Elizabeth was reading his letter!
She had not torn it open immediately, but she had kept it and brought it outside to be alone while contemplating it.
She had not thrown it away. She had not let her feelings for him prevent her from giving the letter due consideration.
It was a promising notion. She would not be the dupe of Wickham if she believed even half of what he had written.
It was a terrifying notion. There were some things he had written that she might not tolerate well from someone she disliked, but he had not been thinking of that while he wrote.
Why did he even care? He was allowing her far too much power over him.
He would not look back. He would do as he had said and ride, giving her time to digest the words. That letter had not been easy to write, and she would not feel easy while reading it, not if she admired Wickham even a little.
She was at least open to admitting the man had faults. That seed of doubt Wickham himself had sown was enough to make her feel she ought to read the letter.
Or was it? Had it been his silent persuasion as well, and not just her conviction, that moved her just a moment ago? Had he some power over her?
He mounted his horse and turned. The pages were now unfolded in her lap, but she was not looking at them.
She was looking at him.
Why had he pretended to himself he would not look back? Elizabeth was worth looking at any day of the week.
He allowed his gaze to linger without further self-recrimination. He might have kept at it for a full minute had he not remembered he ought to leave her to her task. With a smile at himself for being silly and at her for being lovely enough to inspire such silliness, he rode away.
Already he was thinking of going back. He would have to return, to convey Bingley's regards if for no other reason. That point settled, he enjoyed a leisurely ride over the grounds, always endeavouring to keep Elizabeth in view or nearly so.
He noted her posture when he rode close enough to make it out. She looked up from the letter from time to time, staring across the landscape. Once he thought he saw her shake her head, but he probably fancied that. She mainly seemed to be looking down.
She appeared still for the most part, but he knew all her little movements that he could not see from this distance. There was the way her hands often hovered on the point of a gesture. There was the way her mouth would pull to one side a little when she was thinking of what to say, and sometimes of what not to say, he suspected. There was...
There was too much of Elizabeth in his brain.
How was he ever to marry someone else when she was all he could think of?
Why was he thinking of marriage at all?
For a short while he rode faster, though the thoughts kept up with him. A closer connection to trade than he cared to tolerate, the vulgarity and lack of propriety shown by some of her family, little to interest him in the society of her set...
He could not say there was much to interest him in any unfamiliar society. He did not take more pleasure in someone's company because that person was considered suitable; he simply felt more obligated to try to do so. Besides, there was nothing unsuitable about Elizabeth herself. She was perfectly admirable.
Mrs. Bennet, though!
It was unreasonable to want to be connected to Mrs. Bennet if you were not.
He recalled the day she visited Netherfield. How many times had she put her daughter to the blush during that brief conversation? It was odd that Mrs. Bennet did not seem to like him any more than Elizabeth. She had tried to antagonise him and had reserved her flattery for Bingley. Well, he supposed it was not odd if Mrs. Bennet cared how her daughters felt about Bingley and himself. Then it would be logical to praise the gentleman favoured by the one daughter and insult the gentleman decidedly out of favour with the other.
That was more than Lady Catherine would have done. Lady Catherine would not have bothered to consider Anne's feelings regarding marriage. Anne would feel what she was told to feel, as far as her mother was concerned. But what were Anne's feelings? Darcy's observations over years of brief obligatory visits told him that Anne cared for little beyond her own comfort. He doubted she had warmer feelings for him than for their Fitzwilliam cousins or for any of Lady Metcalf's eligible connections, for that matter. Yet Lady Catherine regularly hinted, if someone as frank as his aunt could be said to hint, that Anne particularly desired the match planned by their mothers when he and Anne were still in their cradles. The things his aunt had said in pursuit of that match! How many times had he blushed for her when in company with someone she saw as a rival for Anne's affections, or a rival for his? When they were just a family party, how many times had she exaggerated Anne's accomplishments or taste and his affections and interest—and both their consequence in the world, come to think of it?
No, Elizabeth was not the only one with relations for whom there was often cause to blush.
What would Elizabeth think of being connected to Lady Catherine?
He imagined that meeting. He envisioned Lady Catherine in all her state, Elizabeth with her outward cheerful civility and inward amusement as her host's pronouncements grew more and more ridiculous.... Oh, he could imagine Elizabeth's replies to his aunt's inevitable intrusive and impertinent questions! He reined in his horse and had a good laugh. She would rout the old cat and do it with charm.
If his aunt knew what he was thinking, she would never care to meet Elizabeth unless to warn her away from him.
It was providential that Rosings was a great many miles from Pemberley.
Longbourn was also far away from Pemberley, though, like Rosings, not so very far from his house in town.
Elizabeth liked the country. She would not wish to be always in town. He would keep that in mind.
He wondered what she thought of him now.
None of this might matter. It was nothing but an exercise in fantasy if Elizabeth's opinion of him did not improve. She would not jump from dislike to admiration to love by reading a single letter written about someone else, but he hoped her opinion would change in his favour.
Elizabeth was looking in his direction. Had she just glanced up for a moment? No, she was looking steadily towards him. Perhaps she had finished the letter.
He might as well join her and find out. He would rather be with her than alone with his thoughts in any case.
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