Rebellion at Longbourn

by Victoria Kincaid

  Collins’s monologue finally faltered, and their visitor cleared his throat. “I did not know of Mr. Bennet’s passing until I returned from my voyage.” He frowned as if his ignorance disturbed him, but Elizabeth did not know why. He had been acquainted with her father, but they had not been on intimate terms. The man was simply inscrutable.

  Her cousin nodded pleasantly as though her father’s death was the subject of desultory conversation. Elizabeth fought the tears that threatened to spill from her eyes; she had long ago vowed not to weep in Collins’s presence.

  “It is very good of you to take in Mrs. Bennet and your cousins,” Mr. Darcy continued.

  Collins puffed out his chest. “Mrs. Collins and I believed it was the Christian thing to do. I flatter myself that my presence here provides a steadying influence on my cousins.”

  Elizabeth winced. Collins never hesitated to make such assertions—when others would think it showed a want of delicacy.

  “I am still a clergyman, and I read them sermons every night. In this way I hope to prevent these girls from following the same wicked path of their sister.” Elizabeth had heard this speech so many times she was nearly inured to it. Still, she pressed her lips together to avoid launching into a loud denial.

  But Mr. Darcy appeared about to swallow his tongue. He coughed wildly, rattling his teacup on its saucer, and required a moment to regain his composure. Finally, he said, “Is that so?”

  Collins nodded with a self-congratulatory smile. “And I believe I have made some progress. Their behavior has been…satisfactory for the most part since my arrival.”

  Elizabeth could restrain herself no longer. She “allowed” her saucer to fall on the wooden floor where it shattered. “Oh dear!” She leapt up from the settee as if fearing to spill tea on her dress. “I am so sorry. How clumsy of me.” Collins scowled, but Mr. Darcy’s expression was more amused. Had he guessed her ruse?

  Charlotte jumped to her feet and hurried to the door to summon Hill, who arrived at once to clean up the mess. In the ensuing hubbub, Collins’s previous subject of conversation was mercifully forgotten. This was the third time Elizabeth had broken something to distract her cousin from discussing a painful subject. She would experience more regret over the waste if the china had not belonged to Collins.

  Soon afterward, Mr. Darcy rose to take his leave. Elizabeth was not sorry, she told herself; his presence in their drawing room was rather a chore. Yet she had to acknowledge a small pang of regret.

  Certainly his business in Meryton would soon be concluded. Now that he had fulfilled his obligation to visit them, they would not see him again.

  ***

  As Darcy guided his horse along the road back to the Meryton Inn, his thoughts were disordered and his nerves were jangled. But he was hard-pressed to ascertain the precise source of his unease; there were so many options to choose from. He had never liked Mrs. Bennet, and maintaining a civil discourse with her had been a chore. She had been her usual garrulous self, although her conversation had been peppered with rather more self-pity given her widowhood. And now that Collins was a landowner, he was even more self-important and somehow no less stupid.

  But he would not have expected sparkling conversation from those two in any event. Perhaps it had been the silence from the others in the drawing room that provoked Darcy’s disquiet. But Miss Bennet and Mrs. Collins had never been particularly voluble; he would not have expected it. Although it was striking that Miss Bennet’s participation in the conversation had ceased altogether after Bingley’s name was mentioned. Was she still pining over Bingley? Or was she simply uncomfortable at the sound of his name?

  But none of these things were the primary source of his profound unease. No… He was forced to admit it was caused by Elizabeth’s peculiar silence. After two years’ absence, his eyes had drunk in the sight of her like a man in the desert consumed water. The minute he had glimpsed her fine eyes in the drawing room, all of Darcy’s love for her had instantly reignited. Any hope that his attraction had faded was immediately dashed.

  With every minute that he distanced himself from Longbourn, Darcy increasingly felt as if he were leaving his heart behind. Two years and hundreds of miles of travel had done nothing to quell or even diminish his passion.

  Nor could he help noticing she was profoundly altered.

  He had enjoyed little of her pert conversation; her answers to his questions had been brief. Although she was attentive to the conversation, she had shown little reaction to anything and had ventured no subjects of discourse herself. Her embroidery hoop had sat unattended in her lap, an unnecessary prop that she was too weary to take up. Like her sister, Elizabeth had lost weight, and lines of worry and fatigue had been etched on her face.

  Furthermore, only Mrs. Collins’s dress had been new and fashionable. It was impossible to escape the conclusion that Collins was not allocating any pin money to his dependent relatives and squandered it on himself and his wife.

  However, Darcy was most disturbed by the sight of Elizabeth’s calloused hands. Two years ago, Mrs. Bennet had made a point of declaring that her daughters—as proper ladies raised in a household with servants—never worked in the kitchen or, by extension, anywhere else in the house.

  At that time, Longbourn had been staffed by two manservants and at least three maids in addition to the housekeeper. Even that had been a rather small staff for the number of people inhabiting the house. But today the housekeeper had answered the door, and Darcy had glimpsed a single manservant outside the manor.

  Darcy suspected that Collins had reduced the domestic staff and prodded the Bennet sisters into assuming some of those duties. Dependent on his goodwill, they would be unable to decline.

  Darcy uttered an oath. Elizabeth and her sisters deserved better treatment.

  He had been minutes away from proposing to her at Hunsford. She could have been mistress of Pemberley—a role she would have filled admirably—but instead she was little better than a maid at Longbourn.

  Guilt settled on his shoulders even more firmly. Yes, Wickham was a blackguard, and Lydia was the fool who had run away with him. Certainly Mr. and Mrs. Bennet had been too lenient with their youngest.

  However, Wickham had singled out the Bennet family because he had perceived Darcy’s interest. The blackguard had sought out Elizabeth’s friendship first; no doubt he had hoped to compromise her, but she had too much sense. Thank God.

  Darcy swore again. If only he had disregarded that foolish impulse to leave the country, then he might have paid Wickham to marry the chit. Leaving had made sense at the time, but it had exposed Elizabeth and her whole family to untold misery. If Darcy had stayed, Lydia would not have been exposed to certain disgrace and Mr. Bennet might now be alive.

  He had been the worst sort of hypocrite sitting in Longbourn’s drawing room. The Bennets smiled at him and fed him tea, unaware they should blame Darcy for their situation.

  I must make amends. But how?

  Darcy had every confidence that Timson would locate Wickham eventually—if the man were still alive. Likewise, locating Lydia Bennet would ease the family’s worries. Surely they could be induced to marry, but that would do little to alleviate the scandal at this late date.

  In what other ways could he help? Restoring a family’s respectability was not an easy task, particularly when they had no fortune to speak of. Darcy could continue to visit, demonstrating his continuing approbation. But his endorsement would accomplish little on its own.

  Naturally a small voice at the back of his mind screamed that marrying Elizabeth would solve all her problems, but he was reluctant to do such damage to Georgiana’s marital prospects. He also considered encouraging Bingley to make an offer to Jane Bennet, but it would be hypocritical to advocate something he was unwilling to do himself.

  What a tangle!

  Darcy reined in his horse on a bridge spanning a stream while he stared down into the bubbling water. The constant movement was at once soothing and inv
igorating.

  If I cannot imagine an obvious method for helping the Bennet family, then I must confide in someone close to them and ask for advice. Such a resolution made his hands twitch uneasily. He disliked being a supplicant, and it would require revealing at least some of his culpability regarding Wickham.

  He wished he could speak with a male relative, but Collins was hopeless. Darcy considered speaking with Phillips, Mrs. Bennet’s brother who practiced law in Meryton, but the man did not possess a fraction of the tact required. And Darcy could not even recall the name of Elizabeth’s relatives in London.

  Then it must be one of the women. Mrs. Bennet was out of the question; she could not keep a secret if her life depended upon it. The two younger girls were silly. Only Jane or Elizabeth remained. Darcy blew out a breath. Elizabeth had a quicker mind and would be more likely to agree to help him. Or was he merely trying to rationalize his desire to see her alone? She was also more likely to argue with him than Jane.

  He clenched the reins in his fists until the leather bit into his palms. He could consider his options forever and never come to a conclusion. But now was the time to act.

  Undecided, he kicked his horse to a trot toward the inn.

  Chapter Six

  However, the very next day, circumstances helped Darcy to a decision.

  He had summoned his steward to Meryton and spent the morning sequestered with the man in one of the inn’s private rooms. Darcy made some of the many decisions that had accumulated during his absence, so at least he was not neglecting his duties completely. The steward would remain overnight at the inn, and they would continue their work tomorrow. Darcy owed his employee no explanation for the apparent eccentricities, but the situation made him uncomfortable nonetheless.

  Unfortunately, Darcy’s family was not so easily ignored. Georgiana longed to be at Pemberley and wrote every day while his cousin Richard Fitzwilliam had already sent one pointedly worded letter. Darcy’s vague claims of business would satisfy them only for a short time.

  But Darcy had made little progress. Although he longed for Elizabeth’s presence, he could not visit Longbourn again so soon and give rise to rumors. Yet remaining at the Meryton Inn did little to accomplish his mission.

  Darcy fretted over these questions all morning and throughout the inn’s rather insipid luncheon, but then fortune smiled upon him. As he stepped outside for a walk about the town, he spied Elizabeth lingering outside the shop that also served as Meryton’s post office. He swiftly set off in her direction but immediately slowed his pace when he saw her greeting a man exiting the store.

  The face was familiar, and Darcy was soon able to recall the name of Mr. Foster, an amiable local squire of about forty years. He was friendly with the Bennet family, and certainly there was nothing exceptionable about his stopping to chat with Elizabeth, except that she had appeared to be awaiting him. Was it an assignation?

  Foster was widowed with no children. Although he certainly was not Elizabeth’s social equal, he might make an attractive match for a young lady who was eager to escape her current situation. A hot swell of jealousy rose in Darcy’s throat, threatening to choke him. He tried to push it back, reminding himself he had no claim on Elizabeth since he had determined he could not offer for her himself.

  But the rest of his body was not heeding these reasoned arguments. His feet already carried him toward the pair at an alarming pace. Only with conscious effort was he able to slow to the sauntering speed of a gentleman at liberty.

  Drawing closer to Elizabeth and Foster, he strained his ears to hear their conversation. They were talking about…sheep?

  “The lambs will be weaned in a few weeks. How many will you be wanting?” Foster said.

  “We cannot take too many,” Elizabeth said in a low voice. “Perhaps about twenty?”

  “Aye. I shall give you a fair price, to be sure. I still miss your father at the whist table.”

  Elizabeth seemed to be blinking back tears. “Thank you, Mr. Foster.”

  Darcy was now confident that he would not interrupt a courting couple—to his immense relief.

  Elizabeth glanced up and noticed Darcy approaching, starting guiltily as if she had been caught committing a crime. Even Foster seemed uneasy. Why would discussions of sheep provoke disquiet? “Miss Bennet. Mr. Foster.” Darcy nodded greetings.

  The three exchanged pleasantries about the weather, but Foster soon excused himself and hurried toward the blacksmith’s shop. Silence fell between Darcy and Elizabeth; her eyes darted toward the road as if plotting her escape.

  “You are purchasing some lambs?” he asked. He knew many estates where the landowner’s wife involved herself with the dairy, decorating the building and overseeing its operation. But he had never heard of any woman in a landowner’s family concerning herself with the estate’s sheep. Had Collins forced Elizabeth into this role?

  She stiffened. “I do not know what business brings you to Hertfordshire, sir. But I very much doubt it concerns Longbourn’s sheep.”

  “True enough. Still, I am a bit curious. I would not expect you to concern yourself with the purchasing of lambs. Is that not the purview of Longbourn’s steward?”

  “Longbourn no longer has a steward,” Elizabeth said in a neutral tone.

  “Indeed?” Darcy said. Longbourn’s estate was several times smaller than Pemberley’s but still large enough to require a full-time employee. “I thought your father had a man.”

  “He did: Lincoln. He was not, perhaps, the best steward one might want, but he did an adequate job and my father liked him. Immediately upon his arrival, Mr. Collins encouraged the man to retire.”

  Darcy said nothing. Under other circumstances he would not have hesitated to comment on the foolishness of such a shortsighted strategy, but it seemed indelicate to criticize Elizabeth’s cousin to her face.

  “Lady Catherine apparently convinced my cousin that he could easily manage such a small estate himself.” Silently Darcy cursed his interfering aunt, who had not only a steward but also an under-steward to help run Rosings Park. She understood nothing about what a new landowner like Collins would need.

  Elizabeth shrugged. “He sits behind the desk with his ledger books all day. No doubt the estate’s accounts are quite correct. But he has little patience for speaking with the tenants or the details of planting schedules and irrigation. When a momentous decision must be made, Mr. Collins writes to Lady Catherine, delaying any resolution by some days. And he always defers to her counsel.” Her tone of voice was studiously neutral, but Darcy had no difficulty discerning her real opinion.

  Darcy managed not to roll his eyes, but Collins’s fecklessness was worse than he had first anticipated. “Does he ever visit the fields?”

  Elizabeth pursed her lips. “Occasionally, he will ride around surveying the land, but he does not appear to understand much of what he observes.”

  Darcy knew landowners like that; their primary interest was how much money the estate could generate for their personal benefit. Such an estate might still thrive if it was under the care of a good steward, but with no steward at all…he was not optimistic about Longbourn’s chances of long-term success.

  Still, Darcy was loath to criticize another landowner. The man was a fool and no doubt a terrible cousin. But it was not honorable to dispute how another man ran his estate, and he disliked gossiping in general. Occasionally he might exchange a few barbed comments in company with fellow landowners such as his uncle or cousin, but he would never otherwise indulge in such chatter. It was not gentlemanly. Longbourn was Collins’s by right, and he was free to operate it—even ruin it—as he chose.

  Darcy offered Elizabeth his arm. After a barely perceptible hesitation, she took it, and he led her for a stroll along the street. Perhaps it would benefit her family if the good people of Meryton knew she had Darcy’s support.

  He groped for something positive to say about Collins. “I am pleased he adds to his flock. That is a good investment.”


  Elizabeth smiled enigmatically. “I pray you, do not mention the lambs to him. They are to be added to the existing herd shepherded by Mr. Maddox…and it is a bit of a surprise for my cousin.”

  A surprise gift of sheep? When Elizabeth did not appear to have the funds for a new gown? How very odd…

  Darcy scrutinized Elizabeth from the corner of his eyes. Her lips were pressed tightly together in a white line, and her fingers clutched his arm quite tightly. The subject of lambs obviously provoked great agitation.

  Darcy’s attention was distracted as they passed two well-dressed older women, intimates of Mrs. Bennet’s. Their names eluded him at the moment. Both women nodded greetings to Darcy and granted him rather tight smiles. He expected Elizabeth would stop and speak with the women, but she ignored them. They, on the other hand, raked her with sneering looks before decidedly turning their heads away. Elizabeth quickened her step, a muscle twitching in her jaw. Good Lord, was this how the Bennets were treated? Darcy was simultaneously appalled and grateful that Georgiana was not with them.

  Very well. His resolve hardened. He could ask for no more vivid illustration of how his actions had wronged her family. He now had an opportunity to speak alone with Elizabeth. He should grasp it, or it might not arise again.

  “Miss Bennet, would you perhaps accompany me on a walk?”

  She tilted her head to the side and regarded him with an amused expression. “Is that not what we have already undertaken? Or am I mistaken? Is this perhaps some new variety of swimming or flying that I do not recognize?”

  Darcy could not prevent a chuckle. “I feel the need for some exercise and was hoping for a lengthier stroll in the countryside. I recall that you are fond of walking.”

  She hesitated, almost appearing a little amazed by his request. But surely she recognized his interest in her—although perhaps she expected it had waned after two years.

  “Of course,” she replied finally. “There is a path from Market Street that follows along Dedham Stream which is quite pretty.”