by Laura Hile
“Eliza,” whispered Charlotte. “Do have a care.”
There was some commotion outside. “Mr. Collins,” Lady Catherine’s voice called out. “A moment of your time, if you please!”
Charlotte was flushed with embarrassment, but not Elizabeth. Of what should she be ashamed? William ought to laugh at finding her alone with Mr. Darcy. Instead he stood scowling in the doorway.
Elizabeth put up her chin.
“Might I ask the meaning of this?” William demanded.
“Mr. Darcy and I were conversing about the storm,” she said. “I was about to take my leave.”
“What are you doing here? You have no business with Mr. Darcy.”
Oh, hadn’t she? Elizabeth kept her temper in check. “I came to see Mr. Fleming,” she said.
“Have you no consideration for my feelings? I was sick with worry when you could not be found.”
“And yet you live,” Elizabeth pointed out.
His expression became peevish. “Ned saw you leave,” he said, and he pursed up his lips.
“With Charlotte Lucas!” said Elizabeth.
“I took the trouble to find you,” he countered, “because the special license has come.” He looked beyond her to Mr. Darcy. “We are to be married tomorrow morning.”
Elizabeth could not miss the triumph in his tone. She took a step back.
“You do not seem pleased,” William said.
Elizabeth opened her mouth to speak, but no sound came out. Would William embrace her? Here, in front of Mr. Darcy?
Charlotte broke the silence. “What very good news! Might we impose on you, Mr. Collins, to take us home in your carriage?”
“I am leaving at once, for there is much to do.”
“Miss Elizabeth,” said Darcy. “If I might have a moment more of your time.”
William Collins gave a loud harrumph.
“About my letter,” continued Mr. Darcy.
“Never mind the letter,” said William. “As my connections with your family have been concluded, I bid you adieu, sir.”
Mr. Darcy ignored Mr. Collins. Indeed, his gaze never left Elizabeth’s face. “Miss Elizabeth?” he repeated.
Elizabeth felt William Collins take hold of her arm. “Another time, perhaps,” he said and pulled her away.
“William,” whispered Elizabeth, once they gained the entrance hall. “Must you cause a scene? It was never my intention to speak with Mr. Darcy.”
“I should hope not. Mr. Darcy,” he said, “is an idiot.”
Elizabeth held back the obvious retort. “I daresay your head pains you, but must you be so grumpy?”
“You do not know the half of it,” he said. The butler opened the main door and out they went, with Charlotte following.
“And yet you blame me for being concerned,” Elizabeth flashed. “And for wishing to discover if there is a remedy that could be helpful.”
“The most helpful thing,” he said, “is for you to never again mention Mr. Darcy. Or his aunt.”
“With pleasure!”
He opened the door of the carriage, none too gracefully.
“A happy serendipity, this,” remarked Charlotte, as she took a seat opposite Elizabeth. “We needn’t walk home after all.”
Elizabeth did not answer. Through narrowed eyes she watched William Collins climb into the carriage and arrange the lap robe over his legs. Tomorrow morning she would marry this man.
48 Turn of the Tide
The next morning it was snowing, which seemed appropriate for the occasion. Darcy had pressured Bingley into arriving early. There was no sense in taking chances.
Yesterday he had seen Collins’ face, gloating over Elizabeth as if he were a greedy child with a treat. Did Collins love her? No, it was lust, the desire to possess her beauty.
Or perhaps it was because Darcy loved her, and his love fueled Collins’ twisted revenge.
Bingley’s chaise came to a halt before Meryton’s parish church. “Here we are,” said Bingley, probably to break the silence. “Let’s hope the door is open.”
Darcy followed, his mind taken up with Collins. What reason had he for revenge? What had Darcy ever done to him?
Except to be everything that Collins was not.
Was Collins another George Wickham, then? Driven by jealousy and greed?
Bingley tried the church door and turned to Darcy with a smile of triumph. Darcy remained where he was, with the snow falling round him.
Collins hadn’t Wickham’s roving lasciviousness—he considered himself a moral man—and yet his motives were just as base. He would deceive Elizabeth in order to have her.
But she had not been warm toward Collins yesterday. Something did not ring true, and she knew it. Bless her, her loyalty would not allow her to repulse Collins.
He would see that happen today.
The door opened and Bingley put his head out. “Are you coming?”
Darcy gave a start, brushed the snow from his shoulders, and went in. He walked past Bingley to the front of the church and sat in the first pew—on the groom’s side.
“We are in no one’s way here,” Darcy explained. And they wouldn’t be. The entourage from Rosings was gone. Collins would have no friend to stand by him.
Bingley gave him an odd look. “Gad,” he whispered. “It’s even colder in here. Where is everyone?”
“A private ceremony, apparently,” said Darcy. “Immediate family only.”
“Which explains your presence.”
Darcy could not help himself; he felt a smile tug at his lips. “Perhaps,” he said, “I am about to become just that.”
He heard Charles sigh. Poor fellow, did he think ‘Mad Darcy’ had returned? But Darcy was feeling better than he had in days. The ringing in his ears was gone, and he no longer felt as if he had Serson’s Speculum spinning in his head. He could think clearly. Better yet, he could act.
A door opened and closed, and Collins came mincing down the center aisle. He halted when he noticed Darcy. “What are you doing here?”
Darcy’s brows went up. “I might ask you the same thing.” He rose to his feet and looked Collins over. “Wearing my coat, but not my breeches. An unusual combination, blue and black.”
Collins’ eyes narrowed. “Can I help it if you destroyed my only presentable frock coat? Moreover, thanks to you and that interfering Mrs. Hill, none of my clothes fit properly.”
Darcy could see the buttons straining to hold the waistcoat closed, but he made no comment. He could feel Bingley’s interest.
Collins did not bother to lower his voice. “You are not welcome here. You need to leave.”
“This is a public service of the church,” said Darcy mildly. “All are welcome, as you know.”
Collins brought his hands to his hips. “Not you. This is my wedding, and I will not have you present.”
“A penitent sinner, denied? By a minister of the church? But not,” Darcy added, “by God.”
“You are anything but penitent!”
“It happens that I am. And what about you? Are you a sinner, Collins? I say that you are.”
Collins opened and shut his lips like a fish. His chest swelled. “How dare you,” he said between shut teeth. “How dare you!”
In the back of the church a door opened; there was a commotion in the narthex. Without taking his eyes from Collins, Darcy said, “Off you go, Charles.”
“Huh?” said Bingley.
Darcy lowered his voice. “Unless I miss my guess, Miss Bennet and her sisters are here.”
Charles Bingley stood there, blinking at him. “Go on,” whispered Darcy. “You remember.”
With that, Bingley turned and went up the aisle. Collins’ gaze shifted to the narthex, where the girls were brushing snow from their cloaks.
“Has Miss Elizabeth come?” said Darcy politely. “With brides, one never knows.”
“How dare you,” repeated Collins.
“I heard you the first time. Were you planning to marry E
lizabeth without telling her who you are?”
Collins put up his chin. “She sees nothing amiss. And neither do I.” He moved as though to follow Bingley, but Darcy pulled him back.
“No, you don’t,” he said. “It is bad luck for the bridegroom to see his bride before the wedding. I thought you knew that.”
“Bad luck be damned,” spat Collins. “I want a word with her, and by God I’ll have it.”
Again Darcy pulled Collins back. “Cursing in the church,” he said, shaking his head. “Standards for clergymen have certainly slipped.”
Collins attempted to shake free.
“No doubt you wish to inform Miss Elizabeth that I am off my head,” continued Darcy. “You won’t get anywhere near her, Bingley will see to that.”
Collins muttered an oath.
“If she comes to the altar, that is,” continued Darcy. “She might not.”
Mrs. Bennet’s voice could be heard, mingling with the others. How familiar these voices were to Darcy; he could distinguish each one.
“Now you see, girls, there he is. You-hoo, Mr. Collins!” Mrs. Bennet waved a black-gloved hand.
Darcy saw Collins stiffen. “One of the guests is eager for this marriage,” Darcy remarked. “I wonder if she is the only one.”
Dr. Bentley came rustling forward to shake Collins’ hand. “All set, are we?” he said kindly. “You are now on the other side of things, Mr. Collins, no longer the officiant. Never mind the nerves. All bridegrooms are nervous.”
Darcy saw Collins force a smile.
“And how very good to see you again, Mr. Darcy. And in such fine form, too. I take it you are to be best man?”
Oh, the irony! Darcy’s eyes met Collins.’ “That is for Mr. Collins to decide.”
“Ah,” said Collins. “I—ah.”
How would the man answer? He would not dare be seen snubbing Mr. Darcy of Pemberley! Darcy hid a smile and waited.
Dr. Bentley’s smile grew wide. “Take no offense, sir,” he said to Darcy. “It’s only nerves.”
g
“Now mind you take care of the ring,” Dr. Bentley went on. “I’ll ask for it at the proper time. Your job as best man,” he added, “is to keep Mr. Collins standing upright.”
“May the best man win,” murmured Darcy, before he could stop himself.
Collins gave him a dark look.
Dr. Bentley merely smiled. “You will have your little joke, sir.” He turned aside to greet Mrs. Bennet and Mr. and Mrs. Phillips.
Darcy watched the rest of the Bennet family file down the center aisle: Bingley with Jane, and Mary with another woman whom Darcy did not know. Kitty and Lydia brought up the rear. There were no others—no ‘brother officers’ from the militia, no friends to support Collins.
Darcy thought that perhaps Mrs. Hill would attend, but no. Collins must have offended her thoroughly.
And then his eyes found Elizabeth, standing at the back of the church with a man—her uncle? Yes, Darcy remembered seeing him at the funeral. He was speaking earnestly to her. Bless him, did he sense that something was amiss?
Elizabeth’s face was drawn and unsmiling. Poor darling, to be married in a stiff black dress and a dreary black bonnet! She wore a black cloak too, which her uncle now helped her to remove.
Was there a flash of faded pink? Was Elizabeth wearing Sir Magico’s cloak?
Darcy’s heart was wrung, for he understood it. She was clinging to a precious memory: their midnight kisses in the parlor. It was him she loved, not Collins! His lips parted to speak, but no. He must bide his time.
Meanwhile the bridegroom was fluttering and clucking. “The ring,” Collins squeaked. “I-I haven’t got a ring.”
Darcy ignored him. Elizabeth’s uncle was continuing to speak with her. Her face, though pale, was set.
Darcy turned back to Collins. “Can you send someone to fetch it?”
The man’s face was twisted with anguish. “If only it were that simple!” he whispered. “Blast it all, can I help it if I forg—”
Comprehension dawned. “You paid out for a special license,” said Darcy, speaking low, “and yet you forgot to purchase the ring?”
“I was—detained! Preoccupied! Busy!”
“The most important commitment of your life,” Darcy went on, “and it slipped your mind?”
“It was a natural mistake! Under the circumstances, most understandable. I was quite overcome with the management of Longbourn House.”
Darcy just looked at him. Surely he could not be serious.
Collins fell silent. It took Darcy a moment to realize that he was staring. “I say,” said Collins, “since you are Best Man, would you mind...?” He indicated Darcy’s hand.
Immediately Darcy covered his signet ring. “Never,” he said. “Not in a million years.”
“You know the state of my purse!” hissed Collins. “Why, I had to borrow from the household money for the special licen—” He broke off speaking.
Darcy did not bother to disguise his contempt. “Borrowed?”
Collins was breathing unevenly. “I will give her a ring later. Yes, that’s it, once her father’s affairs are concluded. We shall choose it together, and all will be well.”
“Do you know, Collins, there is not much difference between you and Wickham.”
Collins was kept from replying by the approach of Elizabeth and her uncle. She was clinging to his arm as she trod the aisle, and the sprigs of winter sweet she carried trembled. As she neared, Darcy could see circles beneath her eyes. How many sleepless nights had she endured? Darcy fought the impulse to push Collins aside and enfold her in his arms.
Dr. Bentley came surging forward. “All set, Mr. Collins? Miss Elizabeth?”
“I will say again, dear Lizzy,” said her uncle, “that you needn’t go through with this.”
“I am—ready,” said Elizabeth in a small voice.
“It is only nerves, good sir,” said Dr. Bentley. “There is nothing new in that.”
Elizabeth’s mother spoke up. “You might smile a little, Lizzy. You will frighten your poor bridegroom.”
There was a pause. The smiles were all Dr. Bentley’s as he opened his book.
“Dearly beloved,” he said. “We are gathered together here in the sight of God, and in the face of this congregation, to join together this Man and this Woman in holy Matrimony…”
Dr. Bentley went on, and Darcy became occupied with his thoughts. He had learned a thing or two as Collins about humility. And now he was about to do something that his dignity would find abhorrent.
Dr. Bentley paused to turn a page. “I require and charge you both,” he said, “as ye will answer at the dreadful day of judgment when the secrets of all hearts shall be disclosed…”
Secrets of the heart.
Darcy’s gaze transferred to Collins. The man’s eyes would not meet his.
“Well?” Darcy murmured into Collins’ ear.
“Shut up,” he hissed.
So much for common honesty!
Darcy shifted his stance, and Collins gave him a sidelong look.
Dr. Bentley went blithely on. “…that if either of you know any impediment, why ye may not be lawfully joined together in Matrimony, ye do now confess it. For be ye—”
Darcy’s head came up. “I beg your pardon, good sir,” he said crisply.
All heads turned.
“Since Mr. Collins will not speak,” Darcy went on, “I fear I must. There is, most definitely, an impediment.”
g
Someone gave a gasp, but Darcy did not look in Mrs. Bennet’s direction. Any minute now he knew Lydia would begin to giggle.
In this he was disappointed. There was only silence, taut and anxious. Dr. Bentley stood holding his book and blinking. “But, sir,” he said at last.
Beneath the black bonnet Elizabeth’s face was pale, and her eyes were wide.
Meanwhile Collins was shaking like a teakettle on the boil. “Are you out of your mind, Darcy?” he hissed
.
Darcy felt his lips curve into a smile. “Perhaps I am,” he said, gazing at Elizabeth.
“There is no perhaps about it,” cried Collins. “The man is mad.”
“Or perhaps,” Darcy went on, “I am in my right mind and, more to the point, in my right body.”
“What do you mean?” said Elizabeth.
“Do not listen to him! Whatever he says, do not listen! The age of miracles is past! His claim that the Almighty exchanged our bodies is nonsense! Utterly false!”
“Exchanged your—” Into Elizabeth’s eyes came a spark of comprehension. “Is that what happened?” she whispered.
“Of course not,” Collins fairly screamed. “It’s that letter. He had no business writing that letter.”
Mr. Gardiner stepped forward. “What letter would that be, Mr. Collins?”
Collins glared at Dr. Bentley. “Proceed.”
Dr. Bentley looked to Darcy. “My good sir,” he said. “Have you a legitimate objection?”
“No, he does not! Kindly get on with it. We do not have all day.”
“The game is up, Collins,” said Darcy quietly. “Elizabeth knows. She sees the change in us—she has always seen it. She cannot marry you, for you are not the man she loves.”
“Oh, and I suppose she loves you?” Collins challenged. “Nonsense. She hates you.”
There was a murmur among those assembled.
“She has every reason to,” said Darcy.
His eyes found Elizabeth’s, and he laid a gentle hand on her shoulder. “I ought to have told you at once, but I did not know how. Later, I began to doubt that I would ever be myself again. It occurred to me that becoming Collins might have been, shall we say, divinely orchestrated? As a means of provision and protection for you and your family.”
“Protection?” cried Mrs. Bennet. “You call breaking up a wedding protection? A fine thing!”
Elizabeth turned to Collins. “That letter you burned,” she said. “It was mine?”
Collins made a series of inarticulate sounds.
“Was it my letter, Mr. Collins?”
“It—depends upon how one looks at it,” he stammered.
“Answer the question!”