Elizabeth felt a faint disappointment at his absence—unexpectedly so. She had wished him to receive her himself, that she might perceive whether the conversation of the previous evening had truly established a different understanding between them. But in the end, she liked that he placed his duties before all else.
Without intending it, she imagined him upon horseback, as she had seen him several times at Meryton, with that air peculiar to a man perfectly at ease on horseback, just as he was in his manner of walking; and, the first time in many years, she regretted that she did not ride. An accident at ten years of age had left her afraid of horses, and from that day she had never mounted one again.
The colonel returned to her side after exchanging a few words with Miss Darcy concerning breakfast, little more than an invitation to begin without the master of the house.
Taking advantage of the fact that Georgiana was engaged in conversation with a lady, the colonel whispered to Elizabeth, “She is adorable, but at times she is afraid to make firm decisions as mistress of the house. At present, she inclines to wait forDarcy, though he expressly desired that we should not wait for him.”
“She is very young; at her age, I was still a child.”
“That is true, but her life has been very different from yours. I know it is dreadful to say so, but you had your father until now.”
“Yes, and I am exceedingly grateful that I had this miraculous chance. My father was the centre of my universe, and now I feel myself unsteady without his support.”
“That sensation will pass. I am certain the time will come when you shall find him again in all that he gave you.”
Elizabeth looked at the colonel in surprise. They had indeed shared several interesting conversations, but that morning, he was almost profound. She felt ashamed when she realised how superficial and burdened by prejudice her view of the society to which Darcy belonged had been.
She had not been mistaken in Lady Catherine, nor in Mr Bingley’s sisters, but she had too easily imagined the whole of Darcy’s world alike—arrogant, superficial, and possessed of an unjustified sense of superiority.
“What are you thinking of?” asked the colonel, observing how long she remained silent.
Elizabeth hesitated only a moment before telling him exactly what she had thought, and indeed her sincerity succeeded in astonishing him. She did not, of course, mention names, but she spoke of Rosings and Netherfield.
“So you are a lady with prejudices?”
“Precisely. I observe that prejudices exist in both our worlds.”
“They are not different worlds, Miss Elizabeth.”
“It does not matter how many worlds there are; prejudice is a capital fault.”
“But the moment one succeeds in recognising one’s faults, one may also change.”
Elizabeth silently agreed and turned her gaze towards Georgiana, who appeared to be listening to them. The girl blushed slightly.
“I beg your pardon, but I found what you were saying very interesting,” she whispered.
Elizabeth instinctively laid her hand gently upon hers to reassure her.
“There are no secrets.”
“And I am glad that discussions of that sort interest you,” added the colonel.
Elizabeth turned again towards Georgiana, who had resumed eating, and reflected that rarely had anyone won upon her through so few glances and words. She had heard many conversations concerning her—her talent for music, her refinement and elegance—but she had not believed much of it, because such praises came from Mr Bingley’s sisters, who plainly spoke for Mr Darcy’s ear, for such was their nature. Yet it proved that, for once, the two ladies had been perfectly right, and Miss Darcy was exactly as they had described her.
And the secret Darcy had revealed in his letter concerning her dreadful affair with that scoundrel Wickham only increased Elizabeth’s interest in her. A girl not yet sixteen, who had succeeded in resisting such pressures as Wickham must certainly have exerted, could only be extraordinary.
But there was something more. Miss Darcy had lost both her parents at an incredibly early age. Elizabeth looked at her, trying to imagine the tragedy she had endured, and which in some measure resembled her own.
Then Darcy entered, and suddenly everything seemed to revolve around him.
In excellent spirits, almost cheerful, he was dressed as she had never before seen him, in clothes which strongly resembled her father’s hunting attire: a dark green jacket of thick cloth, buckskin breeches, and tall black boots still dusty from the roads beyond Pemberley. He came directly from the fields; he had probably removed only his riding coat in the hall and left behind his whip and gloves.
She remembered how her mother had always cried out that her father must not enter the library at once, though his greatest pleasure had been to seat himself immediately upon returning home, with a glass of brandy in his hand.
Darcy greeted them and then hastily resumed his place and began to eat, evidently hungry; only after several minutes did he look towards her and smile, as though he had only then remembered her presence.
She closed her eyes, and she was in her father’s library.