Page 12 of A Prudent Engagement

“It is.” Colonel Fitzwilliam grinned. “But I dare say that she will be happy enough to marry you, flaws and all. You have your estate and person to recommend you, even if you cannot manage pleasant conversation.”

This discussion with his cousin left Darcy cheered at his relative’s evident support for the planned marriage. He of course did not take seriously the nonsense that the colonel said about his sentiments being unexpected to Elizabeth, nor his criticisms of his behaviour in company. Colonel Fitzwilliam enjoyed teasing him. But it was fortunate that this cousin had a wholly different way of looking at the world from that of the earl or the viscount, both of whom would be disappointed that Darcy would not marry a woman of the first order.

Or Anne.

Darcy did not care.

He in truth had no concern for the matter at present, which was dreadfully strange.

And it was not merely that sense that in the face of death none of it was important.

Elizabeth had turned to him in her grief.

He would never forget how her hand had tightly squeezed his as she was wracked with heartrending sobs.

The way that her eyes had looked at him, trustingly, as she had said that she was most grateful for the offer of his carriage.

The appearance of her face, her pale lips, her eyes red from crying, the way that her hand had felt in his when he gripped her fingers in parting.

He no longer even wanted to disengage his affections.

Thinking back to himself two hours ago left Darcy confused.

How could he have cursed his affections for Elizabeth? How could he have wished for this feeling to leave him?

Caring for her as she sobbed—that was a thing worth doing.

It was a thing like caring for his sister, being a liberal master, ensuring that he did all he might for his tenants, and always behaving in an honourable manner.

Caring for her was simply a thing that he would always do.

The announcement of his sudden departure to Lady Catherine went less well than the one to Colonel Fitzwilliam.

“What, taking her to London tonight?” Lady Catherine’s noble face screwed up in confusion. “There can be no call for that.”

“I decided,” Darcy said, “that as we were to depart in two days in any case, it would be no great inconvenience for me to move the date of the departure forward.”

“No great inconvenience!” his aunt exclaimed. “To travel for two hours, three hours—however many—in the dark? Surely you cannot have thought about the convenience of your coachmen in devising such a scheme. And what about me and Anne? I had depended upon your presence for the next two days. What will become of our dinner tonight?”

“I could hardly make merry,” Darcy replied, “while I know that Miss Bennet is filled with such sadness.”

“Darcy, there is no one who is more willing than myself to condescend and show favour and concern to those within my influence,” Lady Catherine said. She then continued in a stately manner, “But I have never heard such a ridiculous notion. Who is Miss Bennet to us that you should treat the death of her father with the solemnity that you would the loss of a close relative? I am never pleased by any such news, but I cannot help but think it will be a good thing that my clergyman will command a far larger income—he informed me, when he came to tell me the news, that he will remain in his living. I am very happy about that. It would have been most inconvenient for me if Mr. Bennet’s death had required me to seek a new candidate so soon after I extended my patronage to Mr. Collins. It is not so easy to find a man who has both the proper subservience to his patroness and yet the proper confidence and talent in speaking with the parishioners. I have been most fortunate in my parson.”

“Do you mean to say that he intends to rent the house out?” Darcy replied with interest. He would not like to have Elizabeth’s family settled so near to him as Pemberley’s dower house immediately.

That of course was not a matter of importance, but if he could rent Longbourn for them, saving them from the need of making any great immediate change in their mode of living, he would appear the hero once more to Elizabeth whilst also achieving an end of his own.

“Like as not,” Lady Catherine replied, “what use could it be to him standing unattended? I shall advise him most seriously to rent it out—but only if he can find a respectable family to take it, persons who will honour his name were they his tenants. But we are speaking of trivialities—I shall not hear of you ending your visit early for the convenience of Miss Bennet.”

“She has just lost her father, who was dear to her. She wishes to see her mother and her sisters and to return to the bosom of her family’s love. This is no triviality. She wishes to view the body before they bury it.”

“Nonsense. What use can she have with any of that? Dead is dead. There can be no real difference whether she is there or not. And I dare say with the more limited funds that her family will have, she ought to simply remain until Mr. Collins travels on Monday. He agreed that it would be best for him to deliver the week’s sermon on Sunday, then to return so that he can also deliver his sermon the following week, after he has taken over the house. But I generously told him that if he finds a curate to do the office, he might remain an extra week in Hertfordshire if some odd matter of business requires his attention—I do not, you know, approve of those rectors who are barely ever present in their parish. If a man has a living in the Church of England, it is his duty to give the sermon there nearly every Sunday.”

“I think that as well,” Darcy replied.

“It is a rotten age. There is no concern for religion, for principles, and for tradition. The young men these days, they are nothing to what they were when I was your age. Nothing—you and my other nephews excepted, of course.”

“Thank you, Aunt.”