“She’s in the back parlour, miss,” Molly replied with a bob of the head.
Elizabeth entered the snug back parlour to find her friend seated by a low window, her best tea service arrayed on the table. She gratefully accepted a fragrant cup of Charlotte’s favourite tea blend and, after adding a bit of milk, sank into a matching soft-cushioned chair.
“I have only just realised that I have not seen your sister today. Is she unwell?”
Charlotte’s lips curved in a contented smile. “She has made a new acquaintance in the daughter of one of our parishioners.Mr. Collins had business in the village, so he accompanied her there in order for her to have a proper visit. They should return at any moment.”
“How delightful that she has found companionship,” Elizabeth replied, raising the cup to her lips. “One can never have too many friends.”
Before they could speak further of friendship, and those they held in common from Hertfordshire, Maria and Mr. Collins entered. Tea was poured anew, and conversation swiftly turned once more to Rosings Park and the formidable Lady Catherine de Bourgh.
Darcy sat in thecarriage opposite Richard and Anne, forced to endure their annoying cheerfulness while he brooded over leaving Elizabeth behind. He unfolded the letter and began to read:
Mr. D,
I dare not write your full name – or mine – or that of my family, should this letter stray into unwelcome hands. You shall have to muddle through with initials. Picture yourself reading the society pages – only this is no idle rumour, but truth. When next we meet, I shall supply further particulars.
Firstly, I am honoured that you desire to call upon me, and I look forward to discovering the man beneath the haughty exterior. I do hope you have not gone all stiff and proud sitting with your cousin in thecarriage. He will wonder what you are reading.
Darcy consciously lowered his shoulders, aware that he had, indeed, gone “all stiff and proud” upon reading her words about his haughty exterior. Clearly, she knew him well. A surreptitious glance at Richard and Anne showed they were oblivious to his response, and he turned back to the letter.
Secondly, our family’s situation changed dramatically on the night of Mr. B’s ball. Before the supper set commenced, Papa received an express which relayed the sad news of the death of his distant cousin. Ordinarily, this would mean little, but his cousin was an earl whose only son predeceased him some years ago. By right of descent – traced to the second son of our ancestor six generations past – the title has now grafted onto our branch of the family tree, and to my father.
In consequence, my father is an earl, my mother a countess, and we, the daughters bear the honorific of Lady before our given names. As you know, my two youngest sisters are at a seminary for young ladies. At the ball, Papa realised he needed to curb their behaviour, and as such, clipped their wings. Beyond that, our new seat lies in Bedfordshire; we have a town house on Park Lane (seen only briefly) and three or four smaller estates elsewhere.
Our family’s ancestral estate, LB, has been leased out to a trustworthy tenant family. M, our middle sister, has chosen to remain in M-ton with our maternal aunt and uncle. J remains in London, and she and I will travel to Bedfordshire in June.
I dare say, in light of these events, your earlier belief that our “wantof connections must necessarily diminish our prospects” will require some extensive revision.
Dear Lord in heaven, she had heard him say those awful words. Hurst was right. He had behaved abominably while in Meryton, siding with Caroline Bingley to disparage good, honest people. No wonder Elizabeth had refused him. It was a miracle she even spoke to him at all.
He read on:
In case you wondered, I did not lurk about in corridors, in the faint hope of hearing salacious gossip. Most of the staff at NP are children of LB tenants, and one maid was so distressed by the slander voiced against my sister and me that she resigned rather than stay in such an ill-bred household. My father has assured this brave soul a position at our new estate in Bedfordshire. As you must know, a loyal servant is a treasure.
Despite our less-than-stellar beginnings, I look forward to receiving you in a fortnight. Until then, I wish you safe travels.
Yours, Lady EB
Darcy refolded the sheet of paper and gazed out as the country slid by, a newfound lightness lifting his spirits.
The following evening, afterMr. Darcy and his cousins had taken their leave from Rosings Park, Lady Catherine graciouslyextended a dinner invitation to the Hunsford party. Civilities were exchanged with Mr. Collins embarking upon a profusion of compliments, matched by her ladyship’s own agreeable remarks, though the cause of her unusually buoyant spirits remained undisclosed until they were seated.
“Usually,” Lady Catherine began with a grand sweep of the hand, “the moment my nephews withdraw from my presence, I experience a lingering sense ofennui. Yet this year, I was so eager for their departure that I almost pushed them out the door.
Lady Catherine paused, as though she expected someone to take the bait, which Mr. Collins did with alacrity.
“I recall your apathy last year, your ladyship, when both of your illustrious nephews departed Kent. However, you and Miss de Bourgh quickly revived your spirits.”
“Anne and I have such a fondness for my nephews, and finally our dearest wish has been granted.”
“Your dearest wish?” Mr. Collins could not help but ask.
Elizabeth held some admiration for the way Lady Catherine manipulated the strings on her favourite puppet, leading him to beg for the news she so desperately wanted to shout from the highest peak of Rosings Park’s roof. Secure in the knowledge of the letter she had hidden at the bottom of her trunk, Elizabeth was fully prepared to listen to the great lady crow about her daughter’s future felicity with confidence.
“Yes,” Lady Catherine confirmed, her eyes bright. “Even as we speak, Anne and her betrothed are in town, and as soon as my nephew obtains a Special License, they will be married at his residence, followed by a three-month sojourn in Derbyshire.”
“My lady,” exclaimed Mr. Collins, “my joy knows no bounds upon hearing this account! You have so often foretold this union, and now it is at hand. You have always maintained that,in point of true beauty, Miss De Bourgh surpasses the loveliest of her sex. It is no little wonder that Mr. Darcy has finally made her his bride. How could he resist a countenance so eminently noble? Indeed, Derbyshire may consider itself fortunate to gain Kent’s greatest treasure.”