Encouraged, she ventured further. “At the start of the year, my eldest sister and I came to town for new wardrobes and encountered Mrs. Hurst and Miss Bingley. Their cool reception of Jane surprised me — so unlike the warmth they showed her in Meryton.”
Darcy did not comment on the Bingley sisters but instead asked, “Did you stay with relatives?”
“Yes, the one who lives in Gracechurch Street,” she answered.
“I recall you mentioning them before,” he said, showing no reaction at all. She may as well have said her uncle was from the moon. He then turned to Charlotte. “And how are you settling in Hunsford, Mrs. Collins?”
Mr. Collins seized the opportunity to speak on his wife’s behalf.
“Mrs. Collins delights in every aspect of our life here in Kent,” he gushed, completely overriding any comment his wife might have made herself. “Thanks to the beneficence and patronage of your noble aunt….”
He stuttered to a stop upon realizing that Mr. Darcy was not pleased by his compulsive need to extoll the virtues of Lady Catherine in every aspect of conversation.
“That will do, Mr. Collins,” Mr. Darcy said, his lips thinning. “But I specifically asked your good wife howshewas settling in, not you.”
“Pardon me,” the parson stammered, bowing his head. “I did not mean to overstep.”
“Thank you, Mr. Darcy.” Charlotte spoke quietly but firmly. “I am indeed content. I enjoy our parishioners and delight in visiting the local families.”
No one, save her husband, failed to notice that Charlotte omitted any mention of Lady Catherine’s influence. Elizabeth barely concealed a triumphant smile as Darcy and his cousin exchanged a knowing glance. To break the awkward silence which ensued after Mr. Darcy’s rebuke, the colonel turned his attention to Elizabeth.
“My cousin informed me that you are an avid walker.”
At once, Elizabeth had a twinge of discomfort; as she recalled Miss Bingley’s cutting remarks last November when she had rushed to Netherfield to care for Jane.
“I confess I enjoy a good walk,” she answered, “but, as Mr. Darcy can attest, I am equally devoted to reading and have little taste for cards.”
Mr. Darcy’s cheeks coloured slightly at the reminder of yet another contentious conversation held at Netherfield.
“Opinions of others do not always align with mine, Miss Bennet,” he said, his tone taking on a bit of frost. It seemed she had struck a chord with the gentleman’s pride. “I merely observed that, during your stay, you enjoyed walking the park while your sister convalesced.”
Suitably chastened, Elizabeth inclined her head in a small, composed nod. “Forgive me for ascribing thoughts to you that are not your own. From now on, I shall dwell on past recollections only if they please me.”
The colonel, curiosity lighting his steady gaze, asked, “And what, may I ask, pleases you?”
Her eyes brightened, a playful sparkle dancing beneath her lashes. “There are many delights, Colonel, foremost among them, Mrs. Collins’s lemon biscuit. I cannot resist their bright zest. Yet my dear friend Charlotte guards her recipe as though it was a crown jewel, and no entreaty of mine has coaxed it from her.”
“I must taste these famed biscuits,” the colonel declared.
Before Elizabeth could reply, Mr. Collins, perched on the edge of his chair, leaned forward eagerly. “Then my wife shall have them prepared whenever you next visit the parsonage, sir. You are welcome at our humble home at all hours.”
Suppressing a polite chuckle, the colonel shook his head. “No rush today, Mr. Collins. I trust our pleasant acquaintance with these fine ladies will lead us back to the parsonage before our fortnight here concludes.”
Elizabeth stole a covert glance at Mr. Darcy. He sat ramrod straight; dark eyes studiously fixed on the colonel. What did he hide behind that that mask of reserve? Would his betrothed, the delicate Miss Anne de Bourgh, tolerate more calls to a household where two unmarried ladies currently resided? Yet more pressing: what decree might Lady Catherine de Bourgh pronounce on the affairs of lemon biscuits and lingering visits?
Chapter Eleven
During the next fortnight,Elizabeth enjoyed her time in Kent, specifically her rambles in the massive parkland that surrounded Lady Catherine’s estate. While she enjoyed the scenery, she was troubled by the number of times Mr. Darcy had happened upon her.
At first, she thought the timing coincidental, but when he had intruded upon her walk three days in a row, it became clear that the gentleman was purposefully seeking her company. Flattered, yet somewhat troubled by his unexpected attention, she remained coolly polite and kept all conversations safely in neutral territory, such as discussions of books, plays, and the wilds of Derbyshire. Upon this subject, Mr. Darcy became almost as verbose as her cousin, yet she did not mind, as she was most desirous of any information gleaned. She and Jane would be touring the Lake District with Aunt and Uncle Gardiner this summer, and she was thrilled to learn they would not be disappointed.
This morning, though, the formidable Mr. Darcy had not graced her with his presence, and upon Elizabeth’s return to the parsonage, a letter from Jane awaited her, its familiar handwriting bringing immediate comfort.As she lost herself in her sister’s detailed account of Mr. Morgan’s increasingly marked attentions, she was roused by the chime of the doorbell, and her thoughts immediately flew to Colonel Fitzwilliam. Earlier, she had glimpsed his tall figure in the park, his military bearing unmistakable even at a distance, where he had acknowledged her with a raised hand before continuing purposefully along the gravel path. Perhaps he now wished to pay his respects before he and his taciturn cousin quit Kent on the morrow.
However, her surprise was great when Mr. Darcy entered the room, alone. After polite enquiries after her health, knowing she had suffered a headache the day prior, he sat down for a few minutes, then got up and walked about the room, pausing near the fireplace. After a silence of several minutes, he turned and faced her.
“In vain have I struggled. It will not do. My feelings will not be repressed. You must allow me to tell you that I love you.”
“You love me?”
