by Beau North
The mention of his daughter had the desired effect. Darcy blanched like a man being walked to the gallows. It told Mr. Bennet all he needed to know.
“I—I’m sure Bingley will appreciate your help.”
“I’m sure he will.” Mr. Bennet smirked, amused to no end with his discovery.
Half the town was afraid of a man who himself was terrified of one sassy country girl.
***
Elizabeth was trying her best to enjoy herself despite the man who seemed dead set on getting under her skin. She couldn’t decide what made her dislike Will Darcy more: his opinion of her looks or the fact that he’d voiced it at the dance. Plain-faced bumpkin! It was really the “bumpkin” that bothered her. She harbored no illusions about her looks, being the next oldest to Jane who would make anyone look plain. But to call her a bumpkin! She wondered bitterly whether all those nights spent studying during her years at Columbia Women’s College and then graduating in the top five of her class was all for nothing if people still assumed she was an ignorant farm girl.
Like he’s some great prize, she thought. Hovering over everyone like a buzzard waiting for something to die!
Darcy seemed to be constantly lurking on the edge of her vision. She even caught him staring at her a few times throughout the afternoon. She couldn’t imagine why but was very close to asking him to stop when the sound of girlish squeals interrupted her angry recollections. Kitty and Lydia were running wild through the throng of people gathered on the Lucases’ back lawn. Elizabeth sighed heavily, her face reddening.
“You let it get to you much too easily, Lizzie,” Charlotte said, understanding the source of her embarrassment.
Elizabeth grumbled. “I can’t help it.”
She looked up again to see her mother holding court with Mrs. Long, Mrs. Phillips, and Mrs. Lucas. And to her great surprise her father was now conversing with the very cause of her unease! She could tell by his twinkling eyes and Darcy’s scowl that he was having fun at Darcy’s expense. Good, she thought.
“Lizzie…look,” Charlotte whispered, directing Elizabeth’s attention elsewhere. Jane and Mr. Bingley stood talking a short distance apart from everyone else. She couldn’t hear their conversation, but there was no mistaking the look on either of their faces. Jane glowed with happiness, and Bingley had not once taken his eyes off of her.
“It looks as if Mr. Bingley could care less about your wild sisters, so why should you?”
“I am happy for her, Charlotte,” Elizabeth said distractedly. From the corner of her eye, she saw her father stroll away with a spring in his step. Darcy’s hulking shadow edged closer to her.
“You know, Lizzie, she ought to come out a bit more around him. He doesn’t know how reserved she is. He might not realize that she’s crazy about him.”
Elizabeth took exception. “Don’t be silly, Charlotte. Jane is far too modest to put on airs. Mr. Bingley will just have to content himself with getting to know her in time. If he can’t do that, then he doesn’t deserve her. Wouldn’t you agree, Mr. Darcy?” Elizabeth turned around to meet Darcy’s startled eyes.
“Agree with what?” he responded casually.
“Mr. Darcy, for someone who seemed to be paying as much attention as you were, I would have thought you’d be more up to speed on the topic of our conversation. I must say I’m disappointed.”
“I’m sorry, Miss Bennet. My mind must have been wandering.”
“Don’t worry, Mr. Darcy,” Charlotte interjected nervously before Darcy could formulate a response. “I see the fellas are bringing their instruments out, so it’s going to be her turn to be teased now.”
“Charlotte, don’t embarrass me! How can you expect me to play in front of someone like Mr. Darcy, who is likely used to the very best of everything?”
Darcy looked at her quizzically as though he were unsure of her meaning.
“Lizzie…” Charlotte’s plea carried a warning with it.
“Oh, all right.” Elizabeth sighed, rolling her eyes dramatically. She turned to Darcy. “There’s a fine old saying in these parts, Mr. Darcy. ‘Barking dogs seldom bite,’ but when it comes to our Charlotte, I do like to err on the side of caution.”
With those parting words, she turned and walked away, the sound of her low laugh still ringing in the air.
***
Darcy watched as Elizabeth made her way towards a loose circle of men who stood tuning guitars, banjos, and fiddles. He allowed himself to enjoy the way the gentle autumn breeze played with her curly hair, not to mention the hem of her skirt. On top of all of his other decidedly mixed feelings about the girl, he added a new one: admiration. She did not try to impress him, put on airs, or tailor her speech to please him. It was strange territory for him, and it only heightened his curiosity.
Elizabeth was greeted with cheers as she took her place among the musicians, clearly an anticipated favorite. He was surprised to see her take a lap harp that someone offered her, her fingers plucking the strings with an easy grace. One of the men—Darcy thought his name was Goulding—asked whether there were any requests. He surprised everyone, himself included, by speaking up.
“‘Fair Margaret,’” he called out, making everyone turn to look at him. No one looked more surprised than Elizabeth Bennet.
“You mean ‘Fair Margaret and Sweet William’?” she asked, making him flush. He liked the way she said his name, drawing out the “Will.”
“Please.”
The musicians nodded and began to play. He found himself holding his breath as Elizabeth tossed her head back, letting her clear, golden voice trap him like a fly in honey.
Well the night passed away and the day came on
And into the morning light.
Sweet William said I’m troubled in my head
By the dreams that I dreamed last night
He remembered standing in the kitchen as a boy, eating blackberries with cream, and listening to Mrs. Reynolds sing this very song. She would laugh and say, “Someday some lark is gonna spell you with a song, Will Darcy. She’ll call you with music, and you’ll be as good as lost.”
Watching Elizabeth now, with her eyes closed and her body swaying in time, he thought there might be something to that. He felt compelled to take a step towards her, and another, until he could almost reach out and touch the dark curls that fell over her shoulder.
The partygoers clapped in time with the music, some sang along while others started to dance. He stood there until she played her last note. God himself could not have moved Darcy from the spot.
“That was very well done, Miss Elizabeth,” he said in a low, shaky voice.
She looked at him with a puzzled expression. “Thank you, Mr. Darcy. I didn’t expect you would like such simple country music.”
Her reply surprised him. “I’m not opposed to any kind of music. Of course, my sister is the true musician in the family. I can only claim to be an appreciator, not an expert.”
“Any type of music?” Her teasing eyebrow lifted, and the little smirk he was coming to adore made an appearance. “I wonder how well the marches of John Phillip Sousa would go over if they were played under your bedroom window early on a Sunday?”
He could not help but smile at her.
“How have you found them to go over in your experience?”
“About as well as you would expect,” she answered. “Just ask my father. Or John Lucas. The best thing about a Victrola is, without a doubt, its portability.”
“Do you take requests?” he asked, pointedly looking at Caroline Bingley. A slow smile spread across Elizabeth’s face.
“Oh, Mr. Darcy. It would be an absolute pleasure.”
***
Elizabeth stretched happily, knuckles digging into her lower back. She was always in knots after sitting down with the harp. Not that music wasn’t worth a little discomfort, she always said.
“How is she feeling lately?” Charlotte asked in a low voice, nodding at Jane, who was hanging onto Mr. Bingley�
��s every word as if she were receiving gospel.
A small crease appeared between Elizabeth’s eyes when she understood Charlotte’s question. “Oh, she has her days I suppose,” Elizabeth said with a sigh. “I give her a shot, and she carries on beautifully. It makes me cringe, having to do it, but you know Jane. She never complains. Most days you would never know she’s diabetic.”
Charlotte nodded. “Has she told Mr. Bingley?”
“It’s a little soon for that, don’t you think?”
Charlotte put her arm around Elizabeth’s shoulders. Elizabeth put her head against her friend’s in a gesture that both sought and gave comfort.
“It will all be well,” Charlotte said.
“I hope you’re right, dearest.”
***
Darcy tossed and turned in his bed, unable to find sleep. He was too affected by the day, from hearing Elizabeth sing to the shocking revelation he’d overheard about Jane. He tried to ignore his pounding head as he replayed Elizabeth’s words in his mind. Most days you would never know she’s diabetic.
Hadn’t they said the same about his poor mother? Darcy opened his eyes and looked up at the ceiling, struggling against his own memories. Little Georgiana crying in her bassinet and Mother’s lifeless body not two feet away. No, not that! He drew a deep, shuddering breath, pushing that most terrible memory away. Giving up on sleep, Darcy pulled himself upright, leaning his back against the headboard.
If Elizabeth’s words were true, could Jane Bennet expect the same fate as Anne Darcy? Could Charles expect the same fate as Darcy’s own father, a good and vital man, hollowed out and wasted by grief?
No, my friend. I will spare you that fate.
He considered speaking to Elizabeth about it for a moment but dismissed the notion quickly. He couldn’t trust himself not to say too much when he was around her. She had a way of making him say more than he should, and it would never do to get her hopes up—not with the possibility of purchasing Longbourn on the line.
Speaking to Bingley directly was also out of the question. He knew his friend would see his concern as disapproval, and it would likely have the opposite effect of his intentions. Besides, it wasn’t his secret to tell. Darcy sat that way, thinking of what he would do next, until the watery daylight seeped in through the shutters.
***
Mr. Bennet sat back in his chair and looked across the dinner table, where the girls were having one of their favorite arguments over empty plates and half-eaten second helpings.
“Kitty, that’s just foolish.” Elizabeth scolded. “Monty Clift is much more handsome.”
“Than Tyrone Power?” Lydia said in disbelief. “Lizzie, are you blind?”
“Oh, but what about Clark Gable?” Jane asked, making all of the women at the table—Mrs. Bennet included—sigh dreamily. It was the only thing they all agreed on.
In the Bennet house, Clark Gable was the great unifier.
“We’ll be having company this weekend.” Mr. Bennet took advantage of the momentary lapse in conversation.
“Please say it’s Clark Gable.” Lydia sighed, making Kitty snort with laughter.
“Sorry to disappoint you, Lydia, but it’s my nephew. Your cousin Leland Collins.”
Lydia looked unimpressed.
“When will this be?” Mrs. Bennet asked, already beginning to fret about sleeping arrangements and getting the house ready for company.
“He will be here in two days,” Mr. Bennet said to everyone’s surprise. “And will be here for the next two weeks.”
“Two days! Two weeks!” Mrs. Bennet stood in surprise, already barking orders for the girls to start the process of airing and cleaning out the house. Mr. Bennet smiled to himself, his peace for the next few days already assured.
Chapter Three
Leland Collins had been with the Bennets for only a few hours when most of the household had tired of him. He came to Meryton as part of a tent revival traveling through the state. In the days following his arrival at Longbourn, the girls threw themselves into their chores and their homework with a gusto never seen by either of their parents, all in an effort to avoid their guest.
Leland Collins was a youngish man of average height, whose severe looks might have counted in his favor if not for his unfortunate tendency to sweat profusely, even in cool weather, and his seeming reluctance to bathe. Mrs. Bennet despaired at the amount of perspiration soaking into her guest’s rigidly buttoned collars.
“There’ll never be enough Borax to get those shirts clean,” she said, lamenting one night to her husband, who laughed and gave her a sympathetic hug.
These things alone wouldn’t have been enough to drive everyone away so thoroughly, but bad hygiene, combined with a love of sermonizing, was a formula for loneliness if ever there was one. Mr. Bennet wasted no time privately naming his nephew a natural-born holy roller. The sharp planes and angles of his face and his whip-thin physique lent him an austere sort of beauty. On the occasions when he smiled, he exuded a certain firebrand charm native only to salesmen and preachers, which Mr. Bennet said were “pretty much one and the same.”
Yet for all his charisma, there was something repellent in the man. He had a zeal that, at first blush, seemed to be for his work in delivering God’s Word, but there was a viciousness lurking just beneath it. He exuded a darkness that attracted as it repulsed. Certain people would always be drawn to men like Leland Collins. He had a strange appeal to the unappealing.
To Elizabeth, her cousin was a man who seemed to take his Word of God a bit too literally and the opinion of his patron, an elderly widow in Camden, much too seriously. A situation had yet to present itself for which Leland Collins did not have a fire-and-brimstone verse prepared, usually followed by some terrible bon mot of the Widow DeBourgh.
“I hate that talk,” Elizabeth said to Mary one day as they were hanging laundry. “All that awful Jim Crow nonsense.”
Mary, a girl of few words, nodded in quiet agreement. “I don’t understand how a minister could support such unchristian thinking.” Both girls were thinking of their own parents and their gratitude to have been raised to respect people based on their merits rather than the color of their skin.
All of the girls soon discovered that their cousin had a proclivity for staring intently at the rise of their chests and a talent for looking elsewhere when Mr. Bennet happened to glance his way. At first, Jane was the unfortunate recipient of most of these attentions until Mr. Bingley became a more frequent visitor at Longbourn. That’s when Mr. Collins turned his eye to Elizabeth, and not everything he saw pleased him as well as her figure.
He was appalled by the sportive way that she spoke with her father and Mr. Bingley, and he was outraged at the way she seemed to verbally assault Mr. Darcy when he visited Longbourn with his friend. He found it most unbecoming behavior in a young lady. Though Mr. Darcy didn’t seem to mind quite so much, Leland Collins was sure that Darcy’s aunt, the very same Widow DeBourgh, would mind enough for both of them. Darcy’s silent study of Elizabeth convinced Leland Collins that his cousin had sought the man’s attention in some unseemly way—her objective, of course, being to snare a rich husband.
While Collins was determined to keep an eye on Elizabeth, Darcy had made up his mind to keep an eye on Collins. He had noted the direction of the pastor’s gaze on more than one occasion and decided that he would not leave Elizabeth in the same room with her cousin, even if that meant subjecting himself to her relentless teasing. Not that he saw that as a hardship as those lively battles of wits were becoming his favorite part of his day.
For Elizabeth, this only meant being constantly subjected to two men she could do without, and her patience began to wear thin after the first few days. Collins seemed to lurk in corners like a great spider while Darcy’s quiet watchfulness made her think of a sleeping wolf.
One night as they prepared for bed, she complained to Jane. “It’s unbearable. Just this evening, Mr. Darcy followed me out into the garden! The garden
, Jane!”
Jane gave her sister an indulgent smile, suspecting the true motives behind Darcy’s vigilance. “And what did you say to him?”
“I told him, if he was going to watch me pick peas, he could make himself useful and hold my basket!”
Jane couldn’t help but laugh at Elizabeth’s put-upon expression. She thought the whole idea was lovely as it was high time Lizzie had a suitable admirer. There were too many dark days in her sister’s past. Jane hoped this promising development might help Elizabeth step out of the shadow she’d been under for the past few years.
“Laugh all you like, Jane. I can’t go anywhere without Tweedledee and Tweedledum following me!”
“Which one is Tweedledum?”
Elizabeth gave her a wry smile, imagining Mr. Darcy and Mr. Collins in matching schoolboy clothes, one tall and striking, the other shorter and stork-like, and both utterly ridiculous. After a moment, she joined her sister in a fit of laughter that didn’t stop until her mother shouted at them to be quiet.
***
There were a few places Elizabeth could escape to be alone with her thoughts. The pond behind Netherfield was a special place for her, but it was getting too chilly for swimming. The hayloft in Longbourn’s barn was another of her hiding places, but her father had been so industrious lately that there was little room up there for her, and it was still too close to the problem. Anywhere near the house and she was sure her cousin would find her.
So on Friday, nearly a full week into her cousin’s stay, Elizabeth found herself at what she considered to be most sacred of all her hiding places, Meryton’s Little Bookstore. People found the name amusing because the bookshop itself seemed to go on forever with titles stacked haphazardly on shelves and little tables throughout displaying new arrivals.
As soon as she stepped in the door, the wonderful smell of books hit her, easing the tension from her neck and shoulders. This was a place of magic to her, where one selection could make you weep with despair and another might make you laugh for days. It was a world of possibility, intelligence, and inspiration, and she’d always secretly considered herself to be queen of this particular kingdom.