Coincidence

by Jann Rowland

  Frowning, Elizabeth thought about the colonel’s words. In fact, as she considered it further, she realized she had put Mr. Bingley’s sisters into the category of his proud friend—high society people who looked down upon all and sundry.

  But Colonel Fitzwilliam’s assertions were true. Mr. Bingley was descended from a line of tradesman, by his own concession, and despite his sisters’ obvious wishes that they were not. Elizabeth had not known many men of higher society, but surely most would hesitate before recognizing such an acquaintance. Surely that spoke well to Mr. Darcy’s liberality, did it not?

  The topic of conversation soon turned to other, less weighty matters, and Elizabeth was grateful for it. It seemed some window which had been closed had suddenly been flung wide open, and Elizabeth was not certain she liked what had been illuminated. They proceeded on for some time before the gates to the parsonage loomed in front of them, and that is where the colonel bowed and took his leave.

  “As always, it was a pleasure to speak with you, Miss Bennet,” said he. “I look forward to seeing you again this evening at Rosings.”

  “Thank you for this pleasant time, Colonel Fitzwilliam,” replied Elizabeth. “Until this evening.”

  The colonel bowed again, and he turned and walked down the lane, Elizabeth watching him as his form faded into the distance. She had been given much on which to think, but she knew she would come to no conclusions at any point in the near future. Besides, despite what she had just learned, she had no real interest in thinking of Mr. Darcy.

  An evening at Rosings was not an activity in which Elizabeth wished to partake when her thoughts and feelings were so unsettled, but as she had no real pretext to avoid attending, she accompanied the rest of the parsonage party without comment. Mr. Collins was, as usual, eager to bask in the brilliant light of his patroness, while Charlotte was as sensible and steady as ever. If Maria betrayed her usual apprehension, Elizabeth thought it was tempered by a sort of watchful interest; no doubt she was still suspicious of Mr. Darcy and intended to watch him throughout the evening.

  They were welcomed with Lady Catherine’s typical brand of condescension, but if Mr. Darcy was quiet and watchful as was his wont, his two cousins made up for his lack. Soon the company had been called into the dining room, where they partook of the evening meal—and Elizabeth was forced to concede that the woman set a very good table. The conversation at the table was filled with Lady Catherine’s pronouncements, Mr. Collins’s fawning, and as Lady Catherine had Mr. Darcy and Anne close by her side to attend her, Elizabeth was free from not only Lady Catherine’s conversation, but Mr. Darcy’s as well. Unfortunately, that all changed after dinner.

  They retired to the sitting-room, and as Lady Catherine drew Mr. and Mrs. Collins to her to instruct them on some matter she deemed necessary, Elizabeth was left in the company of the three cousins, with Maria sitting in between the two groups, speaking little, but watching all. And it was there that Elizabeth discovered that Mr. Darcy had not lost his previous volubility, at least when it came to Elizabeth herself.

  “I understand that you will be staying another week, Miss Bennet,” said Mr. Darcy.

  Though she thought it was amusing that Mr. Darcy had led the discussion with the same topic she had discussed with the colonel that afternoon, Elizabeth replied readily.

  “Yes, Mr. Darcy. I promised my friend that I would stay for six weeks, and as Maria and I were here for two weeks before you and your cousin arrived, we will stay another week.”

  “It is agreeable to visit with family and friends,” said the colonel.

  “But the parting is all that much more sorrowful,” replied Elizabeth. “Especially so in the case of my friend, who has married and left the neighborhood, and whom I will not meet again soon.”

  “You do not expect her to visit her family?” asked Mr. Darcy.

  “The distance is not one which would allow it, Mr. Darcy. And my cousin has many responsibilities in the parish, such that frequent journeys would not be possible, even if he did possess the financial means to do so. We shall see her on occasion, but I am convinced it will not be often.”

  “Then you must visit again, Miss Bennet,” said Miss de Bourgh. “Your presence has added light to our gatherings, and I would not lose your acquaintance.”

  It took all Elizabeth’s willpower not to glance at Lady Catherine, for she supposed that the great lady would not approve of her daughter expressing such friendship to one who was beneath her in society.

  “I am also pleased with the acquaintances I have made here, Miss de Bourgh,” said Elizabeth warmly. “If the opportunity arises to return, I am certain I would be happy to be in company with you again.”

  “Perhaps you will have an opportunity sooner than you think,” said Mr. Darcy. He was watching her with that intensity of his, and for the first time, Elizabeth wondered if he was truly being severe with her, or if something else was afoot.

  The colonel coughed and Anne looked at her cousin with amusement, but Mr. Darcy ignored them in favor of focusing his attention on Elizabeth. The talk turned to other matters, but though they all participated, it seemed to Elizabeth that Mr. Darcy was speaking to her in particular. From the looks shared by Miss de Bourgh and Colonel Fitzwilliam on occasion when he had prompted her to speak, it seemed that they were not unaware of it. Elizabeth began to feel cross.

  “Miss Bennet.”

  Her name spoken with such force and authority startled Elizabeth, and she looked up to see Lady Catherine watching her with a keen eye. The woman’s air contained an element of suspicion, and Elizabeth cursed at Mr. Darcy’s unguarded behavior. She still had no more idea that he was interested in her than she had before, but surely Lady Catherine would view the prospect of him doing nothing more than conversing with her as a threat to her daughter’s interests. For their part, Mr. Collins looked on with his typical lack of understanding, while Charlotte’s demeanor was no less suspicious than that of her patroness, though her expression was faintly pleased, and nothing like Lady Catherine’s disapproval.

  “I believe you have not played for the company for some time,” said Lady Catherine. “Not since soon after your arrival in Kent. “Perhaps you would be so good as to favor the company with a song.”

  It took no great insight to understand that it was not a request, and the look on the woman’s face fairly challenged her to object. Elizabeth was not of a temperament which allowed her to give in to such imperious demands, so it was fortunate that she was not, in this instance, inclined to disagree. And thus, she rose and moved to the pianoforte, and after choosing some music, she sat down to play. It was a relief that Lady Catherine claimed Mr. Darcy’s attention for herself, the Collinses almost forgotten where they sat.

  The colonel, as was his habit, escaped his aunt’s officious attentions, and he joined Elizabeth at the pianoforte, ostensibly to turn the pages for her. That the music she had chosen fit on the two pages in front of her, and thus she needed no such assistance, she decided to ignore. In truth, Elizabeth was feeling annoyed by Mr. Darcy’s behavior, and the strength with which she played, her fingers striking the keys with more force than required, rendering her playing louder than usual, attesting to her state of mind.

  “You have chosen a more boisterous sort of song tonight, Miss Bennet,” said the colonel after she had been playing for some time.

  Elizabeth refrained from noting that it was his own cousin’s fault. “I apologize, Colonel. Do you think your aunt will be offended by my loud playing?”

  A chuckle escaped the colonel’s lips, and he shook his head. “In fact, I doubt my aunt even realizes it.”

  They both snuck a quick glance at the woman, noting that she was fully engrossed with her nephew and daughter sitting close by.

  “Perhaps they are speaking of the wedding arrangements,” said Elizabeth. “It would be an eligible match, do you not think?”

  The colonel frowned. “Eligible, perhaps. But neither Darcy nor Anne wishes for it.”r />
  “Her mother does.”

  “Her mother does not have her own way nearly as often as she thinks she does.”

  Though Elizabeth continued to play, she looked the colonel in the eye, noting the challenging quality deep in their depths. What he was thinking, Elizabeth could not quite determine.

  “Come now, Miss Bennet, I know you do not believe that Anne and Darcy will marry. I know Anne told you that the engagement is nothing more than her mother’s fantasy.”

  Elizabeth’s eyebrow rose almost of its own accord. “I am surprised you are having such conversations between cousins, sir. Furthermore, I cannot imagine why you think it any of my concern whether your cousins should marry.”

  “You were the one who raised the subject.”

  Inclining her head, Elizabeth acknowledged the hit. “I did. But it was no more than an offhand observation. In truth, it means very little to me, as you must acknowledge. Despite Anne’s kind words at supper, I doubt I shall have occasion to come to Kent again, and I cannot fathom that Lady Catherine would allow her parson’s wife to extend the invitation. I will almost certainly depart from Kent, never to be in company with any of you again.”

  The look with which the colonel regarded her suggested he thought she did not believe her own assertion, and perhaps thought her daft in the bargain. Elizabeth just returned it with a placid look of her own. When he spoke again, he had apparently decided to leave that subject for another. They did not again speak of such things, and Elizabeth departed the estate soon after, wondering if Lady Catherine would insist she be sent back to Hertfordshire without delay. Though Elizabeth did not wish for her visit with her dearest friend to be shortened, a part of her wished to depart as soon as possible.

  “Well, you certainly have managed to put your foot in it this time, Darcy.”

  A scowl was Darcy’s only reply. Instead he turned his attention back to his next shot, and lining up his cue, he struck the ball. Unfortunately, his temper caused him to strike the ball harder than necessary, and the colored ball, though it hit the pocket, merely bounced against the back and popped back out. Darcy glared at the ball as if it had done him some affront.

  A chuckle sounded from his cousin, and he took his position, calmly pocketing his own ball with his next shot. Darcy watched it sourly; he truly was in no mood for the game, but there was little else to do at present. At least their aunt had retired soon after their guests had departed, though Darcy was certain from her piercing glares that she was working herself up to an explosion of temper.

  “Have you nothing to say for yourself, Cousin?” asked Fitzwilliam, pulling Darcy’s attention from thoughts of his aunt.

  Darcy only grunted and watched his cousin line up his next shot. Fitzwilliam easily put the ball in the intended pocket, but Darcy could see that his cousin’s attention was on him, rather than the game.

  “I am, in actuality, surprised at Lady Catherine,” said Darcy at length. “I paid Miss Bennet no more attention this evening than I have in the past. I cannot fathom why she would choose tonight to develop a hint of perception.”

  A snort was Fitzwilliam’s response. “No more attention? Perhaps in your own mind, Cousin, but I can assure you that for a time, Anne and I both felt the neglect. When you spoke, you spoke to Miss Bennet; it was as if there was no one else in the room.”

  While Darcy did not think his behavior had been quite so overt, he supposed Fitzwilliam did have a point. Miss Bennet had been so lovely tonight, her opinions so impertinent, so . . . delightful, that Darcy had been unable to help himself. He would have given anything to take Fitzwilliam’s place by her side as she played the pianoforte, but he knew his aunt would not have been able to contain herself at such a blatant action.

  “I hope Anne was not offended,” said Darcy after thinking on the situation for a moment.

  “Of course, she was not,” replied Fitzwilliam. “She was much more amused by your behavior, though fearful of rousing her mother’s wrath. She needs to live here with the dragon, Darcy, and you would do well to remember that fact.”

  “I should have taken the opportunity many years ago, to inform Aunt Catherine that I had no intention of marrying Anne.”

  “You did not? By my account, you told her several times over.”

  Darcy snorted. “I did, and she refused to believe me. I would like to believe that at least on some level she understands that I do not mean to make her fantasy a reality, but I have known for some time that it is a vain hope. Regardless, we should have done more to assist Anne.”

  “That I cannot deny. The question is, what do you intend to do about it now?”

  For some moments, Darcy thought on the matter before he ventured a response. “I suppose there is nothing to be done. I will confront Lady Catherine about it and inform her that Anne and I will not marry.”

  “If you will pardon my saying so, Darcy, I believe that would be a disaster.”

  Curious, Darcy looked at his cousin. Fitzwilliam was quick to oblige. “If you inform her now, Aunt Catherine will have a ready scapegoat on whom to turn. Given your performance tonight, can you imagine our aunt receiving your news and not immediately assuming that Miss Bennet is not the cause for your refusal to do as she wishes?”

  The thought of Aunt Catherine treating Miss Bennet with anything less than respect caused Darcy to pause. He knew Fitzwilliam had the right of it—Lady Catherine was not accustomed to being denied anything, and since he was certain she had detected his partiality to Miss Bennet, it was not likely she would be inclined to rein in her temper. But the thought of leaving the woman to persist in her delusion was also not palatable.

  “Then what do you suggest?”

  “There is little to be done at this point,” replied Fitzwilliam. He shrugged and turned back to his shot. “Instructing her to refrain from importuning Miss Bennet would only convict the young woman in her eyes—this you must concede.”

  “But she may act, even if she and I do not argue on the matter.”

  “Then I suppose we must continue here until Miss Bennet leaves,” replied Fitzwilliam. “You cannot leave her to fend off Lady Catherine herself. The poor woman would surely not be happy with you if you paid her such attentions, roused Lady Catherine’s ire, and then left her to deal with the consequences.”

  Darcy grimaced, but did not respond to his cousin’s assertion. “We are to stay here until your father arrives.”

  Fitzwilliam nodded, but turned back to his short, leaving Darcy with his thoughts. Given Miss Bennet’s feelings for him—which he thought had begun to soften—he was certain her opinion of him would sink should he leave her to Lady Catherine’s dubious mercy, and Darcy was forced to confess that he would not blame her for it if she did. Darcy was not happy at all to have to deal with Lady Catherine, but they were stuck here in Kent anyway. And the prospect of staying close to Miss Bennet was not at all onerous.

  Of course, she is almost certainly already aware of Lady Catherine’s suspicions, thought Darcy, a sour taste in his mouth.

  As if he needed another reason for her to disdain him. Darcy had always imagined that courting would be a simple business. He was sought out by many in society, a valuable commodity on the marriage market, and one even the daughter of an earl would consider a good catch. And yet, here he was, struggling to induce a country miss, with naught but her considerable charms to recommend her, to think well enough of him that he might make a proposal of marriage to her with a reasonable expectation of being accepted.

  In short, he was discovering how important it was to please a woman worthy of being pleased, and he had the sinking feeling that had he not discovered her antipathy toward him, he might never have learned such a valuable lesson.

  Chapter VIII

  In the morning, Darcy decided to absent himself from Rosings before his aunt made her appearance. He knew that unpleasant scenes were almost certain to arise that morning, but he found that he could not bear it without first seeing Miss Bennet. Thus, he set
out, hoping to encounter her, but dreading what he might find at the same time.

  It was fortunate—or perhaps not so fortunate—that he came across her not long after he set out, and in the location at which he had often met her in recent weeks. As it was still early, the sun was still low in the sky, and though little of it filtered through the canopy of the trees surrounding the path, what did fell upon Miss Bennet’s cheeks, kissing them with its warmth and bathing them in sparkling light, making her complexion seem even brighter, rendering her appearance uncommonly desirable.

  If not for the stony set to her countenance, Darcy might have admired her beauty for some time. Unfortunately, the fact of her unmistakable displeasure could not help but remind him that she was an intelligent woman, well able to see and understand what was happening in front of her very eyes. He would not be able to put her off with some pretty platitudes which would have satisfied some society misses. The effects of a night largely bereft of sleep, coupled with the very real sight of an angry Miss Bennet, caused Darcy to almost feel light-headed.

  “Mr. Darcy,” greeted the woman, though the edge to her tone suggested that she would as soon meet a rabid dog as Darcy himself.

  “Miss Bennet,” replied Darcy, bowing in greeting. “I see you have decided to put this wonderful morning to good use.”

  It might have been nothing more than wishful thinking, but Darcy thought he noticed a softening of her features. The discussion of nature seemed to calm her, and Darcy seized on the moment to point out several differences between what they could see around them and her home, and she seemed to accept his choice of subject with good grace. They walked for several moments, speaking of Hertfordshire, and Darcy managed to forget for a time the circumstance in which he found himself, enthralled as he was of her descriptions of that to which he had not paid much attention the previous year.

  “This Oakham Mount of which you speak,” said he when she spoke of it. “I seem to remember a prominent hill to the north, but it must be quite far from your father’s house.”