by Jann Rowland
“Yes,” replied Bingley. “But there was always something holding me back.” Bingley shrugged. “First it was my desire to learn more of the estate, then it seemed to me like she was still not ready for my addresses. In the end, I care not. We shall come to an agreement at some point in time—the timing truly does not matter.”
“Are you certain of your affection for her?”
Bingley frowned. “You are disposed to think it best I not pay my addresses to her?”
“I am disposed to no such thing, Bingley,” said Darcy. “The only person who can determine if Miss Bennet will suit you is you, yourself. I cannot attempt to direct you.
“The only caution I give you is that you have long thought yourself enamored of her, and it may have led you to neglect to consider any other options. Your slowness to move on your interest in her may suggest you are not as interested as you thought.”
“Then you may rest easy, my friend,” said Bingley with a wide grin. “In fact, when I was in London last season, I paid some attention to certain other ladies I met there, but none of them could measure up to Miss Bennet. I have, perhaps, not rushed to secure her, but that is because I am sensitive to her feelings. It is entirely possible that I will propose to her before you leave the neighborhood.”
“In that case, you have my congratulations, my friend,” said Darcy, raising his glass in salute. “There are few men who can claim to have found their partner in life with so little difficulty.”
Bingley’s grin grew wider, and they both drained their drinks. When he lowered his glass, Bingley’s countenance was overset by a truly silly expression, one which prompted Darcy to laugh. His friend leaned forward with the decanter and filled their glasses once again. Accepting a little more of the amber liquid, Darcy sat back in his chair considering. In the spur of the moment, he decided he wished for a little more information about the girl who had dominated his thoughts since he had arrived. As such, he turned the conversation in that direction.
“Might I assume your intended bride’s family are all in favor of the match?” Darcy paused and added: “Though I suppose they could hardly be opposed, considering the marriage of her brother with your sister.”
“Exactly,” replied Bingley, smugness overflowing in his tone. “While I shall be required to approach Mr. Bennet for his blessing and will no doubt be subject to his teasing manner, his consent is assured.”
“Excellent, my friend,” replied Darcy with a laugh.
Then Darcy paused and considered the matter for a moment, not certain how to raise the subject. As he was uncertain, he decided it would be best to speak openly.
“And what of the younger Bennet daughters? Are there any suitors for their hands at present?” Darcy laughed. “Or is your mother still searching on their accounts?”
Bingley reddened, and he stammered: “You have my apologies, Darcy. Usually my mother is not so overt. But I am afraid Caroline suggested you may be partial to Miss Elizabeth. She has latched onto the notion and seems to think you would make her an excellent husband.”
“It is no trouble, Bingley,” replied Darcy.
When he considered the matter, he supposed it was quite obvious that Mrs. Bingley had been attempting to recommend her late friend’s daughters, and while Darcy still found himself more than a little uncomfortable, considering what had passed between himself and the lady, Mrs. Bingley’s behavior was no worse than other matchmaking mama’s.
In the deep recesses of his mind, the thought of paying court to Miss Elizabeth Bennet sprang to life. It was unthinkable. There were many demands on him, one of which was the need to make a good match, to choose a woman who would not only bring great fortune to the Darcy coffers but also great connections. Miss Bennet’s dowry was respectable—or at least Darcy suspected it was. But she had no connections greater than a middle tier gentleman who was the first of his line to be a landowner. It could not be contemplated.
“I shall speak with my mother,” said Bingley, drawing Darcy from his thoughts. “She is zealous in her desire to see the Miss Bennets married and settled, but she will not do anything but speak of it. It would be better if she did not speak of it at all.”
“Indeed, I am not bothered,” said Darcy hurriedly. “It is actually refreshing to meet a woman so concerned with another woman’s daughters.”
Bingley laughed. “Well, she has succeeded in seeing her own daughters settled. It is only natural she would then turn her attention on our nearest neighbors.”
“From that perspective, you must be correct.”
Draining his glass, Darcy refused Bingley’s offer to pour again, instead rising and favoring his friend with a smile. “I thank you for this invitation, Bingley. In the coming weeks, I would be happy to renew my acquaintance with all of your friends.”
It seemed Bingley understood his meaning. “Excellent. Then I shall be happy to reintroduce you. I am pleased you have come.”
That evening, Darcy went to bed feeling strangely unburdened, such as he had not felt since before he last visited. With nothing more expected of him than a pleasant visit, Darcy thought he could meet with the people of the area and enjoy himself. And if a certain lively, dark-haired temptress featured in his dreams, Darcy felt he had little cause to repine. In fact, he had every reason to appreciate her appearance, despite how she teased and tormented him.
Chapter VII
The sensation of once again being in the same neighborhood as Mr. Darcy, of once again being within his reach, was a curious one. While Elizabeth chided herself multiple times, she could not help but look over her shoulder on occasion to wonder if the man were nearby, waiting for her vigilance to fail. He would hardly be lying in wait, ready to kidnap her and spirit her away from all she had ever known and loved. The sensation of watchfulness could not be dispelled, however, no matter how hard she tried.
Word that the man had arrived at Netherfield spread throughout the community as a grass fire driven before the wind, carried on the wings of gossip. Had her mother still been alive, Elizabeth knew she would have been among the first to learn of it. As she was no longer with them, it fell to their aunt, Mrs. Phillips, to inform them of the gossip—or at least she felt it was her responsibility. By the time Mrs. Phillips came bustling down the drive, all self-important excitement for her news, the Bennet sisters had already had the gossip from Lady Lucas.
“Yes, we have heard of it.” Jane took it upon herself to make the reply for the Bennet sisters when their aunt had shared her news. “Mr. Bingley informed us of the time of Mr. Darcy’s arrival when he visited on Tuesday.”
“Oh, you already know, do you?” asked their aunt, seemingly disappointed at not being the first to inform them. “That is well then.” She turned to Elizabeth and eyed her closely. “I seem to recall reports of you, in particular, being favored by Mr. Darcy’s attentions, Lizzy. It would behoove you to make the best of the situation.”
Elizabeth was amused by her aunt’s baldly stated words. Mrs. Bennet truly had been like two peas in a pod with her sister Phillips. When she replied, therefore, Elizabeth’s words betrayed her amusement, though it was unlikely Aunt Phillips would understand the joke.
“Very well, Aunt. When he calls, I shall sequester myself in a room alone with him long enough for us to be compromised.”
Elizabeth’s thoughts concerning her aunt’s lack of understanding were proven correct when Mrs. Phillips scowled at her. “This is no time for your impertinence, Lizzy! From what I hear, Mr. Darcy inhabits a sphere high above that which your father can boast. It would raise your consequence to be courted by such a man, and as your mother is sadly departed, I must attempt to do my best by you.”
How Aunt Phillips thought she could manage to do so was beyond Elizabeth’s ability to understand, since she, as the country solicitor’s wife, did not move in the same circles to a large extent, even in a country society such as Meryton. It was fortunate, therefore, that Mrs. Phillips was easily diverted.
Nothing could do so like another piece of gossip, which Mary provided, though with a roll of her eyes at Elizabeth. Soon, Mrs. Phillips was happily speaking of a scandal involving the butcher’s daughter and a young man of one of the tenant farms of the area, and Mr. Darcy was quite forgotten. Mrs. Phillips did not leave without a few more choice words to Elizabeth concerning Mr. Darcy, however, but at least she was spared the worst of her excesses by Mary’s quick actions.
“I hope you are grateful for my forbearance,” said Mary when their aunt left. “Gossip should not be endured nor encouraged, and yet I have done both this day.”
“It is for a good cause,” said Jane, smiling at her youngest sister. “Aunt Phillips might have gone on the entire afternoon had we allowed her to.”
“That is why I spoke,” said Mary, albeit a little primly. “Perhaps I shall suggest to Mr. Collins that he speak on the subject of gossip. I might, if I had any thought our aunt would heed him.”
With those words and a smile, Mary rose and left the room, leaving her sisters grinning behind her. Mary had possessed a moralizing streak at the age of sixteen, but with the efforts of her father, brother, and Elizabeth herself, she had managed to relax her judgmental attitude. Now she employed it as more of a jest, a poke at her own previous tendencies.
But while Mary and her father remained oblivious to Elizabeth’s discomposure, Jane, ever aware of Elizabeth’s mood, did not. Though Jane did not speak of the matter aloud, Elizabeth caught her sister’s eyes upbraiding her several times and knew well what they were telling her. But Elizabeth was determined to act as if Mr. Darcy had not come, as if nothing had ever happened between them. The man could hardly ride up to Longbourn, abduct her and carry her off to perform whatever nefarious harm her mind could conjure. There was no need to be concerned.
Thursday was the day Mr. Bingley had informed them that Mr. Darcy was to arrive. As there were no society activities, they were not to see Mr. Darcy until Sunday at church, unless the gentlemen took it upon themselves to visit Longbourn. Elizabeth was glad they did not, for she had no notion of what she might say to Mr. Darcy if he suddenly appeared in Longbourn’s sitting-room.
It was with a sort of fatalistic acceptance that Elizabeth dressed that Sunday morning for church. Jane’s query concerning her wellbeing was quickly responded to in the affirmative, and Elizabeth thought she must have been convincing, for Jane appeared to take her answer at face value. Soon after breakfast, the Bennet family gathered together in the entrance to make their way to Longbourn church.
The building was already filling by the time the Bennet family arrived. It was not a large church, but the stained glass in the windows and the fineness of the appointments, from the altar to the pews, crafted of solid English oak and polished to a gleam, spoke to the prosperity of the parish. The living had long been in the Bennet family’s gift to give, and the lands of the glebe were nearby, a short walk should an industrious cleric wish to inspect the lands which supported him.
Mr. Collins was, as usual, standing by the doors, greeting the parishioners as they entered, his countenance beaming from the greetings of those entering. Then he saw the Bennet party, and his countenance fairly glowed at the sight of them. Elizabeth, who knew his pleasure was largely for her in particular, stepped forward, leading her family to the door to greet him.
“Hello, Cousin Elizabeth,” said Mr. Collins with a low bow. “How happy I am to see you—all of you, of course.”
“William,” said Mr. Bennet. The Bennet patriarch directed a pleased smile at his protégé. “Are you prepared to instruct us all this morning?”
“I am, Mr. Bennet,” replied Mr. Collins with a short bow, though not nearly so deep as the one he had offered to Elizabeth. “It is my duty to do so, and one which I accept eagerly.”
“Excellent, sir!” said Mr. Bennet, clapping him on the back. “Then we shall seek our seats in preparation for your wise and holy words.”
The beaming smile Mr. Collins directed at Mr. Bennet as he walked away with his family, except for Elizabeth, who lingered behind, showed his veneration for the elder man. Mr. Collins was a little too simple to understand the thrust of Mr. Bennet’s understated jests, which was likely just as well. Elizabeth was well aware that her father truly liked Mr. Collins, for his humor tended to be much more biting with those for whom he did not care. In fact, Mr. Bennet considered Mr. Collins to be one of his greatest successes, and Elizabeth could not deny the claim, considering the state of the young man when he had arrived at Longbourn as a boy of only fifteen.
“Are we to dine at Longbourn tonight?” asked Mr. Collins, his attention once again on Elizabeth—if, indeed, it had ever been anywhere else.
“As we do every Sunday, Mr. Collins,” said Elizabeth, completing the ritual which had happened almost every Sunday since Mr. Collins had taken the living. “We shall expect you at five.”
“I shall be punctual, as always,” said Mr. Collins. “Your brother is to return soon with his bride—is that not so?”
“In about two weeks,” replied Elizabeth. “We have not heard much from him since he went away.”
“That is hardly a surprise,” said Mr. Collins with a grin. “I know of no man who would wish to take his attention away from his wife long enough to engage in excessive letter writing.”
“No, I suppose not,” said Elizabeth. “Be that as it may, unless some information comes to contradict their plans, we do expect him to return with his new wife.”
“Another member of your family—particularly one so well known to her as the new Mrs. Bennet—must be welcome, indeed.”
“Jane must think so,” replied Elizabeth with a laugh. “I think we all anticipate their arrival, Mr. Collins.”
“Myself no less than any other,” replied he.
“I had better find my family,” said Elizabeth.
Mr. Collins agreed, bowed over her hand, and turned to greet several newcomers. Charlotte, who had entered while he was talking with Elizabeth, shot her an amused smile, which Elizabeth returned with a hint of self-consciousness. It was well known that Mr. Collins had a particular regard for Elizabeth, meaning she was often the recipient of such looks. Elizabeth knew he would never press a suit unless she gave him some encouragement, which she would never do. They had settled into this comfortable relationship where he admired from afar, not expecting anything more, while Elizabeth was kind to him and occasionally embarrassed when her neighbors read more into the situation than existed.
The Bennets were seated in their usual pew at the front of the church, having long occupied that bench, their favored position as much a function of their position as the masters of the living as their status as one of the wealthiest families in the district. When she sat down with them, Elizabeth noted the bemused smile she was given by her father and the commiseration from her sisters. It was only then that Elizabeth looked about the church, seeing the faces of those she had known her entire life. And that was when she caught sight of him.
He was here.
Entering the church, Darcy found his eyes searching the confines of the edifice for the woman who had haunted his thoughts for the past four years. The parson, he noted, was a tall, young man, dark hair tending toward a little thinning at the back. He had been talking with a young woman whose back was to Darcy as they entered the church. But he had no attention to spare for the parson or the young woman to whom he spoke. His eyes were already searching for her.
It was not until some moments later, after he had sat down, that Darcy realized his error. Disappointment welled up within him as he looked about, noting the presence of Miss Jane Bennet, whom he remembered from his last visit. Of her younger sister there was no sign, leading to an unfathomable feeling of loss.
“What is it, Darcy?” asked Bingley, seeming to see that something had perturbed him.
Darcy was not willing to allow his friend to understand his innermost thoughts, but he turned to Bingley and gestured to the Bennets. �
��Your new brother is not present, of course, but I understood there were three Bennet sisters?”
“There are,” replied Bingley with a grin. “We passed one of them on the way in, speaking with the parson.”
Surprised, Darcy looked back toward the door, and the sight of a young woman entering, her mind seemingly focused on something else, caught his attention. It was Miss Elizabeth Bennet. She was here.
Eagerly, Darcy drank in the sight of the young woman. It had been four years and much had changed in that time—much for the better. A pastel green-hued muslin dress provided her attire that day, accentuating a light and pleasing figure, one which was now that of a woman, unlike the ungainly and slight figure she had sported as a girl of sixteen. While Miss Elizabeth had been pretty as a young girl, her beauty had matured, her face suffused with a healthy glow, hair dark mahogany, glowing in the light streaming in through the windows. She was exquisite. Darcy felt his heart beginning to pound within his chest.
“She is lovely, is she not?”
Startled, Darcy turned to look at his friend, seeing Bingley gazing at the Bennet pew with all the longing of a devoted suitor.
“Miss Bennet,” clarified Bingley. “She is everything for which a man could ever wish: poised, beautiful, kind, engaging. She will be my wife one day, Darcy—I cannot wait.”
It took Darcy a moment to realize that Bingley was speaking of Miss Bennet rather than Miss Elizabeth Bennet. For a moment he felt himself on the verge of a murderous scowl until his slow thoughts caught up and prevented it.
Silly was what it was, Darcy decided. Miss Elizabeth Bennet was not his. Nor would she ever be. As engaging, lovely, and desirable as she was, Darcy was well aware she was not what he required in a wife. He had best remember it.
Then Miss Elizabeth turned. Her eyes fixed on him, and all thought fled from Darcy’s mind in favor of the intense pleasure of having her attention on him. Darcy nodded in her direction, witnessing the sudden bloom of her cheeks as her head whipped back toward the front of the room. And Darcy smiled to himself. She was not unmoved by his presence.
