A Fair Prospect

by Cassandra Grafton

  Seeing that his cousin had become progressively paler, the Colonel pressed on. “She evinced some interest in the matter. She was most curious about how the mamas of high society behaved and seemed particularly surprised to hear how vulgar their machinations could be for their offspring. Indeed, we conversed for some minutes on it, which ultimately led to a consideration of how so many settle for a match of convenience – but I was interested to learn one thing, old man.”

  Conscious that his cousin’s unwavering gaze was fixed upon him, the Colonel drained his glass.

  “Miss Bennet implied that nothing but true affection would tempt her into matrimony. An honourable intention, as I observed to her, but she was quite adamant…” the Colonel broke off as Darcy pushed himself out of his chair and began to pace to and fro in front of the fireplace. He felt some guilt for pushing him so by making the lady the topic of conversation, but could not help but derive some satisfaction from finally getting a rise out of his cousin. Another two hours of Darcy skulking about the drawing room like a shadow, trying in vain to sink into the wall coverings, was more than he was prepared to tolerate.

  “You overstep the mark, Fitzwilliam,” Darcy bit out as he turned on his heel and paced back again. “What possessed you to spout forth on such matters?”

  The Colonel shrugged and got to his feet as Darcy picked up the poker and gave the logs a fierce prod. “One has to talk of something,” he muttered as he walked over to the drinks tray, his empty glass in his hand.

  Neither of them heard the muttering from behind a nearby chaise of “pestilence… pestilence… pestil… aha!”

  ~o0o~

  As the ladies settled themselves back into the drawing room, Elizabeth felt all the relief of the respite from the tensions of the dinner table, though the separation of the sexes would be of short duration, she did not doubt, for Lady Catherine had been most insistent upon it. Elizabeth suppressed a smile as she recalled hat lady’s comments and the resigned expression on the Colonel’s face.

  “Miss Bennet!” The piercing voice interrupted her reverie, and she turned her attention towards the lady with an enquiring look.

  “Lady Catherine is expressing an interest in your return to Longbourn, Lizzy,” Charlotte interjected.

  “You will be fetched, I assume, Miss Bennet. A gentleman’s daughter must not travel by Post; your father’s conveyance will come for you.” Though a statement rather than a question, Elizabeth chose to answer it all the same.

  “My uncle is sending his carriage, Ma’am.”

  “Your uncle?” Lady Catherine frowned, and then peered suspiciously at Charlotte. “Your husband indicated that Miss Bennet’s uncle is a country attorney. How is it that he affords a carriage and is able to finance the sending of it all the way to Kent merely to retrieve his niece?”

  Elizabeth spoke quickly, resenting Lady Catherine’s tone in so addressing her friend. “I have two uncles, your Ladyship. My uncle in Town is sending the carriage for me, for I am to pass some days there before my return to Hertfordshire.” Here she paused for a moment, knowing that her early departure must be revealed, but Charlotte spoke before her.

  “Miss Bennet departs for Town the day after next and shall be sadly missed.”

  Lady Catherine’s narrowed gaze moved from Elizabeth to Charlotte, and she pursed her lips. “Why was I not made aware of this? I insist upon knowing the comings and goings of guests at the parsonage. How was I not informed sooner?”

  Leaving her friend to placate the lady as best she could, Elizabeth rose from her chair to take a turn about the room. She felt Wednesday could not arrive a day too soon – her stay in Hunsford had out-stretched all her wildest imaginings and if she could but secure her intention of delivering an apology to Mr Darcy, and thus absolve herself somewhat of her present guilt, she was convinced that she would leave for London with few regrets.

  ~o0o~

  In the library, the hands of the ornate clock on the mantel indicated that the gentlemen’s period of respite neared its end. The Colonel, however, continued to discuss Elizabeth, pleased that it drew Darcy’s attention if nothing else.

  “As you would expect, our conversation on wedlock raised some interesting points.” He took a sip from his replenished glass. “What think you the odds of a woman turning a fellow down, Darce?”

  “What?” Colour flooded Darcy’s until now pale cheeks.

  “Calm down, man, calm down. For ‘tis merely a question,” the Colonel had not returned to his seat after refilling his glass and they both now eyed each other from opposite sides of the fireplace. Fitzwilliam assumed an innocent expression, masking his avid interest in the emotions playing across Darcy’s face.

  “Specifically, we talked of how matrimony involves an element of choice, but the majority rest with the man: he has all the preference of where to make his offer, the woman merely has that of acceptance or refusal.”

  A slight squeak and a shuffling noise from the far side of the room caused him to pause and glance over his shoulder, but detecting nothing untoward he made a mental note to talk to the housekeeper regarding mice in the skirting boards and turned back to face his cousin’s disbelieving stare.

  Darcy walked over and regained his seat, dropping his head into his hands. “I cannot believe you, Fitzwilliam. What possessed you to stray into such an area?”

  The Colonel shrugged. “I did nothing. Conversation has that tendency, you know, to divert itself all on its own. You should try it, my friend.”

  “I am in no humour for your jokes,” Darcy muttered.

  “No, indeed. You are in no humour at all! But I digress, and as such illustrate my point perfectly!” The Colonel grinned at Darcy’s grunt. “Where was I? Ah yes, a woman’s capability to deny we poor gentlemen. It evolved, since you wish to know its origins, from a discussion on dance partners to be precise, and the dilemma of a young woman who, once she has rejected an application for her company for a movement or two, is then obliged to sit that dance out. Naturally –”

  “Naturally?” Darcy interjected, raising his head to stare at his cousin.

  “For heaven’s sake, Fitzwilliam, what is there of naturalness in all of this?”

  The Colonel laughed. “A fair point, my friend! Yet I must resume…”

  “Must you?”

  “Yes, indeed. Now do stop interrupting, you are becoming almost loquacious, yet your timing is not opportune. Where was I? Ah yes, somehow – I know not how, so do not ask – this led into a discussion about rejection. I waxed lyrical about us unfortunate men and how it feels to be turned down once one has summoned the courage to cross the floor to approach a lady...” the Colonel paused briefly to sip his drink, noting Darcy’s expression with interest. “I must own that Miss Bennet did seem to desire a change of subject at this point – no doubt she has often cast off a budding suitor at an assembly and wished to spare my feelings! But I managed to retain a foothold, for I jokingly suggested that the weapon which women wield upon the dance floor would be but rarely utilised regarding the weightier issues in life – an offer of marriage, perchance.”

  “Is – is that all?” Darcy rasped out, the hoarseness of his voice surprising the Colonel.

  Fitzwilliam glanced at the clock and nodded at it to indicate to Darcy that they should make a move to re-join the ladies. “Actually, not quite.”

  He turned to deposit his glass on the sideboard, disappointed that any progress he had made in stirring his cousin had so far come to naught.

  “Miss Bennet warned me not to underestimate the power of refusal! Was there ever such a woman, Darce?”

  The Colonel turned about but found his attention arrested by the sight of Mr Collins as he emerged from the shadows with dusty knees, clutching a large book on pest control, and wearing a look of abject mortification on his face.

  ~o0o~

  In one of the ornate guest chambers, engrossed in his preparations for an early morning departure, Darcy’s valet, Thornton, secured the leather faste
nings on his master’s trunk and straightened up, stretching awkwardly for his joints were not what they were. Turning towards the dressing room, his ears picked up the faint tingling of the carriage clock on the dresser, indicating the lateness of the hour and reminding him to hurry.

  Gathering the few remaining items from the writing desk, Thornton entered the dressing room and approached the small travelling case that contained Mr Darcy’s personal possessions. Carefully, and with reverence, he placed the various items into their respective drawers, locking them with the small keys he kept on a brass ring. He then reached over to pull the outer casing up, but paused. Hesitantly, he established the correct key and opened the small compartment in the centre of the case.

  Thornton sighed; it was still there. Then, reaching out, he picked up the small circular leather case and lifted the lid. Nestled inside on its velvet bed, glowing in the light of the nearby candelabra, was the ring that had adorned the finger of the late Anne Darcy; a dark emerald surrounded by tiny seed pearls and diamonds, and Thornton had known, as soon as his master ordered it retrieved from the safe, that Mr Darcy was going to make an offer for Miss de Bourgh.

  That his master had decided it was time to act did not surprise him. Mr Darcy was, after all, eight and twenty and – in Thornton’s humble opinion – of an age long in need of a wife. The only problem was Miss de Bourgh was not the wife he felt his master was in need of.

  Yet here they were, on the evening of their departure and the ring remained fingerless. Thornton harrumphed at his thoughts. He was somewhat mollified, as his heart had sunk on more than one instance during this extended visit. He had at least twice known the ring had been removed from the travelling case, and what relief he had derived from seeing it returned – one of those occasions being only yesterday.

  Shaking his head, Thornton replaced the box, sealed it safely into its compartment and turned the locks of the case, before pocketing his precious keys. Relieved though he was that his master remained free of any commitment to his cousin, his heart felt for the man, for no one knew as well as he the loneliness of much of Fitzwilliam Darcy’s life.

  Chapter Nine

  On the ground-floor corridor of the west wing a heavy silence reigned as the three men walked purposefully back towards the drawing room.

  Mr Collins, taking an occasional skip in his attempts to keep apace with the gentlemen, had forgotten all about the precious volume he had scoured the library shelves for, despite the fact that it remained clasped to his chest. It may have taken him a while to pick up on the nuances of the discussion taking place between Lady Catherine’s nephews, but once he did, he felt it incumbent upon himself to reveal his presence and apologise most profusely for Cousin Elizabeth. Indeed, he had been most anxious, upon discerning the content of the Colonel’s dialogue with her, to explain how he, William Collins, had been fortunate enough to be the recipient of his cousin’s manipulation of the “power of refusal”. In sharing the concern he felt over his cousin’s manner in general, he hesitated not to reveal that she was as headstrong as such a comment implied and how he rejoiced in his narrow escape, for his noble patroness would surely have been unable to tolerate such impertinence in her parson’s wife.

  The Colonel kept apace with his cousin as they crossed the entrance hall, for once sharing his companion’s desire for silence. It would seem that Miss Elizabeth Bennet was as good as her word and that she had indeed turned down an offer of marriage. The Colonel could only breathe a sigh of relief on her behalf that she had spared herself such an end. With a grimace, he recognised his own folly in allowing his earlier conversation with the lady such free rein, but had to acknowledge that yet again she had risen in his estimation. There was not one single woman of his entire acquaintance who could have maintained their composure so well in like circumstances.

  Darcy passed a weary hand across his forehead as for the second time that evening he neared the closed doors to the drawing room. What had just occurred in the library had successfully obliterated, for the time being, not only his cousin’s dialogue with Elizabeth but also the tensions engendered by this unexpected evening in each other’s company. Mr Collins’ grovelling apology for what he deemed as Elizabeth’s impertinent behaviour had caused Darcy to do little more than raise a brow in disdain and wonder at the nerve of the man for concealing his presence, but then… then his attention had been caught in a way he could not have imagined. Collins had offered for her – for Elizabeth!

  Darcy’s pace slowed, and he observed Fitzwilliam waving the footman forward to perform his service. Coming to a halt, he watched as his cousin walked into the room, followed closely by the almost running Reverend. Shaking his head briefly at the servant, the doors closed softly.

  Walking across the hall, Darcy sat heavily on a bench against the wall, his mind full of this new information. So, he and Collins shared a particular fellowship – that of being rejected suitors of Miss Elizabeth Bennet. Darcy flinched at the association. His imagination struggled with such knowledge – did Elizabeth summarily reject all proposals? Were he and Collins just two of many, the landscape of southern England littered with her discarded beaus? Pushing this absurd notion aside, Darcy cast a regretful look at the staircase, wising he could seek the privacy of his rooms.

  He sat forward, his elbows resting on his knees and stared at the marble floor, unsure whether he felt better for not being the only eligible man turned down by Elizabeth. Yet his mind would struggle with this thought: if he was the last man she could ever be prevailed on to marry, it meant she found the Reverend Collins a more viable proposition than himself – that ridiculous man had had more chance of being accepted than he, Fitzwilliam Darcy of Pemberley. Never, in all his born days, had he felt so bewildered and so humbled.

  ~o0o~

  Elizabeth had strolled slowly round the drawing room, attempting nonchalance as she eyed first the pianoforte, then the harp – neither held much appeal. If Lady Catherine found her skill on the former wanting, she would likely take ill to hear her on the latter, but before she could deliberate this further, she realised the doors had opened.

  Mr Collins, looking rather flustered and carrying a large tome, scurried through the entrance and perched himself reverently on a seat close to Lady Catherine’s armchair, but as that lady presently arose from her place, he was unsuccessful in his attempt to catch her eye.

  The Colonel, after bowing to his aunt, took a place near Charlotte and appeared to be settling in for a long sojourn, if the way he pummelled the cushions was any indication.

  Yet to Elizabeth’s surprise and disappointment, Mr Darcy did not accompany them. Frowning, she continued her walk. Surely he would not stay away for the remainder of the evening?

  “Miss Bennet!”

  She turned towards Lady Catherine who, she now observed, had returned to her place having apparently completed her instructions for the serving of coffee.

  “Yes, Ma’am?”

  “My curiosity demands satisfaction; pray, come hither.”

  Much against her inclination, Elizabeth crossed the room to take the seat indicated by Lady Catherine’s pointed flick of her fan.

  “I am not at all reconciled to your imminent departure for Town. What purpose could there be for your relative to request you alter your plans at such short notice? You should not inconvenience your hosts in such a way, Miss Bennet; it is not the mark of good manners.”

  Elizabeth stifled the temptation to enquire how her ladyship could possibly understand the concept of good manners and, reminding herself of her friend’s difficult situation, she forced a smile.

  “I trust that Mr and Mrs Collins will forgive my early departure, Ma’am. My aunt requests my presence because her Godson is in Town, and she is desirous that I pay him my respects before he is obliged to return to the country.”

  “Your aunt’s Godson, you say – yet he cannot be a man of importance, for I understand from Mr Collins that your connections are of little consequence.”

&
nbsp; Elizabeth threw a brief but pointed glance in her cousin’s direction, who had the grace to lower his eyes.

  “With all due respect, your Ladyship, Mr Collins has only recently renewed his family’s acquaintance with ours, and thus cannot be considered familiar with all our connections.”

  “Yes, yes, that is all very well,” Lady Catherine waved an impatient hand, “but how is he of such significance that his claim for your attendance must disrupt your present situation?”

  “He is a dear friend of the family, Ma’am, and the favourite of my aunt. Indeed, his mother and my aunt have been the closest of friends these many years.”

  “Do not evade the issue, Miss Bennet. His value to you personally is of little interest to me. You know full well that I wish to know of his consequence to the world in general.”

  Elizabeth’s eyes sparkled with suppressed emotion, but just then the servant arrived to pour more coffee. Diverted for a moment, that lady observed the room in general with a narrowed gaze then snapped, “Pray, where is Darcy?”

  Lady Catherine turned her frowning countenance on her other nephew.

  “He will return directly. He is no doubt checking on the preparations for our departure.”

  His aunt’s frown intensified. “He had better return forthwith or I shall be most seriously displeased!” She returned her gaze to Elizabeth, who met her glare with a composed expression that belied the amusement she felt at realising she was, for the first – and possibly only – time, actually in agreement with Lady Catherine.

  “Now,” that lady continued, “where was I? Ah, yes; who is this Godson, that his presence claims your attendance so precipitously?”

  “He is Mr Nicholas Harington, Ma’am.”