Page 73 of Dear Friend

Darcy bowed. “Miss Elizabeth. Good day to you.”

“You have chosen a fine morning for your walk.” She resumed her seat upon the log and, with the easy familiarity which had grown between them during the past weeks, indicated the space beside her. “Though I confess I begin to wonder whether Oakham Mount has become rather less mine and rather more shared property of late.”

“I shall gladly surrender whatever claim I have acquired, if you wish to preserve it entirely for yourself.” Darcy accepted the place she offered, near enough for conversation while leaving between them the distance propriety required.

“I did not say I objected to sharing it.” Elizabeth tossed another pebble and watched it disappear amongst the growth below. “Only that I begin to suspect coincidence has very little to do with how often we contrive to meet here.”

“Very little,” Darcy admitted.

Her mouth curved, and the sight of it rewarded his honesty more than it deserved. She did not press him further, however, but turned instead towards the prospect before them, where the fields and hedgerows lay bright beneath the autumn morning.

“I myself escaped Longbourn on account of our cousin. He arrived yesterday to pay us a visit.”

“Your cousin who is to inherit Longbourn?”

The words escaped Darcy before caution could prevent them, and the instant they were spoken he knew his mistake.

Elizabeth's brow lifted. “Yes, Mr. Collins. I do not recall telling you anything about that.”

Darcy's thoughts moved rapidly. He had known for months that a cousin stood to inherit Longbourn, having encountered a single mention of the gentleman in one of the letters intended for Julia, but nothing in his acquaintance with Elizabeth entitled him to possess that knowledge.

“You did not,” Darcy replied, recovering quickly. “However, I know you have no brother, and when you spoke just now of a cousin arriving to visit the family, I concluded he must be the gentleman upon whom the estate is entailed. Had you meant one of your Aunt Gardiner's children, I imagine you would have spoken of the Gardiners coming to Longbourn rather than of a cousin alone.”

It was not the means by which he had learnt the truth, but the reasoning itself was sound. Had Elizabeth never written a single letter to Julia Harding, he might easily have reached the same conclusion from what she had since told him.

She regarded him for a moment, and Darcy disliked how keenly he watched her face for the first appearance of suspicion.

“That is a remarkably fortunate conclusion from so little information, Mr. Darcy. It seems you have been exceedingly attentive to our conversations, if you can discover a gentleman's inheritance from the mere mention of a cousin.”

The amusement in her voice allowed him to breathe more easily.

“I should prefer to call it fortunate guessing. I would have looked exceedingly foolish had your cousin proved to be an entirely different gentleman.”

“You need not fear it. The elder Mr. Collins was indeed the heir, but he died several months ago, though we did not hear of it until recently, and his son has succeeded to his place in the entail. None of us had ever met the younger Mr. Collins before yesterday, though I assure you he has already made himself perfectly acquainted with his future interest in Longbourn.” Her eyes brightened with amusement. “He is a clergyman, excessively fond of his own consequence, and possessed of a patroness whose opinions he repeats with such frequency that I begin to wonder whether the poor lady ever enjoys the liberty of having an opinion without its being repeated throughout Kent.”

“A patroness in Kent?” Darcy's brow furrowed.

“Yes. One Lady Catherine de Bourgh, of Rosings Park. She presented him with his living, and he appears never to have recovered from the honour.” Elizabeth glanced towards him. “You are acquainted with a considerably grander portion of society than I am, Mr. Darcy. Have you ever encountered the lady?”

Of all the names Darcy had expected to hear upon Oakham Mount that morning, his aunt's was not amongst them.

“I know her rather better than a mere encounter would suggest. Lady Catherine is my aunt. She was my mother's sister.”

Elizabeth's eyes widened. “Your aunt?”

“Yes.”

“We have spoken of my family and yours several times, sir. I do not remember your ever mentioning a Lady Catherine,” Elizabeth observed, her curiosity plainly roused.

Darcy looked out over the valley. His connection with Lady Catherine was no secret, nor had he consciously intended to conceal it from Elizabeth. Yet he had avoided speaking of Rosings whenever the opportunity arose, chiefly because any mention of his aunt inevitably threatened to lead towards Anne and the expectations which had caused the breach between them.

“I ought perhaps to have mentioned the connection before now,” he said. “I did not because my aunt and I have not been upon the easiest terms of late, and I have found very little pleasure in speaking of the cause.”

“I am sorry. I had no intention of touching upon anything painful.” She reached towards him and rested her hand briefly upon his shoulder.

Darcy stilled beneath the unexpected touch. It remained only a moment before Elizabeth withdrew her hand, yet the warmth of it seemed to linger considerably longer.

“You could not have known.” Darcy hesitated only briefly. If he meant to ask Elizabeth for permission to address her seriously, there could be no advantage in allowing her to remain ignorant of Lady Catherine's expectations. “My aunt has long entertained the conviction that I shall marry her daughter, Anne. She maintains that such a union was intended by our mothers almost from our infancy. Whatever wishes they may once have expressed between themselves, I have never considered myself bound by an arrangement to which neither my cousin nor I ever gave our consent.”