The Lady's Jewels

by Perpetua Langley

  The dining table at Longbourn was a study in the absurd and Elizabeth had a time of it controlling her laughter. Her father, always eager to unmask the stupid and ridiculous, was just now leading Mr. Collins down a primrose path.

  “So you mean to tell me, Mr. Collins,” Mr. Bennet said, “that if one is fortunate enough to acquire a highly-placed patroness, one must become skilled at complimenting that benevolent lady?”

  “Just so, Mr. Bennet,” Mr. Collins said. “When one exists in such rarified air, one must learn the habits of such society. I flatter myself that I have studied the matter rigorously and am adept at the methods one may employ.”

  “I find this fascinating,” Mr. Bennet said, leaning back in his chair.

  “Lordy,” Lydia muttered. Then she said, “Ow!” when Elizabeth pinched her under the table.

  Elizabeth smiled at her father and said, “Do tell us, Mr. Collins, how this remarkable feat is accomplished. What might you say?”

  Mr. Collins appeared gratified by the request. He looked toward the ceiling, as if inspiration were to be hanging about near the chandelier. He rubbed his chin, and then dabbed his napkin to his lips before laying it down.

  “Miss Bennet,” Mr. Collins said, “to Lady Catherine, I might say something along the lines of, my lady’s astute comprehension of music is unequalled in England and, as we know England to be the superior nation above all others, it is therefore unequalled in all the world.”

  “Ah,” Elizabeth said. “And so she would appreciate being judged as the best in the entire world?”

  “Who would not, Miss Bennet?” Mr. Collins asked.

  “Really, Lizzy,” Mrs. Bennet said. “Who would not like to be the best in the world?”

  “I think what we really mean,” Mr. Bennet said, “is who would not like to believe they are the best in the world.”

  “Of course,” Mr. Collins said, ignoring Mr. Bennet’s remark, “one’s mode of complimenting depends entirely on who the compliment is directed to. Lady Catherine is fond of music and therefore enjoys her understanding of it to be widely known.”

  Mr. Collins leveled his gaze at Elizabeth. “If I were to compliment a young lady, I might say something of her looks, as that is what young ladies think about most. For example, were I to compliment Miss Bennet, I might say her eyes shine brighter than any star in the night sky.”

  “They’re brown,” Kitty said. “Lizzy’s eyes are brown. Like earth, not stars.”

  “I might say,” Mr. Collins went on, “Miss Bennet’s grace rivals even Antheia, the goddess of flowers.”

  “And also, swamps,” Mary said. “Antheia was the goddess of swamps, too. Everybody who is the least bit well-read knows it.”

  Mr. Collins studiously ignored the reference to swamps and went on. “I might even say Miss Bennet’s form would cause envy to Aphrodite.”

  “She’s short!” Lydia said, laughing.

  Mr. Collins sat back, satisfied with his lofty compliments.

  Elizabeth was horrified. A feeling of dread crept over her. Mr. Collins had said he looked for a wife but, aside from Mrs. Bennet, they had all laughed that off. Now, though, with him staring at her so intently…

  No, it could not be. He would not dare.

  “Perhaps after dinner,” Mr. Collins said, “I might be allowed a private conversation with Miss Bennet, as I have other compliments to bestow?”

  Elizabeth shook her head no and looked imploringly at her father.

  Mrs. Bennet said, “Of course, you may, Mr. Collins. Lizzy will be very interested in what you have to say.”

  Mr. Bennet shrugged and chuckled. “I should be very entertained to hear more of these extraordinary phrasings, Mr. Collins.”

  “I am sorry,” Elizabeth said, “but I believe I will go straight to bed. I do not feel at all well.”

  “Do not be ridiculous, Lizzy,” Mrs. Bennet said. “You just ate a very hearty dinner.” She turned to Mr. Collins and said, “Do not fret, Mr. Collins. You know how a girl’s nerves may overtake her.”

  Lydia snorted and Kitty clapped a hand across her mouth.

  “Ah, yes,” Mr. Collins said. “A delicacy of nerves is always to be found in the well-bred female.”

  Delicacy of nerves, indeed. Well, whatever Mr. Collins had to say, he would find out exactly how delicate her nerves were and, at the moment, they felt as solid as granite.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Darcy had the bad luck to take a bedroom next to the two grooms. Despite Warpole’s assurances that he should frighten them into some sense, they were as boisterous as two young boys were wont to be.

  There had been a long discussion about the bedding, and how much it might cost and how neither of them had ever encountered pillows so large and soft. Then they had thrown said pillows at each other for some time. Then they had stood near the windows with a candle, hoping the grooms next door might see them. Then they paused to eat, as apparently Warpole had wrapped up some food from dinner. They were exceedingly happy to have ale, as they deemed Lord Castlereagh’s fine wines the worst thing they’d ever tasted. Then they discussed how they should conduct themselves if they were very rich. They decided the first thing they would do would be to add a meal to their regular day. It was to be called niner-dinner, was to be served at nine in the evening, and was to be comprised of nothing but cakes.

  Darcy had very nearly gone into the hall to bang on their door and insist they go to sleep. However, he thought better of it when the boys spoke of their admiration for Warpole and the various reasons they never would have survived without him, not the least of which was that they would have eaten the entire basket of food on the first day. Warpole, they said, was like the father that neither of them had ever known. They swore their loyalty to the coachman, and in turn, to Lady Castlereagh. Rather than disturb their oaths of loyalty, Darcy went into his dressing room and shut the door.

  Wainwright, knowing his habits so well, had left a half glass of brandy on the bureau. He sat down and took it gratefully. His thoughts were muddled. He kept going back to Bingley’s words. Bingley was determined to be happy and he hoped Darcy would decide the same.

  Was that all there was to consider? If that were all, he would feel free to pursue Miss Bennet. The more he thought of her, the more he recognized that his heart had been taken. She was unlike any woman he had ever encountered—lively, outspoken, interesting, and very pretty. And even for all that, there was something he could not identify, some sort of natural attraction. He had felt it, and dismissed it, that first day on Longbourn’s drive, but it kept reappearing like a buoy in rough seas.

  He also suspected that Miss Bennet’s temperament would go some way to softening his own. He was well aware that he could be too serious, too judgmental, and too easily affronted. He understood his faults well enough to know how it was that he had become such fast friends with Bingley. Bingley was cheerful and never held a grudge and Darcy had been served well by it. When Darcy was cross, Bingley would nudge him out of it. When Darcy was judgmental, Bingley would point out the good in his fellow man, merrily ignoring his condemnation. He suspected Miss Bennet was very like Georgiana in that regard. She seemed not much frightened by his censure on any matter.

  It had never occurred to him that happiness was to be a consideration in his deliberations. He’d always had a list in his mind, a collection of necessities. His lady was to be high-born and elegant. She was to be unimpeachable in her connections and demeanor. And yet, he had failed to propose to several ladies who were all he claimed he looked for. The latest being Lady Charlotte—a great beauty of old family coming with a large dowry. She was considered the catch of the season and had hinted that she looked kindly upon him. Still, he did not ask.

  Miss Bennet had no quality on his list. She was not high-born, nor particularly elegant. Elegance and liveliness, he had noticed, could not reside together. Elegance seemed to naturally come with a coldness that Miss Bennet would never be guilty of. Her connections were middling and
he could not call her demeanor unimpeachable. Not after witnessing her wild ride without a groom and her allowance of outrageous conversations with the groom.

  But now here was the further complication. If he exerted all discipline upon himself and stayed with his long-held list, he would know that he should be unhappy. Before, there had been at least a chance of happiness with some unknown lady. There could be no chance once certain his heart belonged to another. Would that be quite fair to the unknown lady in question? Could he propose and ask a lady to give over her life to him, knowing he would never care for her?

  “Blast it,” he said, downing his brandy. “I will ask.”

  Mrs. Bennet had ordered Elizabeth into a corner of the drawing room. There she was, with book in hand, awaiting the dreadful Mr. Collins. She did not expect he would be long in coming, as her father would not wish to spend too much time drinking port with the clergyman. Mr. Bennet might find Mr. Collins amusing when there was an audience, but he would quickly tire of him alone.

  The door swung open. Elizabeth sighed. The next half hour was certain to be dreadful.

  Mr. Collins lumbered over, his face flushed from too much port. Mr. Bennet often referred to port as liquid courage, and she supposed Mr. Collins must feel quite courageous at the moment.

  He sat down heavily in the chair next to hers.

  “Miss Bennet,” he said, “you cannot be unaware of the meaning of this conversation. I believe I have hinted, and your quick mind could not fail to ascertain it. Further, I have just broached the subject to your father and he is delighted to allow you to choose for yourself.”

  “If that is so, Mr. Collins,” Elizabeth said hurriedly, “then we need go no further.”

  Mr. Collins held a hand up. “Before you accept my proposal so readily, Miss Bennet, I must outline for you all the benefits of such an arrangement.”

  “But I did not—"

  “I am, of course, clergyman to the great Lady Catherine de Bourgh. That, alone, brings many benefits. We would dine at Rosings twice a week, and you could provide a fourth at cards. You would be the beneficiary of all sorts of refined ideas that my patroness may deem to share. There is also my house, not overlarge but comfortable, I think. And then, of course, you would someday be mistress of Longbourn. When your father, well, you know, as we all eventually do.”

  “Mr. Collins,” Elizabeth said with determination. “I find I cannot accept your kind offer.”

  Mr. Collins appeared momentarily taken aback, but quickly recovered himself. “Ah hah. First she accepts and then she declines. Of course, that is how it must be with an elegant female. She feels she should not have accepted so eagerly and now wishes to correct the matter. To turn the tables, as it were. I must only overcome this modest refusal.”

  “I did not accept, Mr. Collins,” Elizabeth said. “When I said we need go no further, that is what I meant. I will not marry you.”

  “I would believe you, of course, if it made any sense at all,” Mr. Collins said. “Coming with such a small dowry and being out some years without a proposal? Really, Miss Bennet, no woman in your circumstances would so blithely turn down an eligible proposal.”

  Elizabeth rose. “Consider me blithe, Mr. Collins. Exceedingly blithe.”

  She turned and hurried from the room. As she fled up the stairs, she heard a commotion erupt below. Mrs. Bennet had no doubt been informed of her answer. Thank heavens for the lock on her door.

  Elizabeth got herself safely into her room and turned the key. Mrs. Bennet was outside, trying the doorknob, within minutes.

  “Lizzy,” she said, “come out at once.”

  “I will not,” Elizabeth said.

  “Do not be stupid, girl,” Mrs. Bennet said. “It is a good offer! You would be the mistress of this house someday.”

  Elizabeth leaned against the door and said, “Were that all that was asked of me, I would happily comply. You cannot expect me to countenance living with that man for the rest of my days.”

  “Life is not the romance novel you think it is, Lizzy. You might well find yourself a companion to Jane someday, with nothing of your own and dependent on your sister. They will go out to balls and dinners and you will be left watching over the children. You are being very foolish.”

  Elizabeth smiled. “That is true, mama. I may very well find myself foolishly a spinster. But what I will not find myself is foolishly married. That is the end of it. Do not be cross with me for too long, as it would serve no purpose. You are practical, I know you are. Why not turn your efforts toward Mary, as I think she would very much like to be a clergyman’s wife.”

  “Do not be pert with me, miss,” Mrs. Bennet said. “You know Mary to be my biggest headache—she is plain and she irritates everybody she comes into contact with.”

  “Very like Mr. Collins,” Elizabeth said. “It is true that he overvalues himself, but might not you bring him round to the idea? It would very handily remove two headaches at once.”

  Mrs. Bennet did not answer, but rather stomped down the hall. Elizabeth did not know if Mrs. Bennet would turn her machinations toward Mary, but she was happy in the knowledge that she had convinced both Mr. Collins and her mother that she would never find herself in the presence of the great Lady Catherine de Bourgh.

  Darcy paced Netherfield’s drawing room. Lady Castlereagh had received Warpole, and even allowed the two grooms into the room, and heard of their adventure. The grooms had been shy in the beginning, but they soon warmed up and told their mistress of the great deeds of Warpole. As much as Warpole attempted to silence them, they would go on, to Lady Castlereagh’s evident amusement. She rewarded all three generously and informed Warpole that he was to have a new carriage and he might discuss with the maker of it any little points that might enhance its convenience. Warpole appeared to have quite a few ideas already, as he rubbed his hands together and said it would be the most comfortable carriage ever designed or he wasn’t William R. Warpole. Lady Castlereagh had since taken herself off to the breakfast room.

  A footman had come in and delivered a letter from Mrs. Reynolds. Darcy was pleased to hear that the household was entirely back to good health, with the exception of old Mrs. Krescoe. The laundress was taking more time to recover than most, due to her advanced age, and Mrs. Reynolds hoped she had done right by insisting the lady stay abed in her cottage and sending a young maid to look after her. It was all the sort of usual news from Mrs. Reynolds, that sensible lady always ably handling any situation that might arise. It was not until the last paragraph that he found himself irritated.

  George Wickham had turned up. Mrs. Reynolds had not spoken to him, but had been told of it by the maid he’d caught while she took a broom to some carpets out of doors. He’d been told that Mr. Darcy was in Hertfordshire for an unspecified amount of time. He’d inquired after Miss Darcy, certain that she would be at home. The maid had informed him that Miss Darcy stayed with her aunt in Kent, the girl believing that was where Miss Darcy had gone.

  After she was pressed, the maid said she thought Miss Darcy would return soon, as fever had left the house. Mr. Wickham had indicated that he stayed in Lambton and would be there for some time, so he would call on Mr. Darcy upon his return. Mrs. Reynolds had apologized for the maid being so voluble with information regarding the family.

  Darcy knew perfectly well why Wickham had turned up, and why he would stay in Lambton for the foreseeable future. He was out of funds. He no doubt ran up a bill at the Rose and Crown which Darcy would be expected to pay. Wickham knew he would pay it, and any other bills the scoundrel had acquired in the neighborhood, as Darcy would not allow a local merchant to be cheated through an unfortunate connection to himself.

  However, that was all Wickham would get from him. It was time for the reprobate to make his own way in the world. He’d gambled away enough of Darcy’s money.

  Darcy determined to put the matter aside. There was nothing to be done about it at the moment and Quinn had sent word to Longbourn and Lucas Lodge that
they would reconvene the war room at noon. Darcy was determined, sometime in the day, to speak to Miss Bennet alone. It would not be easy, as there were always so many people about, so he must look for his opportunity.

  Bingley entered, disrupting his thoughts. Caroline trailed in after him. “Really, Charles, I do not see that it is too late to call it off. The banns have not been read, nothing has been publicly announced.”

  “Caroline,” Bingley said, with more firmness than was his usual wont, “it will not be called off.”

  Caroline, seeing her first preference was not to be had, said, “Very well. Though I do think you very foolish to throw yourself away on this little country mouse. She has no connections. Who is she?”

  Caroline stole a glance at Darcy and he turned away, amused that Miss Bingley would think such a statement would find favor with him. It would have, some weeks ago. But much had changed.

  Bingley slammed a book on a table. His sister jumped at the violence of it. He said, “Caroline, you are to stop talking this instant. If you do not, I will have your things packed up and you will be on your way back to London before you have time for tea. Further, you will welcome Jane Bennet as a sister. If I am not convinced of it, you will be banished from my presence forevermore. As you see, I am resolute in this matter.”

  “Bravo, Bingley,” Darcy said, “A man must defend his future wife, or he is no man at all.”

  Caroline looked from her brother to Darcy, confusion written on her features. Seeing she was defeated on all fronts, she softened her tone. “Now Charles, of course I will welcome Miss Bennet. I have only been caught by surprise. You were very naughty not to apprise me of it before I arrived.”