by Jann Rowland
Lady Catherine turned an unattractive shade of puce. “This cannot stand! Laura!”
The maid peeked into the room, her fright obvious for them all to see. Elizabeth felt sorry for the girl, wondering if she was about to be dismissed.
“Go downstairs and send a footman on a fast horse to the parsonage. If Mr. Collins is not within my sitting-room within ten minutes, he may find himself another parish.”
The girl squeaked and took flight, but Elizabeth did not miss her expression, like a man condemned to the hangman’s noose being granted a reprieve. Elizabeth was not allowed to consider the matter for long, for Lady Catherine turned back to them and pointed one talon at Elizabeth.
“You will pack your bags this instant, Miss Bennet, for you will be departing at once!”
Then the lady turned and stalked from the room, and this time the door did impact against the frame with a loud crash.
“I am only surprised it took her this long to come to this conclusion,” said Anne, her voice dispassionate.
“I do not think this is a time for jests, Anne,” replied Elizabeth. “I suppose I shall have my effects prepared for departure.”
“Very well,” replied Anne. “But you may yet be surprised.”
Elizabeth could not determine of what Anne spoke, but she repaired to her room, instructing a wide-eyed Tilly to have her things packed, and then met Anne back in the hallway.
“I saw Mr. Collins hurrying toward the Rosings out the window of my room,” said Anne when they came together. “The silly man appears to be taking my mother’s threat seriously.”
“She cannot take the living away, of course,” replied Elizabeth. “But she has the power to make my cousin’s life quite difficult, if she chooses.”
Anne nodded but did not reply. They descended the stairs and made their way to the sitting-room, to be greeted by the sight of Lady Catherine pacing the room. She spared them not a glance as they stepped in, and as Anne motioned to a nearby pair of chairs, Elizabeth nodded and accompanied her there, sitting beside her friend. Elizabeth had been surprised at Anne’s determination these past days, but the way Anne’s hand found hers and grasped it with a grip which seemed to say she never intended to let go reminded Elizabeth that she was still insecure and required assistance. No matter what happened, Elizabeth vowed to stay by her friend and give her the support she required.
The sound of Mr. Collins’s coming preceded him in the sharp tapping of his feet on the hallway tiles, and when he entered, it was clear he had run the entire distance from the parsonage, for he heaved like a horse that had just run the breadth of England. Perspiration flowed down his face, and his ever-present handkerchief rose to mop it up. Moreover, his eyes were wild, and he looked on Lady Catherine with trepidation, and Anne and Elizabeth with a mute plea.
“Mr. Collins!” Lady Catherine’s voice snapped like a whip.
“Y-yes your lady . . . ship,” replied Mr. Collins. His eyes reminded Elizabeth of a terrified dog she had once seen, its eyes rolling in its fright.
“How dare you bring this . . . this . . . improper chit into my house? Do you not know what she has done to my daughter?”
“Well . . . That is to say . . .” Lady Catherine’s glare bore down on Mr. Collins with the heat of a thousand suns, and he could only squeal: “Miss de Bourgh has been so much happier in my cousin’s company!”
“Happier? How can she be? Have you not heard me say from our earliest acquaintance that Anne’s delicate constitution required constant care and rigid control? And now Miss Bennet has her dancing and walking, driving her phaeton at all hours of the day and night, sitting at the pianoforte which will cause her to injure her delicate back. But the greatest betrayal of all is how she has imparted her rebellious attitude to Anne. My daughter has never spoken to me in such a way as she has these past days.
“Now, Mr. Collins, you will remove your cousin from this house and you will do it immediately. She will be put on the first coach returning to her father’s house, and not only will you never invite her here again, but you will break off all contact with her family. When her father dies, we may discuss then how you shall act, but considering her betrayal, I am inclined to advise you that they be put out at the first opportunity.”
It was clear that Mr. Collins was befuddled, for he peered at her, wondering if he had ever seen her before. His confusion, however, was nothing to what it became when Anne’s harsh laughter sounded, drawing Lady Catherine’s attention to them, the fury of murder alight in the dark depths of her eyes.
“This is admirable, Mother. You must truly think you are our lord himself, if you think you can order Mr. Collins in such a manner as this. His family relationships are none of your concern. Was it not you who demanded he restore his family ties with the Bennets?”
“I was mistaken,” snapped Lady Catherine.
“It is not the only matter of which have been mistaken, Mother.” Anne faced Lady Catherine, and had Elizabeth’s hands not been caught in her steely grip, she might have thought her confidence to be supreme.
“I will save you the trouble of evicting Elizabeth, Mother,” continued Anne. “We shall both be departing. I will not live in this house another instant.”
“You will go nowhere! I am your mother!”
“And I am of age! I will call on the aid of my uncle—he will support me in this.”
“How do you intend to gain his attention?” Lady Catherine sneered. “If you walk out the door, you shall walk to London.”
“So be it!”
Anne stood, drawing Elizabeth with her. “You disgust me, Mother. I cannot begin to tell you how much contempt I have for you. Good bye, for I shall never see you again.”
“Baines!” shrieked Lady Catherine. “Come here this instant!” She turned her glare on Mr. Collins. “Remove your cousin from this house! I care not where she goes!”
“It would be best if you did not obey that order, Mr. Collins.”
Starting at the sound of a deep voice, Elizabeth turned to the door, spying two tall men standing there.
“Mr. Darcy!” exclaimed Mr. Collins, summing up Elizabeth’s feelings perfectly.
Chapter XII
Darcy could hardly believe his eyes. It had been a typical dull day, full of correspondence which required attention, business to conduct, and all the other trappings which went with being a landowner. The season was in full swing now, the invitations to balls, dinners, and parties seemed like a huge wave roaring over the deck of a ship. He rejected most of them, as there were few men and even fewer ladies whose society he could tolerate with any degree of equanimity. His cousin laughed at him, calling him dour and unsociable, but when Darcy called him on it, noted how he had little more taste for society himself, Fitzwilliam only laughed, claiming that at least he was able to hide his revulsion better.
But everything had been turned upside down at the express letter waiting for him when he had returned that evening. Darcy had accepted an invitation to a dinner with a close friend and had managed to spend an agreeable evening in company. His butler had handed him the express upon his return, and its contents had shocked Darcy.
“Is my cousin here at present?”
“He returned not fifteen minutes gone, sir.”
“Please inform him I have need of his attendance at once.”
When the man turned to follow his instruction, Darcy made his way to his study and began to pace, throwing the offending letter on the desk and muttering as his shoes clattered against the tiles beneath his feet. The information contained in the letter was vague and unclear, but it seemed the woman had finally taken leave of her senses. And what was she doing in Kent, and staying at Rosings, no less? Darcy could not begin to fathom what had been taking place at his aunt’s estate this past month.
When Fitzwilliam walked in, he eyed Darcy with his usual insolent manners. He had changed from his regimentals into a typical gentleman’s suit, an indication his own
evening had been spent in the company of society, rather than soldiers. And when he spoke, Darcy could hear the usual lack of gravity in his voice.
“I say, Darcy, I have rarely seen you this riled. Has that Bingley woman stormed the house? Or maybe she attempted to compromise you at whatever gathering you attended this evening, and her spineless brother did nothing to stop it.”
Darcy only scowled at his cousin and gestured at the letter still sitting on the desk, continuing his pacing without hesitation. Fitzwilliam, taken by surprise at his reply, turned and picked up the letter, scanning its contents with open curiosity. It was not long before he frowned, and he read aloud:
My mother is an unreasonable despot, and I will not endure her interference in my life any longer. I fear for my safety, Cousin, and that of Miss Bennet, and I abjure you, in the strongest language possible, to make haste to Rosings and remove us from this situation immediately. Please do not think this is a ploy of my mother’s—we are at your mercy!
“Darcy, what the blazes is this?”
“A letter from Anne. Can you not see the signature?”
“And when did it arrive?”
“I received it only a few moments ago. It was sent by express.”
Fitzwilliam inspected the letter again. “Darcy, this is dated yesterday. It is not so far distant from Rosings that a letter could not arrive here within four hours.”
“I am aware of that,” was Darcy’s testy reply. “According to my butler, the express rider apologized profusely. It seems his horse pulled up lame, and he was forced to walk several hours to Bromley.”
“Even that does not account for the delay,” growled Fitzwilliam.
“I have no more explanation than that. We must make haste to Rosings. I do not know what the devil has being happening there, but it seems Anne has finally decided to make a bid for her independence.”
“The day is too late for a departure now. We shall be forced to depart in the morning.”
“At first light, Fitzwilliam. Will you be able to obtain leave?”
Fitzwilliam scratched his chin. “It should not be a problem. I have leave accumulated and am between assignments at present. I will send a note to the general at once. I should have a reply by the morning.”
“Very well. I will order the carriage for the morning. I believe I shall retire, though I am certain it will be a long night.”
In the end, however, Darcy surprised himself by managing to sleep at least a few hours, though the night had begun as inauspiciously as he had expected. The first thoughts to pass through his mind were concerning his aunt, her autocratic ways and insistence upon his attendance to them at Rosings. Though Darcy had spent a long month fending off her entreaties, her demands, and at times even her understated threats, he was now to return to the place which had held little pleasure for him, and more than a little aggravation. If there was ever a relation for whom to blush, it was Lady Catherine.
Then, of course, his thoughts had turned to Anne, and he had wondered at this apparent change in her. Was she openly defying her mother? The very thought was incomprehensible. And for her to suggest that she was in danger from her mother . . . How could such a thing be? Surely Lady Catherine could not be so far gone from decency to threaten her only daughter with harm.
And then there was Miss Bennet, and if anything, she was the most confusing part of the whole mess. How did she factor into this? How did she even know Anne? The stirrings of the infatuation which had driven him from Hertfordshire, had led him to convince his friend that he could not consider her sister for a wife, now hit him with the full force of a speeding carriage. It was as if he had not been parted from her these past months, so strong was the inclination to see her again, as he knew he would on the morrow.
Thus it was that though Darcy managed to sleep, his thoughts returned to these subjects upon awakening, leaving him feeling a little out of sorts the following day. When he entered the carriage before eight o’clock the following morning, he attempted to hide his unsettled feelings from his cousin, though Fitzwilliam, always astute and knowing Darcy better than any other, likely saw through it. For once, the severity of their errand seemed to divert his cousin from his usual flippancy, and the talk surrounded the situation they were likely to find at Rosings.
“Have you had any word from Rosings these past months?”
“Only what I have told you of our aunt’s continued insistence that I attend her. The woman has grown more strident over time, so much so that I have ceased to answer her letters.”
Fitzwilliam nodded—Darcy’s complaints on the subject were not new to him. “What of Anne? Has she not written?”
“Only the express we saw yesterday.” Darcy grimaced. “Anne usually does not write to me. We both know what will happen if Lady Catherine discovers any letters passing between us.”
“She would begin ordering Anne’s trousseau,” replied Fitzwilliam. The men exchanged a rueful glance. “To be honest, Cousin, I have wondered why she has not fixated on me as a mate for her daughter. You already own an estate, after all—and more than one.”
“You own an estate yourself,” pointed out Darcy.
“I do, but it is nothing to Pemberley. If anyone needs to be provided for, it is me, for you have the Darcy wealth, and James is heir to all my father has.”
“She wishes to combine Rosings and Pemberley,” replied Darcy with a shrug. “Though I do not know if she truly thinks she can rule them both, I know she wishes to consolidate the family wealth. Perhaps she even thinks a title can be obtained, if I possessed so much wealth.”
Fitzwilliam barked laughter. “Then she does not know you well.”
“I did not say the woman was sensible. That is only what I suspect and what I have discussed with your father.”
“It seems as likely as anything else,” replied Fitzwilliam with a grunt. “What I cannot understand is what this Miss Bennet has to do with the matter. I assume she is the woman Lady Catherine hired to replace Mrs. Jenkinson?”
Though he was loath to speak of Miss Bennet, Darcy felt incumbent upon himself to reply: “Miss Bennet is not unknown to me.”
“Oh?” was Fitzwilliam’s lazy reply, the light of interest shining in his eyes.
“At least, I assume it is she to whom Anne refers.” It was clear that Fitzwilliam was not about to let the matter rest, so Darcy was forced to further explain. “Miss Bennet is from Hertfordshire. Her family lives near the estate Bingley leased last autumn.”
Fitzwilliam frowned. “Then what the blazes is she doing in Kent, of all places?”
“Her cousin is the rector of Lady Catherine’s parish, so there is a connection. When I met the man, he was yet unmarried, but it is possible that he did marry and that she is visiting.”
“If he is the rector of Hunsford, then he cannot be at all sensible,” said Fitzwilliam with a snort. “Which makes me wonder if she is sensible either.”
“Quite the contrary, in fact,” replied Darcy, though quietly. “Miss Bennet impressed me as an intelligent woman, indeed.”
The interest in Fitzwilliam’s gaze made Darcy uncomfortable. “If this Miss Bennet is visiting, it would make more sense for her to be visiting the parsonage. Anne’s note implies that she is at Rosings.”
“I cannot explain it,” replied Darcy, holding his hand up. “I could not have imagined she would be in Kent.”
Fitzwilliam directed a level look at him. “Georgiana mentioned something about a woman you referenced in your letters, and I seem to remember the name Bennet. Is this the same woman?”
“Yes, but I only mentioned her in passing. She had a talent for confounding Miss Bingley, and I knew that Georgiana would find her antics amusing.”
“Then I suppose I must approve of her!” Fitzwilliam guffawed. “Any woman who can confound the odious Miss Bingley will forever have my approbation.” Darcy could do naught but chuckle with his cousin—Miss Bingley was odious, and there was little ar
gument on the matter.
“Was Hertfordshire not the place where you recently saved Bingley from a most imprudent attachment?”
The reminder brought to Darcy’s mind the discomfort he had felt the previous evening, for though he had never thought Jane Bennet cared for Bingley, he understood he had directed Bingley away from her as much for his benefit as Bingley’s.
“Yes, it was. But since we are to be in company with Miss Bennet, I would ask for your circumspection. The young lady in question was Miss Bennet’s sister.”
“And how many sisters does she have?”
“There are five, all told. Miss Jane Bennet—Bingley’s angel—is the eldest, while Miss Elizabeth Bennet, to whom you will shortly be introduced, is the second. The younger sisters are, in varying degrees, silly and improper.”
The long look Fitzwilliam directed at Darcy soon made him uncomfortable yet again. But it was nothing to what he felt when Fitzwilliam finally spoke.
“I do not believe Anne mentioned the lady’s Christian name in her letter—how do you know it is Miss Elizabeth Bennet who is at Rosings?”
Darcy gaped at his cousin and opened his mouth to speak, but he quickly closed it with a frown. “You are correct, I suppose. It could just as easily be the eldest Miss Bennet, though I doubt it would be one of the younger girls, who are still full young to travel alone.”
“And why would you assume it to be Miss Elizabeth then?”
“Probably because it is she with whom I am most acquainted,” replied Darcy. He affected a disinterest in the subject, but he was aware of Fitzwilliam’s skepticism. It was fortunate, then, that his cousin chose not to press him any further, though Darcy thought it a near thing.
They spoke further, strategizing what they would do when they arrived at Rosings, but there was little they could plan, given they did not know the truth of the situation. After some time, they fell silent, and Fitzwilliam, as was his habit, fell asleep in the carriage, leaving Darcy to his brooding thoughts. Doubt had settled over him, and he knew that his cousin was correct. It might not be Miss Elizabeth at all who was present at Kent, and the thought brought him a measure of relief, though an equal sense of loss.