Mr. Bennet laughed. “Be honest with me, do you ever regret him?”
“Mr. Collins? Not once — I only am surprised that Charlotte could make such a choice. But I cannot judge her harshly. Quite likely if I had a dowry of only a bare two thousand pounds, I would have leapt upon his offer as the only eligible one likely to come my way.”
“No. I am confident that you never would have.”
“You think,” Elizabeth asked Papa, “that the possession of money has such a small influence upon my character?”
“It has not had a large influence onmine. I merely reason from myself. There is still nothing I love so much as reading, thinking about mechanics, and my daughters.”
Elizabeth smiled and embraced Papa.
“I will miss you very much, while you are in Kent.”
“And I you, Papa.”
Chapter Eighteen
Four months.
Darcy had still not forgotten Elizabeth Bennet.
The night of that horrific ball had been the most dramatic sequence of events in his life — he was refused when he offered marriage to one woman, and then less than an hour later, a different one attempted to force him into a marriage with her.
It was no surprise that the event had left a deep impression on his mind.
One early morning in April he returned to his London townhouse after a ride around Hyde park, full of thoughts and memories of Elizabeth.
He’d woken up at six o’clock after a dream about Elizabeth, and then went out and around for a long ride.
It was the spring season. The heavy verdure, the scent of leaves, the trickle of brooks, the large pond in the park, everything made him think of the woman who had been the most beautiful, most kind, and most honorable amongst all whom he had known.
Even the clatter of horse hooves made him recall that Elizabeth had been described to him as not an accomplished horsewoman.
Eh, she had refused him.
If he were at all sensible, he would stop thinking about her. He partly had. Not a single thought for at least a week.
But Darcy’s mind refused to stop this time.
In the spring, Town could be lovely. Tree lined avenues, gardens filled with a profusion of flowers, rose bushes that he might pause to smell, and the birds twitting and tweeting. Of course just a short distance away was the endless bustle, noise, crowd, and grasping commercial hordes of the main city.
On his roundabout path to return home, he went down one of these streets and bought a bracelet for Georgiana that caught his fancy. The merchant wrapped it in a fine piece of paper, and he smiled at Darcy, asking if the piece was for his sweetheart.
Darcy coldly did not reply.
He… he realized how desperately he wished, once more, to have Elizabeth as his own, to have a wife, a companion of his life who he could buy gifts for.
And then, not quite too late to participate in breakfast he returned home.
The groom at the neighborhood stables took his horse, and with quick steps, holding the smooth wrapped paper parcel, Darcy energetically stepped through the garden in the middle of the square surrounded by a black wrought iron fence and across to his own house.
Three steps up the stairs, and he opened the door without any ceremony.
The servant standing there to respond to callers bowed to him, and Darcy made a small nod of his head in return. “Are my cousin and sister still at breakfast? — ah, I hear them.”
Darcy hurried over to the breakfast room, from which the sound of Georgiana’s giggles could be heard, as Colonel Fitzwilliam said something ridiculous about the French and his general superiority to the world.
He opened the door and enjoyed the scent of freshly baked bread, ham, eggs, chocolate and coffee.
