In the solitude of her chamber at Hunsford Parsonage, Elizabeth found herself a prisoner to the most acute mortification she had ever known. The letter — her letter, that unguarded effusion of shame and self-reproach, penned in the heat of her confusion and never intended for any eyes but her own — had fallen into Mr. Darcy’s hands. The very thought sent a flush of heat to her cheeks and a chill through her frame. How could fate be so cruel, so indelicate in its jests? She, who had prided herself on her discernment, had now exposed her innermost vulnerabilities and could not control the consequences.
With trembling haste, she summoned the maid, her voice low and urgent once the door was safely shut.
“Pray, tell me,” Elizabeth began, clasping her hands to still their shaking, “the letter you gave to Mr. Darcy — there has been a grievous mistake. It should not have been handed to him, certainly not today and not without Mr. and Mrs. Collins’s approval.”
The young woman’s eyes widened in alarm, her fingers twisting in her apron. “Oh, Miss Bennet, I beg your pardon! I saw only the name upon it — Mr. Darcy — and when he suddenlycalled, I thought it proper. I swear I didn’t read a word of the contents. I can’t read well in any case. Forgive me, miss, I meant no harm.”
“The letter contains nothing improper, regardless of whether you read it or not,” Elizabeth said. “Still, your master and mistress would be most displeased, and rightfully so, if they found out. You should not have entered my room without my permission and certainly should not have taken such action without my request.”
“I am so sorry, miss. So very sorry! I never thought…I was such a fool! Please forgive me! I do not want to lose my job…”
“I believe you had good intentions, and I shall protect you from any reproach. But you must not tell a soul. Not a whisper, if you value your place here. As you know, Mr. Darcy, as well as Lady Catherine de Bourgh, despises indiscretion and gossip. If any rumour—”
“Oh no, I won’t tell a soul! And I shall never enter your room again without your permission. But you must know, the master sent me to fetch the letter for your sister. I’d never have done it otherwise…” she explained tearfully.
“I understand, and I am ready to consider it a mere accident. Let us not speak of it again. I know Mrs. Collins is content with your service, so let us preserve her good opinion.”
“Thank you, miss.” The maid curtseyed deeply, murmuring assurances, then hastily withdrew.
Left alone once more, Elizabeth paced up and down, her thoughts in wild disarray. Even with the secret kept from the Collinses, the danger was still present. What would Mr. Darcy think of her now? A foolish, impulsive creature, pouring out her heart in a document she had not even the sense to conceal properly. Would he laugh at her presumption? Or worse, pity her? The notion was intolerable. Furthermore, the colonel had been with him when the maid had handed him the letter. Whatdid he think of it? Did he know it was from her? Did the colonel know that Mr. Darcy had written to her first? What a horrible situation! She must find some means to speak to Mr. Darcy, to explain the mishap and reclaim what little dignity remained to her. Yet how? He and Colonel Fitzwilliam were expected to depart Kent at any hour; the roads to London would soon carry him far from Hunsford, and she would remain alone with the consequences of her misjudgment and countless errors.
She had not much time for musing as she was soon fetched for dinner, and this time she could not refuse. When she met the family in the dining-room, the conversation was animated, Mr. Collins red-faced from agitation, speaking with the air of one bearing tidings of great import.
“My dear cousin, come, sit down! I was just telling my dear Charlotte and Maria that I have just returned from Rosings, where I contrived to learn the latest intelligence. Miss de Bourgh keeps to her bed — a most concerning development — yet Dr Blake and his nephew hold out hopes of a swift recovery. Lady Catherine is, as one might expect, most attentive to her daughter’s comfort. Such devotion in a mother! She has great confidence in Dr Blake as he has been the family’s physician for twenty years!”
Elizabeth listened with divided attention, her relief at the news of Miss de Bourgh’s improving prospects mingled with fresh anxiety over her own affairs.
“We shall all pray for Miss de Bourgh,” she said. “Lady Catherine must be deeply distressed. Does she have the comfort of her nephews’ company, or have they already left?”
“Mr. Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam were still at Rosings when I called, but I have no knowledge of their plans.”
“Poor Miss de Bourgh,” Elizabeth whispered with a sigh of genuine concern. She could not help wondering whether therewas a particular reason for the young woman’s health suddenly worsening.
Dinner passed in a blur of Mr. Collins’s effusions and Charlotte’s gentle management, but Elizabeth tasted little and spoke even less.
When at last the house grew quiet and the Collinses retired, Elizabeth’s agitation remained. Despite the previous wakeful night and her obvious tiredness, sleep proved as elusive as ever. Her mind, still perturbed by the day’s revelations and the misadventure with the letter, would not rest.
The April night was cool and refreshing, the scent of fresh greenery wafting through the open windows.
Thus, drawing back on her gown and wrapping herself in a shawl, she slipped out once more into the moonlit grounds. She knew she was playing with fire and Mr. Collins would clearly forbid her such escapades if he discovered her, but till then, she would take advantage of her freedom. She remained on the familiar paths, close to the parsonage, walking absently. From a distance, she noticed many windows lit by candles at Rosings, including those she knew to belong to Mr. Darcy and Miss de Bourgh.
Lost in her musings, her steps faltered when a tall figure emerged from the shadows, holding the reins of his horse. She startled, a gasp escaping her lips.
Chapter 4
“Forgive me, madam,” came a pleasant voice, warm and steady. “I did not mean to alarm you. Are you lost? May I be of some assistance?”
“No, no, all is well, thank you. I am just enjoying a stroll before bed. I believe we have not met, have we?”
The man stepped forwards, releasing his horse and revealing himself in the pale light: young, not yet thirty, with a handsome countenance, his expression open and amiable. He bowed to her and continued with a light tone and easy manner. “No indeed. In fact, I just arrived at Rosings this morning. Allow me to introduce myself. Dr Rease, at your service — nephew to Dr Blake.”
“Oh! Dr Rease, I heard about you from my cousin Mr. Collins. What a surprise to meet you here, at this time.”
“I am afraid I do not recall Mr. Collins either.”
“You were not formally introduced, I believe. He is the rector of Hunsford parish. He and his wife live here, at the parsonage.”
“I see… Forgive my boldness, but might I enquire what brings a young lady out alone at such an hour?”
