by Leenie Brown
“I…I… do not need to walk,” Collins stammered.
“What? The heir must rusticate while everyone else enjoys the fresh air?” Darcy inserted.
Mrs. Bennet gasped. “You are right, of course, Mr. Darcy. Mr. Collins should join you, but Mary is not here. She is with Hill. I could go get her.”
“There is no need to bother yourself,” Darcy said calmly. “I am certain Miss Kitty could tolerate a turn of the garden with Mr. Collins. Could you not?”
Kitty bit her lip and looked first at Darcy and then Lydia, who was now glaring at her. If Darcy was not mistaken, Miss Lydia would rather see Wickham left standing than to see her sister on his arm.
“I am certain I could,” Kitty replied.
“But Mr. Wickham…” Mrs. Bennet muttered.
“You could join us, Mrs. Bennet,” Darcy offered.
“Me? On the arm of a young man in my garden?” The thought seemed nearly too strange for the woman to grasp, but then her look of perplexity slid into a smile. “It’s just the thing!” she cried. “I should hate for Mr. Wickham to go away without seeing the garden. He has not yet seen it, you know.” She scampered away, calling for her daughters to follow and make haste in retrieving their things.
Wickham shifted uneasily as the ladies, and Mr. Collins left the room.
“Five hundred pounds,” Darcy said, turning to face his former friend.
“For what?” Richard asked.
“For Wickham to find some other sitting room to frequent,” Darcy replied.
“Five hundred pounds,” Wickham scoffed. “This sitting room is worth more than that.”
“Five hundred pounds and your life,” Richard muttered.
Wickham’s eyes grew wide.
Darcy raised a brow at his cousin in response.
Richard shrugged. “It was a pleasant thought.”
Darcy shook his head.
“One thousand,” Bingley offered. “I can spare five hundred. Caroline has not been to a shop in two weeks.”
“He deserves nothing,” Richard grumbled, “at least nothing so pleasant as you offer.”
“One turn of the garden with Mrs. Bennet,” Darcy said, ignoring Richard, “and then you take your leave and do not return.”
“And you will give me five hundred pounds?” Wickham said incredulously.
Darcy nodded. “Call on me in a month’s time, and I will give you five hundred pounds as long as you have not returned to Longbourn or been found with any of its residents of the female variety.”
“I was not serious about Miss Lydia,” Wickham said with a smirk. “Now, Miss Elizabeth…”
“Is mine,” Darcy growled, stepping within inches of Wickham, his jaw clenching, and his fists balling.
Wickham swallowed and retreated a step. “Five hundred from you both.” He looked around Darcy to Bingley.
“In one month’s time,” Bingley agreed.
Wickham shrugged. “Very well. It is perhaps the easiest thousand I shall ever earn.”
“One moment,” Richard said before everyone left the sitting room to greet the ladies they could hear on the stairs. “You’re agreeing to stay away from them always.”
“I cannot help it if I see them in town or at a soiree,” Wickham retorted.
“You will be civil but not excessively charming,” Richard explained. “I am certain you understand my meaning.” He threw an arm around Wickham’s shoulders and pulled him close to his side as they crossed to the sitting room door. “You do understand, do you not?”
Again, Wickham swallowed hard and agreed to the terms. Then, when Colonel Fitzwilliam released him, he smiled and offered Mrs. Bennet his arm.
~*~*~
“Miss Elizabeth.” Tugging along a recalcitrant Lydia, Richard hurried after Darcy and Elizabeth on the garden path.
“If I must walk with you,” Lydia complained, “I should like to walk and not scamper.”
“I do apologize, Miss Lydia.” Richard glanced at her briefly and slowed his pace. “Is that better?”
“Perhaps,” Lydia replied with a lift of her chin and a small huff.
Richard chuckled, which only served to draw another huff from his partner.
“Miss Elizabeth.” Richard pulled some folded pieces of paper from his pocket and handed them to her. “I had hoped to give these to you in private, but…” He glanced back to where Wickham was walking with Mrs. Bennet, “but my plans did not include him.”
“Why do you hate Mr. Wickham?” Lydia demanded. “I think he is a very friendly sort of person, unlike some.” Her eyes raked up the colonel’s person while her lips curled in contempt.
Darcy saw Richard’s eyes narrow. It was a sign that his cousin’s limit of tolerance was nearing an end, which was not surprising since Wickham’s presence tended to have that effect on him.
“I would rather walk with Mr. Collins than you,” Lydia continued. “He is ridiculous, but at least he is nice.”
“Those papers should help you in making your decision,” Richard said to Elizabeth as she turned the letters he had given her over in her hand. “One was intended to be sent to me, and the other I procured from Darcy’s sister, Georgiana, while in town.”
Elizabeth shook her head. “I do not understand. My decision? About what?”
“About whom,” Richard replied with a tip of his head toward Darcy. “I would prefer if the whom did not know I had given those to you, but, well, plans changed.”
Elizabeth darted a look toward Darcy. “This has been a most unusual afternoon.”
First, Mr. Darcy had seemed angry to see Mr. Wickham, and then Colonel Fitzwilliam had all but thrown the man from the room. And now, she had letters in her hand that were supposed to help her decide something about Mr. Darcy?
Richard blew out a breath, pulled Lydia in front of him, and then covered her ears with his hands, ignoring her protests. “Darcy loved you before Anne died.” He nodded toward the letters. “Those are my proof. He would never share anything like this with you. He would simply continue to be gallant and attentive with the hope that eventually, you would be won over. However,” he blew out another breath, “I fear there is not enough time for such maneuvers.”
He released Lydia.
“You are horrid,” she cried.
“Lydia,” Elizabeth chided.
“He is very high-handed.” She stood cross-armed, glaring at Richard. “And he was very rude to Mr. Wickham and has yet to explain himself.”
“Lydia, it is not polite to ask him to explain himself.”
Lydia’s glare shifted to her sister. “I do not see why I have to be polite when he is not.”
“Lydia, please,” Elizabeth begged.
“Mr. Wickham is not to be trusted,” Darcy interjected. “There was a young lady of our acquaintance who was led to believe by his charming manners and pretty words that he loved her and she him.” He paused. “As I understand it, he had even convinced this young lady to elope with him.”
Lydia’s eyes grew wide, and she gasped.
“The young lady’s family did not approve of him, you see.” His brows furrowed. “Not because of his station as a steward’s son, but because of his proclivities, which I fear, for delicacy’s sake, I cannot mention beyond what I have said. It would be most improper.”
A startled squeak escaped Lydia, and her hand flew to cover her mouth.
“As it turned out, the scheme was discovered, and it was brought to light that Wickham had no feelings for the young lady. His intention was only to acquire her fortune. The young lady, of course, was heartbroken.”
Lydia had spun around, so that she was watching Wickham. “This is true?” she asked.
“I am afraid it is,” Darcy replied. “She was your age.” He nodded in reply to her wide-eyed look. “He only appears to be charming.”
“But I have no fortune,” Lydia replied.
“He was playing with your heart nonetheless,” Darcy assured her.
“But why?” Her lashes fluttered.
>
“His proclivities would favour your…beauty,” Richard replied
“Oh!” Lydia squeaked as her hand once again flew to her mouth.
“You cannot repeat this, Lydia,” Elizabeth cautioned. “Such a tale could cause this other young lady great sorrow if it were known.” She glanced at Mr. Darcy, who nodded.
“Oh, I shall not tell a soul,” she pulled her bottom lip between her teeth, “except, maybe Kitty?”
“You may tell your sister,” Darcy assured her.
“If you had but explained that to me from the beginning,” Lydia said, taking the arm Richard offered her, “I should not have been half so cross with you.”
“I could not just march into a room and expound such a tale,” Richard said as they began to walk away.
“You think I’m beautiful?”
Elizabeth laughed and shook her head. Of course, that would be the one thing Lydia would fixate upon. “I believe your cousin has found himself in a most uncomfortable position,” she said to Darcy.
“It would not be the first time,” Darcy admitted. “Richard can be a trifle too direct at times.”
“I think it is endearing that he should put himself in such a place for my sister’s safety.” Elizabeth turned the letters over in her hand once again. “It seems it is not grief which has caused you to think well of me.” She smiled sheepishly at him. “Which I believe you have already told me.”
“You have not read those letters. It could be a ploy,” Darcy said as he and Elizabeth began walking side by side down the path.
“He placed himself between my sister and Mr. Wickham.”
Darcy nodded. “He did.”
“I doubt these are a ploy. Do you wish me to read them?” Elizabeth had to admit to herself that she was curious about the contents of the letters.
“I do not mind if you do.”
Elizabeth turned the letters over once more and then unfolded the first. It was a partial letter. She held it out so that he could see it.
“I was writing that one when Richard arrived to tell me about Anne. The first part is just news of the area. It is likely the last few lines he wishes for you to see.”
Elizabeth scanned down to the bottom of the writing.
I find myself in need of advice. I have promised myself to Anne, and in a few week’s time, our betrothal will be announced. However, I find myself captivated by another. I have attempted these past weeks to dissuade my heart from longing to see her eyes sparkle with amusement or to hear her engage in debate. Her laughter is intoxicating. Her mind is sharp and quick. She is …
That was where it ended. There was no more.
“I found I could not keep my heart from desiring you,” Darcy said as she began refolding the paper. “But I was betrothed. Not officially, but in word. I found that as time passed, I could not reconcile myself to either breaking my promise or being parted from you.”
“You would have kept your promise,” Elizabeth said softly. There was not one thing she had witnessed in her acquaintance with Fitzwilliam Darcy that said he was anything less than constant. He might have been dour and disapproving and even rude, but he was not capricious.
“I would have,” he admitted, “but I did not want to.”
She turned and held out the letters to him.
“Do you not wish to see what I told my sister about you?”
She shook her head. “No, I want to go to my father.”
“Very well, I shall not detain you,” he said, taking the letters from her and stuffing them into his pocket.
“I want you to go with me.”
“You do?”
“Yes,” she replied, a smile spreading across her face. “I am a lady of my word, and three days ago, I told him that I would never give you permission to speak to him. Therefore, I find I must speak to him on your behalf. I only need to know what you would like me to ask him.”
His eyelids fluttered. His mouth dropped open and then snapped closed. “Would you …” He shook his head as a pleased, yet perplexed look crept across his face. “You do not mean…”
“But I do,” she assured him. “Grief has not clouded your mind, and it no longer clouds mine. I should like very much to marry you if you will but ask me.”
“You will marry me?”
Oh, his smile was beautiful.
“Yes, most happily.”
“Truly?”
She had barely gotten the word “yes” out of her mouth before she found herself wrapped in his embrace. “We must go see my father,” she urged him. “He must know of my happiness.”
“Of course, of course, he must know.” Darcy agreed.
And he would.
In just a short time, Mr. Bennet would have the pleasure of giving his daughter a knowing smirk as he kissed her cheek and congratulated Darcy on being more determined than his most obstinate daughter. Elizabeth would protest, and Mr. Bennet would chuckle and kiss her once again as he assured her of both is love and happiness. But that would come later. First, there was something that Darcy needed to do, and so he did not release her and go with her immediately to her father’s side.
Instead, he placed a hand on her cheek as she looked up at him and said, “He will know, I promise you that, but first…” He smiled as he brushed her lower lip with his thumb. “First, I must kiss you. I truly must.”
And he did.
Gently, reverently, as if she was the most precious thing in the world, his lips brushed hers and then pressed against them more urgently, and as he did, Elizabeth wound her arms around him with a sigh of contentment as a feeling of perfect well-being washed over and around her. No matter what sorrows lay ahead or what memories of griefs long past would arise, she knew that she would always wish to be right here, in his arms, surrounded by Mr. Darcy’s comfort.
Master of Longbourn
Chapter 1
William Collins pushed back the shock of golden brown hair that always fell across his forehead and studied his face.
It was not angular. There were no high cheekbones nor was there a prominent chin.
His eyes were evenly spaced but not of any particularly intense colour. In fact, they reflected the colour of his hair, which meant there was nothing to set them apart as an admirable feature.
His nose was good. It was straight and not too large. There was no hook at the end, nor were any distracting hairs protruding from it. One thing. One solitary thing that was good about his face was not enough.
He looked at his mouth. Not large, nor small. Merely regular.
He allowed the hair to flop down on his forehead once again as he pulled at what he considered a definite imperfection. His jowl was far too soft and fleshy to be attractive.
Blowing out a great breath, he began stuffing his shirt tails into his breeches. How was he to persuade Miss Kitty to consider him if he had no particularly handsome features to recommend him?
It was as his father had said. He would be the last in their family to be master of Longbourn because ladies did not marry lumpy puddings such as he.
He plopped down onto his bed and pulled on his boots, which, though freshly polished, were old and well-worn as well as still rather dull. Much like the rest of him.
Until now, he had not thought himself so lacking as his father had proclaimed him to be. He had excelled in his studies far more than his father would ever have thought possible, and despite his father’s assurance that he would not, he had made some friends — even a few who were important enough to help him acquire a valuable living. True, none of them wished to visit, but they did correspond, and that was something, was it not?
And yet, here he sat in what would soon be one of the rooms of his estate, having to face the prospect that he might grow old and lonely just as his father said simply because he was dashed ordinary. It was not being ordinary, however, that grated the most. No, what stirred his spirit and caused him to scowl was the fact that in this, he feared he could not prove his father wrong.
The s
igh which escaped him could have surely moved the heavy green drapes that hung on either side of the window had he been close enough. He fell backward onto his bed and stared at the canopy above him. All his striving was to come to naught, and simply because he was not handsome enough to persuade Kitty Bennet to look at him as Miss Elizabeth looked at Mr. Darcy or Miss Bennet looked at Mr. Bingley. Miss Kitty did not even look at him with that transient fondness of a flirt like Miss Lydia looked at every officer who came within her line of vision.
He could not charm Miss Kitty into liking him, for he had less charm than he had becoming features. All was lost.
If it were not for the man lying close to heaven’s gates in the room just down the hall, Collins would take himself back to Kent and throw himself into his preaching with such fervour that some pious young girl might come to admire him for his oratory skills. Those he had – when he was in the pulpit.
“Surely, there must be a way to sway her. Mustn’t there be?”
The empty room had no response to such a question, and neither did his mind. However, there was a duty to be done. He was the heir apparent, and with Mr. Bennet incapacitated, it fell upon him to see that all was well within the house and in regard to his family.
He smiled at that.
Family. No matter if he married or not, he had a family. And it was one which seemed to tolerate him far better than his own father ever had.
Bolstered by the thought, he pushed up to a sitting position and then rose from the bed. Pulling on his waistcoat and jacket, he wondered if the funds at Longbourn would allow for him to have a man to help him with these things.
His father had thought it an extravagance which was likely because it would have taken from the funds he needed to chase every new scheme that was placed before him. There were several hundred if not thousands of pounds which were planted with hopes of heavy returns. Sadly, his father was as wise as he was kind, and his fortune dwindled steadily. Collins had not been left penniless when his father died, but along with what remained of his inheritance, he had also been bequeathed a fine array of bills. Therefore, his coffers were neither empty nor well-filled.
He straightened his cravat, gave his sleeves one more tug, and exited his room.