Her emotions were in turmoil. From the time she came into Kent, she had learned so much about him, and if she had not been so blinded by prejudice, she would have seen a very different Mr. Darcy from the gentleman she knew in Hertfordshire. His cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam, held him in the highest regard and spoke of an amiable and conversant Mr. Darcy when amongst his friends. Despite his aunt’s overbearing nature, he visited Rosings because Lady Catherine was his mother’s sister, and as such, was deserving of his attention, and Lizzy suspected, by looks exchanged between them, that he had a good relationship with Anne de Bourgh when her mother was not about. But was there anything that showed him in a better light than his affection and concern for his sister and the fear that must have gripped him when he believed he had lost her to a man with no scruples?

Lizzy walked the lane, trying to sort through all the images flashing before her. If things had gone differently, could she have loved him? After reflecting on the whole of their history together, she realized that, over time, she could have. She would have chipped away at his hard shell and would have softened his look. If only they had been able to break through the barriers that separated them, his pride and her prejudice, yesterday would have ended very differently.

When Lizzy arrived at the parsonage, she sat down on a bench outside the front door of the house. She read the letter once again, but with understanding and not in anger. A wave of regret passed over her as she realized what had been lost. Clutching the letter to her breast, she felt the tears well up in her eyes, and through her tears she looked up towards the manor house and wondered if Mr. Darcy was still there. Considering the tone of his letter, that was unlikely. So there would be no more encounters in the park or visits to the parsonage. Her acquaintance with Mr. Darcy of Pemberley had come to its dramatic conclusion.

Chapter 7

Lizzy was in her room lying on the bed staring at the ceiling. After sharing with Charlotte the awful scene that had taken place in her parlor, her friend had tried to lift her spirits by suggesting that once Mr. Darcy had time to recover from the hurt of her rejection, he might renew his attentions. But when Lizzy acquainted Charlotte with the contents of his letter, she suggested that they go into the village and think of other things.

Lizzy kept Mr. Darcy’s letter under her pillow, but no longer needed to look at it as she could now recite it from memory. “I write without any intention of paining you, or humbling myself, by dwelling on wishes, which, for the happiness of both, cannot be too soon forgotten.”

Despite Mr. Darcy’s hopes, Lizzy doubted that either of them would soon forget what had been said, and the angry words she spoke still echoed in her mind. “You could not have made me the offer of your hand in any possible way that would have tempted me to accept it.” She groaned and turned on her side. If she expected Mr. Darcy to examine his actions, then she must do the same. This whole sorry affair was not about Jane or Wickham; it was about Elizabeth Bennet and her wounded pride. She had shut her eyes to all that might be good in him. When Jane said Mr. Bingley doubted the truth of Mr. Wickham’s story, she refused to hear it. She would not listen to anything that challenged her assumptions. At the Netherfield ball, she chided Mr. Darcy for his lack of conversation, but when he suggested sharing their opinions on books, she refused. “No, I cannot talk of books in a ballroom. My head is always full of something else.” So go away and leave me alone, so I might think about George Wickham.

Lizzy stood up, ran her hands over the creases in her dress, and returned her curls to their rightful place. Revisiting the scene time and again was doing her no good, so she decided to join Charlotte in the parlor. As she was going down the stairs, she heard the bell ring, and fearing for a moment that it might be Mr. Darcy with another letter, she went back upstairs. Please, no more letters! One is quite enough. However it was not Mr. Darcy, but Miss Anne de Bourgh, and she quickly returned to her room. A few minutes later, a servant knocked on the door to let her know that Miss de Bourgh was waiting for her downstairs. When Lizzy went into the parlor, she found her visitor was all alone.

“It is very good to see you again, Miss Elizabeth,” she said, giving a slight bow, which Lizzy returned. “Mrs. Collins excused herself, as she needed to discuss the household accounts with her housekeeper, but she has ordered tea for us.”

While Miss de Bourgh was removing her cloak, Lizzy noticed what fine features she had: thick, dark brown hair; beautiful, flawless skin; clear, blue eyes with long dark lashes; and the high cheekbones so favored by painters, but she also saw how she appeared to be as fragile as a porcelain doll.

“Miss Elizabeth, may we sit nearer to the fire? I am quite chilled from the ride.”

Lizzy moved a chair closer to the fireplace and offered her guest one of Charlotte’s heavier quilts. The day before, Charlotte had taken them out of the storage chest, guessing correctly that the warm temperatures could not last.

“I hope you do not object to my unannounced visit. Since my cousins, Mr. Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam, are now gone, the house is quite empty—and silent. And I miss conversation. I very much enjoyed listening to you when you joined us for supper. You have such a sparkling wit.”

“I do not think your cousin, Mr. Darcy, would agree with that assessment.”

“Oh, I can assure you that you are wrong. He found your conversation to be engaging, even challenging. You gave him pause for thought, and in several instances, got the better of him—something quite new to his experience.”

Lizzy rose to help the servant with the tea, but she also needed time to reflect on what was happening. Charlotte had deliberately made herself scarce because Lizzy knew that Monday was the day when she went over the household accounts with Mrs. Elvin. Today was Thursday. For whatever reason, Miss de Bourgh wanted to speak to Lizzy in private.

“Shall we dispense with the formalities? If I may call you Elizabeth, you may call me Anne.” Lizzy smiled and nodded her assent. “I understand you are shortly to return home, and I did not want to miss an opportunity to visit with you before you left.”

Anne picked up the teacup and clasped her hands around it for warmth. After taking a sip, which she needed because she was shivering, she continued.

“Colonel Fitzwilliam and Mr. Darcy, or Richard and Will, as I call them, are like brothers to me, and I shall miss them. We are very fond of each other and have been since we were children. Along with Richard’s elder brother, Lord Fitzwilliam, we are all very close in age, and we spent hours together in the playroom at Rosings. It is quite large—large enough to have a theatre for plays and a stage for puppetry, and our seamstress made the most wonderful costumes, each one having lots of feathers. We were very keen on feathers. We wrote the plays ourselves, and according to my father, Lord de Bourgh, the boys always kept the funniest lines for themselves.”

Lizzy smiled at the thought of Mr. Darcy and the colonel on the stage. What would their plays have been about? Pirates, of course. Boys always wanted to be pirates with eye patches, earrings, and swords. Or possibly knights in shining armor with Anne playing the damsel in distress.

“When Will was at Cambridge, Richard and I went to see him play cricket,” Anne continued. “He is a superior batsman, and to this day, he will boast of the time when his alma mater defeated Eton in two contests within a period of three days,” Anne said, smiling at the memory. “Did he ever mention it when he was in Hertfordshire?”

“No, he did not. Our only opportunity to speak was on the dance floor—not the best place to learn about your partner, and Mr. Darcy left Netherfield Park shortly thereafter.”

“How unfortunate—for both of you. Perhaps there will be other opportunities.”

Not if Mr. Darcy had any say in it, Lizzy thought.

“As I have said, he is very much like a brother to me, and when I find myself quite overpowered by my mother, I need only send a letter to Will, and he will come and rescue me. Before Mama leased our house in town, we spent many happy hours together during the season in London. I am not very strong, and I cannot dance more than one or two dances. But even though all the ladies were making such a fuss over him, Will was never far from my side.

“Because of my health and the distance, I do not often visit the Darcy estate, but I have very fond memories of long summer days in Derbyshire. But, of course, now that Will is the master of Pemberley, everything is changed from when we were children. He holds himself to a very high standard. It is he who must visit all of the tenants. It is he who must know how many lambs were born in the spring and how much grain was gathered at harvest time. His tenants hold him in the highest regard, as do the villagers. He can hardly walk down High Street without people rushing out of the shops to greet him, and if you allowed him, the vicar would go on and on, singing his praises about his generosity and kindness to those in need.

“And with all of these responsibilities, he tells me they are nothing compared to that of being his sister’s guardian. He is quite devoted to her. Georgiana is eighteen now, and as you can imagine, is very eager to come into society. He has done everything he can to prepare her. It was almost laughable to see him with her at the milliner’s shop. But she insists on hearing his opinion, as she is equally devoted to him.”