by Jann Rowland
Mr. Collins darted a glance at Anne, saying: “Loath though I am to censure her, speaking to her mother in such a fashion was not well done. Children are to honor their parents, not to denigrate them.”
“I agree, Mr. Collins,” replied Elizabeth. “But Lady Catherine sought to oppress and control her daughter, and that is not any better than a child who does not respect their parents.”
“You are correct,” replied Mr. Collins simply. “I have difficulty thinking of my patroness in such a fashion, but it is clear she has not acted as she should.”
“Mr. Collins, I believe Lady Catherine will need someone who is willing to listen, but at the same time inform her of those truths she needs to hear, but may not wish to. As the spiritual guide of this parish, I believe this task will fall to you. I would suggest you listen and commiserate with her, allowing her to spill her innermost feelings, and not judging her when you find them contrary to the church’s teachings.
“However, it is also your responsibility to correct where there must be correction, to help sinners see where they have erred, and to assist them in taking the proper actions to improve.” Elizabeth smiled at her cousin, who was looking on her with wonder. “It is a difficult task, but one I believe you are qualified to perform. Trust the holy book, Mr. Collins, but also trust in inspiration to guide you.”
“My dear cousin!” exclaimed Mr. Collins. He reached for her hands and grasped one, bowing over it several times. “I am, indeed, happy that you have come, and I cannot be more grateful to you. You have spoken the exact words I needed to hear, and I cannot thank you enough. Please convey my regards to your excellent mother and father. And do not concern yourself for Lady Catherine, for I shall do everything in my power to assist her.”
Then, excusing himself, Mr. Collins made his way to where Anne was still speaking with her cousin, and he paid his respects to her. Elizabeth watched, amused at the astonishment with which Anne regarded the man. Mr. Collins, it seemed, did not do anything half-heartedly—anything to which he put his mind consumed all his energy.
“That was well done, Miss Bennet.”
The voice came from behind her and startled Elizabeth, but when she turned, it was to see Mr. Darcy watching her, intensity in his gaze. Dark thoughts began forming in Elizabeth’s mind, but then she remembered what he had said, and it seemed incongruous with his level look, which she had always assumed to be critical of her.
“I think that Mr. Collins is essentially a good man, though I am not well acquainted with him,” continued Mr. Darcy, his expression light and his tone conversational. “He seems to want direction, and as my aunt readily provides that, he accepts it. Unfortunately, he does not stop to think about the nature of the guidance he receives, rather he simply accepts it. As he is still a young man, I do not doubt his gratitude to Lady Catherine for providing him with a living long before he might have expected to obtain one also colors his opinion.”
“All this you recognized without being acquainted with him?” asked Elizabeth, her familiar archness evident in her tone. She was surprised by Mr. Darcy’s words, for he was essentially correct.
Mr. Darcy allowed a soft chuckle, surprising Elizabeth again. “I do not think his is an intricate character, Miss Bennet. As you once said about my friend Bingley, the fact that it is not complex does not make it any less estimable.
“But returning to what I said before, Mr. Collins required direction. And you gave it to him in language he could understand, while giving him a purpose he may have struggled to find. It was very sagacious advice, indeed.”
“Thank you, sir,” replied Elizabeth, not knowing what to say. She was not accustomed to being the recipient of Mr. Darcy’s approbation.
“Darcy,” said Fitzwilliam, drawing Elizabeth’s attention to who she assumed was another of Anne’s cousins. “The carriage is loaded; we should depart.”
A nod was Mr. Darcy’s response, but he hesitated for a moment, glancing from Elizabeth to Mr. Collins. “You will pardon me, Miss Bennet, but I overheard your words concerning your friend. If you wish, we may take Mr. Collins back to the parsonage, and there you can farewell your friend.”
Astonished at this bit of unexpected civility, Elizabeth indicated her eagerness. Mr. Darcy soon proposed the solution to Mr. Collins and was treated to the man’s appreciation for his condescension in the verbose manner to which Mr. Collins was accustomed. Soon, the five had entered the carriage and it was rumbling down the drive of Rosings. Though it was only a short journey to the parsonage, Elizabeth found she had much on which to think. It was not surprising that much of her thoughts were centered upon the man in whose carriage she was currently sitting.
Could this truly be the same man? He was calm and pleasant, and he spoke to her gently and made his approval for her actions plain to see. This contrasted with the haughty and displeased man she had met in Hertfordshire, the man who had refused to stand up with her and had deemed the neighborhood to be beneath his magnificence. There was the matter of Mr. Wickham to consider, though Elizabeth could not be certain about that any longer and, of course, whatever role he had played in Mr. Bingley’s removal from Jane.
Then Elizabeth thought of a comment Mr. Bingley had made at Netherfield in November, a suggestion that Mr. Darcy could be agreeable, indeed, if he was in the company of those he esteemed. Even Mr. Wickham had allowed that he was able to please when he felt it worth his while. Perhaps he now felt that. Either way, Elizabeth thought more study was required before she could hope to understand a man who was suddenly becoming much more complex.
Darcy could hardly believe he was in Miss Bennet’s presence again. His memories of the woman could not match the reality of her presence, a charisma which he found as intoxicating as he had in Hertfordshire. This woman had invaded his dreams, and even the passage of the months had not dimmed her presence in them. And now she was once again before him.
There was not a time when he had not been cognizant of her true worth, or if there had been, Darcy could not now remember it. She was intelligent and compassionate, empathetic and energetic, happy and contented. A few moments earlier, Darcy had listened to her as she had spoken to Mr. Collins, marveled about how she seemed to understand exactly what the parson needed to hear. The way Mr. Collins chattered the entire way, his thanks to Miss Bennet for attending them at his house, his wishes for her speedy and safe return to her home, his desire that she visit them again in the future, spoke to his appreciation for her assistance.
And what an alteration the woman had managed in his sickly and cross cousin. Though Anne did not say much, her attention on Mr. Collins, her sharp focus, in contrast with what he had always thought to be a fog of illness and indifference, proclaimed her to be a different person from the last time he had seen her. Darcy still did not know how it had all come about, but he meant to have answers, and he was certain those answers would revolve around Miss Bennet. She was the most exquisite creature he had ever beheld.
The carriage stopped for a brief time to allow Mr. Collins to disembark and the ladies to share an emotional farewell. Between Mrs. Collins and Miss Bennet the most tears were shed, but it also seemed like Anne and Mrs. Collins had become fond of each other. They all promised to stay in touch and to be in one another’s company again as soon as may be. Only one complicating factor was raised, though it was resolved quickly.
“What of Maria?” asked Miss Bennet, gesturing to another young woman, who Darcy realized, given her resemblance to Mrs. Collins, must be her younger sister. He vaguely remembered seeing her when he was in Hertfordshire, though he was not sure he remembered her being introduced to him.
“Do not concern yourself for my sister,” said Mr. Collins, interjecting into the conversation. “I will make certain she is returned to her father’s home when the time comes.”
“And I have asked her to stay with me for a few more weeks,” added Mrs. Collins. “Since I am to be losing my dearest friend, I appreciate the company of a d
ear sister.”
That resolved, the travelers made ready to depart yet again. The ladies were handed into the carriage, the gentlemen followed, and soon they were off. The farewells followed them as they drove out of Hunsford’s grounds and onto the main road leading toward Bromley.
Once they were on the road, Fitzwilliam spoke up, his impatience a match for Darcy’s own. “Now, Anne, I would appreciate an explanation. I have never been so surprised as when I read your express last night. What in the blazes have you been doing at Rosings these past weeks?”
“Where are your manners, Fitzwilliam?” asked Anne, her tartness shocking to more than just Darcy, given Fitzwilliam’s reaction. “Should I not introduce you to my friend and savior?”
Fitzwilliam’s eyes swung to Miss Bennet, who blushed a little at his scrutiny. “Of course, Anne, I would never wish to slight your friend. Perhaps you would do me the honor of introducing us?”
The introductions were completed quickly, the appropriate words exchanged, and then Fitzwilliam turned his attention back to Anne. “Now propriety has been satisfied, I would hear your story. I am certain it will be fascinating.”
“Of course, Cousin,” said Anne. “I would not dream of keeping you in suspense.”
The astonishment Darcy had felt at Anne’s behavior was nothing compared to what he was feeling when she began to relate what had happened at Rosings. Starting with the death of the unfortunate Mrs. Jenkinson, Anne related the entire story of how Miss Bennet had come to Rosings, her part in making certain Lady Catherine offered the position to her, their weeks in company with each other, and how they had managed to forge a friendship which had not only led Miss Bennet to delay her departure, but had also resulted in Anne gaining a sense of self and had led them to defend each other so vigorously. Lady Catherine’s behavior was not surprising—he had often thought on how she would react upon being thwarted—it was one of the reasons he had never seen fit to take a firm stance regarding her ridiculous insistence that he marry Anne.
“That is an amazing story, Anne,” said Fitzwilliam when the tale had run its course. “I am quite shocked at it. But I must thank your intrepid companion for all she has done.” He chuckled. “I have often thought you possessed a streak of independence that only needed the correct encouragement to bring it out. It seems that Miss Bennet was exactly what you required.”
The blush which spread over Miss Bennet’s countenance spoke to her discomfort, and she attempted to demur. “I have not done anything noteworthy. All I did was provide friendship to Anne, and I was very happy to do that much.”
“But many would not have done that much,” said Darcy. “And many would have simply fallen in with what my aunt wished.”
“Aye,” added Fitzwilliam. “For that alone we must be grateful. It seems my cousin was fortunate to have secured such an exceptional friend, Miss Bennet. The thanks of our family can never be enough, but I offer them unreservedly, regardless.”
“Thank you,” replied Miss Bennet, seemingly eager to leave the present topic of conversation behind.”
They turned to other matters then, a brief discussion on the journey, how long it would take them to reach Bromley and then London itself, as well as Darcy’s stated intention that they would break at Bromley and perhaps seek luncheon from the post inn there. He did not think that the ladies had had a chance to partake of any sustenance before their hurried departure, and he thought they would be hungry. The plan was agreed to by all.
But other than that one comment, Darcy did not say much at all, for he was much more agreeably engaged watching Miss Bennet, listening to her as she shared her opinions, watching the expressions on her face, listening to her laugh. This was what he had feared—to once again be in her company and to be helpless before the sheer force of her allure. He had left Hertfordshire—had fled Hertfordshire, to be more accurate—knowing that his attraction to her was overwhelming his sensibilities. Now that he was in her company again, had tasted the sweet nectar of her honeyed call, he did not know how he would ever resist her again.
As the carriage proceeded toward London, Anne began to be suspicious. It was nothing overt, for her cousin was one of the most inscrutable men she had ever known. Elizabeth had made her opinion of Darcy quite clear, and she had mentioned something of his scrutiny of her, how he watched her to judge and disapprove. As Anne did not truly know her cousin well, it was nothing she could have ever refuted, and she had accepted Elizabeth’s words as fact.
But Darcy’s behavior did not fit with Elizabeth’s assertions. In fact, as Anne watched him, she began to wonder if Darcy’s steady look consisted of disapproval at all. There was nothing in his facial expression which suggested censure, and furthermore, Anne thought she sensed a warmth in his eyes which spoke to anything but distaste.
When they reached Bromley, they did, indeed, stop at the post inn and ordered a light luncheon there. Anne had been so caught up in the events of the morning that she had not realized that she was famished, and if Elizabeth’s eagerness to partake of the meal was of any indication, her friend was in the same state.
“Excuse me, Miss Bennet,” said Darcy after they had been sitting there for some little time, “but I am sorry for my incivility. Your family—are they all well?”
“I thank you for asking, yes,” replied Elizabeth. Then a hint of mischief seemed to come over her and she asked: “My sister Jane has actually been in town these past months. I wonder if you have ever had a chance to meet her.”
“No, I have not had that fortune,” replied Darcy.
“I suppose it is not to be wondered at,” said Elizabeth, turning her attention back to her food. “I must assume you move in very different circles from my aunt and uncle.”
“Perhaps,” replied Darcy.
“Is that what you call it?” asked Fitzwilliam, directing a lazy grin at Darcy. “For your information, Miss Bennet, Darcy hardly moves in any society unless he absolutely must.”
Elizabeth laughed. “I can easily believe it, Colonel Fitzwilliam.” She turned a saucy look on Darcy. “Mr. Darcy strikes me as a fastidious man, one who chooses his friends carefully, and given his performance in Hertfordshire, I suspect he does not enjoy much society.”
“That is an understatement,” replied Fitzwilliam.
For his part, Darcy only smiled. “It depends on the society, Miss Bennet. You are correct that I often do not enjoy it, and that is especially true when I am not well acquainted with them. I do, however, appreciate the society of good friends and relations, those who understand and support me, and whom I understand and support in turn.”
Elizabeth’s eyes once again lit up with her usual playfulness and she said: “Then your behavior in Meryton is no longer to be wondered at, for you did not know us well at all. With Mr. Bingley, I thought you were completely open.”
“He is a good friend of longstanding.”
“One could not say so of Bingley’s sister,” interjected Fitzwilliam.
“On the contrary, Colonel, I thought Mr. Darcy to be an intimate of Miss Bingley’s. Several times, I saw them with their heads quite close together, indeed.”
Fitzwilliam did his best to hold back a hearty guffaw, and he turned his questioning gaze to Darcy. Anne did not know the woman, other than a few comments Elizabeth had made in her presence, but even so, the distaste for Miss Bingley was easily visible in her cousin’s eyes.
“I am not Miss Bingley’s particular friend, Miss Bennet. Though she seems to wish . . .”
Darcy trailed off and Fitzwilliam was quick to fill the void. “She wishes to be mistress of your estate, Darcy—there is no doubt about it.”
“Perhaps she does at that,” replied Darcy, his manner completely unaffected. “But there is little chance of her ever obtaining her desire.”
“That is a great pity, indeed,” murmured Elizabeth.
Anne watched the interaction before her and attempted to puzzle it out. Though Elizabeth was perfec
tly polite and unassuming, her comments to Darcy carried more than a hint of bite, not surprising, given what Anne knew of her feelings for her cousin. But as before, Darcy was the more difficult one to determine. He watched Elizabeth a great deal, and he seemed to derive great pleasure from hearing her speak. And furthermore, he seemed unable to understand her caustic undertones, as even a hint of her teasing drew him back like a moth to the flame.
There was something more happening here, something Anne could not quite make out. It was as if Darcy admired Elizabeth, though she was not certain of that interpretation.
A movement caught her eye, and Anne looked across the table, noting that Fitzwilliam was watching her with mirth in his eyes. He looked at her expressively, and then looked at Darcy and Elizabeth in turn, then returned his gaze to Anne and arched his brow. Anne was determined to ask him about it.
When they finished their meal, they separated for a time to prepare for their departure and the final hours to London, and Anne maneuvered herself into close proximity to Fitzwilliam.
“What was the meaning of your actions in the inn?” asked she without preamble.
Fitzwilliam grinned. “You mean you have not understood our dear cousin?”
“You must recall that you know Darcy much better than I,” replied Anne, feeling more than a little put out at his teasing. “Darcy and I have rarely spoken more than two words together since his father’s passing. You are aware of the reasons why.”
“Yes, I am afraid I am. Let us simply say that I have seen Darcy in society for several years now, and I do not think I have ever seen him so much as give any woman a second glance. Miss Bennet was right—he is terribly fastidious. But when it comes to her, it seems like his particular nature has found something of which to approve.”
Anne gasped. “Darcy admires Elizabeth?”
Laughing and shaking his head, Fitzwilliam only patted Anne on the back. “Just watch him, Annie. He can hardly keep his eyes off her, and when she speaks, his attention is fixed on her. I do not know if he will ever act on whatever admiration he feels, but it is there all the same, though I would wager that it is not returned.”