by Meg Osborne
“I believe it to be Longbourn,” he said, the concentration required by his being on his horse fading into a smile. “Miss Bennet’s home. I say, do you think it would be dreadfully rude of us to ride this far and not call upon them?”
“I think -” Darcy began, but before he could finish his sentence, Bingley had goaded his horse into motion and headed off directly towards the house. I think we might turn around now and they will never know it, he grumbled inwardly, before setting off after his friend. If he did not know him better he might think that this had been Charles’ plan all along, to ride close enough to Longbourn that it would be entirely polite to call on their neighbours and let the whole thing appear to happen by chance. Fortunately, he did know Bingley better and credited his friend lacked the brains to come up with such a scheme. It was not lost on him that this was precisely what Miss Elizabeth Bennet had herself undertaken upon their first meeting, and this thought banished all suspicions of his friend, for Charles was certainly not so scheming.
“Good morning!”
He heard Bingley’s call as he rode closer, and realised there was a gentleman in the grounds that had caught his friend’s attention. Not merely one gentleman, but two, and Darcy greeted them both with a bow.
“Darcy, this is Miss Bennet’s father, Mr Bennet.”
“Delighted to meet you.”
Mr Bennet looked up at him curiously, and Darcy could see Elizabeth Bennet’s likeness in her father’s wry smile and sparkling eyes.
“Mr Darcy.” After a moment’s pause, Mr Bennet appeared to recall his own companion and gestured to the gentleman beside him, a rather short and squinting man dressed in the plain attire of a curate. “This is my cousin, Mr Collins, recently come to Longbourn.”
“It is such a pleasure to meet you - ah - Mr Darcy, I believe that was your given name?”
Mr Darcy said nothing but nodded shortly in response.
“Might I venture a guess that you could be the Mr Darcy of Pemberley in Derbyshire that I have heard so very much about?”
“The very man!” Bingley confirmed, turning with a grin to his friend. “Goodness, Darcy, what have you been about that your reputation precedes you even to Hertfordshire?”
Darcy frowned, curious as to what connection he might possibly share with such a man as Mr Collins.
“Have we met?” he asked.
“No, no.” Mr Collins laughed, a strangely high-pitched, affected little laugh that did little to endear him any further to either gentleman present. “It is through my patroness, only.” He drew in a reverential breath. “Lady Catherine de Bourgh.”
Of course. Darcy could just imagine the use his Aunt Catherine might find in such a man as Mr Collins, so adept at paying homage and offering her all the reverence she believed her status and wealth entitled her to.
“I did not think my aunt prone to gossip,” he said, irritably. His aunt was rarely prone to discussing anything that did not directly concern her, and the fact that his name had passed her lips often enough to be worthy of remarking upon by a veritable stranger raised his concerns. She has not yet abandoned her plan to match me with Anne, then, he thought, with a grimace. He thought fondly of his cousin as a friend, but certainly had no intention of marrying her. It was one of the reasons he avoided visiting Rosings himself just as often as he could, for fear that Lady Catherine might take his presence as encouragement.
“Oh, no, not at all, not at all!” Mr Collins cried, fearful he might have misspoken and his error might reach Lady Catherine’s ears by way of her nephew. “It is simply with pride that she speaks of you, of your family. I merely reflect on my good fortune at being able to make your acquaintance, and here, amongst my own family.” He beamed.
“Ah, the very people we have come to call upon!” Bingley interposed, turning to Mr Bennet. “Darcy and I were on a ride when we came across Longbourn. I wonder, sir, if you might permit us to call upon the house?”
Mr Bennet hesitated, and for half a moment Darcy fancied he might refuse them, which course of action intrigued him. What could Mr Bennet possibly gain from preventing Mr Bingley from seeing his daughters, if his goal was to marry off his troublesome offspring to a wealthy gentleman just as soon as was possible?
After another moment's internal debate, however, Mr Bennet relented and even permitted a cautious smile to light his wan features.
“Gentlemen, you would be most welcome to call at my home. We will, of course, join you, although I fancy it will take our frail selves rather longer to walk back than it will take you to ride.”
Instinctively, Bingley slid off his horse and handed the reins to Darcy.
“Here, I will walk with you, sir! Darcy, you do not mind taking the horses?”
Darcy minded very much, but he could tell that his friend’s actions sprung from his concern for Mr Bennet, rather than any nefarious attempt to win his good favour. Once more he marvelled at Bingley’s innocence, particularly when the man’s own sister seemed more than a little skilled at manipulation and scheming.
“Let us all walk, then,” he said, with resignation, and dismounted his own horse. He held both pairs of reins and permitted Mr Bingley to walk with Mr Bennet, realising too late that this left him free and available to converse with Mr Collins, with no avenue for escape.
“Mr Darcy!” Collins was beaming at him, in a manner Darcy found disconcerting and not a little irritating.
“Have you recently come to Hertfordshire?” he said, determined he would not be drawn on discussing his aunt any further.
“Very recently!” Collins laughed again, and Darcy felt his shoulders tense instinctively. “Just today!” He lowered his voice to a whisper and stepped uncomfortably close to Darcy, who maintained his position by sheer force of will. “I am here to make amends with my family after a long estrangement, perpetuated by my father, God rest his soul.”
Darcy cleared his throat, which Collins took for sympathetic encouragement, and continued.
“And to see what aid I can offer my cousins.” He shook his head, sadly.
Darcy got the impression that Mr Collins had anticipated his enquiry into what kind of assistance the Bennets required, but he said nothing, preferring to walk in silence.
“It is so difficult for them, you know, with a family of five daughters.” Collins sighed. “I have decided that I must marry one of them, and offer her some future life, for without that....!” He shook his head, and Darcy was left to grasp the tragedy of a life lived without marriage to Mr Collins.
“Indeed,” he said, struggling to maintain his composure.
“Their mother has been wary of discussing matters, of course, but when pressed has suggested that Miss Elizabeth Bennet will be the most eager to receive my suit, and I confess that although she lacks that classical beauty of her sister she is still a very pretty, very amiable young lady. I anticipate our reaching an agreement before the week is out.”
“Indeed.” Darcy strove to make this picture of Elizabeth Bennet fit the already conflicted image he had of her. The spirited young woman he had met yesterday scarcely aligned with the society belle he had heard tell of in London. And now, hearing that she would not only accept but encourage a man like Collins in a suit leading to their marriage? The idea annoyed him, but he could not have explained why.
“You have spoken to Miss Elizabeth concerning this?” he asked, quietly. The inference that Miss Jane Bennet was not within Mr Collins consideration had not passed Darcy’s notice, but presently he felt himself more concerned with Elizabeth Bennet’s fate than her sister’s, and he would not permit him to question why. That internal inquiry could wait until he was alone once more, and could puzzle out his feelings in peace.
“Oh no, not yet!” Collins said, cheerfully. “I am still getting to know the family, you see. And I rather fancy that my cousin, being a delicate, feminine creature would rather wait until we are at least a little acquainted before raising the issue of our future happiness. Look! Here is the house. Co
me, Mr Darcy, and allow me to introduce you to my cousins.”
Chapter Six
“Mrs Bennet? Jane?”
Elizabeth heard her father's voice and was the first to join him in the hallway, not because she was eager to be once more in Mr Collins’s presence, but rather because she wished to spare her father any longer with him unaccompanied.
“Did you have a pleasant walk, Father?” She asked, coming forward to greet him with an embrace. “Oh, Mr Bingley!”
This announcement brought Bennets from all directions, with Elizabeth’s mother hurrying forward to greet this new arrival with altogether more enthusiasm than she had their cousin. Lydia and Kitty surrendered their hiding places at the mention of Mr Bingley’s arrival, and Jane, too, followed Elizabeth out into the corridor, eager, and yet anxious, to see Mr Bingley once more. For his part, Mr Bingley greeted everybody with equal enthusiasm, until his gaze lit on Jane, and his smile widened still further.
“Come, Mr Bingley, do come and sit down with us!” Mrs Bennet cried, practically pushing him through the door and into the parlour. “Mary!” she barked, as she spotted her daughter hovering by the piano. “Go and arrange for some tea things, won’t you?” She shot a wary glance at Mr Bingley and softened her tone. “Thank you, my dear. Oh, Mr Bennet! Will you not join us?”
“In a moment, dear,” Lizzy’s father said, exchanging a bemused glance with his second daughter. “I await the rest of our guests.”
“The rest?” Elizabeth asked, sidling closer. Her heart plummeted when she saw two other gentlemen coming up the driveway towards the house. Mr Collins, she almost dismissed, shielded as he was by two horses, but the tall figure escorting the horses was undeniable, and Elizabeth’s amusement slipped into something that might have been a grimace. What is he doing here?
“Ah yes, you have met Mr Darcy I believe, Lizzy?” Mr Bennet said, watching her carefully. “He and Mr Bingley were riding their horses when they stumbled across Mr Collins and me, and we all four of us felt that it would be a very good idea to call at the house for some tea.” He sighed. “Come, dear, let us rescue Mr Darcy, for I fear his arrival will not garner anything close to the enthusiasm of his friend’s.”
With good reason! Elizabeth had to bite her lip to keep from offering such a retort aloud. She risked a glance at Mr Darcy as he handed off the reins of the horses to Longbourn’s groom, who promised to lodge them in Mr Bennet’s own stables while the gentlemen took refreshments. Elizabeth blinked, as Mr Collins came into focus, talking apparently non-stop at Mr Darcy’s shoulder, which was precisely the height he came to, Mr Darcy being over a head taller than their cousin. Mr Darcy nodded, making occasional comments to indicate he was listening intently to Mr Collins’ commentary, but Elizabeth deduced he was, in fact, nursing his own private concerns and remained quite undisturbed by their cousin’s obnoxious narrative. That is a skill indeed! Elizabeth marvelled. Some comment of Mr Collins’ must have reached past Mr Darcy’s veneer, though, for she noticed his eyes roll skyward, and felt a sudden urge to laugh. She, too, had had the exact same response more than once to her cousin’s words, and for a fleeting moment she felt a kinship with Mr Darcy that surprised, but did not altogether disappoint her. If anything, it raised him in her estimation, and she felt a certain flicker of interest at the hour they might now spend together over tea.
“Miss Elizabeth!” Too late to retreat behind her father, Elizabeth greeted Mr Collins with a polite smile, before lifting her eyes to Mr Darcy’s and widening her smile into something altogether more genuine. He returned it for half a second, before his face fell into something like a frown. He did not seem angry, though, rather confused, and Elizabeth wondered what had precipitated such a reaction.
“I did not realise you were acquainted with my cousin, Mr Darcy,” she said. Mr Collins lurched forwards as if to offer to escort Elizabeth into her own home, but Mr Bennet noticed the movement and mercifully interceded with some comment about stopping briefly by his study on their journey to the sitting-room, and wouldn’t Mr Collins please join him? Elizabeth was left to follow after them with Mr Darcy, which situation was strangely pleasing for her, as she began to wonder whether she truly had judged him too harshly upon their first meeting. If Mr Bingley likes him, surely he cannot be so very bad, can he?
“I would not say Mr Collins and I are well acquainted, as we have only just met,” Darcy said, brusquely. “Yet it appears we share an acquaintance.”
Elizabeth waited, patiently, for him to continue, and after a moment's pause, her silence prompted his explanation.
“My aunt is his patroness.” He sighed. “Lady Catherine de Bourgh.”
“She is your aunt?” Elizabeth’s reaction was involuntary. She had drawn her own conclusions about Mr Collins's patroness based solely on his effusive praise of the lady who was, to Elizabeth, nought but a name. She was a name that had been spoken so often, and with such reverence, since Mr Collins’ arrival at Longbourn that morning, however, that Elizabeth had begun to wonder if she was in fact quite human, or merely some ethereal spectre worthy of adoration.
“That surprises you?” Darcy asked. “Which part, that I have an aunt, or that she is your cousin’s patroness?”
Elizabeth did not reply at first, for his gruff response had touched a nerve. It was true she had not given a great deal of thought to Mr Darcy’s existence outside of Netherfield, yet what business was it of hers whom he was related to, and what their positions were in life?
“It surprises me that our world is indeed a small one, Mr Darcy. Everybody is connected in some manner, and some more so than others.”
“Ah, so you now concede that perhaps we do have friends in common,” Darcy pressed. “In London.”
“In Kent,” Elizabeth clarified, lifting her eyes to him. “For my cousin resides at Hunsford, which is Kent, if my geography is not very much mistaken.”
This comment seemed to irritate Mr Darcy, whose features fell into a more ferocious frown than ever and left Elizabeth entirely baffled. The man is mad, quite mad. She sighed, lamenting that what she had thought might be a like feeling must have been a mistake on her part. And what is his fixation with linking me to London?
“Mr Darcy,” she began, in a hurry to settle the matter before they were amongst her family once more, where she knew her younger sisters would undoubtedly seek to torment her if they knew of it. “It seems that we have been speaking at cross purposes, both today and upon our first meeting. Unless I am under some misapprehension, we had not met before then. That is, we have never been in company together, is that right?”
“That is correct, Miss Elizabeth.”
“And yet you seem almost convinced that I have spent a great deal of time in London, when I can only assure you, most emphatically, that I have not.”
“Never?”
“Not for some months. Over a year in fact.”
“Then you must have a twin, Miss Elizabeth, or a namesake, for someone by the name of Elizabeth Bennet has certainly visited London lately, enjoying all that the ton has to offer.” His lips set in a grim line. “She,” he laid heavy emphasis on the pronoun as if to illustrate how little he believed in this theory. “Has sparked quite a reputation for herself, and so you must understand my concern at my friend Bingley entangling himself with anyone who shares her name.”
Elizabeth felt colour rise in her cheeks, but it was not embarrassment. Anger thrummed in her veins.
“I assure you that whatever this mysterious Miss Bennet has been getting up to, I have certainly played no part in it. I have been here, in Hertfordshire. Surely there is more than one Miss Bennet in the world. In fact, I can present four more to you just beyond this door.”
“Five Miss Bennets but only one Elizabeth Bennet,” Mr Darcy said. “And so I repeat, Miss Elizabeth, if she is not you, then I must have been very much mistaken.” He smiled, grimly at her. “I am rarely mistaken.”
***
When Darcy followed Elizabeth into the parlour,
the tableau made the blood freeze in his veins. Charles Bingley was seated in a chair near to Jane, but every other Bennet female - Darcy counted five including an older woman he took for Elizabeth’s mother, as well as her four sisters - stared at him rapturously. Stared, and spoke, firing questions at him in quick succession, and often talking over one another that they might be more easily heard. Darcy took a breath, readying himself to intervene, but Bingley did not seem in need of any intervention. In fact, he laughed, and smiled, and chatted quite happily, as if he had spent every afternoon of his life surrounded by loud, chattering women. Darcy’s mind flashed back to what he knew of Charles’ own family, his friend the middle brother of two sisters, both of whom relatively well-assured of their own superiority. They would scarcely ever have greeted their brother with such enthusiasm, nor put such importance on any word he might happen to speak. No wonder he took such welcome in his stride.
“This is Mr Darcy, Mother,” Elizabeth said, her voice little more than a sigh. Darcy shot a glance at her, but she was pointedly turned away, crossing the room to the window, where she might find some excuse to keep her gaze averted from his, and from the rest of her family. Still, her introduction had done its damage, and five pairs of eyes swivelled up towards him with interest.
“Good afternoon,” he said, his voice sounding strange and strangled to his own ears. He cleared his throat and tried again. “I am a friend of Mr Bingley’s, and it is very pleasant to make your acquaintance.”
He had intended mere politeness, yet one of the younger Bennet sisters evidently found humour in his words, for she burst into giggles, which subsided only with a sharp glare from her mother, who swept theatrically to her feet.
“Mr Darcy,” she breathed. “Well, we are very pleased to welcome you to our home. Do, do, be seated.”
Darcy glanced around, searching for an empty chair, and found the only one that would suffice was uncomfortably close to where Elizabeth Bennet was standing. With resignation, he took it, choosing not to notice her pointedly move a pace or two further away from him. She has two reasons, and two only to be so upset with me, he reasoned. Either I am correct in my assertion and she is rightly ashamed of her behaviour, and perhaps a little fearful of being discovered. Or, he frowned. Or I am wrong, quite wrong, and she is puzzling out the reason behind my error. He was not entirely sure which option he most wished to be true, yet was surprised to find himself keenly interested in this Elizabeth Bennet, more so than the version he had heard tell of in London. The fact that they could be one and the same did not even deter his interest as it ought, which he acknowledged with reluctance as the door opened to admit Mr Bennet and Mr Collins. If I was pledged to marry a man as odious as that cousin of hers, I might seek to escape my fate too! This thought was fleeting but altogether sobering. That he, Fitzwilliam Darcy, who valued manner and behaviour as indicative of a person’s character, could see his way to justify any kind of behaviour that might provoke gossip was proof indeed of his confusion. You must manage your thoughts, he counselled himself. For if one day among this family has rendered you so unlike yourself then that is proof enough of their danger. Bingley is clearly already a lost man! He harrumphed, as Charles let out a whoop of delighted laughter at some witticism made by one of the younger Bennet sisters that was neither witty nor amusing, yet Charles credited it with enthusiasm nonetheless.
