Mr. Darcy stood by the tall window of the second-floor library of Rosings Park. From this view, he could make out the cream stucco of Hunsford Lodge with its rust-colored roof and flower-lined walk. This was the only room in the manor house from which the parsonage could be seen, and Darcy was waiting for Elizabeth Bennet to return from her morning walk. As soon as he saw Elizabeth, he would know she had read the letter, and his reputation, at least with regards to Wickham, would be restored. How could it be otherwise? Her charges were not only wrong, but unjust.
Darcy paced back and forth in front of the window. Where was she? At the time Elizabeth had taken the letter from his hand, she had been walking in the lane reading a book. Was her interest in her book greater than the contents of his letter? Or was it Nature that beckoned her? Darcy knew of no other female who enjoyed the outdoors as much as she did, and her opinion was that it must be observed on foot. When he had asked if she knew how to ride, she had said that she did, but rode only when necessary and never for pleasure. Most likely, the horses she had ridden were ones that were chosen for their ability to pull a hay wagon. However, if she were to sit upon one of the fillies from the Pemberley stables, she would know the pure pleasure of riding a spirited animal and would come away with a very different opinion. He would have changed her mind.
On his morning rides, Darcy frequently saw Elizabeth walking with her bonnet in hand. When she caught sight of him, she had quickly returned the hat to its rightful place, but the evidence of outdoor exercise only highlighted the beauty of Elizabeth’s dark eyes and her animated expression when she saw something on her walks that delighted her.
But his mind returned to the letter. If Elizabeth had started reading his missive as soon as he had presented it to her, she would by now have read the part where he exposed Wickham’s immoral behavior. Darcy remembered the day when he had first seen Wickham in Meryton. His reaction was that there must be an unattached female in the neighborhood who was in possession of a large fortune. Why else would he be in a small market town, the usual attractions for a man of such low tastes being absent? There were no women of easy virtue to be had nor horse races to be run, and betting on a cockfight behind the village smithy would not have satiated his appetite for gambling. His disgust at seeing Wickham was further heightened when he saw Elizabeth talking to him. He was puzzled how someone with her keen intellect had not seen through his façade. But she did not know Wickham, and truth to tell, she did not know him either. He had revealed so little of himself in their conversations, and the tension that existed when they were together was such that it acted as a barrier to any greater intimacy between them.
But now that she had become acquainted with the truth, she would see him in a different light. She would know he had acted honorably, if unwisely, in seeing that Wickham received his full inheritance in one lump sum payment in order to be rid of him all the sooner. He had acted rashly there and should have known that any animal will return to the place where it has last eaten. What he did not anticipate was that his unctuous charm would play so well on the feelings of his sixteen-year-old sister. In hiding Wickham’s true nature from Georgiana, he had set the stage for Wickham’s attempted elopement.
Darcy did not wish to think of these things any longer. Once Elizabeth returned to Hunsford Lodge, he would be on the road to London. But where was she? She was now in possession of the letter long enough to have read through it several times. Was she chewing on each sentence as a dog would worry a bone? Or was she concentrating on the part that dealt with her beloved sister Jane?
Would Elizabeth’s judgment have been so harsh if she had known of the criticism he had endured when he had befriended Charles Bingley? His aunt, Lady Catherine, had made it clear that Bingley was not welcomed at Rosings. To her, he was the thin end of the wedge, a threat to her world, and she would not have a “nobody” dining at her table. Bingley, who had barely established his own place in society, might very well have sunk under the weight of an unfortunate marriage.
Anticipating that his aunt might send someone to look for him, Darcy had pulled a chair over to the window in such a way that a servant might come into the room without seeing him. He knew that there were those who would expose him, his aunt’s butler for one. Trent was a tired soul, and after having served Her Ladyship for thirty years, he was entitled to his peace and quiet and would have disrupted Darcy’s to achieve it.
Thoughts continued to swirl around in his mind. He now wondered if it had been wise to reveal in the letter that he had known of Miss Bennet being in London, but had deliberately kept that information from Bingley. Having been informed by Elizabeth that Miss Bennet cared deeply for his friend and that it was only her sense of modesty that had prevented a more open display of affection, he was uncomfortable with how forcefully he had pushed the matter to its conclusion.
Damnation! This might possibly have been avoided if Miss Bennet was as animated as her sister. If she had not sat there demurely with her hands folded in her lap, then surely it would not have been possible for Darcy to persuade his friend that the lady was not in love with him. It was difficult to imagine such a situation happening with Elizabeth. There was no guessing at her feelings. Her eyes revealed everything: the joy she experienced in dancing and being in the company of her friends, the annoyance she felt when asked to dance by Mr. Collins, and the puzzlement she showed when she danced with him at the Netherfield ball and tried to “take his likeness.” He saw something else again in her eyes yesterday when she had refused him. He saw the hurt she felt for her sister and her indignation at his supposed ill treatment of Wickham. Her anger was real and deep, and the contents of his letter may have caused further injury.
What would her eyes show now? Upon reflection, could she find any good in him, or had he left her with the impression that he was an unfeeling, boorish man? At that moment, he saw a flash of yellow, the color of her bonnet. As he had imagined, she was not wearing it, but held it in one hand and his letter in the other. He stood up and drew nearer to the window. This would be the last opportunity he would have to look upon the woman he had hoped to take as his bride. He would drink his fill, and then move on.
Elizabeth stood outside the parsonage, but did not go in. Instead, she sat on a bench outside the front door holding his letter to her breast and looking up at the sky as if to hold back her tears. She sat quietly for several moments, but then her gaze followed the contours of the hill leading to Rosings and the line of the house up to the window where Mr. Darcy stood. What was she thinking? If only he was closer, he could have looked into her eyes. Her eyes would have revealed everything.