A Most Handsome Gentleman

by Suzan Lauder

  “You have not won anything. You have not even issued a challenge, you puny tradesman.”

  “You cannot make me change my mind by calling me names, you conceited clergyman.”

  “I am not a mere clergyman.”

  “Conceited fool, then.”

  “You are more the fool.”

  “I am not. I win,” declared Mr. Bingley with a boyish shrug and a grin.

  “You cannot win.” Collins had begun to whinge.

  “Yes, I can, and I have.” Mr. Bingley’s tone was that of a child who held his favourite toy above his head to taunt another child.

  “Stop it.”

  “No, you stop it.”

  “You cannot make me.”

  “You are stupid.” Mr. Bingley’s tone was flippant.

  “I am not stupid. You are stupid.”

  “You are stupider than an idiot.”

  “I am not.” The pitch of Mr. Collins’s voice was elevated to an almost feminine level.

  “Yes, you are.”

  “Shut it.”

  “You shut it.”

  Without warning, Mr. Collins reached out to strike Mr. Bingley’s face. Mr. Bingley pulled back, and Mr. Collins’s hand met with air. Almost immediately, he repeated with the other hand, and Mr. Bingley joined in. Both men began to rapidly slap at each other, missing nigh on every time. The air slapping accelerated as they stood half a pace apart, chins tucked back to avoid impact. Neither was aware that my father had walked into the room and heard their argument.

  “What have we here?” Papa’s tone was loud and chastising, yet Mr. Bingley and Mr. Collins did not acknowledge him. They continued slapping at the air and calling each other names: “cork-brained,” “carroty-pated,” “coxcomb,” and “ninny.” The heads of the parlour’s other inhabitants snapped back and forth trying to determine from where the next bit of entertainment was going to appear.

  “To be truthful, I have five daughters and in all the times they have disagreed, I have never seen them behave so much like girlish little chits as you so-called gentlemen.” At this harsh retort, the two men stopped their slap fight and flushed. My father continued, “Jane, which of these two was the first to ask for your hand for the first set?”

  “Mr. Bingley, sir, and I agreed.” The two shared more pleasant gazes. Miss Bingley rolled her eyes before she recommenced her ogling of Mr. Collins.

  “Ah, so all is settled. Mr. Bingley will have the first and Mr. Collins the second.”

  Mr. Collins would not be told what to do without complaint. “But I have the olive branch!” he whinged.

  “I have four other daughters who will be at that ball. Choose another for the first, and after Jane, you will dance with the other three.”

  My cousin protested. “Not the two children! They should not even be allowed at such an occasion!”

  “Lydia and Kitty? It would be impossible for you to tolerate the noise they would create if I decided they were not to go to a ball with their sisters.”

  Mr. Collins’s lips went downward and he crossed his arms. “Your permissiveness should not translate into forcing me to dance with those too young to attend.”

  My father sighed. “I shall acquiesce to your point. You do not have to dance with Lydia or Kitty. But Mary or Lizzy will dance the first with you, and the other girl the third. After that is completed, you must dance with the ladies of Meryton.”

  “How many?”

  My father was enjoying this even as he laid down the law. He understood the question, but wanted Mr. Collins to show himself as the fool. “I beg your pardon?”

  “How many other ladies must I dance with before I can dance again with Miss Bennet?”

  “I do not approve of two sets with Jane.”

  “It is not of much harm, Papa,” offered Jane, “as I have agreed to two with Mr. Bingley.”

  “Very well. Three other ladies.”

  “Why three?”

  “You will dance with three of my daughters and three others to balance the show of appreciation.”

  Miss Bingley stepped forward on her side of the room as if to be noticed, but my cousin made no such connection. “But Miss Bennet…the supper dance!”

  Jane spoke. “Mr. Bingley asked for the supper dance as well. Mr. Collins has not yet asked me to dance.”

  My cousin would not let my father rule before he had his say. “Miss Bennet, you must dance the second and the supper dance with me.”

  “She must?” The sparkle in my father’s eyes belied the stern expression he was attempting to maintain. The peculiar situation amused him! “That is an odd way to request the pleasure of a lady’s conversation for half an hour.”

  “Please, Miss Bennet! The first and the supper dance! I am Lady Catherine’s rector, and no less should please you! I am not fat, I am tall, and I am the most handsome! Lady Catherine says it is so! You must dance with me!”

  “Leave Jane alone, Mr. Collins,” said Papa. “Jane, since Mr. Bingley asked first, you must either agree or disagree to dance with him. Then you must either agree or disagree to dance any dances that Mr. Collins has requested.”

  Jane did not hesitate. “I should like to dance the first and supper dance with Mr. Bingley. Mr. Collins may have the second set.”

  “But Lady Catherine will be so disappointed!”

  “Who are you to dance the first set with, Mr. Collins? I warn you, you must ask in the manner of a proper gentleman.” Papa could have been Mr. Collins’s parent in the way he crossed his arms and gave his stern orders.

  Miss Bingley coughed again, and Mary’s work was no longer of interest as she favoured Mr. Collins with a toothy grin. Mr. Collins did not glance at either lady. Instead, the appearance of reluctant resolve in his eye made me want to hide beneath the nearest piece of furniture—and he was staring right at me.

  “Miss Elizabeth, will you honour me with the first set at the Netherfield ball?”

  I could not help myself. “Rather not what Lady Catherine wanted?”

  My father raised his brows, but no admonishment came. He was enjoying my pain in this ridiculous situation as well as my cousin’s ludicrous attitude.

  Mr. Collins sneered, miffed at my father’s lack of cooperation. “She made no specification on which daughter I dance with or when. She merely suggested the olive branch.”

  For reasons unknown to me, this caused my father to demonstrate a leadership he lacked under usual circumstances. “We are done here, and I should not have to hear future disagreements over your dance partners, sir. Your olive branch may be the next matter, but we shall save it for another day. Lizzy?”

  I mumbled, “I thank you, yes,” whilst I continued gazing towards my shoes—well, my figure. My shoes were not visible unless I leaned forward, which would be bad form indeed.

  Chapter 6

  The Netherfield ball came on the heels of several rainy days, so when we disembarked from our carriage, we tottered on pattens to cross the short distance to the home’s entry. Mr. Collins tarried behind Jane. Every minute or so his hand darted towards her as though he was keen to assist yet reluctant to touch her. Despite its covering of a long cape, the curve of her behind showed because of its generosity in comparison to the rest of her and her slight forward tilt as she walked. Mr. Collins’s entranced gaze was fixed upon its sway.

  When I stepped up to the manor house, I noticed Mr. Darcy peering down upon us from an upper floor window. His curly hair and trim figure in evening wear gave him away; no one wore clothing so well, not even Mr. Collins, who was perfectly attired for the occasion. Mr. Darcy must have scurried downstairs; by the time we had divested ourselves of our warm cloaks, he was near the end of the receiving line. Wearing a tight black evening coat and breeches, combined with stockings on strong calves, a snowy whit
e cravat framing his jaw, and the surprise of a striped waistcoat in shades of dark green and gold, he was impeccably turned out and actually appeared nearly as handsome as my annoying cousin. Of course, he was also annoying in his own way.

  Mr. Collins had begrudgingly asked me for the first set, and he cast glares at Mr. Bingley during the entire dance; therefore, he missed some of the forms and had to be corrected frequently. His outward appearance of beauty and delicacy of hand gestures did not extend to perfect harmony in the movement of his body. Even without the distraction of Jane and Mr. Bingley, Mr. Collins was an awkward dancer at best. When the last notes of our set sounded, he gave me a disdainful glance while running his hand forward over his fashionable “frightened owl” hairstyle, and he deserted me on the dance floor to stride over to where they stood. Jane’s round cheeks were rosy from the exercise, making her prettier than ever. Rather than take the action as an insult, I saw myself as fortunate to not have to deal with the pompous man any longer.

  During a quick glance around the room, I espied my friend Charlotte Lucas off to one side. We both broke into huge grins when her eye caught mine, and I wove my way through the crowd to her side.

  “Charlotte!”

  “How are you, dear Eliza?” She knows I detest this pet name from anyone other than her and her father. Sir William calls me “Eliza” simply because Charlotte does, and he’s endearing in his kind naivety. Oh, how we grin behind his back each time! It’s one of those bonds true friends have. Had the situation been private, I could have greeted her as “Piglet,” but that is not a comparable nickname to “Eliza.” Everyone else in Meryton knows I prefer to be called “Lizzy” by my friends.

  Miss Bingley calls me Eliza too. She probably believed she was showing her friendship, however insincere, by copying my best friend, yet she knew not how it grated each time she addressed me thus. Our friendship is not to the point where she should presume more than “Miss Elizabeth.”

  “I am well, though my toes disagree. My cousin is a terrible dancer, yet he fancies himself the best at everything.”

  “That is your cousin? The one of whom everyone speaks so highly?” Charlotte’s head moved as she perused him from head to toe. He did have a fine appearance in his evening wear, not unlike Mr. Darcy.

  “Oh, I forgot you have not yet made the acquaintance. Half the ladies in Meryton are full in love with him, and the other half consider themselves his future bride.”

  “I can see why! He is…remarkable!”

  “But you have not yet spoken to him.”

  “I do not expect a conversation. All I desire is to stare. That will suffice.” Her smile was self-satisfied. She meant what she said.

  “That is fortunate as he is full of pompous nothings.”

  “I am accustomed to men thinking they know more than ladies do or believing they are too good for me. I can bear his sublime face easily enough without making him a goal in my life. But how are you? Are you well?”

  “Indeed, I am none the worse for my efforts at reforming my cousin’s speeches.”

  “Pretty speeches?”

  “Somewhat, although he feigns interest in others whilst directing the content of conversations towards how well he thinks of himself and his alleged enviable station in life.”

  “It is a shame, for he is a fine specimen of a man.” She peered at my cousin’s form again. “Yet, due to your account of him, I admit that I am more and more interested in watching and not listening to him.”

  I laughed.

  Our pleasant discussion was broken for a moment when Mr. Darcy approached. Once we had made our curtseys, he addressed me, requesting the honour of the next dance. I was confused because I was certain he disliked both me and the activity, so I mumbled my acceptance in a rather less than decorous manner. He thanked me, and with a sharp nod of his head, he whirled on his heel and stalked around the room slowly as he had been doing all evening.

  I was staring at the back of his head when a familiar, grating voice addressed me. “Cousin Elizabeth, you have not introduced me to this lovely lady. Do not make me so vulgar as to have to introduce myself.”

  He surprised me. I had not expected him to know the difference in manners, for he was so conceited as to think himself above them. When I turned to speak, I was struck by the way he was preening his marvellous self as though he wished to impress. His simpering countenance told me he was very interested in making Charlotte’s acquaintance.

  This was more puzzling than Mr. Darcy’s dance request. Charlotte’s brothers began calling Charlotte “Piglet” when she was young because she was round and pink with a turned-up nose, so she could be lost amongst the piglets. But no one ever calls her that in public. She is too dear to be teased for her looks, which matter little to her friends. But as much as I think she deserves the attention of gentlemen due to her exemplary character, no one has ever called her lovely, not even her own father, or treated her with interest—until now. And interest cannot begin to describe the spellbound expression on Mr. Collins’s fine face.

  I glanced at Charlotte. Her eyes were wide and her lip slightly curled as if she were puzzled.

  “My apologies. Charlotte, this is my cousin Mr. Collins. He is a clergyman visiting us from Kent. Mr. Collins, may I present my dear friend, Miss Lucas.”

  “A pleasure, sir.” Charlotte curtseyed, but she was nearly knocked over when Mr. Collins darted forward, grasped her hand, and tugged it. He made a dramatic show of obeisance over it.

  “Your pleasure cannot come close to mine, Miss Lucas,” he said when he straightened, not relinquishing his tight hold on her hand. “When I saw you across the room, I knew I had to have the gratification of your acquaintance. Indeed, were it not for my acknowledged interest in another quarter”—he made a show of turning his head to peer at Jane as she danced with George Goulding—“who is the acknowledged best choice for a partner among all the lovely Bennet flowers, I would be at your door tomorrow, demanding a courtship.”

  Charlotte gasped and jerked her hand free. Mr. Collins stared at the hand he had just held. “Such sweet, chubby little fingers. I have died and gone to heaven.”

  All became clear to me at that moment. Mr. Collins had always ogled Jane’s bottom and bosom, which were on the generous side. As the roundest of the Bennet sisters, she fell barely short of being called plump. People never seemed to notice because the fine lines of her countenance, the graceful length of her neck, the gentle slope of her shoulders, and the exquisite colour of her blonde locks all caught their attention. If people commented on her size, they would say, “Jane Bennet is such a healthy girl.” Well, if roundness meant health, Charlotte was undeniably thriving, and Mr. Collins preferred a lady in bloom—but his interpretation meant blossoming with corpulence. In short, Mr. Collins preferred a large lady.

  “Miss Bennet is a lovely girl,” said Charlotte, “I understand your preference.”

  “You do? Oh, thank you so much, Miss Lucas. You cannot know what the opinion of such a beauty as yourself means to me.” Once again, he looked at Jane with an expression of oily regard.

  But sure enough, when he turned back to Charlotte, he commented on her attractive figure and verbosely explained that, in his opinion, plumpness was one of the best attributes a lady could possess. Of course, a gentleman must be trim and shaped exactly as he was: broad in the shoulder and slim through the hips. Yet he should never ever have the need to enhance his calves with wadding—what an embarrassment that would be!

  “Miss Lucas, I must now bring refreshment to Miss Bennet, but would you oblige me with your lovely presence for your next available set? It would please me to no small degree to watch your figure make the figures.” He emitted a horrid sounding laugh through his nose, reminiscent of a neighing horse who was attempting to make a spectacle of himself.

  He snatched her hand again and, with a deep b
ow, kissed the air above it. Through his usual manner of speaking and the fake kiss, Mr. Collins demonstrated his intentions. The end result was not quite improper but crass enough to indicate his poor taste in contrast with his refined appearance. Charlotte did not seem to mind.

  We both watched as he backed away until he bumped into Mr. Goulding, who had completed his dance with Jane. My cousin spun around, puffed out his chest, and blustered to the bewildered man, “Sir, pay attention to where you are going!” A glib smile was then directed towards Jane. “Miss Bennet! How delightful to see you with the supper dance about to begin! Perhaps you will reconsider and dance with me!” He tucked Jane’s hand onto his arm and steered her to the refreshment table.

  I turned back to Charlotte. “I am sorry.”

  “Do not be. I enjoy the attention. I so rarely get it, particularly when the Bennet sisters are present.”

  “But it was too much! He was improper.”

  Charlotte lifted a brow as she smiled. “Almost improper. I was still charmed and not offended in the least.”

  “You are behaving kindly for my sake. All he has done since his arrival is embarrass me from one moment to the next. I have attempted to curb his outrageous tongue, but it is a chore far too large for me.”

  “I expect you relish it all the same?”

  Relish it? I did not know what she meant. “I beg your pardon?”

  “It cannot be difficult to make conversation with him since his face is so delightful to gaze upon, never mind his figure. To chide him for his manners allows you more time to appreciate his gifts.”

  Ah, she just wanted to look at him. “Even an attractive countenance loses its charm when unattractive things spew forth from its mouth.”

  “Not easily, I would guess.”

  “You are correct. In any case, I am tired of correcting him when he acts badly a moment later.”

  Charlotte stretched her neck to see something beyond our nearest neighbours. “I wonder what he said to Mr. Bingley to get his colour up. Mr. Bingley’s easy-going nature does not usually allow him to become so inflamed.”