Page 17 of A Prudent Engagement

Her eyes and throat were tight.

She was about to cry once more. “And…and then Papa said, ‘Lizzy, you have a hard fate. From henceforth you must be separated from one of your parents, for your mother will never speak with you again if you marry Mr. Collins, and I—” Elizabeth wiped at her eyes. Charlotte embraced her, and Mr. Darcy had, despite what she was sure was the watchful eye of his cousin, taken her hand again. “…and, and, and…”

“Calm yourself,” Mr. Darcy said. “You need not hurry to tell the tale.”

Elizabeth cried for several minutes, then she wiped her eyes with the handkerchief that Mr. Darcy handed her. “I have already sobbed with all my heart once today. Was that not enough?”

“You loved your papa all your life,” Mr. Darcy replied. “It is not an easy thing to accustom yourself to his absence. And nor should it be. Though it hurts now, you will be glad, most glad, in time that you have cried, and that you needed to cry at the memory.”

“Did you cry when your father died?”

“And when my mother did as well,” Mr. Darcy replied. “I am not ashamed to admit it.”

“Nor should you be,” Colonel Fitzwilliam said. “I have seen some of the bravest men I know sob more than a jilted maiden when a dear comrade was killed on the field.”

“Ah, yes.” Elizabeth half choked out a laugh. “It is good to remember that my misfortune is not unique—there are people who face far worse every day.”

“Not the same person,” Colonel Fitzwilliam said.

Elizabeth looked at him in confusion.

Then Mr. Darcy groaned. “That is awful.”

The colonel grinned. “I meant to say that a single person can only have at most two or three dozen people who are very dear to them, so they cannot lose one every single day.”

Elizabeth stared at him then shook her head. “Mr. Darcy, your judgment of that jest was wholly correct.”

Mr. Darcy grinned back at her.

His cousin, however, was unperturbed by the universal condemnation he had received.

Then Mr. Darcy asked Elizabeth, “And what did your papa say then?”

“When?”

“When your mother appealed for his support after you refused Mr. Collins.”

“Oh, then. Well, he said that…that—” Elizabeth’s throat caught again. But she found that she was now able to say the rest. “He said that he would never speak to me again if I did marry Mr. Collins. And that was the end of it—except of course it was not. Although she did continue to speak to me, Mama was quite unhappy about the matter. She would still frequently refer to it, even after four months, before I came to Hunsford. Lord, I have not thought about that! She will be extremely unhappy to see me when I return. She will blame me. And she is right to do so.”

Charlotte grabbed her hand.

“I cannot help but think, now that this has happened,” Elizabeth continued, “that I was selfish in refusing Mr. Collins and solely consulting my own preferences and well-being.”

“You also,” Charlotte said, “considered mine.”

Elizabeth looked at her friend in surprise. And then everyone in the carriage began to laugh, even Mr. Darcy.

Elizabeth was not sure whether she had seen Mr. Darcy laugh before, but he was very handsome when he did so in the Kentish afternoon light.

“I shall use that consideration,” Elizabeth said, “to comfort Mama when she complains to me.”

The conversation after that tended to run between amused easiness, moments where Elizabeth felt that thing in the air between her and Mr. Darcy, and spasms of choking grief.

The countryside of Kent was lovely with the spring well advanced, and all the trees were heavy with bright green leaves. The turnpikes were well built and well maintained, and every so often they needed to stop at the gates to pay the fee and wait for the bars to be raised.

The horses were changed at Bromley, though Elizabeth noticed with a little amusement that Mr. Darcy did not mention Lady Catherine’s name.

They continued towards London as the sun set.