by Jann Rowland
“Where did you learn to do it, Mr. Darcy?”
“My father showed me. There is a small lake in front of Pemberley which is perfect for a young boy to learn such essential skills.” He grinned at her. “I hope to someday teach my own sons to skip stones.”
Such a brazen suggestion should have caught Elizabeth by surprise, but she found that his attentions these past weeks, the laughter and happiness they had shared, had led to a greater understanding. She knew that Mr. Darcy would eventually propose to her, and she now knew what her answer would be. It was only a matter of time before it was resolved to their mutual satisfaction.
The sight of Mr. Darcy, standing in the shade of the large tree beside the stream, his wavy locks ruffled by the slight breeze touched something deep within Elizabeth, and she sighed and leaned back against the tree’s large trunk. This was what true love was supposed to be: two lovers focused on nothing more than each other, worries and concerns far away, and the promise to love and cherish each other forever more. The cares of the world would inevitably intrude, but she knew she would have this moment, and many others like it to sustain herself in the years to come.
“What has prompted your sigh, Miss Elizabeth?” said Mr. Darcy. He approached her, his eyes never leaving hers, his hand braced against the tree above her head as he continued to study her.
“I was just thinking of how perfect this is.” Elizabeth’s hand sought out his, and they clasped their hands together, fitting together so perfectly that she had no idea of how she would ever let go. “It is a shame we are required to return to Rosings.”
“Could we not simply stay here?”
A giggle escaped Elizabeth’s lips. “Perhaps we could. But the night will undoubtedly be cold, and it might not be so much fun when our food is exhausted.”
“There is always the stream. I am certain Fitzwilliam and I could feed us with nothing more than fish.”
Elizabeth laughed and swatted his hand. “That still does not solve the problem of the cold nights.”
Mr. Darcy echoed her sigh, an exaggerated show of regret at that. “Then there is nothing to be done. We shall have to return.
“But before we go . . .” Mr. Darcy’s eyes dropped to Elizabeth’s lips, and she felt a fluttering in her midsection. “I believe I should like to claim a kiss.”
“How shocking!” murmured Elizabeth, unaccountably wishing he would get on with it. “I am a maiden, sir. Do you think I would allow just any man to kiss me?”
“Not any man, but I am sure you would allow me.”
“I think you are—”
Mr. Darcy’s head lowered and his lips brushed against hers, and Elizabeth suddenly could not remember whatever teasing remark she was just about to make. And then it did not matter; nothing did, except for the warmth of Mr. Darcy’s lips on hers, the feeling of his breath fluttering on her cheek, and the deep musk of his cologne. Elizabeth was not quite sure how it happened, but soon her arms were around his neck, and she held him to herself tightly. It was long before they separated.
Back in the clearing, Jane and Colonel Fitzwilliam watched as Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth disappeared into the trees. Jane shook her head as she watched her sister with amusement. They were as different as two people could be, but there was no one in the world Jane loved more than Elizabeth. She truly was one of the most remarkable people Jane knew.
“You are very close to her.”
Jane turned and smiled at the colonel. Well, perhaps there was now one she loved as much as Elizabeth, though her shyness urged her to hide it to protect herself. But Jane Bennet had learned something from her ill-fated romance with Mr. Bingley. She had always thought it improper for a woman to put herself forward, and to behave such as Miss Bingley had with Mr. Darcy would have been improper, indeed. But Charlotte Lucas had also been correct: a man might fancy himself in love but never act upon it if a woman did not encourage him. Jane did not intend to make the same mistake again.
“She is my dearest sister. She makes me laugh, and she lends me some of her confidence to make my own. I love her more than I can possibly say.”
“It is clear she returns your devotion.” The colonel grinned. “I do not doubt I would find myself called out if I should ever dare hurt you, and I am certain my life would be in grave danger should she set her sights on me.”
Smiling, Jane nodded and said: “I dare say you are correct.”
Feeling more than a little daring, Jane allowed herself to lean back against the tree which the colonel was already resting against. The moment her back touched his shoulder, he gathered her to him, his hand about her shoulders. Jane sighed—never had she felt more cherished than she did at this moment. But it was nothing compared to when the colonel turned her head and pressed his lips against hers.
All was right in the world. Jane knew she would have all she ever wanted, and if the journey to this moment had been rocky and she had known heartbreak along the way, she knew it had all been worth it.
Chapter XII
Mary Bennet was the sister most unlike any of the others, a fact she had always keenly felt. Though Jane and Elizabeth often tried to include her in their friendship, she had, at times in the past, rebuffed their overtures. She had always felt ugly in their presence, the awkward, plain, ungainly sister, beside the acknowledged beauties of the family. Jane and Elizabeth had never made her feel this way—in fact, Elizabeth had often pointed out that Mary was pretty in her own right, and at times, when Elizabeth had induced her to display her charms with more appropriate clothes and hairstyles, she had felt pretty, indeed. But they had such a profound relationship that Mary had not wished to intrude, and she had often gone her own way for that reason.
Of course, there was no reason for Mary to attempt to become close with Kitty and Lydia, as they were so unlike her and had tendency to be cruel to her anyway. Mary responded by scolding them for their behavior, though she could confess that was likely not an effective way to mold them into proper ladies. In the end, simply ignoring them had been much easier.
Coming to Kent and being the unexpected recipient of Mr. Collins’s attentions had given Mary a bit of confidence. She did not know how the man had come to fix his attentions upon her, but Mary had always thought that she would be suited to be a parson’s wife, and she accepted his attentions willingly. It did not escape Mary’s notice that Mr. Collins was not a suitor of which a young woman dreamed. He was not intelligent, had not the slightest idea of how to behave, and was ponderous and dull. Moreover, she had no expectation of much in the way of companionship should the courtship eventually lead to marriage. But even with these things, she thought he might be an acceptable suitor to a young woman who did not expect much from marriage.
In the past few weeks, however, that had changed. In the beginning, Mr. Collins had paid her a great deal of attention, and though Mary often found his society irksome, it still felt good to be the object of a man’s admiration. But lately, Mr. Collins had largely been absent, both from the parsonage and from the act of courtship. And his concentration appeared to be on Elizabeth, not because he wished to have Mary’s older sister for himself, but because he wished to prevent her from being Mr. Darcy’s object. That did not sit well with Mary.
On a morning when only Mary and Mr. Bennet were sitting at the table at the parsonage, she found herself the recipient of her father’s attention.
“Why the heavy sigh, Mary?” said he, startling her from her thoughts. “Is this courtship your mother has contrived suddenly not to your taste?”
Though Mary was aware of her father’s propensity to tease, she thought there was an element of seriousness in his tone. She smiled at him and shrugged. “I always knew that Mr. Collins was not the most intelligent of men or the most acceptable suitor. But I thought I could get on with him well enough.”
“Obviously, that has changed.”
A hint of anger welled up in Mary’s breast. “You are not as unmindful of us as you pretend
, Father. You have seen what is happening.”
But her father continued his maddening act of ignorance. “And what is that?”
“The fact that Mr. Collins is more interested in interfering with Lizzy than he is in making love to me.”
“That does seem to be an accurate statement.”
Mr. Bennet put his paper aside and gave Mary his full attention—it made her uncomfortable, so rarely had it happened in the past.
“I will own, however, that the thought of Mr. Collins making love to anyone is likely to give me nightmares.”
Mary could not help but giggle at her father’s words, though she quickly suppressed it. Mr. Bennet only smiled at her; it seemed like his observation was designed to induce her to laugh and put her more at ease.
“If Mr. Collins’s behavior is objectionable,” said Mr. Bennet, “then why do you put up with it?”
A shake of her head indicated she did not wish to speak of it, but her father’s raised eyebrow told her he was having none of it. Mary sighed.
“I know I am not pretty like my sisters, Papa. I know I do not receive the attention they do. Should I not grasp the opportunity for marriage, even if the man is not exactly what I wished for?”
“First, let me correct you,” said Mr. Bennet. “You say you are not pretty like your sisters, but I have personal knowledge that you are pretty enough for any man when you take the trouble to be so. Second, I would not wish you to accept a suitor simply because he is eligible, especially when the man is a fool.”
Mr. Bennet sighed and reached a hand out to Mary, which she instinctively grasped. “I know I have not been the best father to you all. But I would not wish for my girls to be unhappy in their marriages, merely because they feel they cannot attract another man. I believe that you would be surprised at what you can do if you put your mind to it.”
At that moment, Mary almost believed him. But there was another problem, one she did not relish confronting.
“Mama will not be happy if I do not accept Mr. Collins.”
A snort told Mary what her father thought of that. “With all due respect to your mother, it is not her prerogative to approve or deny requests for her daughters’ hands. If you do not wish to marry Collins, then reject him should he propose. You may be assured of my support.”
“But what if I am never able to attract another man?” wailed Mary. She had never thought much about being married, but the thought of being denied it now that her hopes had been raised was almost unbearable.
“I believe Lizzy has the right of it,” said Mr. Bennet softly. “It would be better to remain unmarried than to be tied to life with a partner you cannot love or respect, and I cannot imagine Mr. Collins inspiring anything other than contempt. Do not throw your life away on such things, Mary—you never know what may be waiting for you around the next corner.”
And there it was in a nutshell. She had no need to rush, considering her still tender age and not knowing what might come her way. And perhaps of far more importance, Mary had long known that her father was not happy with her mother, and as such, his advice was perhaps the most apropos she would ever receive.
“Thank you, Papa. I will consider your words if Mr. Collins does propose.”
“Good.” Mr. Bennet paused and looked at her critically. “I believe you have resisted your elder sisters’ efforts to display your charms to their best advantage. Perhaps it is time to give in and allow them to assist you.”
“Perhaps it is,” replied Mary shyly.
Mr. Bennet grinned at her. “And perhaps it is time to turn your attention to subjects other than Fordyce? I have long thought you might enjoy Shakespeare. Shall we read one of the comedies together?”
Warmth suffused Mary’s being. It was possible that the prospect of losing his favorite daughter as an intellectual partner had prompted her father to extend this invitation. But whatever the reason, Mary was still grateful.
Mrs. Bennet was at her wits’ end. Nothing was proceeding as she and Lady Catherine had planned, and worst of all, the woman appeared to be unconcerned about what was happening, leaving Mrs. Bennet to fend for herself. And attempt to cope she did, but neither Elizabeth nor Jane—who was always so obliging and dutiful—heeded her instructions. It was as if they did not wish to be married, though the thought beggared belief. Mrs. Bennet might be inclined to blame the entire debacle on Elizabeth, had not Jane been so unreasonably contrary. If they did not obey and oblige her, the worst of Mrs. Bennet’s fear might even come to pass and both courtships come to nothing . . . .
For a brief moment, Mrs. Bennet considered the possibility that Lady Catherine had been toying with her in suggesting possible marriages between her daughters and the lady’s nephews. But as soon as the notion occurred to her, Mrs. Bennet rejected it. The lady had been all friendship and affability, and besides, why would she bother with such a subterfuge? It simply did not make sense.
“I do not know what to do,” said Mrs. Bennet, pacing in the parsonage parlor while her husband read his newspaper. That the infernal paper was a week old did not seem to bother him.
“I am sorry, Mrs. Bennet,” said he. “What did you say?”
Mrs. Bennet looked skyward, wondering what she had done to deserve such a disinterested husband. It was not enough that the man had not given her a son, allowing his cousin to be his heir, thereby putting his wife and daughters at risk to poverty, but he did nothing to assist her in ensuring their future. How was such betrayal ever to be borne?
“I said, I do not know what to do,” replied Mrs. Bennet, one of the rare times she had used such an acid tone with him. Her pique had caused it, and she could not repine how she spoke to him.
She might not have concerned herself, for Mr. Bennet took no notice. “What to do? I do not follow your meaning.”
Frustration mounting, Mrs. Bennet threw her hands into the air and stalked to the other side of the room. “Jane and Lizzy! Neither will listen to me, and I begin to wonder if the situation is salvageable.”
“Are your daughters ignoring you again? Perhaps I should bend them over my knee, remind them of the respect they owe you.”
“Do not be silly!” snapped Mrs. Bennet. “They are both women full grown.”
“Yes, but if they do not give you your due, then they are naught but wayward children and should be punished. Call them to Hunsford and I shall attend to it directly.”
“Oh, Mr. Bennet! How you do trample on my nerves. Is the matter of your daughters’ future security nothing but fodder for your wit?”
“No, indeed, Mrs. Bennet. In fact, I wish for nothing more than security for them. But I wish them to find it on their own terms, in ways which will make them happy.”
“Their happiness is bound up in their security!” exclaimed Mrs. Bennet. “How can it be otherwise? Would they be happy to reside in the hedgerows once you are gone?”
“Mrs. Bennet, we must think of better things and not allow ourselves to be overcome by such thoughts. For all we know, you might predecease me and never know the hedgerows as intimately as you now fear.”
If Mrs. Bennet had not heard her husband joke in such a way so often, and had she not been consumed with worry over her daughters, she might have taken offense at his words. But she could not. There were much more important things afoot than to be angered at her husband’s usual efforts to be clever.
“I believe I must go to Rosings,” said she, though she had not meant to speak out loud.
“You spend a significant amount of every day there, Mrs. Bennet.”
Mrs. Bennet looked skyward. “Of course, I do, for I must, Mr. Bennet. If I did not, there would be nothing left to salvage.”
“Please sit, Mrs. Bennet,” said her husband. He motioned her to a chair, and though Mrs. Bennet was not inclined to cease her pacing, she huffed and threw herself into it. But Mr. Bennet only looked on with amusement, further souring her mood.
“My dear,” said Mr. Bennet, “
I know you worry yourself excessively about the situation with your daughters, but perhaps if you stepped back and tried to understand what is happening you would not be so concerned.”
“I cannot imagine what you mean, unless you think that losing the two wealthiest and most eligible men we have ever met to be nothing more than a game.”
“I do not think they are lost. But I do not think that matters will be settled in the manner in which you expect.”
“What do you mean?” Her husband teased her so often that she could not trust that he was not trying to do so now.
“That matters are not lost at all. In fact, I think if you watched them, you would be heartened.”
“Tell me what you mean.”
But her husband, rather than acceding to her demand, only regarded her with a cheeky grin. “I find it far more diverting to allow you to come to the realization yourself, my dear.”
“Then there is nothing for it. We must go to Rosings.”
“We have not been invited.”
“Yes, we have. Lady Catherine has told me that we may remove to her estate at any time convenient. Well, I mean to make it convenient right now.”
Mr. Bennet only waved her away. “That will be fine. I will be quite comfortable wherever we reside.”
Though Mrs. Bennet attempted to induce her husband and daughter to stay at the parsonage, Mr. Bennet was having none of it. Mary’s opinion, which he canvassed not long after Mrs. Bennet had determined to go to Rosings, only confirmed his own desire to leave the parsonage.
“Would you prefer to remain here, Mary?” asked Mr. Bennet. For an instant, he was worried that Mary would act contrary to his expectations and desire to stay.
“I believe I would be much more comfortable with my sisters, Papa. I would have thought you would wish to stay.”
Mr. Bennet chuckled. “At one time, you might have been correct. But not only is Mr. Collins’s peculiar brand of silliness beginning to bore me, I will not stay at the parsonage and miss the fun that is certain to unfold at Rosings.”