Maria paled and mumbled something unintelligible, hurrying to her room; Elizabeth excused herself, allowing the Collinses to continue the debate privately. It was almost dinner time, but she was by no means hungry. Fortunately, her headache had subsided, but her mind was still not clear. There were still so many things to ponder!
Less than two hours had passed since Mr. Darcy’s proposal, but it felt like a long time ago. Was it real, or had she just imagined it?
She tried to rest, lying on the bed and closing her eyes, but to no avail. A maid brought her a tray, which served as a good excuse to abandon her attempts to sleep. She ate a little, thenwalked about the chamber, eventually pausing by the window, gazing out.
When Mr. Darcy had arrived earlier, she had been writing to Jane and had hurriedly pushed the half-finished letter into her pocket. She took it out, her heart aching for her sister. Jane would never hurt anyone, speak ill of anyone, or presume the worst about anyone.
Jane’s kind soul had been hesitant to accept Mr. Wickham’s tale about Mr. Darcy. She had even asked whether they should trust Mr. Wickham’s words since he was such a new acquaintance. But why would they not trust him when he was so amiable, so pleasant? Everybody adored Mr. Wickham and very few approved of Mr. Darcy — there must surely be a reason for that!
Mr. Darcy had insolently suggested she took a great interest in Mr. Wickham. How impolite! She did, of course, as she would have done with any other friend! Even her aunt Gardiner suspected she might have some partiality for the officer, but Elizabeth knew that was not true. She had always known it, and she had received proof when she heard about his relationship with Mary King. There was no jealousy, no regrets, just a genuine desire for him to find his own happiness after Mr. Darcy’s unfair treatment.
As she engaged in such reflections, the sun went down, the sounds from downstairs faded, and the house fell into silence.
But Elizabeth’s torment was impossible to soothe, and sleep appeared to be an elusive companion.
Impatient, after a brief hesitation, she put on her spencer, wrapped a shawl about her shoulders, and slipped out. The fresh spring air tantalised her senses, and she took a deep breath. Yes, that was just what she needed.
She looked about, enjoying the solitude. Her first night-time walk in Kent, and Mr. Collins, as well as Lady Catherine de Bourgh, would surely disapprove.
She took a few steps through the cool, moist grass, onto the garden paths that bordered Rosings Park. The impressive manor, tall and imposing, was shrouded in silence, lit only by the pale moon. Therefore, only moments later, Elizabeth’s attention was drawn towards two particular spots, where the windows, so heartily praised by Mr. Collins at every opportune occasion, were lit by candles. Somebody at Rosings shared her restlessness.
The night air was cool and fragrant with the scent of early blooms, a balm to her troubled spirits. She walked without planning her direction, her feet carrying her deeper into the grounds, until she realised curiosity had drawn her towards the glowing windows. She should not be there; if a servant happened to see her and report to Lady Catherine, she would have to listen to a tirade about the lack of decorum displayed by young women who grew up without a governess.
Smiling to herself, she walked on until she could see that the windows were open and candles burned brightly within.
For no apparent reason, her heart quickening, Elizabeth sat down on the grass, attempting to hide her presence, then covered her mouth with her palm to suppress her gasp. There, framed against the light, stood Mr. Darcy.
Chapter 2
From a distance, she observed him gulp from a glass several times, then set it down only to refill it moments later. He wore only his trousers and a shirt and was pacing the room in apparent agitation.
He looked angry — what man in his position would not be after the harsh accusations thrown at him? Even if he deserved it, what man would admit it, especially one as proud and arrogant? His anguish and offended pride had probably already turned into rage and resentment against her. About that, there was nothing she could do. But she at least should not intrude upon his privacy; she had to leave immediately and discreetly. Being seen by a servant — or even worse, by the man himself — was not a chance she could take; the thought of it was mortifying.
But despite her intentions, her body did not obey, and she remained hidden in the shadows, watching spellbound as he sat down heavily at a desk, took up a pen, and began to write. His profile was illuminated by the candle’s flame, and she stared at him with more intensity than ever before. There he was — an unpleasant, arrogant, proud man, of great consequence but little feeling or kindness, who had recently declared he loved her ardently and requested her hand in marriage.Is it possible?she wondered again.
How long she sat there, Elizabeth could not say — minutes that stretched into an eternity of silent observation. Only when he at last extinguished the candle, plunging the room into darkness, did she turn her attention towards the other room where the light was still bright.
It was easy for her to recognise the figure of Anne de Bourgh, taking a few steps around the chamber, then approaching the window. For a moment, Elizabeth thought the lady was gazing precisely in her direction, but she could not have been spotted in the dark.
Why was Miss de Bourgh still awake? Was she ill? Or did some sort of turmoil prevent her from sleeping? Did she entertain hopes that she would marry her cousin?
If that was the case, Mr. Darcy was cruel proposing to Elizabeth! If she had accepted, such an event would have hurt Miss de Bourgh deeply and probably worsened her already poor health.
Was Mr. Darcy as careless with his cousin’s feelings as he was with those of his childhood friend Mr. Wickham?
Elizabeth finally stood and made her way back towards the parsonage, her mind a storm of conflicting feelings. She glanced back one more time — the room where she had observed Mr. Darcy was still dark, but Miss de Bourgh remained standing by the window in the still-lit chamber. Then, Elizabeth gave a gasp of fright as the young lady’s body suddenly fell, disappearing from sight. Stunned, her first impulse was to run towards the manor, then she saw two more figures in the lit room — maids — and realised the lady had fainted inside the chamber. She could not make out what was happening, but she remained still for a few more minutes, until, reluctantly, her heart pounding with new and old tormenting feelings and thoughts, she turned once again and retraced her steps to the parsonage.
She entered the house, grateful not to encounter anyone as she did so, and hurried to her chamber. What had she just witnessed? How angry was Mr. Darcy? How ill was Anne de Bourgh?
The night passed painfully slowly, every hour bringing Elizabeth more torment. She met the dawn with relief, as if thedaylight could clear some of the burden she was carrying. For the first time, she anticipated Mr. Collins waking up and visiting Rosings; perhaps he would return with news about Miss de Bourgh.
Would Mr. Darcy leave that very day or stay longer? Why would she even care? She should have no interest in his affairs and would certainly do everything in her power to avoid meeting him again.
It was still early, and Elizabeth’s patience had long been exhausted. So she left the house once again, hoping for a calming stroll before she joined the family at breakfast.
This time, she set out in the opposite direction. She would avoid Rosings at any cost and instead chose one of her favourite paths to a pleasant and solitary grove.
The sunlight timidly touched her face, while she paid attention to her feet. The grass was slippery, and the last thing she needed was to fall.
