Interference in His Affairs
Anne de Bourgh had become an excellent friend. While Elizabeth could not say that her forced flight from the gossips of Meryton had been easy, the one silver lining in it had been her deepening relationship with Anne that had come about because of it.
Simply put, Anne had, in the short time since Elizabeth had come to Kent, become something of another sister to Elizabeth. It was not hyperbole at all to say that Elizabeth was closer to her than she was to some of her own sisters! And she did not discount the effect Lady Catherine had had in her recent life either, for though the woman could be dictatorial, meddling, insolent, and, at times, positively exasperating, she had also been an excellent supporter, a friendly elder aunt who cared for Elizabeth’s concerns and did her best to calm her fears. Elizabeth could not be more grateful to them, for had she remained in Hertfordshire or even gone to London to stay with the Gardiners, she could not imagine being as happy as she was now.
Rosings Park was a bit of a mausoleum; this Elizabeth could confess. She did not like the décor much, as it tended toward ostentation, nor did the atmosphere, quiet to the point of solemnity, suit her. Understanding her hosts as she did, however, helped her to see that for all its faults, for all their imperfections, it was as happy a home as Longbourn, though in a different way. She could not say that Lady Catherine was an indifferent manager of her estate, for nothing could be further from the truth. Though Lady Catherine often appeared to intrude on the lives of the people she employed, her interest in their wellbeing was clear for all to see. It was only the manner of her caring which sometimes rankled, for the lady often achieved harmony by browbeating her subjects.
“Are you comfortable here with us, Elizabeth?” asked Anne one night in her bedchamber. The way they had taken to these nightly discussions, much as she and Jane had done for many years at Longbourn, filled Elizabeth with a sense of belonging, blunting the effect of the long separation from her sister.
“Very much so,” replied Elizabeth, smiling warmly at her companion. “You cannot think I am pining to be elsewhere.”
“No, not at all.” Anne laughed and grasped Elizabeth’s hand, squeezing it with affection. “It is only that sometimes, though I suppose you might scoff at the notion, my mother can be . . . difficult.”
The comment sent them both into peals of laughter, for the understatement was so like Anne’s usual commentary. Lady Catherine had often coddled her daughter, in part because of Anne’s tendency toward illness as a girl, and in part, because that was who she was. Knowing this, Elizabeth suspected her friend had cultivated this discreet way of expressing herself in the face of her more forceful parent. That she had convinced Lady Catherine of the folly of her wishes concerning William was no less than astonishing.
“Perhaps she can,” agreed Elizabeth when their mirth ran its course. “But at the same time, I cannot do anything other than thank your mother for her support in this trying time. She has been good to me—you both have been excellent friends and mentors, and I cannot thank you enough for your support.”
“I believe we were both happy to assist,” murmured Anne.
Though she fell silent for a moment, Elizabeth sensed Anne had something further to say, leading her to wait in patient silence for her companion to make her opinion known. After a few moments, Anne sighed and spoke.
“It may surprise you, Elizabeth, given your obvious infatuation with my cousin, but Darcy is not a perfect man.”
Again, Elizabeth could not help but laugh. “I assure you I am not so far gone that I cannot recognize William’s faults.”
Anne grinned and then turned back to her thoughts. “It is not for this reason I did not wish to marry Darcy, however. My mother claimed he is an exceptional man, and I do not disagree with her opinion. It is also not because we are too alike in temperament, though I know that to be true. The real reason I did not wish to marry Darcy is that I did not wish to be swallowed up in him.”
Interested, Elizabeth considered her friend's words. “Because he is of a forceful personality.”
“In part,” replied Anne. “Darcy is a man who has been his own master for five years. Yes, he is forceful when he feels he is right, but he also does as he pleases. Your temperament is such that you are not likely to stay quiet and allow this. With you, Darcy must amend his ways and take your opinion into account, whereas I might have allowed him to go his own way without complaint.”
Elizabeth frowned, not having considered that. “I hope William does not think I will become a silent and meek wife.”
“You think he would?” asked an incredulous Anne, laughing at the very thought. “I cannot imagine it, Elizabeth, for he worships the very ground upon which you walk. While my connection with Darcy is profound, I cannot say the same if I married him, because I am not of as forceful a personality as you and he does not adore me as he does you.”
“No, I suppose you are not. If he does suppose I shall have no opinion, he shall be sadly mistaken.”
“That is what I mean,” exclaimed Anne. “You will stand up to him, while I would find it difficult to do the same. I have little doubt you will work out an arrangement that works for you both. For myself, I would be entirely subservient to him.”
“Then what do you wish for in a husband?” asked Elizabeth. “Our society is not aligned toward women having much of a say in our lives after we marry—or before if we do not possess our own fortunes. If you could not find that balance with William, as good a man as he is, can you find it elsewhere?”
“It is my hope that I can.” Anne’s gaze became unfocused and her smile slightly wistful. “Someday, perhaps, I shall find what you have with Darcy, but I believe I need a man less confident, one who will need me as much as my cousin needs you. When I find such a man, I shall find my destiny.”
“And I wish you luck and every happiness,” said Elizabeth, reaching out and squeezing her new friend’s hand. “I shall also do my utmost to make your dream a reality, Anne, for it is my dearest wish you will be as happy in your life as I expect I shall be in mine.”
“Thank you, Elizabeth,” said Anne. “I shall count on your support.”
It was no surprise to Elizabeth that they remained together in Anne’s chamber until the wee hours of the morning, exchanging confidences, sharing their hopes and dreams, and laughing at Anne’s wistful thoughts of what sort of man would make a good husband, then falling asleep on her bed, their heads almost touching. When Elizabeth woke the next morning, the scene struck her as something so near to what might have occurred between her and Jane that she wondered at how quickly she had grown close to Anne. But she would not change it for the world, and if Jane should come, they might form a triumvirate, for Elizabeth was convinced Jane would come to love Anne as much as she did.
Though Darcy was pleased that Elizabeth was developing such a close friendship with Anne, he could not say the same thing of his time at the parsonage. In truth, Darcy was not spending much time there, for most of his waking hours were at Rosings in the company of his fiancée. Most hours he must spend at the parsonage were dull and dreary as if all the light of the world went out when he was separated from Elizabeth. The presence of Mr. Collins, a man Darcy considered a nuisance, did not make his stay any better.
“And Lady Catherine, who, as you know is a woman of firm convictions and excellent information, informed me that I should speak with Mrs. Raymond firmly and inform her in no uncertain terms she should not speak of another in so derogatory a manner.”
Only half listening to the parson, Darcy reflected that Mr. Collins was not a bad man. He was a dull man, one who seemed to love the sound of his own voice, who had something to say on every occasion, whether he knew anything of the subject at hand or had anything intelligent to add. Evenings in his company, such as that evening, often became one-sided, where Mr. Collins spoke on without heed or pause, and Darcy listened with only one ear, the greater part of his attention on daydreams of Elizabeth or wishing he was elsewhere.
Though Darcy might have preferred to avoid the parson altogether, good manners would not allow such blatant rudeness to a man who was allowing him to stay near his love. Thus, Darcy endured his conversation, though he wished he could be somewhere else. Then matters changed.
“Good morning, Mr. Collins,” said Darcy one morning.
As was his custom, Darcy intended to greet his host and then repair to Rosings to spend another day in Elizabeth’s company. That morning, however, he noted that Mr. Collins, rather than greeting him with his usual sycophantic homilies, was rather more perfunctory, his attention fixed upon his breakfast, an expression of worry on his countenance.
“Is aught amiss, Mr. Collins?” asked Darcy after observing the man for a moment.
Mr. Collins hesitated a moment, then said: “It is a matter of some concern, Mr. Darcy, and I am not quite certain what I should do.”
“Can I be of assistance?”
A wave of relief seemed to pass over the parson’s countenance as if he had wished to ask for help but had not known how. “It is Mrs. Chambers, Mr. Darcy. As you must already be aware, Mrs. Chambers is the widow of Mr. Chambers, my predecessor in the parsonage.”
“I am familiar with Mrs. Chambers, yes,” replied Darcy. “Is there some problem?”
“The cottage in which Lady Catherine installed her upon her husband’s passing. She has no close family, and as such, Lady Catherine was determined to place her in a situation where she could live in comfort. I have received word this morning that her cottage has developed a fault, a leaking of the roof, it seems. Though I know I must assist, I am afraid I know little of such things. I do not know how to go about effecting such repairs.”
“Mrs. Chambers’s cottage is nearby, is it not?”
“It is,” confirmed Mr. Collins. “It is on the edge of Hunsford Village, no more than five minutes’ walk from the parsonage.”
“Then shall we not inspect it together? There is no need to make the repairs yourself, Mr. Collins—there are men who do such things as a profession. I should be happy to offer my opinion and help make the arrangements. And I know Lady Catherine will insist on taking on the expense herself.”
The reassurance on Mr. Collins’s countenance was now near to pathetic, expressed by the parson’s effusions of thanks. “That is an excellent notion, Mr. Darcy! Thank you very much for offering your expert opinion, for I would not wish Mrs. Chambers to endure such a situation while I muddled about trying to find an appropriate solution. The nobility of character shown by your excellent aunt is certainly present in you, for such Christian generosity is rarely to be seen!”
“It is nothing, Mr. Collins,” said Darcy, knowing if he did not interject the parson might continue in such a vein for several minutes. “I am happy to help, I assure you.”
“Then shall you not sit down to breakfast with me? I know you usually break your fast at Rosings, but if you are to accompany me, I should prefer to provide you with sustenance.”
“That would be welcome,” said Darcy.
Sitting with the parson, Darcy partook of breakfast with his host, and while they sat, he noted that Mr. Collins peppered him with several questions about the situation, what form the inspection might take place, and what they should consider in effecting the remedy. This changed to other questions, some revolving around the estate, clearly an attempt to learn those things with which he was not familiar.
When they left a few moments later, Darcy almost felt as if he were an instructor at Eton, teaching a young boy full of questions. The problem at Mrs. Chambers’s cottage was, as Darcy had suspected, a minor one, though one that had the potential to become much larger if left unresolved. Mr. Collins’s thanks when Darcy recommended a way forward was as effusive as they had been at the parsonage.
This set the pattern for the next few mornings, as Darcy would often spend several hours with the parson, dealing with the business of the parsonage, the parish, and at times the glebe, before making his way to Rosings. Though Darcy had not considered the matter before, he now realized that Mr. Collins was a man with little practical experience in life, most likely due to a miserly and ham-fisted father. He was also a man in desperate want of someone to direct him, which was why his devotion to Lady Catherine had become a wretched determination to do whatever the lady said with alacrity.
“Much of my conjecture of Mr. Collins’s life is nothing more than guesswork,” Darcy told Elizabeth a few days later. “Did you know much of him before he came to Longbourn?”
“I did not,” replied she. “Papa never spoke of Mr. Collins, for I do not believe he had ever met him before he visited us in Hertfordshire. Of Mr. Collins’s father, he was similarly reticent, though what he did say did not leave a good impression of the man.”
Darcy nodded, his thoughts on what he had learned of the parson. “That seems to match what I have observed. I suspect that Mr. Collins was reared to fear his father, though I cannot speak to their relationship. Nor can I say anything of Mr. Collins’s mother and whether she had any influence or nurturing effect on him.”
“I seem to recall my father saying his cousin was a widower of many years.”
“That would make sense,” replied Darcy. “From some comments Mr. Collins has made to me, I suspect his father told him what to do and did not allow him to question or disobey. In a very real sense, it seems he did not teach Mr. Collins how to interact with others, how to use his talents to solve problems, or even the simplest lessons a father must pass on to a son: how to be a man. Some problems he shares with me are of the most basic kind, yet he does not know what to do.”
“And you have taken on his training,” said Elizabeth, her eyes shining.
“There was little choice,” replied Darcy. “I could not allow him to continue to wallow in uncertainty. Though Mr. Collins’s oddities can be difficult to endure, I believe they are, in a large part, a result of his upbringing. Eventually, he will inherit your father’s estate; if he does not learn some rudimentary skills, he will not have the faintest notion of what to do when that day comes.”
“And yet, you did not need to step in,” said Elizabeth. “You have done so because you are a good man.”
Darcy grinned. “If it pleases you, I am happy to render assistance to thirty such men. If you invite them to Rosings, we shall start at once.”
The laugh with which Miss Elizabeth responded lightened Darcy’s soul.
The lightness of his soul was not something Darcy felt only a day later. Upon arriving at Rosings at luncheon, he found a letter waiting for him again, and while it was from Fitzwilliam, his cousin and dearest friend, the contents were not any more palatable than the missive he had received from his uncle. In many ways, it was worse.
“What is the matter, Darcy?” asked Lady Catherine, pulling him away from the offending piece of paper. “You appear ready to ignite that letter with the heat from your eyes alone.”
“It is from Fitzwilliam,” said Darcy, pushing his pique to the side with an effort. “He tells me that my uncle—” Darcy spat the title with distaste “—has spoken of engaging with one of his cronies to create a marriage contract between me and one of their daughters. He means to coerce me against my will and bind me to some colorless woman of society for his own benefit!”
“Oh, Hugh,” said Lady Catherine, shaking her head in dismay.
“I know you are angry, Darcy,” said Anne, “and I do not dispute your right to be so. But I do not think Uncle’s foremost thought is the creation of alliances.”
Though Darcy cast a sour look at his cousin, he knew that to belabor the point was less than useless. The question was what he was to do about it, a question that Lady Catherine posed only a moment later.
“I suppose I shall go to London and inform his lordship how much I detest his meddling in my affairs.”
“That would be imprudent at best,” admonished Lady Catherine.
Darcy turned to gaze at her, a sour feeling in his breast, though he was not angry at his aunt. There had been so much interference of late that he was ready to retreat to Pemberley with Elizabeth, to live there for the rest of their lives, leaving the world to fend for itself.
“If you storm off to see the earl, you will betray your cousin’s involvement in warning you,” continued Lady Catherine when Darcy could not find the words to express his anger. “It will expose him to my brother’s displeasure. Is there not enough disharmony in this family already?”
“I have not been the cause of it, nor has Elizabeth.”
“That is not in dispute, though my brother may have something different to say,” replied Lady Catherine. “But it would not do to increase it, regardless of who is at fault.”
“What, William?” chimed Elizabeth, a saucy grin lightening his heart. “You have an objection to marrying ‘some colorless woman of society?’ Think of all the advantages if you were to marry someone like Miss Bingley. Why, your children! They could look down on all of society as if everyone they viewed was akin to the mud under their shoes!”
Darcy could not help the laughter that burst unwillingly from his breast and the tender look he bestowed on his betrothed was as natural as breathing. Lady Catherine and her daughter looked on with interest, though Darcy’s entire focus was on Elizabeth.
“If she can manage your moods like this,” said Lady Catherine, fixing them both with an appraising look, “Elizabeth is better for you than I ever expected. I see the shades of my sister and brother in you both.”
Elizabeth blushed, but Darcy, his spirit lightened by his fiancée’s jest and Lady Catherine’s declaration, could feel nothing but pleasure. If his uncle could see what Lady Catherine had, he would repent of his opposition at once. The trick was inducing him to acknowledge what he did not wish to see.
“Then I suppose I must go to Longbourn,” said Darcy at length. “There is little reason to put it off any longer.”
“There was never any reason to put it off,” was Lady Catherine’s mild reply. “If you had done so when I suggested, you could write to my brother, inform him of the current situation, and demand he cease interfering in your affairs.”
“Perhaps you are correct,” said Darcy with a shrug. “But I wished to remain in Elizabeth’s company for a few days. What is done is done and there is little reason to belabor the issue. I shall ride for London today and go to Hertfordshire tomorrow. Then I shall return to London and inform my uncle. He will not like it, but I find I care little for his opinion at present.”
Lady Catherine, Darcy knew, was a firm believer in the necessity for the younger generation to respect their elders, and Darcy’s statement was about the furthest from respectful she could imagine. While her lips pursed in her disapproval, however, she did not deliver the expected rebuke.
“I dislike this conflict in the family,” said Lady Catherine, “but I cannot blame you for how you feel. When you speak to my brother, it would be best to keep to the facts and leave any recrimination behind. And do not mention Fitzwilliam’s involvement.”
Sharing a long look with Elizabeth, Darcy found he had little desire to argue with his uncle, for if he was with Elizabeth, nothing else mattered. “That would be for the best. It is enough that my uncle knows any further protests will gain him nothing.”
“Then you had best be about your business.”
Darcy nodded, rose, and beckoned to Elizabeth. “Will you walk me to the door?”
Consenting by taking his proffered hand, Elizabeth fell in beside him as he walked from the room. They made their way through Rosings’ corridors to the front door, Darcy finding he had little inclination to give up the feeling of her hand in his. But part they must, though Darcy did so with reluctance, kissing her hand when they reached the entrance.
“With any luck, I shall return in two days, though I may be delayed. Given my uncle’s continued interference, it would be best to sign the marriage articles as soon as may be, for only when there is a contract will he realize nothing can be changed.”
“You do not think he will desist, even with word of a sanctioned engagement?” Elizabeth’s eyes searched his for the answer to her question.
“A few weeks ago, I might have said no.” Darcy sighed and ran his hand through his hair. “Recent events have upset my perception of my uncle, and I cannot predict what he might do. It will take my solicitor a few days to draw up the articles, so it would be best if I met with him and gave him my instructions as soon as may be.”
“I understand. Do not suppose I shall expire within a few days.” She grinned, lightening his heart again. “Though it will be difficult, I shall rally tolerably.”
“There is no question as to your ability to withstand our separation,” said Darcy, raising one hand to caress her cheek. “The question is whether I can.”
Then with a few final expressions of devotion, Darcy strode from the house. He stopped at the stables, requesting his carriage be prepared and taken to the parsonage, after which he made for Mr. Collins’s home in the distance. It surprised the parson to see him.
“I had thought you would stay at Rosings the entire day as is your custom.”
“A matter of urgent business has arisen,” replied Darcy, “requiring my immediate presence in London. Thank you for your hospitality, Mr. Collins, but I must depart at once.”
“It is no trouble at all, Mr. Darcy,” replied Mr. Collins, “for I understand the demands of business must be great. Excuse me, sir, but when do you mean to return?”
“Perhaps in three days,” replied Darcy, “though my plans are not yet fixed. I suspect it may be longer.”
Mr. Collins nodded. “If you will recall, I am to go to Hertfordshire on the morrow to visit my betrothed.”
As it happened, Darcy had forgotten, though Mr. Collins had mentioned the matter.
“I shall only be away for four days, but if you return first, my invitation to stay at the parsonage in my absence is still in force. The housekeeper shall have instructions to that effect.”
“I thank you, Mr. Collins,” said Darcy, reflecting the man was far more tolerable than he had ever thought.
“No trouble at all!” cried the parson. “It is the least I can do.”
“Then I shall leave you, for I must prepare to depart. I shall see you when we both have returned.”
Mr. Collins bowed, and Darcy made his way up the stairs to his room. London beckoned, and he had best get on with it.