by Suzan Lauder
Mr. Wickham grinned at this. “So Mr. Bingley is a good sort of fellow?”
“He is. I happen to have spent almost a week at Netherfield Park with him, his sisters, Mr. Hurst, and Mr. Darcy. Mr. Bingley was the best of the group: an amiable and generous sort of man. The others were less to my taste, but I would much rather listen to any of them than to my cousin.”
The smile became a chuckle from Mr. Wickham, but he soon grew serious. “How did you find Mr. Darcy?”
“He and I do not consider each other a favourite. His unfathomable pride has earned him a lack of approbation here. Even though my cousin is full of conceit, he makes an effort to speak to the local people. Mr. Darcy gives offense everywhere he goes.”
“Sometimes he offends, but he has friends of his own standing.”
I conceded that I had noticed how Mr. Darcy and Mr. Bingley were allied to one another. “Yes, he suited the inhabitants of Netherfield well enough.”
“You must have noticed that he and I do not suit.”
This was what I had hoped to learn. “I did not want to bring it up, but I must admit that I was curious.”
“You see, Mr. Darcy and I grew up together, and at one time, I would have called him friend. However, he denied me a living that his good father—who was also my godfather—had specifically stated was intended for me. I was left in a comparative state of poverty, and if not for my friends, I would be unable to support myself.”
I am not usually much of a gossip, but I was all ears to hear of a misdeed by the best of men in the eyes of his closest friends. Of course, Mr. Darcy was too good for those outside those selfsame supporters. “Why would he do such a thing?”
“Jealousy, I suppose. His father was excessively attached to me. Mr. Darcy’s conceit and pride possibly influenced his decision. He wanted to be rid of me as soon as he could.”
Mr. Darcy was worse than I had imagined! Acting aloof was bad enough, but his disgusting manners were nothing to his treatment of Mr. Wickham. “Was it not in the will?”
“No, and old Mr. Darcy’s intent was unclear enough that his son could succeed in withholding the situation and bestowing it upon another.”
“That is abominable.”
Mr. Wickham shrugged. “Rich men can do as they please.”
“Of course, but to treat an old friend so poorly does not reflect well upon him.” It simply verified my desire to dislike the man even more.
“You are right.” We attended the others for a few minutes before Mr. Wickham continued, “Tell me, did any of Mr. Darcy’s family accompany him to Netherfield Park?”
“None, sir. Why do you ask?”
“I am surprised he has not brought along any of his cousins. He is close friends with a colonel in the army and is said to be as good as engaged to another cousin, a lady from Kent.”
This showed me how little I knew of Mr. Darcy, but I supposed it should not be much of a shock since I could not esteem the man well enough to speak to him at length on any personal topic.
“With the infamous way he treated you, it is a wonder he has any close friends. But he is intimate with Mr. Bingley.”
Mr. Wickham shrugged again. “I suppose the closeness of friends varies depending upon who the person is and their importance to those so-called intimates. Mr. Darcy has a small circle of dedicated followers, whereas I prefer the sociability of a broad range of people.”
“It is amusing to know that he finds our society here less than preferable when compared to town.”
Mr. Wickham laughed. “That is true. But people in town will always be kind to one with the name of Darcy.”
“Even one who is cruel to someone he should call companion.”
“I am not in such a bad situation, really. I was fortunate to have sponsors enough for my uniform in the ——shire, and here I am with better support than Mr. Darcy ever provided to me. Nothing was left for me in Derbyshire—that is, nothing but pleasant memories of the past and old Mr. Darcy’s benevolent amity. I love Pemberley dearly, yet I had no choice but to leave my home to make my fortune. It will be a long time coming at this rate.”
“Such a pity to treat a favourite of his father in such a manner. Did you look forward to making sermons?”
“I did. But I hope you do not think I would be as verbose as your cousin!”
I had to laugh when I compared the two: one, all consideration after being treated poorly, and the other, full of undeserved importance when he possessed many advantages, both now and in the future. “Indeed, I did not. You have shown yourself to be twice the gentleman that he or Mr. Darcy is.”
Chapter 5
Jane and I were ambling in the garden and recollecting the pleasant evening at Aunt Phillips’s. I had just described Mr. Wickham’s revelation about Mr. Darcy when shrieks erupted from the house. After exchanging puzzled glances, we rushed inside to discover the reason for the fuss.
I cannot decide which state of affairs brings more excitement to my family: the anticipation of a future amusement or one that is already in hand. Mr. and Miss Bingley’s arrival at Longbourn that Thursday morning was enough to create great cacophony. Thankfully, my two youngest sisters’ noise was greatly reduced by the time the Bingleys were announced; however, our guests were certain to have heard them in the front hall. My mortification was complete when the squeals of delight resumed in the parlour upon the invitation to a ball at Netherfield Park.
“A ball!” was repeated over and over as though my sisters required assurance that it actually had been said, and Lydia and Kitty first clasped each other’s hands and bobbed up and down then continued the same activity with everyone else in the room. Mr. Bingley chuckled, not at all displeased with their enthusiasm. Even Miss Bingley, elegantly attired in a most fashionable gown with an elaborate chemisette, found their raptures amusing as her mouth tilted sideways in a half smirk, though whether it was in disdain, self-importance that her invitation was the cause of this delight, or pure enjoyment of the scene was not clear to me.
Mr. Collins slid into the room, no doubt curious regarding all the noise, and my two youngest sisters rushed to greet him and share the good news. He held his hands in the air, palms forward, and tried to frighten them with his glare, but they both just giggled before resuming their seats and chattering, heads close together and peeping at Mr. Collins with alarmingly lascivious expressions. Miss Bingley’s face was much the same; she even licked her thin lips.
Dear Jane spoke for us all and graciously accepted on behalf of our family. My cousin spun to face her with a queer expression. His brows were tucked down in the middle of his face, and his lip and nostril on one side were raised, as if he were questioning something unpleasant—or possibly even unseemly—at least, to him.
Rather than attempt to decipher his strange expression, my recent discussions with Mr. Collins made me bold enough to question him. “Sir, do you not intend to accept the invitation? Perhaps you do not believe it a proper amusement for young people, yet I am certain Mr. Bingley hopes you will join us even though you may object to dancing yourself.”
“On the contrary, Cousin Elizabeth. Both the archbishop and Lady Catherine admire my ability to discern the difference between wholesome entertainment and activities unbecoming to a clergyman. A private ball given by a sensible gentleman and attended by respectable gentlemen such as myself has no tendency for evil. You know my generous disposition well enough by now; I could not deprive the neighbourhood ladies of my hand in the dance. I also must take this opportunity to assure my three fair cousins that they will be among the first to stand up with me.” Lydia and Kitty faced each other with smirks and burst into giggles before they resumed their admiration of Mr. Collins. They must have become accustomed to his disregarding their existence.
Mr. Bingley took his point. “Indeed, Mr. Collins! We shall be delighted to see you tak
e your position in the line.” He addressed Jane. “Following your cousin’s good example, I request the first two dances of you, Miss Bennet.”
Jane’s cheeks are always a little pink, but at that moment, the colour flowed across her entire face and onto her neck and the portion of her upper chest left uncovered by her fichu. “I thank you, sir, I accept.”
Mr. Bingley’s face lit up. “Capital!” He glanced towards his sister. Miss Bingley tilted her head and offered a forced and weary smile. Her brother returned his beaming face to Jane, who could have been fevered again, she was so flushed. My poor, shy, older sister could not reflect his grand grin to share his elation though she kept trying, peeking up through her lashes while her lips were curved up in the sweetest fashion imaginable, even for Jane. This was obviously encouragement enough as he added, “And the supper dance?”
Everyone was diverted when Mr. Collins cleared his throat loudly. When he spoke, his voice was firm and chastising. “Mr. Bingley! Your assumption is not at all gentlemanly.” His tone was that of a parent scolding a child.
Mr. Bingley’s eyes went wide. “Excuse me, sir? I do not comprehend your meaning.”
“I am quite sure you do, sir. You are well aware that Miss Bennet is my cousin.”
Mr. Bingley hesitated. “Y-yes?”
“I have priority.”
“Priority?”
I had to agree with the incredulity in Mr. Bingley’s voice. What sort of priority? What could Mr. Collins mean? I searched my cousin’s face, and while his lips were pursed and his brow folded, he was still extremely good looking. How could he manage such a feat? “The first dance with her, of course,” he replied.
Lydia spoke up in a clear voice, and all heads except Mr. Collins’s turned her way. “Dear Cousin, do not despair. You may dance the first with me. I am equal to Jane in looks, but I have more spirit. Everyone says so.” Mr. Collins’s eyes rolled skyward, but he did not respond. As was his wont, he refused to acknowledge Kitty and Lydia other than as children.
Instead, his disdainful gaze never left Mr. Bingley. “You must be aware, sir, that my patroness, Lady Catherine de Bourgh, supports my clever intention to marry one of my fair cousins.”
“Indeed, I was unaware of such a plan. But it does not change my—”
Mr. Collins nodded with lips pulled into a smug smile. “I have taken pains to show special notice to Miss Bennet from the moment I arrived. She is the eldest and has precedence.”
Mr. Bingley’s face had become a mask of confusion. “I myself have enjoyed Miss Bennet’s company for some weeks now. I had no idea that during the short time since her departure from my home…since Sunday…but your arrival is so recent!”
“I have made my suit clear.”
“Have you spoken to Mr.—”
“I have no need to speak to her father. He will approve of me. Everyone does.” Mr. Collins stroked his long fingers across the top of his curls, across his fine cheekbone, and down to his full mouth. “She suits me. Otherwise, I should have to pursue Miss Elizabeth, who is far too thin.”
Thin? I looked down at myself. Was my skirt cut too large? As usual, the toes of my slippers were not visible past my bosom. Like Lydia, I am the mirror of women on the Gardiner side of the family: womanly and sturdy from the age of fourteen. My waist tucks in well, but other parts of me challenge the seamstress. Yet to call me thin…what did that make Mary?
Jane interrupted my review of my figure. “I have no understanding with either gentleman.” Her voice was soft and timid but still easily discerned in the silence, which told me that everyone else was also wondering how best to describe my form—everyone but Miss Bingley, who was perusing her own figure. Now she is a woman for whom “slender” is a generous compliment. What could she be thinking at my cousin’s declaration?
Mr. Bingley was encouraged. “Sir, if you have no understanding with the lady, you must respect that she has accepted my request. I am certain she will dance the second with you.”
Mr. Collins’s beautiful head rolled to one side and his lips pursed before he stepped forward until he was almost in physical contact with Mr. Bingley. He was at least three inches taller and spoke down to his rival. “HA!”
“Ha.” Mr. Bingley’s response was timid and uncertain in comparison with my cousin’s loud, firm bark. Was boisterousness a Bennet rather than a Gardiner trait? Mr. Collins’s father was born to a Bennet, after all. My sisters could have gained theirs either way. Mr. Bingley attempted a smile, but in his tension, he merely revealed his teeth from between tight, thin lips.
Mr. Collins glared down at him. “She will dance the first with me.”
“She has been asked, and she has answered. You have no argument here.”
“Step aside, sir. I have precedence.”
“Precedence? What does precedence have to do with it?”
I glanced at Jane. Her delicate face was alarmed.
Mr. Collins continued, “If you knew what was good for you, you would be wary of me, sir.”
“Do not attempt to alarm me. I am within my rights.”
“You have no rights. You are a pretender.”
“And you are a hypocrite.”
The men were nose to nose. Mr. Collins looked down his while Mr. Bingley stared up at his opponent, using the most severe visage I had ever seen upon him.
“If you are so certain of your right in the matter, I wonder that you do not issue a challenge,” dared my cousin. “You must be afraid of me.”
“You could not instil fear in a mouse.”
“That is better than being a mouse like you are.”
Mr. Bingley’s chest puffed, and he rose onto his toes. “As such, I must be frightful to you. Big, fat elephants run from a mouse.”
Mr. Collins gasped and stepped back, his hand to his chest. “I am not fat!”
Mr. Bingley peered through one eye with a grin too much like a pirate for his usual demeanour; he believed triumph to be his. But he made no reply. Instead, he brushed at the sleeve of his coat and pretended to gaze over his own form before lifting his head gradually to study Mr. Collins from toes upward, halting his perusal at the poor man’s waist. Of course, everyone else watched, but the man’s figure was perfect. However, his vanity was susceptible to suggestion, at least enough to become worried at the notion.
“NO! I am NOT FAT!” Mr. Collins confronted Mr. Bingley, his hands clenched in defiance.
“Some women prefer a round man.” Even though tall and broad of shoulder, Mr. Bingley was much thinner in the chest and middle than Mr. Collins, who had a larger form in general. Mr. Collins had more weight around his middle than Mr. Darcy, but both had a perfect triangular shape. One must imagine both had the muscles of a true man given their figures in form-fitting clothing. What would Mr. Darcy look like unclothed?
Mr. Collins released a noise between a gasp and a sniffle. “NO!” he shouted.
I was shocked out of my dream of Mr. Darcy. That must not happen again! He was not handsome enough to tempt me. I had to retain firm resolve on that issue.
“I am not a round man. I am MANLY!” Mr. Collins grabbed Mr. Bingley by the arm and pulled him closer. “Look! Look at my shoulders! Look at my chest!” His free arm waved across his form as he pointed out his fine figure. “Look at my stomach! Look at my hips! I have a splendid physical form! SPLENDID!” Mr. Bingley’s eyes were wide as he closely followed Mr. Collins’s hand. Was he actually admiring my cousin?
Mary squeaked, and everyone in the room observed her rapt face eyeing Mr. Collins’s slender waist. Her face flamed and her head dropped as if it were made of lead while her hands busily flapped through pages of her religious treatise.
A glance around the room a moment earlier would have shown my cousin had affected all present with equal appreciation of his figure, but they now all l
ooked away. Miss Bingley, however, was not the slightest bit shy; her eyes had not left my cousin’s form, and her captivated smile illustrated that she coveted Mr. Collins. “He is a rather well-formed gentleman, Charles.”
Paying no heed to his sister, Mr. Bingley asked, “Then why are you afraid of me?” His voice was calm, but the crinkles around his laughing eyes betrayed amusement at his game.
Mr. Collins must have realized he had been played with because he released Mr. Bingley, crossed his arms, and with a lazy gaze down his nose, resumed his practised conceit. His voice became haughty again. “Afraid of you? You will not name the time and place. I await an indication of your chivalry yet observe no such challenge.”
Mr. Bingley was nonchalant. “Why must I be the one to contest you? I have done no more than gain the hand of a woman I admire for the first set at my own ball. You are the one who appears insulted, though I cannot fathom why.”
Jane exhaled a huge, breathy sigh. Her smile of contentment was as pretty as when Mr. Bingley had first asked her to dance, but her blush had made its retreat. All that remained were two becoming pink spots upon her cheeks. She and Mr. Bingley beamed at one another for a moment. They broke off when Miss Bingley made a little coughing noise. Her arms were crossed, and her reticule swung vigorously in one agitated hand as she glared at her brother.
Mr. Collins glanced at her before scowling at Mr. Bingley once more. “Take back your words. Say you will not dance the first with her so I may.”
“You cannot make me.”
“I should not have to try. You are wrong. Admit it.”
“I shall not.” Mr. Bingley’s voice was firm and loud.
“You must. I insist.”
“No. She prefers me. I win.” His triumphant grin rubbed Mr. Collins’s nose in Jane’s clear approbation of Mr. Bingley.