Mendacity and Mourning

by J. L. Ashton

  It was all he could do not to fall to his knees, propose, and commence more kissing.

  “Lizzy? Where have you gone off to?” Kitty burst through the trees, startling the lovers apart.

  Darcy stood quickly before bending down to fetch his hat. “Miss Catherine, I did not realise you had accompanied us.”

  Kitty looked past him at her blushing sister. “Lizzy,” she said in a loud whisper. “Mr. Collins is coming. He worries he will catch you in some improper act. He means to save you from Mr. Darcy!”

  Though her face remained a charming shade of pink, Elizabeth had regained her wits. “Thank you, Kitty. I believe Mr. Collins is too late to secure my regard, and there is no need to rescue me from Mr. Darcy.”

  When Mary and Mr. Collins appeared a few minutes later, he was not only too late to save his cousin from Mr. Darcy’s affections but too slow to secure her arm for their return to Longbourn. Elizabeth and Kitty each held one of Mr. Darcy’s arms as they strolled back to the house.

  He does not smell of mutton or tobacco, Elizabeth thought, sighing. I can think only of how he tastes.

  She felt witless yet astonishingly attentive to the man at her side. She was too happy to gasp at her wickedness.

  Chapter Nineteen

  The group, including two rather flushed, distracted couples, strolled slowly back to Longbourn. Although Darcy intended to seek out Mr. Bennet, he was waylaid by another Bennet relation. He had felt the clergyman’s eyes boring into him during their walk, and now, when Collins entreated him, Darcy nodded. The sooner he held certain conversations, the sooner he could move ahead with other, more pleasurable activities.

  Collins. Mr. Bennet. Mrs. Bennet. Darcy had secured Elizabeth’s affections. Now he need only swat down her ridiculous suitor, inform her father of his intention to propose as soon as may be, and charm her mother, who would ensure the truth of the past weeks would spread far and wide. Then they could again seek out the shrubbery.

  As the rest of the group filed into the house, Darcy’s eyes searched out Elizabeth’s. Her nose wrinkled most becomingly as she gave him a puzzled but encouraging smile.

  He followed Collins to the side garden—a pretty but rather overgrown bit of wilderness—leaned against a tree, and crossed his arms. I would rather be thinking on the lips I just kissed than listening to the words coming from the bottle-headed vicar with the flapping jaw. How Richard would enjoy this interrogation.

  “What is it you wish to address with me, Collins?” he asked in a cold yet polite voice.

  The clergyman rose to his full height. Although he often relied upon his imposing size to remind others of his worth and wisdom, the master of Pemberley outstripped him by a few inches. Somewhat subdued, Collins began to speak.

  “As cousin to all the Bennets, but most especially to Miss Elizabeth, I must importune you to recall yourself, sir. Your reputation here and in town is muddied by tales of skirt-chasing, by the sins committed by your cousin in Kent, and even by the low behaviour of your aunt.”

  Collins looked at Darcy reprovingly, prompting a low laugh from the man he had chastised.

  “You dare censure my family while rebuking those who would find your behaviour extremely objectionable?” Darcy loomed over the cleric and lowered his voice in a deliberate manner.

  “Oh, do tell me how I have misbehaved, Collins. Please, enlighten me as to where the appellation of the Grieving Groom arose.” Darcy scoffed. “From your brain, sir. From your lips to God’s ear and onto all of Hertfordshire. You are a mendacious gossip.”

  Collins quaked but remained firm. “You must leave here and not further besmirch my cousin’s good name. I am to take my future wife from Longbourn—”

  “You may have your pick of ladies who do not go by the name of Bennet, but it is you who will besmirch their names.” Darcy stared at the man with disdain. He had always felt he was a gentleman—and a gentle man—but he was speaking in the voice of an imperious Fitzwilliam. He did not know whether to be amused or horrified. I pray I do not smell of rotting fruit…

  “Mr. Darcy, I must refute your words,” Collins began, his voice betraying some uncertainty.

  “No, you must listen to them instead,” Darcy replied as if speaking to a petulant child. “My family’s business is not yours to make public, and Miss Elizabeth is not for you.”

  “But I have spoken to her father.”

  “I am certain he laughed at such a notion,” Darcy snapped.

  Collins gasped. “I shall be marrying her to save the family’s good name.”

  “The Bennets need no saviour, nor would you be the man for such an endeavour.” Darcy rolled his eyes. “Miss Elizabeth is a lady of gentle birth and has a say in the sort of man she may marry. She has been quite emphatic in refusing your attentions.”

  “I am heir to Longbourn,” Collins whinged. “The Bennets have great need of my grace.”

  “Ah, but I do not,” Darcy growled, “nor do I have business with you. You have disgraced yourself and brought shame to this family. You must depart, wife or no, and leave the Bennets in peace.”

  “Alone?” Collins was ashen. “’Though I speak with the tongues of men and of angels, and have not charity…’”

  “Yes, yes, yes…you have become a ‘sounding brass, or a tinkling cymbal,’” Darcy parried in a sardonic tone. He eyed Collins, his exasperation now warring with some small glimpse of sympathy. As hapless, stupid, and unpleasant as he appeared, the cleric was not completely cruel and mean spirited. He toiled at the mercy of Lady Catherine, yet Richard had reported his parishioners respected him; no wonder his impulses towards staid common sense were uneven and awkward. Anne had certainly been damaged by her mother, yet she emerged to find joy in her life. Perhaps there was hope for the cleric.

  “You are a man of God quoting Corinthians. You have a gift, sir.” Darcy prevaricated with only good intent. “I recall your worries for your parishioners. You said your ‘lambs’ need you.”

  “Yes, they do,” Collins replied with no small amount of eagerness. “I am needed at Hunsford.”

  “Then go,” Darcy urged. “Make haste. You retain your parish, but you have a new lady to please. My aunt no longer resides at Rosings nor runs the estate. She has taken ill and is gone to a family estate to recover.” He paused, waiting for Collins’s nervous fluttering to taper off. “I suggest you curry favour with my cousin. She has a good heart and far more to offer you than your former mistress.”

  Darcy leaned closer, affecting some intimacy with Collins to better enforce his point. He sniffed. Good lord, the man smells of fish and soured cream sauce. “We both are gentlemen who care for Rosings and its parish. Let me confide this to you: my cousin has long been in poor health. It was fear of the pox—a rumour we have yet to trace to its origins, mind you—that delayed her return to Rosings with her new husband. My aunt’s misplaced ire created a host of problems and gossip circulated by many—but originating with you.”

  Collins looked at him, wide-eyed and slightly trembling. “Lady Catherine said her daughter was dead to her.”

  “To her, you ass. To her. Did Lord Matlock not explain this to you in London?” Darcy shook his head in disgust at the buzzard clergyman. So much stupidity in one man, yet he felt himself worthy of my Elizabeth? Deluded fool.

  He took a breath and prepared to elucidate his uncle’s whitewashed account of the still-living Anne and her unlikely nuptials. His audience was such a malleable, frightened little man that he would believe any words said by the master of Pemberley.

  “Lady Catherine was unhappy with my cousin’s choice of husband and their delayed return from their wedding tour. You misunderstood and discouraged my aunt from clarifying the truth”—Darcy’s eyes narrowed as his voice deepened—“and proclaimed me to be the Grieving Groom!”

  Collins gulped. “She said it had b
een arranged whilst you slept in your cradles…”

  “Another untruth. My mother and father agreed to no such attachment.”

  “Oh my,” Collins croaked in a small voice. “So much deceit and unwarranted grief.”

  Darcy refrained from rolling his eyes. He had done far too much of that lately. He gave Collins a grave nod. “My aunt is not well, but she deserves neither scorn nor slanderous musings. Your new patroness is my cousin and my friend. She has a generous heart, and she always has my ear. I can be of assistance in assuring your success at Hunsford, or I can do differently. In this, Collins, I give you a choice.”

  It appeared that the cleric finally had grasped the finer points of his situation. His eyes grew wide, and he began to tremble. “I am truly rejoiced that your cousin’s sad business has been so well hushed up, and I am only concerned that their rush towards marriage should be so generally known.”

  Darcy’s voice dropped to a harsh whisper. “Collins, you wear on my patience.”

  “I wish to be of service to your cousin and to you, sir, of course. In fact,” Collins went on, blushing in a most unbecoming manner, “I have received word from Rosings that my parsonage is under improvement, and I may soon return.”

  Collins bowed dramatically, catching his coattails in the briars of a thorny bush. He began to jerk this way and that to pull himself loose.

  Biting back a smirk and fully exhausted from such a long tête-à-tête with the grovelling man, Darcy sighed. Elizabeth awaits me, for goodness’ sake. He leaned over and pulled the cleric’s coattails free from the shrubbery.

  “Be warned, then. Do not set foot again in the viper’s nest you created. Do not lie nor gossip.”

  Collins looked properly shamefaced. “Indeed. I am a man of God, and I shall follow His word. You, sir, have been maligned. I am sorry for my part in what has occurred. Be assured, I shall spread no slanders.”

  “Nor haunt Miss Elizabeth?”

  Darcy thought he detected a slight hesitance, but then Collins shook his head with such vigour that Darcy feared the man would knock himself out. He bowed deeply, excused himself, and wandered over to Longbourn’s beehives.

  At long last. Satisfied with the persuasive success of his conversation and eager to return to the person who most mattered, Darcy turned heel and headed to the house. Elizabeth was waiting just inside the doorway. He took a sharp breath as his memory seized on the kisses they had exchanged. Mine. She is mine, and I am hers.

  ***

  Elizabeth gave him a warm smile. She had seen the cold manner in which he had spoken to her cousin but now saw the possessive look in his eyes. She had felt his lips on hers and she knew his heart. Mine. He is mine, and I am his.

  “My father is in his library. I believe Mr. Bingley awaits an audience as well.”

  He leaned nearer her ear and spoke a few words as his fingers traced her wrist. Then he pulled away, gave her a soft smile, and walked into the library.

  Elizabeth watched the door close and sighed. Suddenly she heard Kitty’s voice in her ear.

  “Lizzy, if Mr. Darcy has not yet asked you to marry him, he had best get to it. All that kissing will only lead to rumours and gossip.”

  Elizabeth turned to Kitty and found her sister smirking at her.

  “I do not believe I shall need to help you hide after all,” the younger girl declared. “You and Mr. Darcy have discovered such a fine spot in the shrubbery.”

  ***

  With her sister gone home, Mrs. Bennet’s attention was focused on the conversations occurring in her husband’s library and the daughters on whom those conversations centred. Yet, she was clever, and she would say nothing; she would listen and observe. Kitty had talked nearly endlessly about Miss Bingley’s cunning ability to absorb knowledge simply by watching. Well, that girl was not the only one who could play at such a game. And how proficient was Miss Bingley at the art of observation, anyway? Four or five Seasons out and one foot already on the shelf.

  Not like her own clever daughters. Jane would have Netherfield. Elizabeth would have Longbourn. And Kitty, sly one, would have Pemberley and a house in town. Yes, Mrs. Bennet had seen how Mr. Darcy escorted both girls back to the house. Kitty has stolen him away from Miss Bingley! Ten thousand a year would more than suffice for being married to a man with a slippery past and murky tastes. At least, he was pleasant to the eyes, mayhap even more than Mr. Bingley. Although he had mourned carelessly, he had been quite handsome while doing so.

  But Longbourn’s mistress would think on this quietly and await the announcement. No one would know what she knew. Not yet. Her Lydia now had years to enjoy the company of redcoats before making her debut in London through her sisters’ connections. And Mary? Well, she had lost her chance with Mr. Collins. He preferred Lizzy, and the match would settle things nicely for them all. The gossip about that girl’s behaviour would be quieted when she was betrothed to Longbourn’s heir.

  Mrs. Bennet shook her head and glanced over at her eldest daughters in the corner of the room.

  ***

  “Lizzy,” Jane whispered. “Charles wished to speak alone with Papa. Must Mr. Darcy attend their conversation?”

  Elizabeth, stirred from the happy memory she had been enjoying, allowed a little annoyance to seep into her reply. “Jane, I am so happy for you and Mr. Bingley. Yet if Mr. Darcy’s approval was so necessary to achieving it, there should be no concern that he sits with Mr. Bingley as his friend asks for Papa’s consent.”

  Jane eyed her sister. “Is Mr. Darcy in there with a question of his own?”

  Elizabeth answered her with a smile.

  “But did not Mr. Collins already receive consent to speak to you?” Jane looked alarmed. “Mr. Darcy cannot have it as well.”

  “Jane, our father would not give consent to any man without first gaining our consent. He knew of your feelings for Mr. Bingley before now. My father knows I share his opinion of Mr. Collins.”

  “And does he know what you think of Mr. Darcy and that your information differs from the impression left in the neighbourhood?”

  Elizabeth had never before heard conceit in Jane’s voice. She responded with narrowed eyes, her anger overriding her despair at losing the good opinion of the only sister who had mattered. Before she could find her voice to form a response, the library door swung open, and the three men emerged. One beamed, another radiated intense joy, and the third and eldest appeared both amused and relieved. Mr. Bennet’s eyes rested on his daughters. He cleared his throat and drew Elizabeth’s attention from that of the young man standing beside him. She rose and joined her father; Jane followed.

  “I have given permission to your young man, Jane. I could not part with you to a worthier man than Mr. Bingley. Your happiness is certain.” He added quietly, “It would be wise to keep your families nearby for contrast.”

  The betrothed couple, arm in arm, beamed in confusion. Mrs. Bennet leapt up and began to rhapsodise over the shopping and planning and sewing that lay ahead.

  “Mrs. Bennet, I must tell you that while we have a wedding to plan, we must rely on the three silliest girls in the country to serve as chaperones to a second pairing as well. Mr. Darcy is courting our Lizzy.”

  Kitty squealed, Lydia screeched, and Mary beamed. Mr. Darcy, always clever and quick, caught Mrs. Bennet before she hit the floor.

  ***

  Spending some weeks apart from Miss Bingley had not changed her in any fundamental manner, Darcy reflected at Netherfield later that day. Elizabeth claimed her as the least pleasant woman of her acquaintance, though that was likely a temporary status. Once his relations learned of his attachment to Elizabeth, she was certain to experience even worse treatment.

  My attachment. They were courting—not engaged like Bingley and her sister but only a few steps behind. Darcy felt he had a deeper understa
nding of the woman standing beside him than his friend had of his betrothed. They smile and blush; we laugh and talk. How was it that Bingley remained so tongue-tied around the woman he was to marry, the woman he assumed his friend had kissed in the shrubbery? Was awkwardness a sign of love? He felt just happiness and relief. Elizabeth glanced up at him, and he rolled his eyes to mask his apprehension of Miss Bingley’s likely greeting. “She does not frighten me. After all, you and I have seen a yawning tiger, and I have faced an angry, sharp-tongued peacock.”

  Elizabeth smiled. “Be prepared, Mr. Darcy. Catching my mother in a faint and being struck by your aunt are trials indeed, but Miss Bingley is a bit more sharply angled. I would prefer you avoid further flesh wounds.”

  His eyes lit up, and he bit back a smile just as Georgiana arrived in the entryway with Miss Bingley hard on her heels. Darcy immediately saw the relief on his sister’s face.

  “Oh, Lizzy, it is so nice to see you again!”

  “Mr. Darcy, we feared the worst.” Miss Bingley’s voice masked her obvious surprise at Georgiana’s intimate address to Elizabeth. “Do come in.” Her eyes were hard as she stared at the Bennet girls attached to her brother and his friend. “Good afternoon, Jane, Eliza.”

  Disregarding the previous acquaintance between his sister and Elizabeth, Miss Bingley instead performed a grandiloquent introduction of Georgiana to Jane Bennet. She led them into the sitting room where the Hursts sat deep in conversation and unaware of the group’s entrance.

  Darcy, suddenly overwhelmed by his recognition of the similarity between Miss Bingley and Lady Catherine, felt his sister’s eyes upon him. He gave her a soft smile and nodded, pulling her into the small circle of knowledge. Georgiana stared at him, her mouth open in happy surprise and looking as though she would leap into his arms in excitement if they were alone. In light of his sister’s suppressed joy, Darcy determined he must hasten events along, no matter how much he now wished to slow them down. After weeks of denying and wondering about love, of reeling from and dealing with his family, the past hours had moved so quickly. He wished for a few moments to savour them, to gaze at Elizabeth and relive the happiness they had so recently shared. Her eyes had such a sparkle when he looked at her, and her voice held a new warmth; it seemed as if their minds had mingled as intimately as their breaths.