Page 3 of Moments of Truth
Little did he know, however, that their journey to Rosings—undertaken in duty and resignation—would bring about a reunion with Elizabeth that would unsettle him in ways he had yet to comprehend.
***
One week before Easter, Mr. Collins, in his usual state of bustling self-importance, had taken it upon himself to ensure that no moment of Mr. Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam’s arrival would escape his notice. From the crack of dawn, as the first light filtered through the meagre curtains of his Hunsford parsonage, he had stationed himself strategically within view of the lodges opening onto Hunsford Lane. His logic was irrefutable—how else could he, a man of duty and discernment, guarantee the earliest possible assurance of such exalted visitors, if not by pacing back and forth like a sentinel?
For many hours, Mr. Collins paced his self-appointed path, his steps growing more purposeful with each passing moment. Every distant sound that could be mistaken for a carriage wheel made him snap his head up, eyes wide with anticipation. No Mr. Darcy appeared, only the occasional villager passing by on foot or cart, casting curious glances at the clergyman engaged in his solitary patrol. Collins inclined his head gravely to them, as though bestowing a blessing, but his thoughts were elsewhere—already composing the words of reception befitting Lady Catherine’s distinguished relatives.
“Most honoured gentlemen,” he rehearsed softly, “permit me, as her ladyship’s humble clergyman, to express the universal delight felt throughout this parish at the high distinction of your presence. Rosings itself seems to breathe more nobly when graced by your arrival.” He paused, nodded, and added with satisfaction, “And though my poor words must fall short, the sincerity of our devotion to Lady Catherine and her family will, I trust, be evident.”
At last, after what seemed to him a vigil of heroic length (though in truth only a few hours), the moment came. The distant clatter of hooves and the creak of a carriage grew nearer. Mr. Collins’s heart quickened, his hand instinctively smoothing his coat.
He stationed himself at the precise bend of the lane where the carriage must pass, straightened to his full height, and, with what he believed to be the perfect mixture of humility and dignity, bowed low as the equipage approached. His bow was so deliberate that his hat nearly brushed the dust of the road, yet he held it with solemn control. “Welcome, gentlemen of such distinguished station,” he murmured, low enough that no one within the carriage could possibly hear—but quite convinced that the sentiment, somehow, would reach them nonetheless.
The carriage rolled on without slackening, offering him only the briefest glimpse of Mr. Darcy’s profile. But in Mr. Collins’s mind, the impression was made: the duty performed, the honour secured.
Having fulfilled his sacred duty, the clergyman hurried back towards the parsonage with a sense of triumph, ready to regale Charlotte with tales of his impeccable timing and the undeniablefavour he must now hold with Mr. Darcy. “My dear,” he resolved to begin, “I was privileged to be the very first humble resident of Hunsford to pay his respects to Mr. Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam. I flatter myself that my bow conveyed, with suitable plainness, the gratitude of the entire parish.”
Indeed, no other clergyman in England had made such an impression within mere seconds of the arrival of their patron’s relatives! The day had scarcely begun, and already, in Mr. Collins’s mind, it was a triumph.
***
Mr. Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam’s visit to Rosings began with the kind of grandeur Lady Catherine de Bourgh always insisted upon. The grand entrance of Rosings Park loomed large as their carriage approached, its high stone walls and manicured gardens displaying a rather excessive wealth that Darcy was long accustomed to but which Colonel Fitzwilliam still found amusingly ostentatious. The air smelled faintly of boxwood and damp earth, the sort of carefully cultivated atmosphere that promised order yet whispered constraint. Upon their arrival, they were greeted by Lady Catherine with her usual barrage of instructions, opinions, and subtle reproaches about their timing and travel choices. Darcy bore it with his characteristic silence while Fitzwilliam, ever the diplomat, responded with light banter, deftly sidestepping her criticisms with ease. One might have thought him a courtier at Versailles, so smoothly did he parry each pronouncement with a bow of words.
In the evening, at dinner, the clinking of fine china and the soft glow of candlelight set a sophisticated ambience in the grand dining room at Rosings, where the colonel, ever theraconteur, regaled the company with tales from their recent perambulations. “But today, at noon, the local parishioner of Hunsford welcomed us like the very air of the village seemed to burst into applause as we made our approach,” he declared, his voice rich with delight, “I dare say the clergyman has hardly witnessed such excitement since the last harvest!” The servants, schooled to silence, lowered their eyes, though one or two could scarcely suppress the twitch of a smile.
Lady Catherine de Bourgh, who presided over the table like a queen amongst her courtiers, gave an indulgent smile as she daintily placed a morsel of roasted pheasant upon her tongue. “Indeed, Colonel Fitzwilliam, your presence and Darcy’s are always celebrated, but let us not forget the charitable contributions of my esteemed nephew.” Her eyes, sharp as the diamonds at her throat, turned towards Mr. Darcy, who sat with his usual upright elegance. Darcy inclined his head slightly, neither seeking nor rejecting the tribute, as though good deeds were a coin too costly to be displayed upon the table.
“Speaking of contributions,” she continued, in a tone that suggested casual conversation yet demanded absolute attention, “Mr. Collins, the clergyman, has married a Hertfordshire lady of good family from Longbourn.”
“Ah, matrimony,” sighed the colonel, feigning a dreamy expression though his interest in the topic was transparently absent. His tone was the same he might have used to discuss a tedious military ration.
But at this mention, a subtle change came over Mr. Darcy; an eyebrow imperceptibly arched, suggesting intrigue beneath his stoic exterior. The candlesticks threw a restless gleam across his features, and for a moment the mask of indifference seemed fragile, as though one wrong word might shatter it.
“Furthermore,” Lady Catherine added as if dropping petals of gossip for her guests to gather, “Mrs. Charlotte Collins’s best friend, Miss Elizabeth Bennet, is currently residing in Hunsford on a visit.”
The colonel’s keen eyes did not miss the swift veil of indifference that Mr. Darcy donned at the name nor the momentary stillness that betrayed his composure. It was an opening too delicious to ignore.
“Miss Elizabeth Bennet,” the colonel echoed, a playful lilt dancing upon his words. “A charming acquaintance to renew, would you not agree, Darcy?”
“Indeed,” Mr. Darcy replied, his gaze fixed on the flickering flame of a nearby candelabrum as if its light could sear away unwelcome thoughts. He spoke with the measured restraint of a man aware that every syllable might betray him.
“Then it is settled!” The colonel leaned forward, his smile broadening with mischief. “We shall pay a visit to the parsonage on the morrow. It would only be proper to congratulate Mr. and Mrs. Collins in person. I would love to meet Miss Bennet, too.”
At that, Lady Catherine nodded, pleased by the prospect of her relations bestowing such civility upon her clergyman. Meanwhile, the colonel’s smile remained fixed upon Darcy, whose countenance, though schooled in impassivity, could not fully disguise the tempest hidden within. For one who prided himself on mastering every field of duty, it was bitter indeed to find his heart the one territory left unconquered.
***
The following day, right after breakfast, Mr. Collins made a joyful trip to Rosings to pay his respects to Lady Catherine and her two nephews, his steps brisk with self-importance, as though he bore tidings of state to a sovereign. He nearly ruined the gentlemen’s plan to visit Hunsford, for his enthusiasm delayed their departure. Yet Colonel Fitzwilliam was not the man one unexpected event could detour from his plan; with his cheerful adaptability, he transformed inconvenience into opportunity. Thus, to everyone’s surprise, her ladyship’s nephews accompanied him when Mr. Collins returned home.
Charlotte observed them from her husband’s room as they crossed the road; she immediately went to tell Maria and Elizabeth about the honour they would be receiving. Her voice carried both excitement and a trace of unease, for she well knew how heavily Mr. Darcy’s presence weighed upon her friend.
“I owe this courtesy to you, Eliza,” Charlotte said with a grateful smile. “Mr. Darcy would not have come so quickly if it were not for your influence.”
Elizabeth coloured slightly and was about to disclaim such credit when the doorbell rang, its sharp chime announcing the arrival of their visitors. The three men entered the room shortly after. Colonel Fitzwilliam was in front and appeared to be around thirty years old; while not particularly handsome, his pleasant expression and open manners at once put Maria at ease. He carried himself with an air of true gentility, the easy assurance of a soldier who had seen the world and yet retained his warmth.
Mr. Darcy seemed unchanged from his time in Hertfordshire—tall, composed, and reserved. He politely greeted Mrs. Collins with studied courtesy and behaved with his usual formality towards her friend, Elizabeth. Miss Bennet, with equalcomposure, offered only a brief nod in response, though her heart quickened at the sight of him.
Colonel Fitzwilliam engaged in the conversation immediately with ease and charm. He spoke of their journey, of Lady Catherine’s high spirits, and even of the spring weather with such lightness that Charlotte and Maria were soon smiling. At the same time, his cousin remained silent for some time after addressing Mrs. Collins with a brief comment about the house and garden. At length, civility awoke in him enough to inquire after Elizabeth’s family’s well-being. His voice was low, his words carefully measured, betraying more concern than he wished.
