Page 14 of A Practical Man
I have done as you asked upon our parting, but with so little finesse as to prevent a rupture with Lady Catherine. I confess to owning no regrets, for the circumstances were such that I do not anticipate ever wishing for, or making, reparations. Ileave precipitously, thus if I have not had a letter from you in the morning, I shall await news in London.
Anne,
Forgive me for failing to take my leave of you as I ought. Circumstances are such that I may not see you for some time, though I shall write to you as I always have. I welcome you to do the same and to visit if you have that liberty and are so inclined.
I did not mention her health, which must be wearisome to have mentioned so often, nor did I offer to send my personal physician to her, for I had done so repeatedly over the years to no avail. As I wrote, I faced the fact I could do no more for her now.
Georgiana,
I leave Kent earlier than expected, Georgie. I am anxious to see you after so many weeks away. You may count on Fitzwilliam and me to support you as you make your bows, and if you have mornings to spare, we must make plans to ride together.
I sat back slightly perplexed as I reread what I had written. Fitzwilliam had always called her by her pet name, but I never had. It seemed odd to me how easily I had just done so, how well it reflected a strange new tenderness—born, no doubt, of such shocks and humblings to which I had been so lately subjected.
Upon her arrival, I asked the housekeeper to see my note delivered to Miss de Bourgh and to send up a tray at dinner. I then stepped away as Carsten handed her the customarypourboirefor the servants. Had he been more liberal than in the past? I suspected he was sensible of the need to generouslycompensate those most likely to suffer Lady Catherine’s wrath for some time to come. Still, I did not ask, for doing so would not convey my confidence in his judgment half so much as assuming he knew his job in all cases.
In my people, I was most fortunate. I hoped, unlike Lady Catherine’s servants, they could speak truthfully to me of such obstacles as presented themselves, and I also hoped I could listen wisely. The following day, however, was not a day for anyone’s counsel save my own.
My coachman was a well-seasoned man, known to me since before my majority. As I stepped out the front door, he looked directly at me and took a breath to remonstrate with me as to the consequences of leaving so late, not to mention, the unwisdom of leaving at all.
“I am aware this is likely to be a trying day, Keller. Spare the horses, and do only what you can,” I said, thus overriding his objections before he could voice them.
“Aye, sir.”
Carsten joined me in the coach, and with a footman behind on the boot and a groom seated next to my coachman on the box, we rolled away from Rosings Park. I was still quite numb with stores of unspent rage, still mortified to have publicly lost my temper, and still so beleaguered by romantic confusion, I refused to even look at the parsonage as we slowly made our way past it.
As a rule, I did not make conversation to no purpose. Yet anyone who might have seen me that day, sitting in stony silence staring at nothing outside my clouded coach window, could reasonably conclude I was brooding. But in fact, I was not ruminating at all. I was enduring time fatalistically, thinking of nothing whatsoever.
I had known our pace would be slow, but I did not expect to crawl down the road. After several hours of this, I eventuallyfocused my attention on the road below my window. The ruts were deep, and the puddles were wide as I had expected they would be, but the combination of both, churned by other carts, horses, and carriages that had taken the road earlier in the day, had liquified the surface into what looked to be a sea of slime.
My wait for the post, specifically for news from my cousin about his business with Wickham, had been a poor choice indeed. There had been no letter, and now we travelled behind nearly everyone on the road to London and partook of what ruination resulted from the sharp cuts of so many wheels. This was but another lowering moment in what had been a string of defeats, and I took a sustaining breath in order to break a silence I had indulged for too long.
“Do you suppose he is gloating?”
Carsten, who had been reading, looked up in surprise to hear my voice. “Keller, sir? I would assume so, for a coachmen must always rejoice when his predictions of doom are proved right.”
“Just so. Still, it is a heroic job.”
“Hmm,” he mused, with a gleam in his eyes. “Perhaps it would be more so if he were not so very conscious of it, Mr Darcy.”
I managed a faint smile in return, which had surely been his aim, and we fell back into a more restful sort of silence for another interminable hour.
I dozed intermittently. Some sound must have roused me, however, and upon sitting upright, I realised we were no longer moving. “Where are we?”
“I shall soon find out, sir,” Carsten said, putting on his coat.
“You will need a heavy purse today, I am afraid.”
He patted his coat pocket. “I am prepared, sir,” he said, as he waved the young footman away and stepped down to the sodden ground.
What I saw as he opened the door to my coach was but an inkling of what I was beginning to suspect. We were in a long line of coaches awaiting ostlers and fresh horses.
Almost immediately, Carsten returned. “We are at Sevenoaks, sir.”
“Lord, have we made so few miles?”
“Yes, sir. And I believe you should come inside.”
“Inside? Whatever for?”
