Page 32 of The Work of a Moment

Thoughts of Mr Darcy occupied Elizabeth’s mind during the journey from Kent to London. After what Lady Catherine had said of her, after what she had belatedly revealed to him, he must despise her. Of course he left, desperate to avoid any further imposition by her!

I have gone from being rude and teasing to cruel and accusatory and finally to the much-belated deliverer of news so injurious to his young sister that he should hate me. Why did he not yell, so we could have argued, rather than look at me so… so sadly? Dismissively.

A few walks filled with conversations both heated and intensely personal and she and Mr Darcy were accused of trysts and shameful behaviour. Without knowing of her dislike, Mr Darcy had fallen in love with her. Then, after her impertinent rejection, he had set aside his grief to listen to her, confide in her. He had earned her trust and her friendship. All of that was now lost. The way he had looked at her before practically stamping off to Rosings! Anger and disappointment, in the Bingleys and in her, likely most of all. And with the accusations Lady Catherine had no doubt hurled at him as well, no wonder he had left Rosings without a farewell. Much as he claimed to love her, he must now feel little but bitter disgust at his association with her.

The thought gave her pause, for it was uncommonly selfish. Was it fair to dwell on her own melancholy when Mr Darcy, and perhaps his sister, were being confronted by malicious gossip and false friends and Jane was being assailed by a former suitor—one whom she had been unknowingly separated from by her pridefully misguided and far-too-imaginative sister?

Unable to prevent herself from incessantly wondering about his welfare, she increasingly regretted far too much of her behaviour since she had come to know him.

Know him? She and Mr Darcy did not really know each other, not beyond the essentials, but they had built a sort of intimacy with each other’s ways. Certainly, he knew she was quick to misjudge a situation, she thought, groaning.

Heaven forfend, she heartily wished that Mr Bingley had never been born.

Such thoughts occupied Elizabeth until she arrived in Cheapside. She was accompanied by her trunk and a dull headache, having travelled with two snoring farmers and one of Rosings’s elderly housemaids, evidently ordered by Lady Catherine to supervise Elizabeth while remaining mute for the duration of the journey. The woman appeared relieved when Mr Gardiner’s footman opened the door, allowing her to report to Lady Catherine that ‘the Bennet trollop’ did not flee to the home of her supposed lover. After refreshing herself, Elizabeth went to the home’s small back parlour, the room where her aunt kept her sewing and enjoyed solitude when the children were napping or engaged in lessons. She stood in the entry for a moment, looking past her aunt and Jane, who were occupied peacefully with a book and sewing, respectively, and gazing into the garden. It was far too early for the roses to bloom, but the daffodils were blossoming here, as they had been in Kent.

“Lizzy!” Jane tossed aside her sewing and moved quickly to embrace her.

Startled, Mrs Gardiner rose, taking Elizabeth’s hands and examining her with a keen, if sympathetic, eye. “My dear, we did not expect you for another ten days,” she said before leading her to the small settee. Elizabeth sank into the well-worn but beloved green velvet cushions, grateful when her aunt calmed a fretful Jane by asking her to inform the servants of her sister’s arrival. “Please tell Morton we need tea, and something for Elizabeth to eat. Some of the ham from this morning and bread and fruit?”

Elizabeth nodded, suddenly realising she was ravenous, having been provided nothing for her journey, not even by Charlotte. Her eyes teared up at the insult, and she wondered whether Mr Collins had ensured the absence of provisions to please his patroness.

“Lizzy, are you well?”

Elizabeth turned to her sister as she spoke and watched as she slid onto the seat beside her. “Kent was no longer to my liking,” she explained. “I had walked every path, seen enough of the wonders of Rosings, and was tired of Mr Collins’s conversation.”

“But you did not write to us announcing your early arrival here,” said Jane. “Was leaving Hunsford a hasty decision?”

“Marriage has altered Charlotte, and I wished for happier company.” The smile Elizabeth directed at Jane had no effect in easing her sister’s worried expression.

“I see.” Her aunt’s tone made clear she suspected more but, true to her gift of understanding Elizabeth better than her own mother ever had, said nothing of scheming Lucases and just deserts. Instead, she asked, “It was not another insult from Mr Darcy that has upset you? You wrote that you saw him in Kent.”

So she had. Knowing Maria’s letters to Lady Lucas and to Lydia and Kitty would include a full accounting of everyone and everything she had seen while visiting Charlotte, not revealing such news herself would seem odd, considering how vocal she had been about Mr Darcy’s manners in Meryton. Hoping the heat she felt in her cheeks was not discernible to either lady’s scrutiny, she replied, “Mr Darcy was all that a gentleman should be.”

A moment later, a servant entered with a tray, and Elizabeth gratefully busied herself filling a plate and taking eager bites of ham and warm bread. She knew neither her aunt nor Jane would be satisfied by her vague explanation, and she would, perhaps, manage a full and true confession later. For now, revived by food, hot tea, and a comfortable seat, Elizabeth needed to ask her own questions. First, however, she would tease her sister from her melancholy.

“Jane, I thought to discover you engaged to your dear Mr Catesby. Or perhaps to hear Susan announce her betrothal to his brother.”

Her joke brought a smile to both ladies, but it was Jane’s blush that fully warmed her and dispelled the worries Elizabeth had had over the unread pages of her destroyed letters. “Your last letters to me were delayed, reaching the parsonage only yesterday. Each of you wrote worrying news about another caller. Mr Bingley?”

Jane’s eyes grew wide. “Lizzy, what am I to do to discourage him? He has called twice.”

“Without invitation or encouragement,” added Mrs Gardiner.

Elizabeth clasped Jane’s hand. “Mr Bingley continues to be feckless in his understanding of proper manners.”

“I do not know what he wants, nor what to say to him. Aunt has managed most of the conversation.” Jane gave the lady a grateful look.

Mrs Gardiner hastened to further explain. “Your uncle is aware of the calls,” she said. “He has been occupied with a large, long-delayed shipment that lately arrived from India and has not been home until dinner these past few days.”

Elizabeth exchanged a look with Mrs Gardiner. “But Jane, you wrote nothing of this in your letter. Tell me—do you welcome Mr Bingley’s visits or wish him to cease his attentions?”

“To go away! As he did when he left Meryton last autumn.”

Good girl. Elizabeth pressed her sister’s hand. “It is not in your character to be direct and tell him so.”

“It is not, though I wish I could push him from the house,” Jane cried. “What will Mr Catesby think? I do not wish to upset him—he knows nothing about my previous esteem for Mr Bingley.”

“When does Mr Catesby return to town?”