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Seven

As Elizabeth steppedthrough the doors of Rosings Park, hoping her stay would be brief, her thoughts were divided: part of her wished for Mr. Darcy’s swift recovery, while another part dreaded spending time in Lady Catherine’s company—though, of course, her concern for the former outweighed the latter. Still, her desire to avoid Lady Catherine was far from insignificant. The proud lady found fault in her at every turn, and Elizabeth, refusing to be intimidated, remained constantly on her guard.

After settling into her apartment, Elizabeth made her way downstairs to speak with Colonel Fitzwilliam and Anne. The three were on a mission. Indeed, an operation to restore Mr. Darcy’s memory.

“I explained our delicate situation to the physician as best I could,” the colonel said, “and while he adamantly affirms we must not alarm Darcy with the truth and risk a further deterioration of his condition, he suggested we might gently trigger his lost memories by reenacting past events.” He turned to Elizabeth. “Perhaps you remember a specific event from past times spent with him—an experience the two of you shared. Undoubtedly, you have a wealth of memories to draw upon.”

Do I ever, Elizabeth thought but did not say. The worst by far being that fateful evening at the parsonage when I spurned his offer of marriage.

The colonel must have read her mind. “Perhaps there was a moment the two of you shared when you were together the night before his accident.”

Elizabeth’s heart slammed against her chest. Heaven forbid! With all eyes in the room on her, she said, “Actually, there was that time in the library at Netherfield Park.”

“Do tell,” the colonel insisted, moving closer to where she sat.

“Well, Mr. Darcy and I were alone in the library for a half hour and not a single word was spoken between us the entire time. Indeed, he adhered most conscientiously to his book and would not even look my way.”

The colonel rubbed his chin and nodded. “That sounds like my cousin⁠—”

Anne said, “I agree. It is precisely something our cousin would do. Heaven knows how many times I have had to endure such treatment. But perhaps something more significant—an instance where there was rather more stimulating intercourse between you.”

Elizabeth said, “Stimulating intercourse, you say? Well, there was a time when he singled me out for a dance at a ball, during which there was a great deal of contention between us.”

“A ball,” the colonel repeated. “I dare say there shall be no occasion for anything as grand as that.”

Elizabeth nodded in agreement. “There was that time when he approached me during an intimate gathering at Netherfield and taunted me of desiring to dance a reel.”

Elizabeth recalled the incident in vivid detail, despite it having been an evening much like any other spent at Netherfield during her elder sister’s convalescence after falling ill owing to her venturing there by horse during a rainstorm.

The gentlemen had requested some music from Miss Bingley and Elizabeth. Miss Bingley quickly went to the pianoforte and, after politely asking Elizabeth to begin—an offer Elizabeth just as politely but more firmly declined—she took her seat to play.

Mrs. Hurst sang with her sister, and while they were thus employed, Elizabeth could not help observing, as she turned over some music books that lay on the instrument, how frequently Mr. Darcy’s eyes were fixed on her. She hardly knew how to suppose that she could be an object of admiration to so great a man, and yet that he should look at her because he disliked her was still more strange. She could only imagine, however, at last that she drew his notice because there was something more wrong and reprehensible, according to his ideas of right, than in any other person present. The supposition did not pain her. She liked him too little to care for his approbation.

After playing some Italian songs, Miss Bingley varied the charm by a lively Scotch air, and soon afterwards Mr. Darcy, drawing near Elizabeth, said to her, “Do not you feel a great inclination, Miss Bennet, to seize such an opportunity of dancing a reel?”

She had smiled but made no answer. He then repeated the question, no doubt with some surprise at her silence.

“Oh!” said she, “I heard you before, but I could not immediately determine what to say in reply. You wanted me, I know, to say ‘Yes,’ that you might have the pleasure of despising my taste, but I always delight in overthrowing those kind of schemes, and cheating a person of their premeditated contempt. I have, therefore, made up my mind to tell you, that I do not want to dance a reel at all—and now despise me if you dare.”

“Indeed, I do not dare,” had been his response.

Recalling herself to the matter at hand, she asked, “Do you play, Miss de Bourgh?” Elizabeth immediately regretted the question, remembering Lady Catherine’s absurd notion that her daughter would have been a great proficient had her health allowed it.

Anne nodded. “I play well enough, despite my mother’s contention.”

Anne’s retort brought to Elizabeth’s mind other instances in which prior accounts of the former did her no justice. The young woman was nowhere near as fragile and sickly as some were wont to describe her. While she exuded a certain reserve under Lady Catherine’s watchful eyes, when away from her mother—especially during intimate occasions with the colonel, as witnessed often by Elizabeth during the past days—she was almost lively.

The colonel said, “Excellent. I suppose that is somewhere to start. Although you will have to tell us exactly what is to be done.” The colonel stood and stretched his long legs. With a casual stride, he made his way to the side table, pouring himself a drink before saying, “And I certainly would not rule out reenacting the library scheme. Darcy may need all the encouragement he can get.”

Upon returning to his seat with his beverage in hand, he said, “Perhaps there is something the two of you shared right here in Kent that might easily be replicated, Miss Bennet.”

“I cannot tell you the number of times Mr. Darcy and I met accidentally in the lanes during my solitary rambles, and he turned and walked with me,” she said. The notion that he was actually courting her would not be repressed.

“Chance encounters in the lanes,” said Anne. She smiled warmly. “I suppose that can easily be arranged. Indeed, I think we have a good start, and I can think of no better time than the present to put at least one of the schemes in motion.” She turned to the colonel. “May I rely on you to coax Cousin Fitzwilliam to the library? I am sure it will not be too taxing—for him or for you,” she added teasingly.

Days later, Darcy, the colonel, and Anne were sitting outside taking in the fresh air when they were joined by Miss Bennet. The colonel was eager to arise from his seat and cross the lawn to greet the interloper while Anne and Darcy remained seated—the latter because he had no choice being that he relied on his crutches to move about, which for whatever reason Richard had placed at a most inconvenient distance from Darcy’s reach. Darcy hated being seen that way—helpless and vulnerable, especially among strangers, which is precisely what Miss Elizabeth Bennet was.

Why does she persist in bringing herself around,he always wondered upon seeing her? And then he remembered she was supposedly Anne’s particular friend. He took some consolation in hearing from Anne that her friendship with Miss Bennet had not been of a long duration, for this made at least a little sense to him. The two young ladies were as different as night and day, and they spent little time conversing with each other as young ladies were wont to do. It made much more sense that Miss Bennet was an intimate friend of the colonel. The conversations between those two were far more spirited. It was as if they were in their own little world when they were together. Darcy hated seeing the two of them go on in that manner, though he could not quite understand why their comportment bothered him so.