by Jann Rowland
Still chuckling, Mr. Darcy shook his head. “I dare say you would be, Miss Bennet. I have no doubt that you could do anything to which you put your mind.
“Now, I believe you were about to prove yourself incorrect about a certain disagreement we just had. Have you found the incriminating evidence, or were you holding that book in case you needed to defend my virtue by beating my cousin back with it?”
Elizabeth scowled at him. “It is, indeed, the book, and I shall prove you incorrect. But I would not use anything so clumsy as a book, when there is a fire poker easily at hand.”
Had anyone been walking by the library at that moment, Elizabeth was certain they would have wondered at the laughter the two shared. She decided she would not concern herself for it. Miss de Bourgh’s performance was comical, and Elizabeth did so love to laugh. She was coming to know Mr. Darcy all that much better, and if it took Miss de Bourgh’s poorly conceived compromise attempts to speed things along, Elizabeth was quite willing to thwart them every day she stayed in Kent.
“She did what?” exclaimed Lady Catherine.
“As bold as brass,” confirmed her nephew, “though perhaps the execution was more than a little clumsy. Miss Elizabeth and I laughed long about it.”
There was a certain . . . something in Darcy’s expression when he spoke of Miss Elizabeth. Lady Catherine could not quite put a name to it, but there was a tenderness and depth of regard that sent a thrill of satisfaction through her, even as her indignation toward her own daughter consumed her. Eventually, indignation won out, though she would own to more than a little smugness if pressed.
“I do not know what to do with her, Darcy. She does not listen to me and proclaims she knows exactly how it will be at any hint of dissent.”
Darcy shrugged. “If her attempts continue to be this poorly conceived, then I have no doubt I have nothing to fear.”
But Lady Catherine only harrumphed. “Perhaps that is so, though she should not even be making the attempt. She is . . .” Lady Catherine paused and sighed. “You are aware that she is a bit of a disappointment to me. I had hoped to bring her up as a credit to her namesake, your dearly departed mother. But she has grown more headstrong as she has grown older, and she listens to nothing I say. She would obey her father when he was still alive, but she is almost ungovernable since he was taken from us.”
“Do not concern yourself, Lady Catherine,” said Darcy. “I can handle her.”
Lady Catherine looked at him warmly. He truly was a good man—the best of men, though the son of her dearest sister could hardly be anything else.
“If you were married, she would have no choice but to give up this hopeless dream,” said Lady Catherine slyly.
“No doubt she would,” replied Darcy. His tone was even, perhaps daring her to say something further, though whether he expected her to endorse Miss Elizabeth or make some comment urging him on, she was not certain. She chose the simple expedient of not doing as he expected.
“Then you had better get to it, do you not think?”
Anne pouted for the rest of the day and into the next, and Lady Catherine watched her daughter’s performance with exasperation. Though she attempted to have a word with her concerning her behavior, Anne acted as if nothing untoward had happened and refused to confess to it, even when Lady Catherine told her of her sure knowledge. Eventually, she decided nothing was to be gained by continuing to harp on the matter, and she allowed it to drop, though she continued to watch her Anne closely.
Never had Elizabeth been so annoyed by her mother’s matchmaking schemes. Though the woman was ostensibly living at the parsonage, she spent a large part of every day at Rosings, and it seemed like she had decided how everything would be and was determined to act upon it. Case in point, the day after the compromise attempt, Mrs. Bennet arrived at Rosings and promptly proceeded to cause further insanity.
Elizabeth was happy for Jane, for in the past few days she had noted definite signs of Colonel Fitzwilliam’s interest in her elder sister. The man was jovial and open, but in some ways he was as guarded as Mr. Darcy. He joked and laughed and spoke, and Elizabeth was certain that at least some of his tales of his experiences contained a grain of truth, but his manner was always flippant and happy and betrayed little of the inner person.
But this would change when he was in Jane’s company. Mr. Bingley had often been like a puppy, as he had hung onto Jane’s every word and had often simply stared at her, seeming enchanted by her pretty face or the sound of her voice. Colonel Fitzwilliam did not show any of these tendencies, but after a little time, Elizabeth began to see that he paid her more of his attention, gave deference to her opinions, and there was a certain admiration in his looks which bespoke a man developing a regard for a woman.
On a certain day, they were gathered in Lady Catherine’s sitting-room, speaking and having tea. Miss de Bourgh was sitting to one side, glaring crossly while Elizabeth spoke with Mr. Darcy, and the younger Bennets were off to the side speaking quietly with each other. Lydia and Kitty had taken the colonel’s apparent defection with an unlooked-for measure of philosophy. They laughed at his stories and enjoyed his witty repartee, but Elizabeth wondered if they ever truly saw him as a soldier, as they had never seen him wearing his red coat.
Into this scene of domestic harmony came Mrs. Bennet. She was welcomed and invited to sit, and for some time she sat with Lady Catherine speaking in an animated fashion. When Lady Catherine was called from the room by the housekeeper, Mrs. Bennet looked over the assembled. It was easy to see that her mother was not happy with the way the party was seated.
“Jane!” said she in that high-pitched voice she used when she was agitated. “Shall you not come sit here closer to the fire? I do so worry for your health.”
“It is quite warm, Mama,” said Jane, looking at her mother, perplexed. Indeed, she was correct, as, though there was a fire, it was small and had largely burned itself out.
“You must take care of yourself,” insisted Mrs. Bennet. “Come, I insist.”
Jane had always given into her mother’s whims, and though Elizabeth thought she might refuse this time, eventually she gave a longsuffering sigh and allowed herself to be guided to where her mother indicated. This, of course, was where Elizabeth was seated close to Mr. Darcy. Jane smiled apologetically when her mother insisted Elizabeth give up her seat, but Elizabeth only shook her head, for she knew it was not in Jane’s nature to resist. Then, in a move so transparent there was no chance anyone could misunderstand, Mrs. Bennet moved Elizabeth back to where the colonel was watching with amusement.
“Your mother is singular, is she not?” asked he in a quiet voice when Elizabeth had taken her seat.
“You have no idea, sir,” said Elizabeth.
Elizabeth made polite conversation with the colonel, noting that Jane was doing the same with Mr. Darcy, but she was heartened by the looks she saw pass between Jane and the colonel on several occasions. For herself, Elizabeth esteemed Colonel Fitzwilliam greatly, knowing him to be a good and amiable man. But she longed to return to her conversation with Mr. Darcy, though she knew her mother would not appreciate it if she attempted to resume her previous seat.
“My Jane is an excellent girl,” said Mrs. Bennet, suddenly speaking over them all. “She is beautiful, of course, but she is also the most gentle, patient girl in all the land. Did you know that she was ill not long after you left Netherfield, Mr. Darcy?”
“No, I was not aware of that, Mrs. Bennet,” said he, looking at Jane, who appeared more than a little embarrassed.
“Indeed, she was. She was invited to dine with Miss Bingley and her sister, and she fell ill, necessitating a stay of five days.”
“I hope you are very much recovered, Miss Bennet,” said Mr. Darcy. He appeared not to know what else to say.
“I am quite well, thank you,” said Jane. “It was naught but a cold.”
“She will deny it, but I tell you she suffered a vast deal,”
said Mrs. Bennet. “But then again she has such a sweet temperament that even those of us who know her best would never know she is suffering! Personally, I believe it was some great neglect by those artful Bingleys which caused her to become ill. I cannot imagine why they would come to the neighborhood for only a few months and then depart, never to return, leaving Netherfield as empty as it had been before they came.”
By this point, Elizabeth wished that the earth could open up and swallow her to hide her mortification. She almost pointed out that her mother had forgotten how it was on her orders that Jane had gone on horseback, become soaked through, and as a result fallen ill. But there was nothing she could do about it. Her only consolation was that Colonel Fitzwilliam was listening to Mrs. Bennet’s words, and he appeared to be very interested in them. Would that his interest would survive being confronted by such a silly relation!
What Elizabeth failed to see was another gentleman’s interest in another quarter, though her sister saw it as clear as day. Jane was mortified by her mother’s unguarded behavior, though she often was. The fact that her mother meant well was little consolation in times like these. But then Mrs. Bennet’s focus changed, and she turned and addressed Colonel Fitzwilliam.
“And do you know that my Lizzy would not have anyone attend to her beloved elder sister? She insisted on going to Jane the next day, though Netherfield is three miles distant and the horses were not available, as only she could nurse her sister back to health. And she sat with Jane, night and day for the whole of those five days, patiently tending to her, making her comfortable as best she could.”
“Did she?” asked Colonel Fitzwilliam. He turned to Elizabeth, and Jane was forced to stifle her laughter when he winked at Elizabeth. “That is very generous of you, Miss Elizabeth. Some young ladies would concern themselves with becoming ill themselves, but according to your mother you took no thought to your own safety.”
“I cannot imagine that anyone would do less for a dear sister,” replied Elizabeth.
Perhaps Elizabeth did not think so, but it seemed like there was at least one in the room who was impressed with this recitation of Elizabeth’s intrepidity. Mr. Darcy was watching the scene with interest, and his gaze upon Elizabeth, unless Jane missed her guess, was filled with admiration.
“Yes, they are the best of girls,” continued Mrs. Bennet, oblivious to the question of who was more impressed by the praises she was heaping on her daughters. “They are a great comfort to me and assist me a vast deal. Both can manage a house of any size and complexity, both care for our tenants, and both are devoted to family and friends. A man could do much worse with either of them as a wife.”
Curiously, Jane felt much the same as her sister had only moments before, though she could not know it. But then Jane happened to look up at Colonel Fitzwilliam to see him gazing at her with admiration. And all her embarrassment and hesitation drained way, leaving only happiness in its wake. Mr. Bingley had made her feel flattered with his single-minded devotion, but Colonel Fitzwilliam’s attentions were much more . . . mature in nature. With him, she felt valued and cherished, rather than just an object to be worshipped. Perhaps nothing would come of his attentions, but she was already certain that she wished for them. She wished for the more than she ever had from Mr. Bingley.
When Lady Catherine returned to the room, she noted that the seating arrangement had been changed. Whereas before it had been perfect, now the couples were in the wrong places, and she could not fathom how it had been brought about. She knew her nephews as well as her own daughter; surely Darcy had not taken an interest in Miss Bennet, nor Fitzwilliam, in Miss Elizabeth!
“I flatter myself in saying that I doubt there is a mother in all England who can boast two such handsome daughters. Do you not agree Mr. Darcy?”
“They are pretty girls, indeed,” replied Darcy.
Lady Catherine looked on the scene critically, and as she watched, she became certain that the author of the change in arrangement had been perpetrated by Mrs. Bennet. What Lady Catherine could not fathom was exactly why the woman had seen fit to make the alterations.
Determined to watch what was happening so she might understand how to repair it, Lady Catherine sat down in her normal chair and kept a close eye on Mrs. Bennet. But whatever the woman was thinking, Lady Catherine could make no sense of it, for she continued to blather on about this and that, mostly concerning her daughters’ unique qualifications to be the wives of men of fortune. Why she felt the need to say such things was quite beyond Lady Catherine’s ability to understand. By her reckoning, Darcy and Fitzwilliam were already aware of the charms of the Miss Bennets! There was little more to be done than to smooth out some of the rough patches that may inevitably arise.
When the company finally separated after tea, Lady Catherine had all the satisfaction of seeing that the couples once again moved toward each other, though Mrs. Bennet did not seem to understand what was happening. In fact, she appeared akin to the cat who had gotten into the cream. Lady Catherine lamented that she had not more with which to work; Lady Catherine was fond of the woman, but sometimes she could be positively daft!
“Mrs. Bennet,” said Lady Catherine once the others had all departed, “what happened? When I left the room, all was well, but when I returned, Elizabeth and Jane had changed seats.”
“There is nothing of which to worry,” said Mrs. Bennet. The dreamy smile on her face suggested that Mrs. Bennet had not even heard Lady Catherine’s question. “Everything is proceeding exactly as planned.”
Then Mrs. Bennet excused herself. “I must return to the parsonage, for your parson is dragging his heels, and I must push him along.”
Lady Catherine watched her go, wondering yet again about Mrs. Bennet. Did the woman truly want Mr. Collins, of all people, as a son? Lady Catherine had thought of introducing him to one of the tenants’ daughters, but she had stayed her hand, for she was not certain any girl she knew deserved to be pushed together with such a foolish man. And she was not at all certain that Mrs. Bennet’s plan was identical to Lady Catherine’s, but there was some piece of information she felt she was missing.
In the end, Lady Catherine put it out of her mind for the present. She could always question Mrs. Bennet if she was concerned the woman was about to make a fool out of herself. Besides, Lady Catherine was certain that things were proceeding exactly as she had planned, and she doubted there was anything that could be done to change it now.
Chapter VIII
On Easter morning, the parties from Rosings and Hunsford met at the church for the Easter service. On this day, one of two days most holy to the Christian calendar, Elizabeth found it difficult to focus on what was being said.
The first part of that problem was, unsurprisingly, due to the person who was speaking them. In all, Elizabeth was satisfied with her relationship with Mr. Collins, for precisely the reason that there was little to be had. Mr. Collins came to Rosings almost daily to confer with Lady Catherine, but though he often came, Elizabeth found reasons to absent herself, whether it was by walking, staying in her room, spending time with her sisters or Mr. Darcy, or by simply leaving the room when the man arrived. Mr. Collins did not appear to repine the loss of her society.
But on that Easter morning, Mr. Collins’s sermon was more ridiculous than ever before. The usual sermon on Easter was to talk about the rising of the Savior from the tomb, and the profound effect this event had on the world. But Mr. Collins, in his infinite wisdom, only spoke in a perfunctory manner about the Savior; rather, he reserved most of his remarks for an entirely different subject.
“And our Lord was entirely devoted to his duty,” droned Mr. Collins. The man’s sermon making voice—though it was not all that different from his usual speaking voice—was entirely soporific, and Elizabeth was forced to fight to keep her eyes open and her mind from the oblivion of sleep. “Duty is a matter which must concern us all. There is duty to our God, duty to those above us in society, duty to our fam
ily. Let us not ever allow ourselves to fail in our duties, whatever they may be.”
On and on the man went, expounding, exhorting, and at times almost begging, all on the subject of duty. He repeated himself over and over again, at times changing a word or two, revising the order, or simply restating word for word what he had already said. And the dissertation was so long that Elizabeth saw more than one member of the congregation nodding off from sheer fatigue, if not utter boredom.
Lady Catherine sat in her pew next to Elizabeth—Mr. Darcy sat on her other side—and Elizabeth could see that her ladyship was equally curious of Mr. Collins’s choice of material. One glance at Miss de Bourgh, however, told Elizabeth that the woman was positively enjoying herself.
And it all became clear. Only a few days earlier, she had seen Miss de Bourgh standing with Mr. Collins in the entrance hall of the estate, after the man had finished speaking with his patroness. She had not considered it at the time, but the way Miss de Bourgh was preening and directing sly glances down the pew at Mr. Darcy—and less than subtle glares at Elizabeth—it was clear she had directed Mr. Collins to change the subject of his sermon.
Thus it went for some time, until Elizabeth thought she might simply sink into oblivion from the tedium, when a miracle occurred. Mr. Collins was restating something for what felt like the one hundredth time when Lady Catherine—her expression had gotten darker the longer the man rambled on—cleared her throat quite loudly. Mr. Collins fell silent and looked down at her, and noting her evident annoyance, he coughed, ran a hand under the white of his clerical collar, and brought his sermon to a close so quickly it was almost unseemly.
The assembled quickly dispersed—Elizabeth thought more eagerly than usual—and left the Rosings party outside the church speaking quietly. It was then that Elizabeth was treated to another spectacle involving Mr. Collins.