Page 60 of Pride, Prejudice & Wicked Pleasure

"Yes, indeed, his friends may well rejoice in his having met with one of the very few sensible women who would have accepted him, or have made him happy if they had. My friend has an excellent understanding—though I am not certain that I consider her marrying Mr. Collins as the wisest thing she ever did. She seems perfectly happy, however, and in a prudential light it is certainly a very good match for her."

"It must be very agreeable for her to be settled within so easy a distance of her own family and friends."

"An easy distance, do you call it? It is nearly fifty miles."

"And what is fifty miles of good road? Little more than half a day's journey. Yes, I call it a very easy distance."

"I should never have considered the distance as one of the advantages of the match," cried Lizzy. "I should never have said Mrs. Collins was settled near her family."

"It is a proof of your own attachment to Hertfordshire. Anything beyond the very neighbourhood of Longbourn, I suppose, would appear far."

As he spoke there was a sort of smile which Lizzy fancied she understood. He must be supposing her to be thinking of Jane and Netherfield, and she blushed as she answered,

"I do not mean to say that a woman may not be settled too near her family. The far and the near must be relative, and depend on many varying circumstances. Where there is fortune to make the expenses of travelling unimportant, distance becomes no evil. But that is not the case here. Mr. and Mrs. Collins have a comfortable income, but not such a one as will allow frequent journeys—and I am persuaded my friend would not call herself near her family under less than half the present distance."

Mr. Darcy drew his chair a little towards her, and said, "You cannot have a right to such very strong local attachment. You cannot have been always at Longbourn."

Lizzy looked surprised. The gentleman experienced some change of feeling; he drew back his chair, took a newspaper from the table and, glancing over it, said, in a colder voice, "Are you pleased with Kent?"

A short dialogue on the subject of the country ensued, on either side calm and concise—and soon put an end to by the entrance of Charlotte and her sister, just returned from her walk. The tete-a-tete surprised them. Mr. Darcy related the mistake which had occasioned his intruding on Miss Bennet, and after sitting a few minutes longer without saying much to anybody, went away.

"What can be the meaning of this?" said Charlotte, as soon as he was gone. "My dear, Eliza, he must be in love with you, or he would never have called us in this familiar way."

But when Lizzy told of his silence, it did not seem very likely, even to Charlotte's wishes, to be the case, and after various conjectures, they could at last only suppose his visit to proceed from the difficulty of finding anything to do, which was the more probable from the time of year. All field sports were over. Within doors there was Lady Catherine, books, and a billiard-table, but gentlemen cannot always be within doors; and in the nearness of the Parsonage, or the pleasantness of the walk to it, or of the people who lived in it, the two cousins found a temptation from this period of walking thither almost every day. They called at various times of the morning, sometimes separately, sometimes together, and now and then accompanied by their aunt. It was plain to them all that Colonel Fitzwilliam came because he had pleasure in their society, a persuasion which of course recommended him still more; and Lizzy was reminded by her own satisfaction in being with him, as well as by his evident admiration of her, of her former favourite George Wickham; and though, in comparing them, she saw there was less captivating softness in Colonel Fitzwilliam's manners, she believed he might have the best informed mind.

But why Mr. Darcy came so often to the Parsonage, it was more difficult to understand. It could not be for society, as he frequently sat there ten minutes together without opening his lips; and when he did speak, it seemed the effect of necessity rather than of choice—a sacrifice to propriety, not a pleasure to himself. He seldom appeared really animated. Mrs. Collins knew not what to make of him. Colonel Fitzwilliam's occasionally laughing at his stupidity, proved that he was generally different, which her own knowledge of him could not have told her; and as she would liked to have believed this change the effect of love, and the object of that love her friend Eliza, she set herself seriously to work to find it out. She watched him whenever they were at Rosings, and whenever he came to Hunsford; but without much success. He certainly looked at her friend a great deal, but the expression of that look was disputable. It was an earnest, steadfast gaze, but she often doubted whether there were much admiration in it, and sometimes it seemed nothing but absence of mind.

She had once or twice suggested to Lizzy the possibility of his being partial to her, but Lizzy always laughed at the idea; and Mrs. Collins did not think it right to press the subject, from the danger of raising expectations which might only end in disappointment; for in her opinion it admitted not of a doubt, that all her friend's dislike would vanish, if she could suppose him to be in her power.

In her kind schemes for Lizzy, she sometimes planned her marrying Colonel Fitzwilliam. He was beyond comparison the most pleasant man; he certainly admired her, and his situation in life was most eligible; but, to counterbalance these advantages, Mr. Darcy had considerable patronage in the church, and his cousin could have none at all.

*****

Between visits from Colonel Fitzwilliam and reminiscing of her lessons at Trenwith House, Lizzy found much to occupy her time. She counted the days till her third lesson. Her reservations had faded further after the exalting experience of the second lesson. She had not had the opportunity to speak to Abby of her impressions, but the two exchanged letters. At times, mostly at church, Lizzy wondered if she was not headed to purgatory for her deeds, but what she did was no different than what a married man and woman might do. If hers was a crime because it did not occur within the sanctity of marriage, then half the men in England—among them peers, ministers, and princes—were guilty.

She walked daily. More than once, in her ramble within the park, did she unexpectedly meet Mr. Darcy. She felt all the perverseness of the mischance that should bring him where no one else was brought, and, to prevent its ever happening again, took care to inform him at first that it was a favourite haunt of hers. How it could occur a second time, therefore, was very odd! Yet it did, and even a third. It seemed like willful ill-nature, or a voluntary penance, for on these occasions it was not merely a few formal inquiries and an awkward pause and then away, but he actually thought it necessary to turn back and walk with her. He never said a great deal, nor did she give herself the trouble of talking or of listening much, but it struck her in the course of their third rencontre that he was asking some odd unconnected questions.

“Have you enjoyed being at Hunsford?” he asked after a lengthy silence.

Disappointed to have to cut short her walk due to his company, she gave a curt reply. She had hoped Maria to be done perusing the fashion plates in The Lady’s Magazine by the time she finished her walk, but now she would be asked to give her opinion on every trim and accessory upon her return.

They walked several more minutes before he spoke again.

“Mr. and Mrs. Collins give the appearance of being satisfied with one another. Marriage has perhaps improved their happiness?”

“Happiness is the aim and hope of marriage, is it not?”

Silence settled once more between them. She suppressed her sigh at the interruption of her walk on a day with the most agreeable weather.

“You seem to take great pleasure in solitary walks,” he said.

“I always find the air outside invigorating, and the solitude allows me to put some order to the clutter of thoughts in my head.”

“Are your thoughts often in a state of disorder?”

“You might think it so. My thoughts are more often clear than muddled, but reflection can further clarify their definition.”

The turmoil she experienced of late was certainly the result of Trenwith House.