

I found myself smiling at this. I have never heard anyone, man or woman, trifle with Lady Catherine before, and to trifle with her in such a way! For it is undoubtedly hard on younger girls to have to wait their turn to come out, though I have never thought of it in this way before.

Perhaps I am wrong to be shocked that Elizabeth is at the parsonage. Perhaps I should be pleased. It will give me the perfect opportunity to demonstrate that she no longer has any hold over me. It will be a delight to me to know that I can meet her in company without any improper feelings, and I will be able to congratulate myself on having saved myself, as well as Bingley, from a most imprudent attachment.

I dined with Colonel Fitzwilliam at my club today. We have decided that we will travel to Rosings together.

My cousin and I had an enjoyable journey into Kent, and after generalities the conversation turned to marriage again.

‘I am of an age now when I feel I should be settled, and yet marriage is a dangerous venture,' he said. ‘It is so easy to make a false step and then be forced to live with it.'

‘It is,' I agreed, thinking of Bingley. ‘I have recently saved one of my friends from just such a false step.'

‘Really?'

‘Yes. He took a house in the country, where he met a young lady of low connections. He was much taken with her, but fortunately business compelled him to return to London for a time. Perceiving his danger, his sisters and I followed him to London and persuaded him to remain.'

‘Then you have saved him from a most imprudent marriage.'

‘I have.'

‘He will thank you for it when it has done. It is not pleasant to wake from a dream and find oneself trapped in a nightmare.'

I am heartened by his opinion. I respect his judgement, and it is reassuring to know that he feels as I do on the matter.

We arrived at Rosings this afternoon, and the beauty of the park struck me anew. It is not as fine as Pemberley, but it looks very well in the spring. We passed Mr Collins on our way to the house, and I believe he had been looking for us. He bowed as we passed, and then hurried off in the direction of the parsonage to share the news with its inmates. I found myself wondering if Elizabeth was within doors, and how she would feel at the news of our arrival.

Mr Collins called this morning to pay his respects. He found me with Colonel Fitzwilliam. My aunt was taking a drive with my cousin, Anne.

‘Mr Darcy, it is an honour to meet you again. I had the good fortune to
make your acquaintance in Hertfordshire, when I was staying with my fair cousins. I was not married then, as my dear Charlotte had not yet consented to be my wife. From the first moment I saw her I knew she would not disgrace the parsonage at Hunsford, and would delight my esteemed patroness, Lady Catherine de Bourgh, who has the honour and distinction of being your most revered aunt, with her humility and sympathy. Indeed, Lady Catherine herself was kind enough to say—'

‘Are you returning to the parsonage?' I asked, cutting short his effusions.

He paused momentarily, then said, ‘Indeed I am.'

‘It is a fine morning. We will walk with you. What do you say?' I asked Colonel Fitzwilliam.

‘By all means.'

We set out. Mr Collins recounted the beauties of the park to us, interspersed with expressions of humble gratitude for our condescension in visiting his poor home. I found my mind wandering. Would Elizabeth have changed since the autumn? Would she be surprised to see me? No. She knew of my visit. Would she be pleased or otherwise? Pleased, of course. To reacquaint herself with a man of my standing must be desirable for her.

Our arrival was announced by the door-bell, and shortly afterwards we entered the room. I paid my compliments to Mrs Collins, and she bade me welcome. Elizabeth dropped a curtsy.

She is much as she ever was, but the pleasure I experienced on seeing her took me by surprise. I thought I had conquered my feelings for her, and of course, I have. It was just that the first instant of seeing her took me aback.

‘The house is to your liking, I hope?' I asked Mrs Collins.

‘Yes, indeed it is,' she said.

‘I am glad. My aunt has made some improvements of late, I know. And the garden? Do you like the aspect?'

‘It is very pleasant.'

‘Good.'

I would have said more, but I found my attention straying to Elizabeth. She was conversing with Colonel Fitzwilliam in her usual free and easy manner. I could not decide whether I liked it or not. She was at liberty to talk to my cousin, of course, and to charm him if she would, but I felt dissatisfied to see how much he enjoyed her company, and even worse, to see how much she enjoyed his. At length I realized I was lost in my thoughts, and I made an effort to be civil.

‘Your family are well, I hope, Miss Bennet?' I asked.

‘Yes, thank you,' she replied. She paused, then said, ‘My sister Jane has been in town these three months. Have you never happened to see her?'

I was disconcerted, but I replied calmly enough.

‘No, I have not been so fortunate.'

I relapsed into silence, dissatisfied with the turn the conversation had taken, and soon afterwards my cousin and I took our leave.

I had seen nothing of Elizabeth since my visit to the parsonage, but I saw her this morning at church. She was looking very well. The early sun had put colour in her cheeks, and brightened her eyes.

After the service, Lady Catherine stopped to speak to the Collinses. Mr Collins beamed as she walked towards him.

‘Your sermon was too long,' said Lady Catherine. ‘Twenty minutes is ample time in which to instruct your flock.'

‘Yes, Lady Catherine, I—'

‘You made no mention of sobriety. You should have done. There has been too much drunkenness of late. It is a rector's business to tend to the body of his parishioners as well as their souls.'

‘Of course, Lady—'

‘There were too many hymns. I do not like to have above three hymns in an Easter service. I am very musical and singing is my joy, but three hymns are enough.'

She began to walk to the carriage, and Mr Collins followed her.

‘Yes, Lady Catherine, I—'

‘One of the pews has woodworm. I noticed it as I walked past. You will see to it.'

‘At once, Lady—' he said.

‘And you will come to dinner with us tonight. Mrs Collins will come with you, as will Miss Lucas and Miss Elizabeth Bennet. We will make up a card-table.'

‘So good—' he said, bowing and rubbing his hands together.

‘I will send the carriage for you.'

I followed her into the carriage and the footman closed the door.

I found myself looking forward to Elizabeth's arrival at Rosings, but quickly crushed the feeling.

Her party arrived punctually, and because I knew the danger of speaking to her, I passed the time in conversation with my aunt. We talked of our various relations, but I could not help my eyes straying to Elizabeth.
Her
conversation was of a more lively kind. She was speaking to Colonel Fitzwilliam, and as I saw the animation of her features, I found it hard to take my eyes away.

My aunt, too, kept looking towards them, until at last she said: ‘What is it you are talking of? What are you telling Miss Bennet? Let me hear what it is.'

Colonel Fitzwilliam replied that they were speaking of music. My aunt joined in the conversation, praising Georgiana's abilities on the pianoforte, then mortifying me by inviting Elizabeth to practise on the pianoforte in Mrs Jenkinson's room. To invite a guest to play on the pianoforte in the companion's room? I had not thought my aunt could be so ill-bred.

Elizabeth looked surprised, but said nothing, only her smile showing what she thought.

When coffee was over, Elizabeth began to play, and remembering the pleasure I had had in her playing before, I walked over to her side. Her eyes were brightened by the music, and I placed myself in a position from which I could see the play of emotion over her countenance.

She noticed. At the first pause in the music she turned to me with a smile and said: ‘You mean to frighten me, Mr Darcy, by coming in all this state to hear me. But I will not be alarmed, though your sister
does
play so well. There is a stubbornness about me that never can bear to be frightened at the will of others. My courage always rises with every attempt to intimidate me.'

‘I shall not say you are mistaken,' I replied, ‘because you could not really believe me to entertain any design of alarming you; and I have had the pleasure of your acquaintance long enough to know that you find great enjoyment in occasionally professing opinions which in fact are not your own.'

Where this speech came from I do not know. I am not used to making playful exchanges, but there is something in Elizabeth's character which lightens mine.

Elizabeth laughed heartily, and I smiled, knowing that we were both enjoying the exchange. So well was I enjoying it that I forgot my caution and gave myself over to an appreciation of the moment.

‘Your cousin will give you a very pretty notion of me,' she said to Colonel Fitzwilliam. Turning to me, she said: ‘It is very ungenerous of you to mention all that you knew to my disadvantage in Hertfordshire – and, give me leave to say, very impolitic too – for it is provoking me to retaliate, and such things may come out, as will shock your relations to hear.'

I smiled. ‘I am not afraid of you.'

Her eyes brightened at my remark.

Colonel Fitzwilliam begged to be told how I behave amongst strangers.

‘You shall hear all then,' said Elizabeth. ‘But prepare yourself for something very dreadful. The first time of my ever seeing him in
Hertfordshire, you must know, was at a ball – and at this ball, what do you think he did? He danced only four dances!'

In her eyes, my refusal to dance became ridiculous, and I saw it so myself, for the first time. To stride about in all my pride, instead of enjoying myself as any well-regulated man would have done. Absurd! I would not ordinarily have tolerated any such teasing, and yet there was something in her manner that removed any sting, and instead made it a cause for laughter.

It was at this moment I realized there had been little laughter in my life of late. I had taken on the responsibilities of a man when my father died, and had prided myself on discharging them well, as my father would have done. I had tended my estate, looked to the welfare of my tenants, provided for my sister's health, happiness and education, seen to the livings in my patronage and discharged my business faithfully. Until meeting Elizabeth that had been enough, but now I saw how dull my life had been. It had been
too
ordered.
Too
well-regulated. Only now did I begin to see it, and to feel it, for the feelings inside me were wholly different from any I had known. When I laughed, my disposition lightened.

‘I had not at that time the honour of knowing any lady in the assembly beyond my own party,' I pointed out, catching her tone.

‘True: and nobody can ever be introduced in a ballroom.'

‘Perhaps I should have judged better, had I sought an introduction, but I am ill-qualified to recommend myself to strangers.'

She teased me, wondering how it was that a man of sense and education could not do so, and Colonel Fitzwilliam joined her, saying I would not give myself the trouble.

‘I certainly have not the talent which some people possess, of conversing easily with those I have never seen before. I cannot catch their tone of conversation, or appear interested in their concerns, as I often see done,' I agreed.

‘My fingers do not move over this instrument in the masterly manner which I see so many women's do, but then I had always supposed it to be my own fault – because I would not take the trouble of practising.'

I smiled.

‘You are perfectly right.'

At this moment, Lady Catherine interrupted us.

‘What are you talking about, Darcy?'

‘Of music,' I said.

Lady Catherine joined us at the pianoforte.

‘Miss Bennet would not play amiss, if she practised more, and could have the advantage of a London master,' declared my aunt. ‘She has a very good notion of fingering, though her taste is not equal to Anne's. Anne
would have been a delightful performer, had her health allowed her to learn.'

I scarcely heard her. I was watching Elizabeth. She bore with my aunt's comments with remarkable civility, and at the request of Colonel Fitzwilliam and myself, she remained at the instrument until the carriage was ready to take the party home.

I thought I had rid myself of my admiration for her. I thought I had forgotten her. But I was wrong.

I was taking a walk round the grounds this morning when my steps led me unconsciously to the parsonage. Finding myself outside I could not, in all politeness, pass by, and I called in to pay my respects. To my horror, I found Elizabeth there alone. She seemed as surprised as I was, but she was not, I think, displeased. Why should she be? It must be satisfying for her to think that she has captivated me. She bid me take a seat, and I had no choice but to sit down.

‘I am sorry for this intrusion,' I said, feeling the awkwardness of the situation, and wanting to make sure she knew it had not been by design. ‘I understood all the ladies to be within.'

‘Mrs Collins and Maria have gone on business to the village,' she replied.

‘Ah.'

‘Lady Catherine is well?' she said at last.

‘Yes, I thank you. She is.'

Silence fell.

‘And Miss de Bourgh? She, too, is well?'

‘Yes, I thank you. She is.'

‘And Colonel Fitzwilliam?' she asked.

‘Yes, he too is well.'

Another silence fell.

‘How very suddenly you all quitted Netherfield last November, Mr Darcy!' she began at last. ‘It must have been a most agreeable surprise to Mr Bingley to see you all after him so soon; for, if I recollect right, he went but the day before. He and his sisters were well, I hope, when you left London?'

‘Perfectly so, I thank you.'

‘I think I have understood that Mr Bingley has not much idea of ever returning to Netherfield again?'

‘I have never heard him say so; but it is probable that he may spend
very little of his time there in future. He has many friends, and he is at a time of life when friends and engagements are continually increasing.'