Rosings Park, Kent. Two months later
As the carriages trundled the final miles into Kent, Elizabeth sat up straighter and reminded herself that though visiting Lady Catherine might be uncomfortable, she would survive and that the best way forward was to simply get on with it. She had been telling herself that for weeks, but now that the moment was here in front of her, her courage faltered. Nervously, she turned to Charlotte Lucas.
"Thank you again for coming with me. I appreciate you traveling all this way," Elizabeth said.
"Lizzy, you've told me now at least three times. I'm sure it's more interesting than Meryton."
Elizabeth glanced back at the second carriage that held Sir William and his daughter, Maria. "Your father has done us a good turn by accompanying us to Kent."
Elizabeth studied Rosing's Park's gray manor with its tall, straight spires as they came up the drive. Snow blanketed the lawn, contributing to its chilly, castle-like appearance. She swallowed and reminded herself that it was her duty as Mr. Collin's widow, and this was the price she paid to keep Longbourn. But her internal justifications didn't stop her stomach from fluttering as they passed by the gatehouse and the carriage crunched to a stop in front of the great manor.
"Oh!" Maria said, surveying the house. "It is quite intimidating. Do you think it's haunted? Lydia says great houses like this are all haunted by past owners."
Elizabeth frowned at her sister's tendency to fantastical silliness. "Do not believe everything Lydia tells you."
Several liveried servants came outside the house to unfold the steps, open the carriage and offer their assistance. As Elizabeth stepped down from the carriage, a cold wind hit her face.
The butler came forward, dressed in a dark suit, and nodded. "Mrs. Collins, Sir William, and Miss Lucas and Miss Maria, welcome to Rosings Park, home of Lady Catherine de Bourgh."
Elizabeth studied the wide, empty hall as they entered. Thick marble columns rose on each side of the entry. The wide floors were checkered black and white, leading to an elaborately carved stairway with paintings of unsmiling ancestors lining the high walls.
Sir William, Charlotte, and Maria all entered as well, looking as tentative and out of place as she felt in the grand hall. They were taken upstairs, shown their rooms, and told the housekeeper would be back in an hour to take them to meet Lady Catherine. Elizabeth's stomach fluttered again in anticipation.
"Look," Charlotte said, taking in the gilt decor and ceilings of their bedchamber room. In the center, a painted image of cherubs on clouds rose above them. "This is grander than Netherfield."
Elizabeth nodded, agreeing. "It is quite…grand."
Of course it was grand. It befits someone of Lady Catherine's station. But the formal elements chilled her, and she was pleased she had friends with her.
Elizabeth and Charlotte changed out of their traveling outfits and into more formal dresses, though Elizabeth's was an older dress the housekeeper had dyed black with a formal high neckline and distracting frills at the neck and sleeves. She did not favor it, but she had no choice.
Elizabeth pulled at her sleeves tersely, glancing at her reflection, and sighed. She felt as though her entire person had transformed almost overnight. Her cheerfulness and ability to laugh seemed as if they had been stolen from her, as though she'd gone to bed a twenty-year-old maiden and woken a woman older than her own mother. She felt invisible in mourning. But that was the reason for the attire. She had always assumed widows must feel as sad as their clothes and did not wish to laugh or smile, but now she wondered. They could not control when they were widowed. How many felt as spry and unchanged as she did but could not show it?
Elizabeth followed Charlotte, Maria, and Sir William, entering the vast, dazzling drawing room with a blazing fire in its marble fireplace. Classical statues dotted the room in between shining golden candelabras, large colorful portraits, and sweeping vistas on tapestries.
"My," Charlotte said quietly as she took in the room. Elizabeth, who stood next to her, understood her reaction and gently touched her arm in support. Every corner of the room contained a golden or lacquered piece of furniture or beautiful art. She was unsure where to look.
In the center of the room on a teal brocade loveseat sat an older woman in glittering diamonds, her graying hair swept into an oversized pouf complete with shining brooches and feathers. A small, thin woman sat at her side.
Lady Catherine studied them, her mouth turned down, as the butler introduced each.
"You must be Mrs. Collins."
Elizabeth felt a flush rise up her neck. "I am, my lady." She curtsied.
"Do come closer. Let me look at you."
Elizabeth stepped forward, her hands clasped together, feeling very self-conscious.
"You are young for a widow. Not the kind of woman I expected Collins to wed, to be sure. Did he behave admirably until the end?'
Elizabeth did not know how to answer. "Indeed, my lady."
A cough came from the side of the room, and it was then Elizabeth noticed two well-dressed men standing to the side, one in a handsome naval uniform. The man next to him–dressed in black except for his snowy white cravat—was Mr. Darcy!
Her face stung in surprise. She tried to recover. "Mr. Darcy!" She said before she realized it.
"Miss B–" he began but caught himself, looking as surprised as she felt. "Mrs. Collins."
Lady Catherine turned and eyed him. "You know Mrs. Collins?"
Darcy regarded her coldly. "I did know her when she was Miss Bennet, before she married."
Lady Catherine's eyebrows rose.
"We met in Hertfordshire last year," Elizabeth said quickly.
"At a country assembly," Darcy said.
"How charming," the man next to him said cheerfully, and Darcy looked at him with daggers.
"Do shut up," he whispered.
Lady Catherine's thin mouth twisted. "Indeed? Mrs. Collins, I hope for all our sakes you have given up such trivialities while in mourning."
"Yes, Ma'am." Of course. Did she think her so ill-bred?
"I have been a widow and I know of its singular burdens. But then you are quite young. Mr. Collins was a valuable part of Rosings Park. Here I expect you to maintain a widow's quiet dignity."
Lady Catherine turned her attention to the others and introduced her daughter, Anne. "And my nephews, Mr. Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam are visiting for Easter."
Elizabeth wanted to sink into the floor and disappear. She'd have never agreed to come here if she knew he would be here. Her face burned with heat at how he'd treated her at the assembly. Of all the villains to be trapped in an unfamiliar home with, there was almost no one she wished to see less.
"And we have one more guest joining us tomorrow. I believe he was delayed due to the weather. In honor of Mr. Collins, I have also invited his brother, Mr. Robert Collins to join us."
"My God, he has a brother," Darcy whispered to his cousin as he tore his gaze from Mrs. Collins. She was paler and thinner than he had seen her months ago, but she still had the same lovely upturned mouth and the knowing eyes.
"Is that peculiar?" His cousin, Richard, asked.
"To say he was odious in both manner and character is an understatement."
Richard smiled at Darcy. "Well, that should at least make the visit interesting, at least. We shall see how close the apple falls from the tree, as it were."
"I'm quite sure the entire tree is rotten," said Darcy.
"Perhaps not. Perhaps he is a gem of a man. Kind, true, and all that nonsense," the colonel grinned. "At least now we have a task at hand."
"If he shares a shred of his brother's character, he will be an ass," Darcy said.
"You are harsh, Darcy. Even for you."
Darcy sighed. "You should have seen how he comported himself at a Hertfordshire ball. He introduced himself to me though we had never set eyes on each other. He had the gall to tug at my coat."
The Colonel made a face. "But tell me, if he was so odious, how did he marry the very pretty widow? I must hear that tale."
Darcy felt his jaw tighten.
"I know nothing of that. The Bennets had five unmarried sisters whom the mother made no secret of wanting to marry off. Miss Bennet had no interest in her cousin when he was well. She did show that good sense."
Darcy's eyes went to Elizabeth, lingering on her face. Even in her widow's weeds, she had an appealing nature. How could she have married him? It bothered him more than he realized. He did not care for gossip and it aggrieved him that she was the source of it.
"So it was not a love match?"
Darcy scoffed bitterly. "Of course not."
"He followed her around the ball like a pup at the ball. She must have married him to keep the family home. Or out of pity. Either seems strangely out of character."
"You seem very knowledgeable for someone who said he did not care," Richard said with a smirk.
Darcy scoffed and glared at his cousin.
The Colonel only laughed. "I can see this will be an entertaining visit."
The dinner bell was rung and each man went to his aunt and her daughter to offer an arm to escort to the dining room. Darcy was careful not to look in Mrs. Collins' direction.
"What a fine feast this is, Aunt. As always, you have outdone yourself," Colonel Fitzwilliam said as the elaborate first course was served. Elizabeth, who was seated next to him, noticed how different Darcy's cousin was from him in personality.
Across the table, Lady Catherine nodded with a satisfied smile. "My taste is said to be superior. I have been told that my house produces some of the finest cuisines in Kent."
Mr. Darcy sat across the table from Elizabeth, seeming very interested in his soup. She could not entirely blame him. He had asked her to dance once at a ball nearly six months ago when she was a pert young woman. Now she was here as the drab widow of a ridiculous man who had vexed him. No wonder he could barely look at her. How far in his eyes she must have fallen.
No matter, she decided. Longbourn was safely theirs and even Mr. Darcy of Pemberley could not change that. She would simply ignore him.
"So, Mrs. Collins," the Colonel said to her. "You met my cousin in the country last year? How did he behave? I rarely get credible reports of social interactions with him."
Elizabeth glanced up to Mr. Darcy and saw him watching her, his expression was unreadable. So much for ignoring him.
"Yes, he was a guest of a neighbor not three miles from my home. Do you know Mr. Bingley or his sisters?"
Colonel Fitzwilliam shook his head. "No, but I have heard much about him. He must be a forgiving young man if he has taken in my cousin."
"Mr. Bingley is very kind. An excellent dancer as well," Elizabeth said, raising her head a bit in Darcy's direction. "We were sorry he quit the country as suddenly as he did."
"Oh, did he?" The colonel asked, looking from Elizabeth to Darcy.
"Bingley is very permissive with his friendship," Darcy said, without looking up. "Perhaps too much so."
Elizabeth's face heated. "I daresay his friendship was well rewarded while in Meryton, Sir. A great many people hoped he might return."
Mr. Darcy finally looked at her, his jaw tensing.
"Bingley is his own man. He may do so if he desires," he said curtly.
The colonel's gaze flickered from Darcy's scowl to Elizabeth's frown.
"Even if his friends disapprove? Malleable young men take friend's words as gospel, particularly when they are superior socially," Elizabeth said crisply.
"And why would they disapprove?" Colonel Fitzwilliam asked cheerfully, genuinely perplexed by the conversation.
"Perhaps," Darcy said, before touching the napkin to his lips, "his friends thought he might be better served by society in London."
Elizabeth frowned. "I would think friends would let him make up his mind for himself," she said.
The Colonel laughed. "Darcy can be a prickly thing," he said to Elizabeth. "But secretly he means well." He smiled warmly.
Elizabeth nodded politely. "I am sure he thinks he does."
The Colonel's eyebrows rose with surprise. "Darcy, I do like her. She would do very well in salons across London."
Mr. Darcy's mouth thinned. "Yes, it is a shame Mrs. Collins is in mourning and cannot take on social events."
On the other side of Colonel Fitzwilliam, Charlotte Lucas gave Elizabeth a hard look, and Elizabeth knew it meant for her to be more respectful to Mr. Darcy.
"I daresay we will be joined by another visitor tomorrow. Robert Collins, brother of the late William Collins, will arrive to collect some of his brother's possessions," Lady Catherine announced.
"Poor Mr. Collins," Sir Lucas said and raised a glass to toast. Elizabeth wished heartily they would not, but everyone at the table followed suit. "To Mr. Collins!"
Lady Catherine eyed her suspiciously. "Are you well? You look quite pale. Are my nephews too draining for you?"
"I am well, thank you," Elizabeth said though her stomach churned.
After dinner, Elizabeth made her excuses and told an unsmiling Lady Catherine she would retire for the evening. As she headed toward the great staircase, she stopped by a window that looked out on one side of the manor. Small flurries fell from the dark sky to the snow, which glowed against the silvery woods. Something about it made her inexplicably sad for herself as a widow and her sister Jane. She had such different expectations just a few weeks ago. Her eyes filled with unshed tears and she rummaged in her pocket for a handkerchief, but her pockets were empty. A moment later, she heard someone clear their throat and looked behind her.
It was Mr. Darcy.
Bother.
"Do take mine." He held out his monogrammed handkerchiefs.
"Oh," Elizabeth was embarrassed she was not alone. "It is not necessary. I believe I have one right here." A tear streaked down her cheek. Finally, she gave up and reluctantly took the cloth from his hand. "Thank you," she said coolly.
"This is not my business, but your grief will lessen in time."
"It is not–" she stopped herself and dabbed at her eyes. She should not reveal her marriage was not a love match, even if he most likely knew it.
He waved his hand. "You owe me no explanation." He looked at the window. "Beautiful night, despite the cold."
"Yes," she said and gazed at the quiet woodland scene, the snow silently lining the tree branches.
"Good evening," he said, bowed, but didn't move. He was looking at her curiously again.
"Good evening," she curtsied, turned, and walked upstairs, careful not to look back as she did.
A few minutes ago, she was insulting him, and now she was drying her tears on his handkerchief. She didn't know what to make of Mr. Darcy anymore.