Mr. Darcy was at first irritated, and then rather glad; for any young lady who could be attracted to the Viscount was certainly not the right wife for himself.
He had generally been a reluctant dancer – though he had danced a good deal while he was in Meryton, he recalled – Mr. Darcy made it a point to dance with at least five eligible young ladies when the opportunities presented themselves, and so he became familiar with the various Miss Cassandras, Miss Amandas, Miss Deborahs, and so on.
He made it a point to become acquainted with Miss Penelope Armstrong, whose preference for country living had given him brief hope that she might be suitable; unfortunately she seemed unable to utter more than ten words without tossing her blonde curls, a habit Mr. Darcy found annoying in the extreme. In point of fact, every young lady with whom he had danced had proved disappointing in one way or another.
But he persevered, certain that somewhere in these various ballrooms and drawing rooms, he would find another Elizabeth Bennet.
Chapter Forty-One
Mary Collins had proven a prolific letter writer. Not a week went by without a missive from her describing her cottage, Rosings Park, Mr. Collins’ gardening, the parishioners, her maid named Betsy, and so on. Elizabeth was her chief correspondent, and she read Mary’s letters aloud when everyone was together at the breakfast table.
A letter from Mary was sitting beside Elizabeth’s plate that late January morning; Elizabeth opened it and read it to her family.
Dear Lizzy,
The weather here continues cold but dry, so it is not at all difficult to walk to Hunsford. This morning I went to pick up various household needs and to visit certain ailing parishioners who live in the village.
Lady Catherine says that Easter would be the very best time for my beloved sister – that is YOU, Lizzy – to pay me a visit. She has promised to host us for dinner in orderthat you may be suitably impressed by Rosings Park. It is a very grand home, as you must recall from Mr. Collins’ praise of it. You would have to bite your lips a good deal, Lizzy, as there is a good deal of nonsense to be heard there, but I think we would nonetheless enjoy ourselves, and you would then be in a position to assure my family that my situation is a good one.
You will recall that Cook has had some very dreadful headaches of late, which has resulted in Betsy and I doing our best in the kitchen to produce edible food while Cook lays down in her darkened room with a cold cloth on her head. I know Mama would be horrified at the idea of one of her daughters in the kitchen, but needs must when the devil drives! The apothecary comes later today with yet another headache powder for Cook; the last one made her so dizzy that she could not stand up.
I could send a message to Rosings Park and beg for food, but I should then be forever criticised for my poor housekeeping skills, so Mr. Collins must make do with my own inadequate efforts.
Is that dreadful Caroline Bingley gone yet? Or does she linger on, in the hopes that her past sins will be forgiven and forgotten?
Your loving sister,
Mary
Mrs. Bennet was, as Mary had predicted, horrified that her daughter was working in the kitchen, but the rest of the family just chuckled at the picture of Mary wrapped up in a large white apron.
“Will you go to Kent this spring, then, Lizzy?” Mr. Bennet asked.
“I should like to, very much.”
“There will be a good deal of nonsense to listen to, as Mary says.”
“I know, but it will be worth it to see Mary. May I go, Papa?”
“Yes; I will escort you there and then return for you whenever you wish.”
“A month, perhaps? If that is not too long?”
“I think a month quite long, but I suppose it is not worth traveling for less than that.”
“Thank you, Papa!”
Kitty and Lydia then sent up howls that they were never, never invited anywhere, not to London, not even to Kent! Mrs. Bennet attempted to soothe them, saying that doubtless their invitations to Kent would soon follow Elizabeth’s visit.
Elizabeth finished her breakfast and got up from her chair, prepared to leave the room, but she was stopped by her father’s voice from behind the newspaper. “Mr. Darcy’s first name – was it not Fitzroy or some such thing?”
“Fitzwilliam, I believe, Papa,” Elizabeth replied, willing her voice to remain calm. “Why do you ask?”
“Oh! Nothing, I simply could not immediately recall his name.”
With that, Mr. Bennet folded the newspaper, carefully tucked it under his arm, and took it with him to his study.
This was unusual behaviour; Mr. Bennet usually left the paper on the table for Elizabeth to read. Unable to restrain her curiousity, Elizabeth waited until her father left Longbourn to speak with a tenant; then she crept into his study, found the newspaper and opened it. She perused it quickly, wondering what on earth had so roused her father, and then she saw it.
