A Most Handsome Gentleman

by Suzan Lauder

  Jane blushed and would not confirm it outright. However, we knew it to be true and dearly hoped Mr. Bingley’s attentions were an indication of reciprocated admiration.

  Returning to the problem at hand, I asked, “What occurred with Mr. Collins to upset you so?”

  “Yes, and did you actually kill him?” Lydia’s arms were akimbo and her chin stuck out in challenge. “I just cannot imagine you hurting a soul, so I am loath to believe he is wounded, never mind dead.”

  “I am not sure. I know I…I injured him. He…he…was adamant that I was denying him in humbleness but intended to eventually agree, and he…he…attempted to kiss me. So I did what Papa told us to do if a man approached with improper physical attentions.”

  The quiet in the room was enough to hear a pin drop on the carpet.

  Mary was the first to speak. She leaned forward, eyes wide. “You did? What was the result?” The rest of us were equally curious and stared at Jane in eagerness for her response. Even Lydia’s jaw had dropped.

  “He grasped at…the area my knee connected with, folded in half, and fell to the floor. His head bounced as it landed, and then he did not move. There was blood! That is why I think I may have killed him.”

  The quick discussion picked up again with my sisters talking over each other.

  “Perhaps he just bloodied his nose,” offered the ever-practical Mary, “and he is not injured badly at all.”

  “Did he fall on his back or on his face?” asked Kitty.

  “I hope he did not hurt his face,” said Lydia. “It is such a marvellous face.”

  “He tipped over. His back—his side—I do not know!” Jane buried her face in her hands, and I went over to put an arm around her.

  “He must have an open coffin so all can admire his beauty, even in death,” declared Mary.

  Mama brought up the area of her greatest concern. “Is the entail dissolved if Mr. Collins is dead?”

  “Stop!” Jane’s arms were up and her palms faced us. “This is about neither his attractiveness nor the entail. He proposed against my and my father’s wishes. He tried to kiss me! I wounded him at the very least.”

  I held Jane’s shoulders and looked her in the eye. “Did he say anything after he fell?” Mr. Collins was not one to remain silent unless dead.

  “He moaned before he fell and grunted when his head hit the floor.”

  “Come. I am sure he is fine.” My other sisters rose with more alacrity than I expected, but Jane did not.

  “I cannot! I cannot see him dead again!” A distraught Jane rushed from the room, and Mary went after her.

  “Very well.” I hastened to where I had last seen Mr. Collins, but I could not find a trace of him; however, there were a few specks of blood on the dining room floor. “I doubt he is dead. In all likelihood, he was insensible for a short time, and when he recovered his wits, he went to his room to rest.”

  “He was always insensible,” offered Lydia. At the incredulous expressions on my sisters’ faces, she continued, “but astonishingly good-looking for a silly man.” My sisters agreed with the assessment.

  Mary was the last to join us. She was almost breathless, panting as she spoke. “Hill says he left the house in high dudgeon. But where could he have gone at this late hour?”

  Chapter 8

  Due to an offhand comment Mr. Collins made at breakfast the next morning, we learned that the night before—despite the cold and a light fall of new snow—a walk of less than a half mile in the brightness of a full moon saw him to Lucas Lodge where he had been welcomed to a late dinner even though he had already eaten.

  “Miss Bennet is not a good eater,” he explained between sips of his coffee. “If you want to see a lady with a healthy appetite, you must watch Miss Lucas. Now that is someone who enjoys her meal.”

  I was ready to sneer about how he had not interfered with Charlotte’s pudding for a stupid, unwanted marriage proposal, but I did not. His point was already foolish enough without my defence of Jane’s eating habits.

  He continued, “I would pride myself for being a good eater if Lady Catherine were to support the attribute in a man; however, she is clear that those of my sex must be trim and fit to interest the ladies. Ladies can be as round as they choose and still attract suitors. I told Lady Catherine she had made an astute observation and hastened to apologise for my assumption that it could be the same for both sexes. Indeed, it was more than a little foolish of me to try to be an accomplished eater in the face of the evidence of Lady Catherine and Miss de Bourgh’s preference towards slender men.

  “Indeed, she would not be in support of a match between Mr. Darcy and her daughter if he were not a tall, fine figure of a man—so remarkable, handsome, and rich. That is how Lady Catherine describes him, and who could disagree once they laid eyes upon him? I, of course, did not have to meet him to recognize this as Lady Catherine makes her opinions known to me. All I must do is show the proper amount of humility and enthusiasm to learn from her wisdom and gain the correct understanding that will elevate me in her eyes. I am quite fortunate in that way. People who are not good eaters do not comprehend my situation or importance at all. Shame on them.”

  Yes, none could argue that my handsome cousin was not an obsequious, empty-headed individual, and he proved it each time he opened his mouth. After his injudicious proposal to Jane and his “death”—no more than a scratch in his dark, wavy hair—I was no longer of a mind to assist him in improvement. Let him open his mouth and remove all doubt of his folly to all and sundry. What was it to me? Well, it annoyed me for a start, but I could not change it. I had attempted to get his attention on the matter and failed.

  Even though the weather was cold and another snow had blanketed Hertfordshire in sparkling beauty, he thankfully disappeared again until dinner, and we had a quiet day. He repeated his actions the next morning, sleeping until the breakfast table was set and staring at Jane whilst making speeches throughout the meal. This time he spoke of how blessed those were who had the gift from God of fullness of figure. Afterwards, he was absent until it was time to eat again at six.

  The servants’ gossip revealed that he was tiring the ears of those at Lucas Lodge until sundown. I do not know how the Gouldings, another premier family in the area, escaped his notice, but the Lucases were warm and inviting and probably patient with my cousin’s ramblings. Besides, he mentioned his admiration of Charlotte’s dimpled elbows on more than one occasion, which must have endeared him to them. He was an eligible match, and Charlotte was seven and twenty.

  Whilst he was away, we had the peace and quiet of our regular routine prior to his visit. I would wrap myself in warm clothing for my early morning walk, but most of our time was spent in a parlour. We trimmed bonnets, attended to needlework, or read. Mary and I also enjoyed singing and playing for our own entertainment, though my sisters were pleasant enough in their praise of our mediocre achievements.

  The third day of this ritual was broken by better weather and a visit from Aunt Phillips with news to brighten us up. Her gossip from Netherfield did not support the information that the family would remain in town; in fact, dinner plans were to start again on the morrow. The housekeeper had expected at least two of the gentlemen to return days ago, but the foul weather had detained them. She indicated that Miss Bingley and the Hursts would remain in Grosvenor Square, perhaps returning to Hertfordshire after Christmas.

  Sure enough, the next morn, as soon as it was polite to call, Hill poked her head into the parlour to say that Mr. Bingley and Mr. Darcy were riding up the roadway. Given yesterday’s news, Jane had dressed in her best; however, when the hour came, she had slipped out of the sitting room, and no one knew where she was. Mary went off to find her.

  Mr. Collins was missing too; with any luck, he would be at Lucas Lodge so we would not have to endure his speeches. Lydia and Kitty had gone
to call on Maria Lucas, but I suspected they were following Mr. Collins even though he would just shoo them away like the pests they were, earning their giggles and whispers but never deterring them from watching him whenever they could.

  But wait…was that Mr. Collins’s voice? With him and Jane both in unknown locations, I panicked for a moment that a new deception had been constructed for another proposal attempt. I rushed from the sitting room and overheard my cousin speaking to the callers in the entry hall; he must have been somewhere within the house all along. I hope he had not bothered Papa! To my relief, he had dressed to go out and was about to leave for the day, which had become his recent habit.

  “Mr. Darcy, sir, you appear as dignified and affluent as usual,” he said in treacle-laced tones. “Please be assured that, in the spirit of my servitude to your good aunt and cousin, I am willing to assist you in any way you may determine is helpful. I flatter myself that I am adept at many ecclesiastical tasks that come with the veneration requisite to the position I hold at Hunsford parish, including assisting parishioners in all times of their lives. In addition, I humbly share my willingness to address a gentleman such as you in the way you deserve and to assist in confidences when others may not be available to be of aid at the time when it is truly required. All you need do is ask.

  “Mr. Bingley, I have a sense of why you have arrived with Mr. Darcy, yet you have disappointment waiting for you if you aspire to his calibre of expectation. Your family’s past in trade is no match for a gentleman and scholar similar to myself or Mr. Darcy. There is little point in entertaining any ideas of a courtship, sir. Your absence opened a favourable circumstance for a gentleman, let us say a humble sort, not as rich as you are but who exceeds you in position and countenance. You must have an idea who this is. Even though gentlemen are deterred from courtship in this abode, I flatter myself that my hints will reveal that you may wish me happy with a lady of a slightly rounded figure and face despite efforts to disappoint me.”

  Mr. Bingley leaned over to Mr. Darcy and said quietly, “Remember your promise.”

  Mr. Darcy nodded. “You were leaving, Mr. Collins?”

  “Oh! Ah, I had thought to go to Lucas Lodge, but how can I do so when such delightful personages have honoured my cousin by calling upon his humble abode? One that, I might mention, will be mine upon his death. Longbourn is entailed to me, you know.”

  Mr. Darcy spoke formally. “I believe we were aware of that fact, sir. Do not let us limit your plans for morning calls. We shall endure your absence.”

  Mr. Collins was unrelenting. “My guidance will help you delicately decipher the difficult path around Mr. Bingley’s disappointment, Mr. Darcy. I encourage you to consider it.”

  “I thank you for your generous offer, but I must decline. I insist you make the calls you had planned and leave us to thank the Bennets for their attendance at Mr. Bingley’s ball.”

  “We are quite tardy and must make amends.” Mr. Bingley’s words were clipped.

  “Just so you are certain, sir,” said Mr. Collins, “not to enter an avenue I have claimed already.”

  At this, Mama came into the hall, wondering why the guests were delayed. “Oh! Mr. Collins! You must not speak of this. Mr. Bingley might get the wrong idea and challenge you. But since Jane has refused you, you have no reason to deny him the opportunity!”

  Mortified could not begin to describe my response to that pronouncement. All the assumptions my mother and Mr. Collins made about Mr. Bingley’s reason for paying a call were truly from their imaginations. Just because Jane (and Mama) hoped for a proposal from Mr. Bingley—and Mr. Collins feared one—was no reason to confront poor Mr. Bingley as if he had told the world this was his intention. Some things should be kept in confidence!

  My cousin addressed Mr. Darcy. “But Miss Bingley sent a letter saying he would soon be engaged to your sister. I have no worries about Miss Bennet under those circumstances.”

  “Who?” asked Mr. Darcy.

  “What?” asked Mr. Collins.

  “Who was to be engaged to my sister?”

  “Why, Mr. Bingley, of course.”

  “Mr. Bingley?” Mr. Darcy glared at his friend as if he had broken a rule.

  “I am afraid that you must have misunderstood my sister’s comment, sir.” Mr. Bingley’s voice was nervous while his eyes darted between Mr. Collins and his friend. “Miss Darcy is far too young to be courted. I have barely even seen her since she is always away at school.”

  “What a relief this is to me. I think young women should be kept to the schoolroom as long as is possible, yet my cousins disagree with the practice.” Mr. Collins scowled at my mother as he said the last. “However, as far as the ripest of fruits, I must say in my own humble praise that I have succeeded in obtaining the hand of the best this particular orchard has to offer, if you understand my meaning.”

  “You are engaged, sir?” asked Mr. Bingley.

  Mama gasped and puffed out her chest. “He is not!”

  My cousin wore a smug smile as he countered her. “Miss Lucas accepted my hand only this morning. I had to appear early in case a usurper tried to impede my attachment there as well.” He looked sternly at Mr. Bingley, as though accusing him of courting Charlotte.

  I, on the other hand, gaped as if I were some kind of a fish. What is he saying? It cannot be so! When I discovered all three gentlemen were observing my indelicate expression, I snapped my mouth closed. I simply could not credit my cousin’s assertion. Charlotte was far too intelligent to marry a clown, even one whose face was delightful no matter what expression it held.

  Unfortunately, I said what came into my head without thinking. “This cannot be true!”

  The others stared at me. Mr. Collins peered down his perfectly straight nose. “Of course, it is true. My Charlotte and I are of but one mind. It could be said we were made for each other.”

  Thankfully, years of practice as the lady of the house and watching for opportunities to marry off her daughters gave my mother the talent to redirect these situations for the best. “I apologize for distracting you from the important task of paying a call on your betrothed, Mr. Collins. Please forward the best wishes of the Bennets and extend an invitation to a family dinner in the near future. I am certain Charlotte would be honoured to have a meal prepared for her rather than assist in its preparation.”

  Mr. Collins bowed, and everyone else offered their courtesies before he glided out the door.

  Mama addressed Mr. Bingley, “My daughters are higher born and thus accustomed to the services of a fine cook.” A nod to Mr. Darcy accompanied an additional thought. “Of course, we do not have a French chef as you surely do, sir, but a good English lady who has the best receipts in the neighbourhood. I keep telling her she should make a book from them.”

  Mr. Darcy nodded and made a shallow bow. “I am certain you are well pleased with your cook, madam.”

  “Gentlemen, if you would please accompany Miss Elizabeth to the parlour, I shall join you shortly.” To me, she whispered loud enough for all to hear, “I have ordered the best refreshments. Please offer tea whilst I attempt to find Jane and convince her that this is not another of my schemes.”

  “But it is—” I began to protest in a more discreet whisper but stopped myself. This was not the right time to point out my mother’s dreadful attempts at matchmaking. I curtseyed and did as she asked.

  The sweetmeats on offer were exceptional as always in the Bennet household. The gentlemen pointed out their choices to a maid who placed them on our best china with tongs; then each guest seated himself with his small plateful whilst I poured. I prided myself that I recalled how each took his tea: Mr. Bingley liked too much sugar and milk, his friend preferred just a little of each. Mr. Darcy commented on my good memory, and my pleasure was doubled.

  I made the standard neutral small talk whilst t
he three of us enjoyed our tea and shortcakes. “How was your journey?”

  As he placed his cup on its saucer, Mr. Darcy swallowed. “Uneventful for so late in the year.”

  “You were fortunate with the break in the weather.”

  “We must apologise for our delay,” said Mr. Bingley. “Our business was supposed to take only part of a day.”

  “I assume the storms detained you,” I said.

  “Indeed. But the roads were in good condition.”

  “Not a muddy patch to be found,” added Mr. Darcy, “and few sections of deep ruts. The cold did require rugs and hot stones, but our journey was pleasant enough.”

  “It is not all that far. We go at least twice a year.”

  Noise from the hall meant my mother was returning. Please, let Jane be with her! I could not imagine the calamity if we had to listen to her go on about her distress at not finding her eldest daughter. Another idea rushed through my mind: my mother could not possibly contrive to leave Jane alone with Mr. Bingley as she had with Mr. Collins whilst Mr. Darcy and I were present.

  I almost did not hear the men’s soft conversation.

  Mr. Darcy whispered, “What shall I do? You wished me to distract Collins, but now he is gone. But what of the mother and sister? How am I to divert their attention?”

  “I do not know. You appreciate Miss Elizabeth’s company. Ask her and her mother to show you the gardens.” Mr. Bingley’s agitated voice was not as low.

  “But Mrs. Bennet is no walker, and Miss Bennet is fond of gardens. She will want to come along, and you will be left alone with the mother.”

  “We shall all go out of doors then. Mrs. Bennet will decline due to the cold. You will redirect Miss Elizabeth in the same way you were to distract Mr. Collins.”

  “It is not the same! I would not disturb—” Mr. Darcy’s whisper was ended by my blustering mother pushing an angry-faced Jane into the room. Jane’s visage softened into a calm, smiling appearance as was expected of her, but the tension in her body spoke loudly to me. She was tired of being thrown at men even though her choice was Mr. Bingley.