Page 22 of The Cherry Trees of Rosings
The carriage was not sent back.
Elizabeth stared at the patterns on the Persian carpet where the hem of her dress lay haphazardly. The intricate red and brown floral design clashed ostentatiously with the light green cotton of her visiting dress. Too simple. Too plain. She sipped her tea.
“Mr. Collins, I am displeased! I am very displeased!”
Lady Catherine struck the carpeted floor on her side of the parlour with the blunt end of her walking staff.
Thump! Thump! Thump!
“I have the most ungrateful and undutiful nephews in all of England!”
Elizabeth looked up as Miss de Bourgh coughed from her usual seat near the fireplace. Jenkinson was scurrying around her—as was usual too—adjusting the enormous shawls wrapped around her petite frame. And then the woman adjusted the fire screen for the tenth time.
“I sympathize with your ladyship,” Mr. Collins said, nodding emphatically. “It is life’s greatest sorrows when one’s kin disabuses one of the sanctity of house and home, and familial bonds.”
Elizabeth eyed the fire screen next to Miss de Bourgh. It had an intricate pattern of mourning doves and sparrows, nestled in abundant foliage, with gilded flourishes everywhere. It was just as ostentatious as everything else in Rosings.
“Yes, yes, Mr. Collins,” Lady Catherine said impatiently. “But I have not given up on my wishes. I will have my way!”
She thumped her staff on the carpet again, startling Jenkinson who had only just returned to her seat and was about to take a sip of tea. The cup rattled on the saucer for a moment before Jenkinson froze.
“I have sent my men to follow Richard’s man in secret. I must discover where he has Darcy holed up,” Lady Catherine continued.
She watched as Jenkinson almost sighed in relief and finally had some tea. Elizabeth wished to breathe out a deep sigh of frustration as well.
Ever since they had arrived at Rosings, it had become apparent to all what Lady Catherine’s primary object had been behind sending the urgent summons.
She had received a rather flimsy missive from her other nephew—The Honourable Harold Fitzwilliam, first son and heir of the Earl of Matlock (Lady Catherine’s younger brother)—which contained scarce news of Mr. Darcy’s health and recovery, and nothing of actual import that the lady wished to know. She was livid.
“Your astuteness is admirable as always, your ladyship,” Mr. Collins said.
Of course, Mr. Collins was ever eager to please his patroness. But Elizabeth wished the rest of them had not been drawn into her vortex of indignation.
“I shall have Anne ready in the carriage the minute I know where Darcy is!” Lady Catherine said. “You, of course, must come with us, Mr. Collins. I shall have you officiate the wedding.”
“I am ever your humble servant,” Mr. Collins said, bowing from his seat in the ridiculous manner he always did. It almost upset the cup in his hand.
Elizabeth almost gave in to her urge to sigh.
The news of Mr. Darcy had been insubstantial enough to both increase her worries over his sudden disappearance and also calm them. She was divided in her mind.
She only wished Lady Catherine would request dinner soon so they might—she might!—return to the parsonage.
Chapter 15:
Astute
Elizabeth set the bowl of chicken feed down on the grass and watched the birds abandon their stray pecking to swarm the food. She stepped back.
She had tried to stay awake the previous night in hopes of having Mr. Darcy appear. Tried to occupy herself by copying the penciled letter out on fresh sheets with ink. But then she had given in to her drooping eyelids after a few hours.
Elizabeth sighed and wiped her hands on the sides of her skirt. She went inside.
“Eliza, there you are!”
She looked up just as Charlotte stepped off the staircase and smiled at her.
“Charlotte,” she smiled back. “Did you need me?”
