Chapter 22 - Elizabeth

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For the next fortnight, Colonel Fitzwilliam and Mr. Darcy were frequent visitors at Hunsford Parsonage, and each inhabitant of the house came up with their own explanation for this behavior. Mr. Collins saw nothing amiss about this, thinking that the gentlemen were conscious of Lady Catherine's regard and saw it as their duty to extend it as well. None of the ladies agreed, but not to Mr. Collins' face. Maria supposed the gentleman had very little to do indoors, and since no field sports were yet to be had, the walk to the Parsonage was an excellent exercise and it would be impolite not to go in once they have made the journey. I thought there was some truth to it, but mainly because I could not imagine wanting myself to spend so many hours indoors at Rosings. Yes, there were no doubt books, billiards, and cards, but there was also Lady Catherine. Colonel Fitzwilliam was no doubt starved for agreeable company, while Mr. Darcy did it simply to be vexing, since he spoke little or not at all.

Mrs. Collins, however, was of a different mind entirely. "I think he is very much in love with you."

"Who is?" I considered Colonel Fitzwilliam a true gentleman who entered into conversation with readiness and ease, but that was a sign of good breeding, not of particular feelings toward any one person. He was perhaps a bit older than I would expect my suitors to be, and he was not particularly handsome, but he remedied it with many good qualities of his character. His most glaring fault, which was hard to overlook, was his relationship with Mr. Dracy. It seemed like a deep connection that I had no wish to be subjected to for the rest of my life.

"Mr. Darcy."

"Mr. Darcy!" I could not decide if the appropriate reaction would be to scream in horror or choke myself laughing. The memory of Mr. Collins' proposal flashed before my eyes. He stated that there was not a good enough offer awaiting me in the future, but how alarmingly astonished would he be if I would become the mistress of the lauded Pemberley. The man must be used to being constantly wrong, but this sort of incorrectness would be even beyond his experience.

"Perhaps Colonel Fitzwilliam, too," Charlotte admitted. "I am undecided about him."

It was good that this observation was made only with the two of us present, for Mr. Collins would surely get a heart attack. He was under the impression that Mr. Darcy was destined to Miss de Bourgh to unite their wealth into a most impressive and pompous match.

"I have always valued your good sense, and I am shocked that a few months in Kent have absolutely clouded your reason." The sentiments—irrational and ridiculous—that she expressed were almost close enough to be likened to the absurdities of my mother. Kent might not be at fault at all, and it was matrimony which ruined women so completely.

"Dear Lizzy, they don't come here for my company," Charlotte pointed out.

"Curiously enough, Mr. Darcy seldom speaks to anybody but yourself, so it is more probable that he is in love with you." I had never made a statement more scandalous but if I cared to spread gossip, the facts would support me: Charlotte and Mr. Darcy met in Hertfordshire and she was one of the few people who had any good opinion of him; Mr. Darcy then departed and Charlotte decided to enter into marriage with a man who was closely connected to Mr. Darcy's family; after she had settled into her new life, Mr. Darcy appeared again, exhibiting most peculiar familiarity to her in particular.

"If you do not like him, then why should it bother you that he does not talk to you more?"

There was no possibility in the universe that I might like him, and I felt compelled to defend that position. "He has nothing to say that would interest me, but his silence is discomforting just because I am sure he is plotting something bad, and while he does, he stares at me, and I cannot fail to assume that his bad plots involve me particularly."

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