Darcy and Elizabeth What If? Collection 3 (7 page)

Mr Darcy returned to Rosings, well pleased with the way the morning had gone. It was true that Elizabeth had rejected him, but he had been prepared for that. And yet she had not despised him, as she had done when he had made his first proposal to her.

How he cringed when he now thought of it. She had been right to accuse him of ungentlemanly behaviour. He had been rude indeed.

But, of course, Elizabeth did not know that, because, for her, that day had never been.

He went up the steps of Rosings and in to the house.

‘Your friend, Mr Bingley, called when you were out,’ said Lady Catherine.

She was sitting in the drawing-room with her wide, panniered skirt arranged impressively across the sofa. Her bejewelled fingers lay in her lap.

Miss Anne de Bourgh sat quietly on a chair nearby and, standing in front of the fireplace, was Mr Collins.

‘I am sorry to have missed him,’ said Mr Darcy.

He thought of all that had happened on the previous days, connected with Mr Bingley, and was glad that today’s visit had passed without complication.

‘I invited him to stay for luncheon and suggested he sing for us, but he was promised to his friend and could not stay. He only called in to deliver this painting from Georgiana,’ Lady Catherine continued, gesturing towards the painting, which had been unwrapped. ‘It is quite charming.’

‘Marvellous!’ murmured Mr Collins, clasping his hands together rapturously.

Lady Catherine nodded her approval.

Mr Darcy walked over to the by-now familiar painting and examined it closely. It was very well done indeed and he took a delight in his sister’s skill.

‘It will hang in the dining-room,’ said Lady Catherine.

‘A most excellent choice,’ said Mr Collins with a smile and a bow.

‘Mr Collins, you will stay for luncheon,’ said Lady Catherine.

‘Oh!

Mr Collins sounded startled and, for a moment, Mr Darcy wondered if the comical clergyman would decline the invitation. But it was the purpose of Mr Collins’s life to please Lady Catherine, and after only the slightest hesitation he bowed and smiled and murmured words of gratitude. ‘So kind . . . had not looked for such condescension . . . esteemed patroness . . . unworthy of such nobility . . . honoured . . . grateful . . . ’

Lady Catherine was pleased and took his arm as she rose from the sofa.

Mr Collins looked as if life could offer him no greater privilege than to escort Lady Catherine de Bourgh and he was a ridiculous mixture of pride and humility as he almost pranced through the hall and into the dining-room, with Lady Catherine on his arm.

‘Anne is looking pale,’ said Lady Catherine, as they took their seats at table. ‘You must take her out in the phaeton this afternoon, Darcy.’

Mr Darcy did not take kindly to being ordered about and he was about to raise some objection when Lady Catherine continued, ‘Your wife and guest will go with them, Mr Collins, to entertain Miss de Bourgh. I would go myself but there are some parishioners in the village who need guidance. You and I will go to the village, Mr Collins, and I will tell them what they must do. I cannot have them deciding their own affairs, for they will inevitably make the wrong decision.’

At the thought of driving Elizabeth round the park in the phaeton, Mr Darcy could not help smiling. It was a beautiful day, although it was only February, and a cheerful sun shone from the cold sky.

His cousin, Anne, would not want to sit on the box with him. She would sit in the main body of the carriage with a blanket over her knee, and Mrs Collins would sit there with her. But he had high hopes of encouraging Elizabeth, with her intrepid nature, to sit on the box next to him. Perhaps he might even persuade her to take the reins.

Once lunch was over, the phaeton was brought round and before long Mr Darcy was driving Miss de Bourgh down to the parsonage. Lady Catherine and Mr Collins followed in the carriage.

Once at the parsonage, Mr Collins alighted from the carriage to tell Mrs Collins and Miss Bennet about the honour arranged for them by Lady Catherine.

Mr Darcy could not help feeling some doubt as Mr Collins disappeared from view.

Mr Darcy knew that Elizabeth had a strong character and he knew she would not like being ordered about by Lady Catherine. She might conceivably refuse to join the party. He was on tenterhooks until at last Mr Collins emerged from the parsonage, followed by Mrs Collins and Elizabeth.

He jumped lightly down from the box and assisted Mrs Collins into the carriage, while Mr Collins rejoined Lady Catherine and her carriage set off for the village.

Once Mrs Collins was settled comfortable next to Miss de Bourgh, Mr Darcy turned to Elizabeth.

‘Would you like to join your friend in the carriage or would you care to see the countryside from the vantage point of the box?’

‘I would like that very much indeed,’ said Elizabeth.

Mrs Collins gave a knowing look and Mr Darcy said, ‘That is, if Mrs Collins – as your hostess - has no objections?’

‘None at all,’ said Mrs Collins.

The proprieties having been thus satisfied, Mr Darcy gave Elizabeth his hand as she climbed onto the seat at the front of the phaeton and, in one long stride, he climbed up beside her.

‘Allow me,’ he said, as he arranged a rug over her knees, for the day was cold.

As he did so, he could not help noticing how enchanting she looked. She was wearing a pale blue velvet bonnet with a matching pelisse and cloak. Her hands were encased in white gloves and they settled themselves elegantly on the dark blue blanket.

Her face was glowing. There was a healthy colour in her cheeks and her eyes were sparkling. Her dark hair was thick and lustrous, and delicious curls framed her ears and nestled in the nape of her neck.

Mr Darcy picked up the reins and the phaeton set off at a gentle pace through the park.

‘Have you been out in the phaeton before?’ asked Mr Darcy. ‘I know you have been at Rosings for some time, and arrived before I did.’

‘No, in fact I have never been in a phaeton before,’ said Elizabeth.

‘And how do you find it?’ he asked.

‘I like it,’ she said. ‘There is a very good view from up here on the box.’

‘I thought you would appreciate it,’ he said.

The palings of the parsonage garden rolled past them and then there was nothing on either side of the sandy road but wide green fields, with horse chestnut trees providing interesting shapes against the sky.

‘Do you ride, Miss Bennet?’ he asked.

‘Not if I can help it!’ she said with a laugh.

‘Oh? Do you not enjoy it?’

‘No. I confess I do not. I prefer to walk.’

‘Have you always felt that way?’ he asked.

He was interested to find out everything he could about her, for she fascinated him.

‘Yes. I believe I have.’

‘Is there any reason for it?’ he asked. ‘Were you thrown from a horse? Or did you have some other kind of accident?’

‘No. Never. But it involves such an argument. Papa needs the horses on the home farm and he is loath to part with them for simple exercise or visiting. Then Mama becomes involved and before long the house is in uproar, with all my sisters expressing their views. I expect you would think it very vulgar,’ she said to him saucily.

But beneath her sauciness there was something else. Something questioning.

She is testing me
, he thought.
She wants to know what I think of her family. Or, rather, whether I would be able to tolerate them.

In fact, he had strong views on her family and he had expressed them in no uncertain terms at his first proposal. He had told her outright that her mother was vulgar, her father indolent and her younger sisters common flirts. How he hated to think of it! And how glad he was that Elizabeth could not think of it as, for her, it had never happened!

‘You are not the only person with . . . unusual . . . relatives,’ he said.

She laughed at that.

‘No indeed. I have never met anyone like Lady Catherine before. She is an individual!’

‘She is indeed,’ said Mr Darcy, with a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

The pretty little phaeton rolled on until it came to a crossroads.

Mr Darcy said to Elizabeth, ‘Would you like to go left to the chapel or right to the lake?’

‘Right, to the lake.’

‘Very well.’

He turned the horse’s head and the phaeton did a neat turn and then bowled along the sandy road towards the lake.

Then he said, without looking at her, ‘Do you think you will ever like to visit the chapel?’

A blush sprang up on her cheek and he waited with bated breath for her answer.

‘Perhaps. One day,’ she said.

He gave an inward smile. Then there was hope for him.

But he was not a callow youth. He had proposed in haste but he did not intend to rush his fences a second time. He knew he only had until the end of the day to woo her, but it had occurred to him over luncheon that, although he had only February 13
th
in which to try and win her, he had endless February 13ths. And a plan was already starting to form in his mind.

But, for now, he wanted nothing more than to make the most of his time with Elizabeth.

‘Would you like to take the ribbons?’ he asked.

He held the reins out to her as he spoke.

‘I?’ she asked, startled.

‘Yes. Why not? Many women drive.’

‘A challenge!’ she said with a laugh.

Her breath frosted in front of her in the most delightful manner, drawing attention to her adorable mouth, and he longed to kiss her, but he restrained himself. It would be unforgiveable to take such a liberty. But perhaps, in the future, if things went well . . .

Elizabeth took the reins from his hands and held them lightly in her own.

He adjusted her hands so that they held the resins more securely and then, with his own strong hands over hers, helped her to guide the horses.

Once she grew more adept, he removed his hands.

He would have liked to keep his hands over hers for the entire afternoon, but he had already done as much as was consistent with propriety and he would not compromise her for any reason. He respected her too much for that.

‘And how do you like driving?’ he asked her after a little while. ‘Do you like it better than riding?’

‘Yes, I do. Much better,’ she said.

‘Then you must drive every day whilst you are here. I am sure it can be arranged.’

‘Thank you,’ she said, giving him a dazzling smile. ‘I would like that.’

They came at last to the lake.

Miss Anne de Bourgh decided she would like to take a walk and they all joined her, strolling for a short while beside the lake and leading the horses.

But it was too cold for Anne to walk for long and they were soon driving back to the house.

Elizabeth’s arms grew tired, for she was not used to holding them at such an angle, and she gave the reins back to Mr Darcy.

He drove them back to the parsonage and helped Elizabeth down from the box. As she descended, she caught her foot in the wheel and as it loosened she fell against him. He caught her and held her, revelling in the feel of her in his arms. She was soft and delicate and enchanting, and she smelt wonderful.

Just for a moment she clung to him and a look passed between them that gave him hope for the future.

Then he set her on her feet and he opened the door for Mrs Collins.

Mrs Collins stepped out of the phaeton and joined Elizabeth by the parsonage gate.

‘Mama commissioned me to invite you to Rosings for dinner,’ said Miss Anne de Bourgh, as Mr Darcy climbed back on to the box.

‘Thank you,’ said Mrs Collins. ‘We would be delighted to accept.’

Mr Darcy watched Elizabeth’s retreating figure as she walked up the path to the parsonage, then took up the reins and the phaeton set off back to Rosings.

‘He will propose again, I am sure of it,’ said Charlotte Collins, as she and Elizabeth went back indoors.

Elizabeth shook her head.

‘He has too much pride,’ she said.

But even so, she could not help hoping that Charlotte was right.

‘I never saw a man who was so much in love,’ said Charlotte, as she took off her bonnet and removed her cloak. She patted her hair in front of the cheval glass and pushed a curl back in place.

‘In love?’ queried Elizabeth, as her heart skipped a beat.

‘Yes, Lizzy. In love,’ said Charlotte, as they went into the sitting-room.

As Mr Collins was still out, the ladies settled themselves in the front room.

It was pleasanter than the other sitting-room at the back of the house, and Charlotte generally left it to the use of her husband, knowing that he would not make the effort to join her if she were in the less pleasant room.

But with his absence she could use the better room safely.

‘I do not know about that,’ said Elizabeth.

‘But I do,’ said Charlotte, as the two ladies sat down on the sofa and took up some plain sewing. ‘I am going to speak to you seriously now, Lizzy. I know you took against Mr Darcy to begin with, and I dare say you had good reasons. He separated Jane and Mr Bingley, and was not generous to Mr Wickham. But he has a great deal to offer a wife.’ She turned a difficult corner with her sewing then continued. ‘I know that does not weigh heavily with you, Lizzy. But I do believe he is in love with you.’ She looked at Elizabeth. ‘All I am saying is, if you think there is a chance you could fall in love with him, then you should let him know there is hope.’

‘But Charlotte, I cannot encourage him unless I am sure. It would be cruel to do so.’

‘Very well. I have given you my advice and now I will say no more on the subject.’

She turned her attention back to her sewing.

Soon afterwards Mr Collins came in. He was full of praise for Lady Catherine. He told both ladies how Lady Catherine had bullied several parishioners into putting aside their arguments and shaking hands, and how she had lectured several young people severely on the subject of respecting their elders, and generally forced peace and harmony on to the villagers, whether they wanted it or not.

‘And she has generously invited us to Rosings for dinner,’ he said. ‘Colonel Fitzwilliam will be there.’ He turned to Elizabeth and explained that Colonel Fitzwilliam was Lady Catherine’s other nephew. ‘What a wonderful evening we will have!’

When she walked into the drawing-room at Rosings that evening, Elizabeth’s eyes were drawn at once to Mr Darcy. His dark hair framed his handsome face and made a marked contrast to his white shirt and black tailcoat. He made her a bow and she curtseyed.

Next to him was a man in a red coat who was introduced as Colonel Fitzwilliam. He was about thirty years of age, not handsome, but nevertheless an obvious gentleman. He entered into conversation with the ease of a well-bred man and talked very pleasantly about Kent and Hertfordshire, of travelling and staying at home, of books and music.

Mr Darcy said little, but Elizabeth felt his eyes upon her and she had to fight an inclination to turn towards him. She might be talking to Colonel Fitzwilliam, but she was thinking about Mr Darcy.

She was telling Colonel Fitzwilliam how she and Mr Darcy had first met. She saw Mr Darcy watching her and she wondered if he was capable of laughing at himself. She decided to put it to the test.

‘Do you know?’ she said to Colonel Fitzwilliam. ‘We met at an assembly ball and he danced only four dances, though gentlemen were scarce.’ She turned to Mr Darcy and said saucily, ‘You cannot deny the fact.’

She waited eagerly to see what his reaction would be to her teasing. Would he be angry or disdainful? Or would he be able to laugh at himself, in front of his own family.

‘No, I cannot deny it,’ he said with a smile. ‘I did not know any ladies beyond my own party, but I should have taken the trouble to be introduced. If I had known
one other young lady
there, my evening would have transformed from intolerable to delightful.’

So he could laugh at himself, and turn it into a compliment to her at the same time! For Elizabeth could not mistake his meaning. If he had known her then, as he knew her now, how different that evening would have been!

But he had not known, and she was almost glad of it, because it had given her a chance to know him in all his moods. His behaviour at the Meryton assembly was as much a part of him as his behaviour elsewhere, and although she had good reason to think that he was not so arrogant now, she knew that pride would always be a part of his character.

But pride, if well regulated, was not a failing.

And, she had to admit, she had her fair share of it as well.

Was it not pride that had led her to reject his hand? For she disdained to marry a man she did not love.

However, she liked him, and her liking was growing hour by hour. He seemed to have corrected all his faults. It was as if he had read her mind and found out what they were! But she could not encourage him until she knew she could love him, for a man as proud as Mr Darcy should not be made to humble himself twice unless he could be sure of a satisfactory reception.

Mr Darcy found the evening passed more pleasantly than any other he could remember in the Rosings drawing-room, but he feared the coming of midnight. All the advances he had made during the day would be lost then. Because, when she woke up tomorrow, Elizabeth would have forgotten it all.

His eyes, as he looked at her, were full of both happiness and sorrow. If he had to live a day endlessly, then today was the day he would choose. He had spent almost all of it with Elizabeth in pleasurable pursuits and meaningful conversation. But he wanted more. He wanted life to move on so that he could continue his wooing of her.

Tomorrow he must redouble his efforts, so that she would fall in love with him by the end of the day. It was a difficult task to do so much in twenty-four hours, but he must try.

At last the evening came to an end. Mr and Mrs Collins rose to take their leave with Elizabeth. He went out into the hall, to wait with them until the carriage should be brought round to the front door, for Lady Catherine always sent them home in the carriage.

As they crossed the hall, Elizabeth dropped something when she reached into her reticule for her handkerchief. He picked it up and saw that it was a letter addressed to her sister, Jane.

‘Thank you,’ she said, as she saw what he held in his hand. ‘I meant to take it to the post office this afternoon but I forgot.’

‘Would you like me to put it into the Rosings mail?’ he asked. ‘One of the footmen will be going to the post office first thing in the morning.’

‘Yes, thank you,’ she said.

He slipped it into his pocket.

There was some light conversation as they waited for the carriage but all too soon Elizabeth was taking her leave. He bowed over her hand, then bid farewell to his aunt’s guests and then, in a flurry of cloaks, they were gone.

The Rosings party retired for the night.

He was about to put the letter with the other post when he remembered that the letter would have disappeared by morning, and so instead he went upstairs.

As he readied himself for bed he thought what a shame it was that all of Elizabeth’s time and effort in writing the letter had been wasted.

‘How I wish Elizabeth could remember today,’ he said to himself.

Was it his imagination, or was there a sigh coming from the mantelpiece?

He walked over to the little cupids but they were innocently sitting there, a china ornament and nothing more.

‘But perhaps she loves me,’ he reminded himself. ‘Perhaps I have already done enough to win her heart.’

He caught a waft of her scent as he was about to put her letter on the table. He was not a sentimental man by nature but he felt a sudden yearning to be close to her and he put the letter into the pocket of his nightshirt, which lay above his heart.

Then he blew out the candle and went to sleep, little knowing that the following morning would hold a big surprise.