by Leenie Brown
“Miss Elizabeth,” Darcy bowed as he greeted her. “I trust your family is well.” He followed his cousin’s suit and took a seat near her.
“The ones I left at Longbourn were in good spirits and health when I departed.” She smiled as she said it, studying his face to see if it gave any indication of his knowing that not all her sisters were at Longbourn, but it did not. His brows furrowed in concern, and he seemed genuinely perplexed.
“Is not all your family at Longbourn?” He rubbed his hands on his thighs and willed himself to relax. She was as beautiful as he remembered, and her smile was enchanting.
Elizabeth shook her head. “Jane has been in London with my aunt and uncle for nearly three months now.”
Darcy’s brows rose, and his eyes widened. “In London for three months?”
There was no doubting that the gentleman in front of her did not know of Jane’s stay in town. “You did not hear she had called on Mr. Bingley’s sisters?
Darcy’s heart dropped to his stomach. He had hoped to discern Jane’s feelings for his friend, but he had not expected to be given such a ready example of her regard straightaway. He shook his head. “Miss Bingley made no mention of it to either myself or Mr. Bingley.” He fidgeted with his sleeve. “Is your sister well?”
“She is not ill,” Elizabeth replied with a tight smile. Jane’s heart was broken, but her body was well.
Darcy tipped his head and looked very seriously at Elizabeth. “And her spirits?” The question was barely more than a whisper.
Richard saw the small quiver of Elizabeth’s lip and the dampness in her eyes. The separation of Bingley from her sister had caused pain — a great deal of it, if he were reading things correctly.
“Improving,” said Elizabeth.
“I wish I would have known she was in town,” Darcy murmured.
Richard nearly groaned aloud at the look of incredulity Darcy’s comment elicited from Elizabeth. This battle would not be easily won.
“You would have called on her? In Gracechurch Street? My relations are not among your equals.” There was a sharpness to her tone.
Mr. Collins rattled the cup of tea he was about to hand to Mr. Darcy.
“You mean to say they are in trade?” Richard inserted as he saw Darcy recoil as if he had been slapped.
Elizabeth swallowed and her cheeks coloured slightly. She had forgotten she had an audience. “My uncle is in trade,” she said, smoothing her skirt.
“Much like Bingley’s father was?” Richard continued. He doubted that Elizabeth had thought her statement through, and he suspected he was correct when he saw her eyes widen just slightly.
“Yes, just so, but not so wealthy. I do not mean to say they are poor, but Mr. Bingley’s fortune is substantial and therefore sets him apart,”‘ she explained.
“The nouveau riche,” said Richard with a shrug. “The world is changing. Napoleon and those before him have seen to that.” He raised a brow and scowled slightly. “Not to mention the Americans.”
“We must change with the times,” said Darcy. “And, yes, I would have called,” he added. “Since I am not in town and cannot do my duty in calling on a friend, perhaps I could send Mr. Bingley in my stead? Would you allow me to inform him?”
Elizabeth could not believe what she was hearing. Mr. Darcy wanted to inform Mr. Bingley of Jane’s presence in town? Was Mr. Darcy innocent of the charge she had laid at his feet of separating Jane from Mr. Bingley?
“Seeing a friend might lift your sister’s spirits, might it not?” asked Richard when no reply seemed forthcoming from Elizabeth.
“Oh, indeed, a call from a friend is always just the thing to lift anyone’s spirits,” said Mr. Collins. “And to have a call from someone such as the friend of one such as Mr. Darcy in such a place in town is not something at which to scoff. I am certain my cousin Jane knows her place and would feel the importance of such a call.”
Richard saw Darcy’s face darken. Mr. Collins was obviously a fool, and Richard knew how little tolerance Darcy had for fools. So, Richard smiled and replied before Darcy could. “I am relieved to know that Miss Bennet is a woman of sense. There are far too many nonsensical people in this world.”
“There most certainly are,” agreed Mr. Collins. And so began a lengthy commentary on what was and was not deemed foolish according to Mr. Collins, for the others could scarcely insert a word with the multitude that fell from the parson’s lips.
Richard could tell by the twitch of Miss Elizabeth’s lips and the twinkle in her eye that the absurdity of her cousin’s speech was not lost on her. Finding it trying to listen to Mr. Collins, Richard began to make a mental assessment of the situation. Miss Elizabeth Bennet had been drawn to look at Darcy almost immediately upon his arrival. There was interest there. However, she seemed to have a poor opinion of Darcy’s character. Such a thing was not entirely unexpected. Darcy’s reserve often led people to believe he was proud. That would need some attention. Then there was the issue of the injured sister. He would allow Darcy to attempt to smooth that over. Miss Elizabeth had seemed startled into silence at the mention of a repair being made, so the breach may not be insurmountable.
At a rare pause in Mr. Collins’s commentary, Richard followed Mrs. Collins’s lead and chuckled at whatever it was that her husband had said. Miss Elizabeth’s face shone with amusement. The lady possessed a sharp tongue and a keen wit. Darcy would not tire of such a woman as he did of the ladies of the ton, who had a limited ability to enter into debate. Richard suspected that Miss Elizabeth would not shy away from a debate. This was good.
He took a sip of his tea, satisfied with all the qualities he had observed in Miss Elizabeth. She was, as his aunt had declared, just the sort of lady Darcy should marry. And added to all these recommendations was the fact that she was compellingly pretty, and she affected his cousin in a way he had not heretofore seen. Darcy was uncomfortable around most ladies, but he did not dry his hands on his trousers or tug at his sleeves and cravat as he did in Miss Elizabeth’s presence. The battle might not be easily won, but it would be a victory worth the effort.
Richard turned his attention back to the conversation at hand just as Mrs. Collins was interrupting her husband before he could venture off onto another topic which none but he cared to discuss.
“I trust your journey was good?” Charlotte asked, looking first at Darcy and then Richard.
“Oh, yes, how foolish of me not to remember to inquire,” said Mr. Collins. “It is one of the many benefits of having a sensible bride.” He took Charlotte’s hand. “I tend to ramble, you know, but Mrs. Collins always knows how to bring me back to the point. I would highly recommend finding such a wife.”
“Thank you, my dear,” Charlotte replied, a hint of colour adding a bit of charm to her features.
How a sensible woman, such as Mrs. Collins appeared to be, had ended up with such a husband as Mr. Collins and was able to seemingly enjoy his praise was beyond Richard’s comprehension. But it could not be denied that there had been at least a few small looks and smiles shared between the two. They seemed genuinely content, if not happy.
“Our journey was without event,” said Darcy.
“It was quite pleasant, even if I had to endure it with one so silent as my cousin,” said Richard. It would do Miss Elizabeth good to see Darcy being teased.
“I was not silent,” protested Darcy.
“No, not silent, but not talkative either.” It was a prod to get Darcy to engage in a bit of banter.
Darcy’s eyes narrowed, and he shook his head. “There was not silence enough for me to enter more than a few words.”
Richard shrugged, pleased with the startled look the comment had drawn from Elizabeth. Yes, she needed to discover the less formal side of his cousin’s character. “I do have a tendency to expound on many things.”
Darcy chuckled. “No truer words have ever been spoken.”
Elizabeth tilted her head and studied the man seated to her left. She had
never heard him chuckle or even appear to be slightly amused, and such a spectacle must be observed carefully, for she was not certain when it might happen again.
“And what sort of topics interest you, Colonel Fitzwilliam?” Elizabeth asked.
“Himself,” muttered Darcy, his lips curling up in a hint of a smirk.
“I am of great interest,” Richard agreed with aplomb. “My father supplies a good deal of material as do my brother and his children — he has two, an heir and an almost spare.”
“An almost spare?” asked Maria, Mrs. Collins’s younger sister, who was also staying at the parsonage.
Richard nodded. “She is a second child, but she is not a son and cannot inherit the title, so Millicent is the almost spare.”
“That is horrid,” said Maria with all the indignation a lady of sixteen could muster.
“I do not make the rules for inheritance,” replied Richard. “My brother and his wife were so certain that their second child was to be a boy that when Millie was born and not a boy, the moniker just seemed appropriate.” He winked. “She is only two, so the name does not bother her in the least. Her father is not so complacent, and it is for his sake that I use it.”
“I still think it horrid,” protested Maria.
“As does my sister,” said Darcy. “Georgiana is forever scolding Richard for saying it, but in my cousin’s defence, he never uses it in Millicent’s presence. It is truly only a phrase to torment the viscount.”
“Then, I should like Miss Darcy quite well for rendering such a service on behalf of her little cousin.” Maria’s chin lifted as she said it, and Mr. Collins cleared his throat uneasily.
“I think you would like Georgiana regardless of her scolding of me,” said Richard. “She is a shy girl, but sincere and loyal — traits that run true in our family. One such as yourself could not go wrong in befriending her.”
“Miss Darcy has a tender heart, it would seem,” said Charlotte.
“Yes,” replied Darcy. “Georgiana possesses a very affectionate heart.”
Elizabeth’s brows furrowed slightly. This description did not match that of Mr. Wickham’s. Wickham had claimed Miss Darcy was proud and cold. But then, she was currently being described by her relations and there must be some allowance for prejudice. It was only natural and proper.
Richard checked his watch. Miss Elizabeth was looking confused enough that it might be best to take their leave while she was still feeling unsettled. “It has been a pleasure,” he said as he snapped the cover closed over his watch, “and I am given to understand that you will be joining us for dinner.”
“Oh, indeed,” said Mr. Collins. “Lady Catherine is very gracious in her attentions.”
“I am certain she is,” Richard said as he stood to take his leave. He had no desire to hear the man launch into an exaltation of Lady Catherine’s finer qualities.
“If you would be so kind as to give me your uncle’s address for Mr. Bingley’s knowledge,” said Darcy as he followed his cousin’s lead and stood.
Elizabeth blinked. He truly did mean to send Mr. Bingley to call on Jane. “Of course, if you will give me a moment, I shall write it out for you.”
“We shall await you outside,” said Richard, moving to the door and giving Darcy no choice but to follow, which he did.
They had been in the front garden no more than five minutes listening to Mr. Collins elaborate on the flowers, when Elizabeth, thankfully, appeared, and they were free to return to Rosings — Darcy to write his letter to Bingley and the colonel to consult with his aunt.
Chapter 3
Elizabeth could not for any inducement come to a conclusion on what manner of man Mr. Darcy was. When he had called at the parsonage yesterday, he had been amiable and polite. He had even inquired after her sister and offered to reunite Jane with Mr. Bingley. Yet, he had stood so aloof in Hertfordshire — silent and grave, often casting a disparaging eye on his surroundings. There were also Mr. Wickham’s claims of Darcy’s ill-treatment to consider.
How she wished that Jane were here to discuss the matter. Charlotte was a dear friend, but she was not Jane. Therefore, there was little that could be done aside from pondering and observing, which would have been easier to do last evening if Colonel Fitzwilliam had allowed it. The colonel was a pleasant gentleman, and having an amiable gentleman, who also happened to be the second son of an earl, flirting with you was not disagreeable unless you desired peace to order your thinking.
It was also not helpful that the agreeable and engaging Mr. Darcy from the afternoon’s call had been replaced by the scowling and sullen gentleman she had often encountered in Hertfordshire.
Elizabeth paced a circle around a bench at the far edge of Rosings’ garden. Thanks to Colonel Fitzwilliam and Mr. Collins, Lady Catherine had learned last evening that Elizabeth enjoyed walking and had insisted that her morning constitutional include a tour of Rosings’ gardens. Elizabeth had tried to refuse, but it was not to be. Mr. Collins would not hear of it, and having both Lady Catherine and Mr. Collins put out with her was not something Elizabeth wished to endure. She made one last turn around the bench before taking a seat.
She had to admit that the view from here was spectacular. From this particular spot, she could see down a soft incline to a pond and a folly beyond. A bird hopped out from under a bush, catching her attention for a moment before she looked back toward the folly. Tomorrow, she would have to venture to it.
“Miss Bennet.”
Elizabeth jumped at the sound of her name.
“I do apologize for startling you. It was not my intent.” Anne de Bourgh took a seat next to Elizabeth. “This is my favourite prospect.”
“It is lovely.” Elizabeth could easily see why this would be a favourite view.
“I have tried to capture it many times, but I fear my skills are not what they should be.” She lay the notebook she was hugging to her chest on the bench. “Mother had someone in to teach me, but I would have excelled more had I been exposed to the masters in town.” She shifted so that she was turned slightly toward Elizabeth and away from the folly. “However, my health is best in the country. The foul air of town is draining. It is so hard to breathe there.”
“The air is rather stale at times,” Elizabeth agreed.
Anne laughed. “You are too polite. The air is vile, which is why I will never live there.” She smiled at Elizabeth. “In fact, I intend never to leave Kent. I would dislike being any distance from my mother. She and Mr. James, the apothecary, know best how to help me when I become ill. I would trust none other.”
Elizabeth’s brows furrowed. Where not Miss de Bourgh and Mr. Darcy betrothed? How would Miss de Bourgh be able to stay in Kent once she married Mr. Darcy? Elizabeth placed a hand on her heart as it pinched with sadness. It was strange that it should hurt just now. She attempted to focus her attention on the view before her, but her curiosity would not be quelled without knowing the answer to her questions.
“Forgive me if I am impertinent, but are you not betrothed to Mr. Darcy?” Elizabeth asked, the strange, sad pinching repeated itself.
“You have heard of that?” Anne asked in surprise.
“I have,” Elizabeth admitted.
Anne sighed and smiled. “From Mr. Collins most likely.”
“Yes, he was one source.” Elizabeth bit her lip. She should have just acknowledged the truth of Miss de Bourgh’s statement with a simple yes. There was no need to bring up the fact that she had listened to Mr. Wickham’s tales, and yet, that seemed to be exactly what she was doing.
“And the other?” Anne’s eyes were wide with interest.
“Someone who claims a long acquaintance with Mr. Darcy.” It was not enough of an answer. Miss de Bourgh waited expectantly for a name. Elizabeth looked down at her hands, embarrassment stealing its way across her cheeks. “Mr. Wickham.”
“That scoundrel!” declared Miss de Bourgh. “It is best not to believe more than half the words that come from his mouth.”
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Elizabeth could not contain her shock. “He seemed charming.”
Anne laughed bitterly. “Oh, he is charming. He will charm a lady right out of her stays and stockings and leave her smiling until she realizes he will not be returning — unless she has a fortune. Then, he will return, but it will not be for her. It will be for the gold in her possession.”
Elizabeth gasped.
“I assure you it is true. I cannot give particulars, but rest assured, he is no friend of Darcy’s — not any longer, at least.”
Elizabeth did not know what to say. She had been so certain that Wickham was trustworthy. He had smiled and whispered in such a believable way.
“Why Darcy did not run that blackguard through for his treachery, I do not know,” continued Anne. “If I were a man and had been so ill-used, I would have.”
Elizabeth shook her head. Miss de Bourgh’s words did not match with what Elizabeth had heard from Mr. Wickham. “Mr. Darcy was ill-used, not Mr. Wickham?” She wrapped an arm around her stomach, which was turning most unpleasantly, and tears gathered along the rims of her eyes. If what Miss de Bourgh was telling her was true, she had been most assuredly fooled. Mr. Wickham had spoken so firmly, so clearly, so lacking in anything but assurance that his story was correct.
Anne’s expression softened as she took in Elizabeth’s state of shock. “Mr. Wickham is a master storyteller, is he not?”
Elizabeth nodded and blinked, but instead of dispersing her tears, the action caused one to roll down her cheek.
“I would tell you the true tale, but Darcy might not approve. It is his story to tell, after all, and of a delicate nature.”