Cousin Emma

by Perpetua Langley

  Elizabeth glanced at her father. While she could well imagine that Mr. Collins would be delighted to encounter Mr. Darcy, she was not so certain Mr. Darcy would be equally delighted to meet his aunt’s clergyman. By Mr. Darcy’s standards, Mr. Collins must stand on a very low rung on the ladder.

  If Elizabeth, herself, was not certain how Mr. Darcy would perceive the introduction, her father seemed very certain of it. He could barely contain his amusement. Elizabeth knew her father well enough to know that his amusement signaled a ridiculous situation on the horizon.

  The evening was sure to be long and uncomfortable. Mr. Darcy would be faced with not only Mr. Collins, but Mr. Wickham too. She could not claim to feel any great sympathy for whatever distress Mr. Darcy might experience, but she had rather none of it occur in her own drawing room.

  Fitzwilliam and Georgiana had arrived shortly after noon. Georgiana had been in high spirits, clearly delighted to be in a new place and ready to encounter new people. Darcy had wondered if he left his sister alone at Pemberley too much, and now he could see that it was so. He would remedy the situation going forward.

  Not only was Georgiana in good humour, she was not at all tired. Darcy had assumed his sister would find herself weary after the journey and wondered if that might not be a convenient excuse to decline attending the Bennet’s dinner. As it was, Georgiana looked forward to it.

  Now, Darcy sat with Fitzwilliam in a corner of the drawing room in front of a large window, as they both observed Miss Bingley showing Georgiana the gardens.

  “So Darcy,” the Colonel said, “this is a pretty spot you have found yourself in. I suppose dining with your neighbors will be a jolly affair?”

  “Jolly?” Darcy asked. “I had not at all anticipated jolly.”

  “Ah, that is my mistake,” the Colonel said. “I had forgotten that nobody is less prone to that state than my cousin.”

  “It is not only my natural disposition, which you have so kindly pointed out, that convinces me we will not find anything jolly at Longbourn.”

  The Colonel leaned forward. “Certainly, you have not put your foot in it already? Good Lord, Darcy, you have only been here a month. Who did you insult this time?”

  Darcy stiffened. “This time? Do you imply that I am in the habit—”

  “Come now, cousin, I have been present to witness it on occasion,” the Colonel said, laughing. “I’ll not soon forget your comment to Miss Welton.”

  “The lady implied that I had caused her sister disappointed hopes!” Darcy said. “Nothing would have induced me to look upon that creature for more than a moment. How could I have possibly disappointed her in anything?”

  “Nobody thought you did, Miss Welton being a silly sort of girl. But perhaps it was not necessary to allude to her sister as a creature you could not be induced to look at.”

  Darcy shrugged. “The lady took me by surprise. I did not have the time to create a falsehood and so she heard the unfortunate truth.”

  “I see,” the Colonel said. “And am I to presume you have done a bit a truth-telling in this neighborhood, too?”

  “Perhaps,” Darcy answered. “Though in my defense, it was a comment overheard, not one said directly. Further, I apologized for it. I cannot be held responsible for the lady being so perverse as to reject the apology.”

  “Wonderful,” the Colonel said. “Well, let us hope we may avoid encountering the lady at this dinner we attend tonight.”

  “That would be unlikely,” Darcy said, “as it is her house.”

  The Colonel roared with laughter. “I will give you one thing, Darcy—I am rarely bored in your company.”

  Darcy was silent, made uncomfortable by the vision his cousin had of him. It was only Fitzwilliam who could get away with teasing him so, they had known each other since before they could speak and the Colonel was not at all put off by Darcy’s stern demeanor.

  After the Colonel had recovered himself, he said, “Now tell me, why do I find Bingley looking out of sorts. You have not insulted him, too?”

  “No, I have not,” Darcy said, “and I’ll thank you not to imply that I go about insulting all the world, as you know that I do not.”

  “What is it then?” the Colonel asked. “He is not himself.”

  “It is an untoward circumstance,” Darcy said. “Bingley feels a growing attachment to a lady who has no interest in him. Rather, the lady’s sister has indicated her admiration of Bingley.”

  Colonel Fitzwilliam tented his fingers. “He prefers one sister but dare not pursue the acquaintance to the insult of the other. The only thing that would make the situation more diverting would be to discover that one of the ladies was the perverse lady who did not accept your apology.”

  “Then prepare to be diverted,” Darcy said grimly.

  Elizabeth found herself relieved to hear the sound of horses’ hooves on the drive. The half hour they had all gathered in the drawing room awaiting their guests had been filled with wrought anticipation. There had been the feeling one often got in high summer before lightning struck—a tingle at the back of a neck and a sense of something to come.

  This uncomfortable feeling was rather enhanced by Mr. Collins’ determination that he and Mr. Darcy should become friends. Mr. Collins could not help but speculate that they had much in common, beginning with Lady Catherine. Elizabeth was tempted to inform Mr. Collins that he was not likely to meet with a gentleman he had less in common with than Mr. Darcy but thought the clergyman would soon discover it for himself.

  During Mr. Collins’ occasional pauses between the felicities to come, Mrs. Bennet made various declarations of her innocence regarding peas. Elizabeth had finally inquired of her mother why anybody would think her guilty regarding peas. From her rather convoluted answer, Elizabeth was able to ascertain that Mrs. Bennet had charged cook to recreate a sauce recently had at Lucas Lodge and that Lady Lucas was incensed over it.

  Now, blessedly, somebody had arrived. While Elizabeth had spent a deal of time wishing the dinner would never take place, she had thought more rationally about it as she dressed. It would come and must be got through and so there was every reason for wishing it soon. The faster it came, the faster it would go.

  She could not predict what would be the reception between Mr. Darcy and Mr. Wickham, but she had firmly resolved not to distress herself over it. It would be up to the gentlemen to determine how they should meet. As for Mr. Collins, she rather thought she could predict what reception he would have from Mr. Darcy but if the clergyman was set on throwing himself forward, that could not be her concern.

  Mr. Denny and Mr. Wickham were led into the drawing room. Lydia practically rushed them at the door, with Kitty not too far behind.

  The two officers were all charm and smiles, complimenting Mrs. Bennet on her drawing room. Mr. Denny joked with Lydia and Kitty, but Mr. Wickham soon made his way over to Elizabeth.

  “It is a charming house, Miss Bennet,” Mr. Wickham said.

  Elizabeth smiled in answer. Then a thought very suddenly occurred to her. She had assumed that Mr. Wickham would know that Mr. Darcy was one of the guests, but why should it be so? Why should he have assumed that the inhabitants of Netherfield would attend? It had seemed obvious to her when she had thought it—the Bennets had dined at Netherfield and so the invitation must be returned. But Mr. Wickham could have no way to know that the return dinner was this particular dinner. He might not have assumed what she had.

  Elizabeth did not think it her place to involve herself in Mr. Wickham and Mr. Darcy’s affairs, but if he did not know he would shortly meet with the gentleman, he could not at least prepare himself. Worse, it might be the case that he would have chosen to avoid the evening altogether.

  “Mr. Wickham,” Elizabeth said, “when last we met in Meryton, you mentioned your history with Mr. Darcy. I do not know if you were aware that he attends this evening.”

  Elizabeth waited to see what sort of effect the news would have on Mr. Wickham. He appeared at once
both grieved and embarrassed.

  It was clear he had not known.

  “I see,” Mr. Wickham said tightly. “I had not thought that the inhabitants of Netherfield would make themselves a party to the local society. Darcy has been known to hold a dinner at Pemberley and then decamp to London the following day to handily avoid the incoming onslaught of invitations in return. It is his way of doing his duty without inconveniencing himself.”

  Mr. Wickham was silent for a moment. “Well, it is not for me to get out of Darcy’s way. If he wishes to avoid me, then it is he that must go.”

  “We are to be a large enough party that little interaction would be necessary, I should think,” Elizabeth said. “I understand he brings his sister and his cousin, I hope no such strained feelings may be felt in either of those directions?”

  Mr. Wickham’s features underwent a material transformation, his face paling as if he’d seen a spirit. “Miss Darcy and the Colonel,” he said softly.

  Elizabeth began to get the impression that Miss Darcy and Mr. Darcy’s cousin were to be dreaded just as much as Mr. Darcy himself. “Are they not two pleasant people, Mr. Wickham?”

  Mr. Wickham collected himself. “Miss Darcy is too much under her brother’s influence and prone to be proud. The Colonel is what one would expect from the younger son of an earl—disgruntled with the world and blaming anyone in his sight for the order of his birth.”

  “Goodness,” Elizabeth said softly.

  Just then, Mr. Collins lumbered over to them. He bowed and looked expectantly at Elizabeth.

  She sighed and said, “Mr. Collins, may I present Mr. Wickham, an officer of the regiment. Mr. Collins is my father’s heir.”

  “An entail,” Mr. Wickham said. “That is a shame.”

  As Mr. Collins could not see his way clear to agreeing that his inheritance was a shame, he said, “Mr. Wickham, I understand from Miss Lydia Bennet that you are intimately acquainted with the Darcy family. That you, in fact, spent your youth on that estate.”

  Elizabeth was startled by the revelation. She had not known what particular connection Mr. Wickham had to the Darcy family, but would not have guessed at him living in close quarters with them.

  “It is my pleasure to inform you, sir,” Mr. Collins droned on, “that my benefactress is one Lady Catherine de Bourgh. A lady I am sure you’ve heard mentioned on numerous occasions.”

  Mr. Wickham’s quick burst of laughter was perhaps not the reaction Mr. Collins had anticipated upon mention of that august personage.

  “Lady Catherine,” Mr. Wickham said, “how is the dear old bat?”

  Before Mr. Collins could challenge the idea of Lady Catherine de Bourgh having any resemblance to night-flying creatures, they were interrupted by more guests arriving.

  Elizabeth was relieved to see Lady Lucas, Charlotte and Sir William, and then Colonel Forster not far behind them. The drawing room was filling with the chatterings of people coming together.

  Perhaps it really would be possible for Mr. Wickham and Mr. Darcy to stay well away from each other. They would be at opposite ends of table, after all. Mrs. Bennet had gone to great lengths to promote the attachments she had been assured of by Emma and, therefore, had placed Elizabeth next to Mr. Bingley and Jane next to Mr. Darcy. Elizabeth had argued that Jane ought to be by Mr. Bingley, but her mother was determined that Jane triumph to the tune of ten thousand a year.

  Mr. Wickham was placed next to Lydia with Mr. Denny on her other side, that being the only natural placement, as Lydia had repeatedly threatened to throw herself into the fire over it.

  Emma approached with Mary in tow. “Mr. Collins,” she said, “I must have your opinion. I have done Mary’s hair in a new style. Does not she look well?”

  Mary blushed, and Elizabeth blushed for her. Mr. Collins said, “Er, indeed. Very well, Miss Woodhouse.”

  “Now Mary,” Emma pressed on, “you did say you would show Mr. Collins that special edition of Fordyce’s sermons, did you not?” She leaned confidentially in Mr. Collins’ direction and said, “It is signed by the great man, himself.”

  “A signed copy?” Mr. Collins asked.

  “Indeed,” Emma said. “Mary? Do show it him.”

  Mary looked more a startled deer than anything else, but she seemed to be under Emma’s spell and dutifully led Mr. Collins to the bookshelf.

  Mr. Wickham watched this interchange with interest. “Miss Woodhouse,” he said, “do I dare charge you with matchmaking?”

  “Anybody may dare charge me with whatever they please, Mr. Wickham,” Emma said playfully, “though it please me to decline to answer the charge.”

  This was rather more a confirmation than denial, and Wickham laughed heartily at it. Their merry party soon noted Mr. Bingley, Mr. Darcy, Miss Bingley and two unknown persons who could only be Miss Darcy and the Colonel entering the drawing room.

  Mr. Wickham stiffened.

  Mr. Darcy spoke to Mr. Bennet near the door. His gaze traveled across the room, settling on Elizabeth’s small grouping.

  He had seen Mr. Wickham.

  Elizabeth could not entirely fathom Mr. Darcy’s expression. It appeared to be one of shock and alarm, rather than anger. Perhaps Mr. Darcy was embarrassed that he should be faced with a man he had wronged. It certainly would give credence to Mr. Wickham’s tale.

  Mr. Wickham, for his part, looked boldly back at Mr. Darcy. Elizabeth thought he very much appeared to be a gentleman with little to hide and nothing to be ashamed of.

  Mr. Darcy said something to Mr. Bennet, who looked inquiringly toward Miss Darcy. Mr. Darcy quickly moved to his sister’s side and said something in her ear.

  At her current distance, Elizabeth could not be certain of Miss Darcy’s expression, but it struck her as fearful. Odd, to say the least.

  Mr. Darcy caught the Colonel by the arm and whispered something to him. All three hurried from the room.

  “Extraordinary,” Elizabeth said. “Do they go?”

  Chapter Eight

  Elizabeth had asked in wonderment if the Darcys had left precipitously upon seeing Mr. Wickham. That gentleman had smiled at the question.

  “It would not surprise me,” Mr. Wickham said. “Darcy does not like to be made uncomfortable. If he cannot be right, he must be absent.”

  Mr. Bingley and Miss Bingley stood on the other side of Mr. Bennet, appearing confused. Elizabeth made her way across the room in time to hear her father tell the party, “Miss Darcy is not well. It seems the rigors of travel have taken their toll. Mr. Darcy and the Colonel transport the lady back to Netherfield and express their regret that they could not stay.”

  There were various murmurings of sympathy for poor Miss Darcy and disappointment that they had not the opportunity of becoming acquainted with the lady. Elizabeth supposed it would only be a few in the room who knew the real cause of the departure. Lydia certainly guessed at it, as Elizabeth caught her rolling her eyes at Kitty.

  Of all the party, it was perhaps Mr. Collins who was most bereft over the sudden leave-taking. He’d not the gained the chance of becoming fast friends with Mr. Darcy, as he knew was inevitable had the gentleman stayed.

  There was one of the party who was not so much bereft as wild with irritation. Mrs. Bennet had just lost two gentlemen, but only one lady. She would have to make rapid adjustments to the seating. She hurried toward the dining room under the watchful eye of Lady Lucas. That lady appeared vastly amused, no doubt thinking it was a just revenge for a matter having to do with peas.

  Despite Mrs. Bennet’s rearrangements, Elizabeth still found herself seated by Mr. Bingley. Jane, however, now found herself on one side of Mr. Wickham, with Mr. Denny couched between Lydia and Kitty.

  Elizabeth dearly wished she might change places with Jane. She wished she might give her sister the opportunity of speaking at length with Mr. Bingley and give herself the same opportunity with Mr. Wickham. She felt a burning curiosity to know what Mr. Darcy had done to wrong Mr. Wickham. Mr. Wickham had indicated
that it had changed the course of his life, so it must indeed be serious. That seriousness had been rather confirmed by the Darcy’s rapid exit from the house.

  However, Elizabeth Bennet was not one to sulk at finding things did not go her way. She would make the best of whatever the evening had to offer. She was not certain what that might be, as even Mr. Bingley, usually so cheerful, appeared somewhat subdued.

  “Mr. Bingley,” Elizabeth said, “have you known Mr. Darcy long?”

  “Oh! Ah, well,” Mr. Bingley stuttered. “These five years past, I think it must have been. Yes, we met at Oxford, you see.”

  “I suppose you are acquainted with Mr. Wickham then, he having lived on the Darcy’s estate.”

  “Wickham?” Bingley said in some confusion. “I do not know, perhaps, one might have heard the name, but perhaps not…”

  Elizabeth looked quizzically at Mr. Bingley. It seemed to her that Mr. Bingley had heard the name before. It seemed to her that he must be privy to whatever had occurred between the two gentlemen. She allowed the silence to hang between them, hoping Mr. Bingley might say more. He did not, and instead attacked his peas with some vigor.

  Elizabeth sighed. She would not press him further as he so clearly did not wish to speak of it. She decided to change the topic to a more reliable subject.

  “Jane looks particularly well, does she not?”

  Mr. Bingley dropped his utensil and peas rolled in all directions across his plate. “Does she?” he asked in a strange tone.

  “Do not you think so?” Elizabeth asked, working to keep the surprise from her voice.

  “Of course all the ladies look well,” Mr. Bingley said, then quickly turned to speak to Lady Lucas.

  Elizabeth slowly laid down her fork. What transformation was this? Mr. Bingley had been exceedingly admiring of Jane, Elizabeth was certain of it. He’d gone out of his way to show that he was. Now, he had outright refused to assent to her even looking well? He’d only seen his way clear to admit that all the ladies looked well?