Chapter 1
A day later in London, the weather had not improved. On this cold, rainy, and most unpleasant afternoon, Darcy sat in his study, staring into the fire and nursing a brandy as well as the pain behind his eyes; pain which had been his constant companion since Miss Elizabeth Bennet had rejected his addresses. He had rather hoped for, and, in fact, had come to expect her companionship and her attentions. But to his great surprise and consternation, he was left with a far more unpleasant companion – the memory of her reproofs, her angry refusal. Moreover, London, with all its resources, did nothing to lessen the pain. He found parties and balls singularly boring; the ladies of the ton were vapid and manipulative, and left him longing for the company of the one woman who would have nothing to do with him.
He had to forget her. He was not, however, sure he could. His thoughts were fixed upon on her quite firmly; his feelings toward her varied, seeming to change by the minute. Often he felt a surge of anger towards her and her vanity, and often he felt regret for the manner in which he had spoken; but usually he felt both, all the while missing the sound of her laughter, her teasing, the sight of her fine eyes, and her pleasing form. Darcy sighed and leaned back his head, closing his eyes. He despaired of ever being free of this stupid pain.
The cheerful crackling of the fire and the warmth of the blaze did nothing to detract from his misery. Neither was he roused by a rush of cold air upon his face as the door opened, nor by the sound of a heavy tread upon the carpet. Thinking the entrant only a servant, Darcy ignored the intrusion until a familiar voice, strangely rapid and strained, captured his notice.
“Darcy, something quite dreadful has happened!”
Darcy opened his eyes to the sight of Colonel Fitzwilliam pacing back and forth in front of the fire in some disarray, his clothes soaked straight through. In his hand, he clutched a piece of crumpled paper, the handwriting made illegible through contact with the rain.
In the back of Darcy's mind a powerful sense of fear arose as he thought of all the dreadful things that could happen to the people he cared for. Elizabeth, Georgiana – with further dismay it did not escape his notice that foremost in his thoughts was Elizabeth Bennet. Darcy pushed his fear away and fixed his attention on Fitzwilliam, watching in expectation as his cousin poured a sizeable brandy and downed it in a single swallow.
“An accident, Darcy, in Kent,” Fitzwilliam began, coming to stand before him. Darcy listened in rapt attention, his horror growing as Fitzwilliam spoke.
“Was Anne involved, or Mrs Collins?” Darcy felt a moment of panic as he considered the possibility that Elizabeth might have been harmed but recalled with great relief that by this time she should have returned from Kent.
“No, No. Only our aunt and Mr Collins.” Fitzwilliam laughed bitterly, shaking his head, “even the horses were spared.”
The irony of it all unsettled Darcy, his voice registering disbelief. “And all this occurred only yesterday?”
As Fitzwilliam bent toward the fire to warm himself he nodded, speaking with more composure. “Yes, and apparently the end was quick, mercifully. Both found dead in the wreckage soon after the accident. The coachman was knocked clear and cannot recall a single thing. There are no further details, except to say that Anne wishes for us all to return to Rosings for the funeral, which shall be in three days' time.”
Darcy rose from his seat and rang for a servant to attend Fitzwilliam. As the servant busied himself with the colonel's needs, Darcy moved to the window, absently staring at nothing in particular. There was not much that could be seen clearly beyond the heavy rain. Neither could he think clearly at all. His head was full of so many things, so many thoughts that seemed to be in conflict with one another. His aunt was direct, she was all consuming, she was stubborn, proud, annoying, silly -- and yet, she was his aunt, his mother's sister, and she cared for her family in her own way above all else. He felt an unexpected sadness at her loss.
As the closing of the door signalled the servant's departure, Darcy turned back to his cousin, saying in a brisk voice, “Well, then, when shall we leave?”
“I thought tomorrow by horseback, if you would care to join me. My parents expect to travel on the following day in their own carriage. Perhaps Georgiana could accompany them, if she wishes.”
Darcy nodded in agreement as he took one last look out the window, thinking of all that lay ahead.
Neither had the weather improved in Hertfordshire. The continuous rain made travel nearly impossible on heavily rutted roads. Nevertheless Mrs Collins's parents, having paid a brief visit to Longbourn to announce the death of their daughter's husband, drove back to Lucas Lodge in somewhat better spirits than when they arrived, despite these difficulties. Their secondary purpose in visiting the Bennet family was to request Elizabeth’s presence in Kent, on behalf of her friend and their daughter. Jane had volunteered to accompany Elizabeth into Kent so that they might both assist Mrs Collins. The Lucases, happy that Charlotte would be well supported in this difficult time, accepted with alacrity before a shocked Mrs Bennet had scarce drawn breath.
The idea had come to Jane in a moment of inspiration. If she had any doubt about the prudence of such an idea, a look at her mother provided her with the courage she needed once her lips had started to form the words. Despite the smallest twinge of guilt that she might find pleasure in a house of mourning, Jane decided without much hesitation to offer her assistance. She had already endured the senseless ravings of her mother and the pitying glances and clucking of her aunt Phillips. Interspersed with vulgar suggestions and conversation, both would shake their heads sorrowfully at Jane at every opportunity. Jane had no wish to disappoint Mrs Bennet further, but she grew increasingly tired with each reminder of her failure to secure Mr Bingley as her husband.
Once the Lucases departed, Mrs Bennet began to fan herself again, rapidly, her voice increasing in pitch, “Well it is all very well for Lizzy to go and help Charlotte. She can have nothing else to do. But, however, Mr Bennet, Jane should stay here.”
“No, my dear, I think it an excellent idea that Jane travel into Kent with Lizzy.”
Mrs Bennet began to protest. Her argument displayed very little sense while making a great deal of noise, until the moment when Mr Bennet stood, looked at his wife, and said in a firm voice:
“The matter is closed, madam; Jane wishes to go; She shall go;And I shall return to my library and my books.”
Mrs Bennet sat back hard and snapped her fan shut. She knew enough to realise that further discussion with Mr Bennet was futile. But what held for the present often changed in the future. She began immediately to plan for Jane’s return, for after all, they would not be in Kent so very long. And while Mrs Bennet was unsure of the exact details, she knew that unless Charlotte gave birth to a male child, the entail was broken. Lizzy would not hazard a guess as to Charlotte’s state, for Charlotte had not shared the intimate details of her marital relations with her friend. Mrs Bennet sighed. Lizzy, so quick in her father’s eyes and yet oblivious of simple things such as the nature of her friend’s relations!. Lizzy would be their undoing!
The rest of the afternoon passed quietly. Mrs Bennet became engaged in providing news of Mr Collins's demise to her sister who had just arrived from Meryton; and this news, along with speculation about whether or not Mrs Collins would bear an heir occupied Mrs Bennet and Mrs Phillips in loud conversation for the balance of the afternoon and well into the evening. Jane and Elizabeth retired to their rooms early, grateful that the necessity of packing gave them an opportunity to escape the endless chatter. It was difficult to conceive how their mother and their aunt could discuss the same piece of news so vigorously for hours and still find enough to capture their interest.
As Elizabeth packed her trunk, she smoothed a gown and recalled the instruction given by Lady Catherine in the proper method of folding and packing gowns. The memory gave her cause to smile as she remembered Maria unpacking and repacking all her gowns the morning of their departure from Hunsford.
Poor Lady Catherine. With all her energy and strength she still could not instruct her coachman to be more careful on the road. Or perhaps her instruction was given with too much energy. Either way, it was a sad end.
Elizabeth turned her thoughts to Charlotte. A widow, alone, and barely eight and twenty years. Perhaps in time, Charlotte would secure a more respectable husband for herself. Elizabeth wished it, rather than thought it truly possible for her friend, for it seemed rather unlikely given Charlotte's likely return to their limited society in Hertfordshire. Still, Elizabeth hoped she would be able to confide in Charlotte once again. She had missed her intimate friend.
“I am so happy that you will be coming into Kent. Charlotte will appreciate it so very much, and I will be glad of your company.” Finished with her own packing, Elizabeth now sat on Jane's bed, watching her sister prepare for their journey.
Jane bowed her head and said in a low voice, “ I do want to help Charlotte, but I fear that my reasons are mostly very selfish.”
Elizabeth shook her head and cried, “Oh no, do not even think that!”
“Oh yes! I was sitting downstairs earlier, when we heard the Lucases' sad news; Mama was looking at me as though I were a prize on display, and suddenly I felt that were I to stay here, Mama would see to it that I be introduced to every eligible man within an easy distance, and perhaps even those at not so easy a distance. It is not that I do not want to help our family, but I cannot expose myself in that way at present.”
Elizabeth nodded in agreement, saying, “And the change will do you good.”
“I have been thinking about my own situation for such a long time, I should like to think about something else for a while. But Lizzy, what do you think, shall you meet Mr Darcy again? Surely he will travel into Kent for Lady Catherine's funeral.”
Elizabeth sighed, finally admitting what had troubled her all afternoon, “Yes, I imagine that he will attend the funeral. But really, Jane, we travel in such different circles, and now that Mr Collins is dead, there is no reason that we should meet. I do not expect that Charlotte, as a poor widow, will be of much interest to anyone at Rosings. No, Mr Darcy is probably congratulating himself on his escape. We shall not meet, of that I am quite sure.”
Jane nodded, “That does appear to be the most reasonable expectation. I hope you are right. Poor Mr Darcy. To face your refusal and then to lose his aunt. It must be a difficult time for him.”
Elizabeth smiled, “My dear Jane, always seeing the best in people. Mr Darcy is probably rejoicing that he shall never again have to endure our family, either through marriage or exposure to Mr Collins.”
“Surely you do not suggest that Mr Darcy is rejoicing over our cousin’s death?”
Elizabeth said on a laugh, “Oh no! I am sure he would never intentionally harbour ill will against another, at least perhaps excluding one or two of his acquaintance. But still, the loss of Mr Collins does leave open the possibility that the new recipient of the living might be a man of sense and compassion.”
Jane thought for a moment, and then said, “ I am not sure if those are Mr Darcy's wishes or your own, but I think you have a remarkably similar turn of mind.”
Elizabeth stopped laughing, for Jane's words reminded her of her dance with Mr Darcy at the Netherfield ball. It gave Elizabeth an odd sense of regret. She wished she had not been quite so blind to Mr Darcy's feelings. She fervently hoped that they would not meet again in Kent for she would be quite embarrassed, and most of all, she did not wish to relive that dreadful evening in the parsonage when he proposed.
“Lizzy, what is it? You look very serious.”
“Nothing, nothing at all.” Elizabeth stopped and looked outside the window at the growing darkness, grateful for a chance to reflect in solitude. “I should retire. We leave early tomorrow morning, if the weather cooperates.” And Elizabeth bade her sister good night, retiring to her own room to consider her thoughts, which seemed to be as difficult to manoeuvre as tomorrow’s likely travel on slow and muddy roads.
Elizabeth slept poorly. Her thoughts settled on Mr Darcy. She had accused him of pride, but how vain had she herself been? How could she have been so blind and so foolish! Elizabeth was sure that were she to meet with Mr Darcy, he would pay her no notice beyond the normal civilities, if that! And the thought that he might ignore her left her with a feeling of relief, but also, of sadness, which she did not wish to admit to. Finally, after a period of painful reflection, she fell into a restless sleep.
The weather improved overnight, sufficient for Jane and Elizabeth to leave the next day, accompanied by Mr Bennet and Sir William Lucas. They did not stop in London; the journey although tiring, passed without excitement or incident, and fortunately for the young ladies without much conversation, for Sir William was for once quiet and Mr Bennet was absorbed in a book. After a long day's travel they arrived in Kent that evening, in time for Mr Bennet and Sir William to attend the funerals of both Lady Catherine and Mr Collins.
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