two cannot affect it. If Mr. Collins’s stand on your behalf does lead to a rupture with Lady Catherine, I will not lament it overmuch. I have had few opportunities to feel pride in my husband, but this is one of those times. We shall have to wait and see.”
With that brave statement, Charlotte departed, leaving her friend to her headache and her thoughts. Though Elizabeth tried to sleep, she was at first unsuccessful as she worried about informing Darcy of her wish to end this farce of an engagement immediately.
Surely, he has not put an announcement in the London papers, has he? she thought. I know marriages are always announced, but I am not sure about engagements.
She wished desperately that she could consider the problem without her head pounding. She seemed to see a multiplicity of items entangling her, and she wished she could just send Darcy a note like the one she had just dispatched to her uncle. But she knew she could do nothing so cold; she had to tell him in person, so he could find the least embarrassing manner of ending the engagement without irrecoverable damage to his honour.
But this generous thought no sooner passed through her mind than she was roused to anger at the way this situation came about.
The presumption of the man! To assume that a simple nod when I was quite ill meant acceptance of his preposterous offer! It meant nothing of the kind; it only meant I heard what he said! Only the proud Mr. Darcy would take advantage of one who was ailing. It is unbelievable that matters have gone so far; just how much damage will have to be undone?
In her ailing state, Elizabeth did not recognize the incongruity of saying, on the one hand, that her illness was not at all severe while at the same time blaming Darcy for taking advantage of the same illness. Such an unpleasant admission was beyond her powers at the moment and would have to wait until she could think with a head cleared of fever and throbbing pain.
She wanted dreadfully to sleep, but her worsening headache prevented slumber. She tried to calm her mind and think pleasing thoughts, such as sunlight on her bonnet and the soft spring breeze rustling through the trees. Gradually, her breathing slowed, and she finally found the healing solace of sleep. But, though she did not awaken, her sleep was disturbed by a dismal dream in which she struggled and fled but could not free herself from the sticky strands spun by a spider with Darcy’s face. She tried to scream, but she could not even manage that as the web bound her mouth and prevented her from telling friends and family that it was a mistake. Just a mistake…
Saturday, April 11, 1812: Bingley Townhouse, London
Darcy found Bingley outside his townhouse when he arrived, clearly in response to the note he had sent over previously, asking for a half-hour of Bingley’s time.
“Hullo, Darcy!” Bingley called as he bounded down the stairs. “Of course I am always glad to see you, but your note intimated some special purpose for your visit.”
“Indeed there is, but let us go inside. Tell me — are you alone here today? Or do your sisters visit?”
“Actually, Caroline is visiting. I believe she tires of Mr. Hurst after a few weeks and seeks a diversion by transferring her residence from the Hurst townhouse to my own. I do not know whether she is awake yet. If she has no engagements, I do not usually see her until after noon.”
Seeing Darcy’s frown, Bingley asked, “Is that a problem?”
“No, not really. If she awakes and learns of my news, it makes matters…difficult.”
Bingley’s eyebrows went up, but he said nothing until he and Darcy were secluded in his study and Darcy had accepted a cup of coffee. He was somewhat surprised when Darcy raised his cup.
“A small toast, Charles: to friends and friendship.” They clinked cups and sipped, then Bingley indicated the chairs in front of his desk.
As usual, Bingley is so free and easy; he would never dream of sitting behind his
With that brave statement, Charlotte departed, leaving her friend to her headache and her thoughts. Though Elizabeth tried to sleep, she was at first unsuccessful as she worried about informing Darcy of her wish to end this farce of an engagement immediately.
Surely, he has not put an announcement in the London papers, has he? she thought. I know marriages are always announced, but I am not sure about engagements.
She wished desperately that she could consider the problem without her head pounding. She seemed to see a multiplicity of items entangling her, and she wished she could just send Darcy a note like the one she had just dispatched to her uncle. But she knew she could do nothing so cold; she had to tell him in person, so he could find the least embarrassing manner of ending the engagement without irrecoverable damage to his honour.
But this generous thought no sooner passed through her mind than she was roused to anger at the way this situation came about.
The presumption of the man! To assume that a simple nod when I was quite ill meant acceptance of his preposterous offer! It meant nothing of the kind; it only meant I heard what he said! Only the proud Mr. Darcy would take advantage of one who was ailing. It is unbelievable that matters have gone so far; just how much damage will have to be undone?
In her ailing state, Elizabeth did not recognize the incongruity of saying, on the one hand, that her illness was not at all severe while at the same time blaming Darcy for taking advantage of the same illness. Such an unpleasant admission was beyond her powers at the moment and would have to wait until she could think with a head cleared of fever and throbbing pain.
She wanted dreadfully to sleep, but her worsening headache prevented slumber. She tried to calm her mind and think pleasing thoughts, such as sunlight on her bonnet and the soft spring breeze rustling through the trees. Gradually, her breathing slowed, and she finally found the healing solace of sleep. But, though she did not awaken, her sleep was disturbed by a dismal dream in which she struggled and fled but could not free herself from the sticky strands spun by a spider with Darcy’s face. She tried to scream, but she could not even manage that as the web bound her mouth and prevented her from telling friends and family that it was a mistake. Just a mistake…
Saturday, April 11, 1812: Bingley Townhouse, London
Darcy found Bingley outside his townhouse when he arrived, clearly in response to the note he had sent over previously, asking for a half-hour of Bingley’s time.
“Hullo, Darcy!” Bingley called as he bounded down the stairs. “Of course I am always glad to see you, but your note intimated some special purpose for your visit.”
“Indeed there is, but let us go inside. Tell me — are you alone here today? Or do your sisters visit?”
“Actually, Caroline is visiting. I believe she tires of Mr. Hurst after a few weeks and seeks a diversion by transferring her residence from the Hurst townhouse to my own. I do not know whether she is awake yet. If she has no engagements, I do not usually see her until after noon.”
Seeing Darcy’s frown, Bingley asked, “Is that a problem?”
“No, not really. If she awakes and learns of my news, it makes matters…difficult.”
Bingley’s eyebrows went up, but he said nothing until he and Darcy were secluded in his study and Darcy had accepted a cup of coffee. He was somewhat surprised when Darcy raised his cup.
“A small toast, Charles: to friends and friendship.” They clinked cups and sipped, then Bingley indicated the chairs in front of his desk.
As usual, Bingley is so free and easy; he would never dream of sitting behind his
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