by Jann Rowland
The jest was something Darcy could imagine the man’s second daughter saying, and he laughed, as he knew was expected. “Oh, I am real, Mr. Bennet. It is only puzzling to me that I did not make your acquaintance the last time I visited.”
“You were only here for a matter of two weeks, Darcy,” reminded Bingley. “As Bennet’s son was away at the time and Mr. Bennet does not enjoy much society, it is not strange you would not have made his acquaintance.”
“Bingley has the right of it,” said Mr. Bennet. “But that is not important. Of much greater importance is my curiosity as to whether you play chess, young man. For if you do—especially if you play well—then I must entertain the notion that you are a man of some substance.”
“I do, indeed, Mr. Bennet,” said Darcy. At the same time, Bingley said: “Darcy here was the president of our chess club at Cambridge.”
“Was he, indeed?” asked Mr. Bennet.
“From my limited understanding,” interjected Bingley’s father, “Darcy seems highly competent. He trounced me in very little time when I played him.”
“That is no great feat, my friend,” said Mr. Bennet.
The Bingley men laughed, the matter clearly a well-worn jest between them. “Indeed, it is not,” said Mr. Bingley. “I own it myself, though I will confess I am not bothered because of it. I know the moves well enough, but I do not have the ability to plan many moves in advance, which I believe to be an essential part of being skilled at the art.”
“It takes an honest man to understand his own limitations,” said Mr. Bennet. “I do not think less of you because of it.”
“Then you must lack for skillful opponents,” said Darcy. “Bingley here is an indifferent player at best.”
“There are a few in the neighborhood who play well,” said Mr. Bennet, sipping on his tea. “But few who play so well as to provide a challenge. My son, Thomas, is a challenge, albeit not an overly difficult one, as his interest in the game is somewhat limited. Only my Lizzy can beat me regularly, though I will assert that I win as often as she.”
“Miss Elizabeth plays chess?” asked Darcy, his eyes finding the woman from across the room. Miss Elizabeth met his eyes and looked at him askance, being too far away to hear their conversation. Darcy smiled and turned his attention back to Mr. Bennet.
“Better than most men of my acquaintance,” said Mr. Bennet.
“Elizabeth attempted to teach me the game not long after I came to Longbourn,” added Mr. Collins in a quiet and introspective tone. “But I found I have little aptitude.”
“We all have different strengths and weaknesses, William,” said Mr. Bennet, addressing his cousin with evident fondness. “It is no great tragedy that you do not play. Do not take my jesting as censure.”
Mr. Collins smiled and nodded. Then his attention drifted back towards the ladies.
“It takes Miss Elizabeth only a few minutes to best me,” said Bingley, his tone rueful. “There are times when she will toy with me, give me the impression that I might have a chance. But usually she is far too ruthless to allow me such hope.”
“Aye, that is my Lizzy!” exclaimed Mr. Bennet with a laugh. “Her aggression when playing the game is the one trait which most often causes her downfall. For myself, I tend to be much more defensive and patient.”
“Elizabeth is as fearless as any man,” said Mr. Collins. Darcy thought it was a bit of an odd comment as it seemed to be apropos of nothing.
“If you mean to challenge me,” said Darcy, “it may have been better to stay silent, sir. Now I know what to expect.”
“It does not mean I cannot play aggressively, Mr. Darcy,” said Bennet. “Only that I find a good defense to be the key to victory.”
“Then perhaps we should begin a game, sir,” said Darcy. “For I find myself very much intrigued.”
“Not tonight, my friends,” said Mr. Bingley. “My good wife will not be happy if an impromptu chess tournament began when she is expecting a night of good company.”
The men all laughed, Mr. Bennet exclaiming: “I think you have the right of it. Furthermore, I suspect your wife takes as dim a view as mine did concerning Lizzy’s ability to play.”
“That she does,” replied Mr. Bingley.
“Then I shall visit sometime this coming week, if that is agreeable,” said Darcy.
“Very well, young man. I look forward to meeting you over a chessboard.”
After that, talk turned to other subjects, matters which were common among society such as this. Mr. Bennet and Mr. Bingley spoke of some common issues of concern, in particular about a stream which ran through both of their properties and had apparently caused flooding that spring. Bingley listened intently, asking questions here and there, taking in the experience of the elder men eagerly. Darcy listened himself, nodding at their opinions, learning that the two men were competent in their care of their stewardships. At other times, Bingley spoke to Darcy of various subjects, requesting Darcy’s assistance when assessing the needs of a tenant the following day or what Darcy thought of a proposed ride to Luton.
A short time later, the party was called in to dinner, and Darcy continued his study of Mr. Bennet. The man, based on certain comments Bingley had made, was indolent, preferring the comforts of his library to being an active caretaker of his estate or his family’s position in local society. Darcy could well understand the lure of a well-stocked bookroom—there were times when he would have cheerfully stayed in Pemberley’s library an entire day. But a man also had the responsibility to himself and his descendants to care for his estate and build his family’s legacy.
Then again, Mr. Bennet now had an adult son who was engaged in managing the family’s interests. After a lifetime of laboring on the estate, it was understandable in some measure that a man would wish to spend his later years in peace. Darcy assisted his father in many ways, but Robert Darcy still firmly held the reins of the family’s holdings. Perhaps Mr. Bennet’s situation was akin to that shared by himself and his father. Either way, it was not his business, nor was it his place to judge.
As it inevitably must, talk at the dinner table turned to the absent members of the family. As the time approached for their return, Darcy knew he would make the younger Mr. Bennet’s acquaintance before long.
“I understand your son traveled with his bride to Ramsgate?” asked Darcy when the couple was mentioned.
“Yes,” replied Mr. Bennet. “I have an acquaintance who owns a small property there. As he spends only part of the summer in residence, he was quite pleased to offer it for their use.”
“Our letters from our relations have been sparse,” said Miss Elizabeth, her tone one of mirth. “Not that we had expected to be inundated by letters. But what we have heard suggests they have quite enjoyed themselves by the sea.”
“The ocean is a wondrous thing,” agreed Darcy. “I have not experienced Ramsgate, but I have visited Brighton and some cities on the sea further north.”
“I have not gone,” said Miss Elizabeth, a certain wistfulness evident in her voice. “I should like to.”
“Perhaps when Jane is married you shall,” said Mr. Bennet. The man turned and winked at his eldest daughter, who colored and looked down at her plate. It did not miss Darcy’s notice that Bingley positively beamed. “It is not unusual for a girl to accompany her elder sister on her wedding tour, after all.”
“Jane might have gone with Caroline,” said Mrs. Bingley. “But she declined the invitation.”
“It has always been my understanding,” said Jane, “that married couples wish to be alone in each other’s company. The house in Ramsgate is not large as I understand. I should have been in the way if I had gone.”
“While I commend you for your choice, dearest Sister,” said Miss Elizabeth, “I cannot imagine how anyone could think you were a bother.”
Miss Bennet threw a smile at her sister, but she did not reply. Since it seemed no one else meant to comment on the matter,
Darcy essayed to speak of his own eagerness to meet the younger Mr. Bennet. The man’s father gazed at Darcy in amusement, and he thanked Darcy for his sentiments.
“Thomas is eager to make your acquaintance too, sir. He was quite put out with Bingley here for inviting you when he was to be away.”
“I am sure, Papa,” said Miss Elizabeth, “that Thomas’s pique with Mr. Bingley lasted no longer than his first sight of Caroline on his wedding day.”
Miss Elizabeth’s comment once again provoked laughter among the company, and the subject ran its course. The rest of the meal passed in a similar fashion, though the conversation was more general than specific. Had he not already known, it would have been clear that the two families were great friends and intimates. This extended to the one member of the party other than Darcy who did not bear either the name Bennet or Bingley.
When the meal had been consumed, the ladies departed to the sitting-room while the gentlemen remained in the dining room. A pair of decanters of port were brought in and shared among the five men remaining, though Darcy noted that Mr. Bingley did not provide cigars—in fact, they had been absent since he had arrived. It seemed Mr. Bingley understood Darcy’s thoughts, for he spoke on the matter.
“I apologize for the lack of something to smoke, Mr. Darcy. Unfortunately, the smell of burning tobacco does not agree with me.”
“It is quite all right, Mr. Bingley,” replied Darcy, sitting back with his glass of port. “My father is quite of the same opinion.”
“At Longbourn, it was Mrs. Bennet who particularly objected to them,” said Mr. Bennet. The gentleman was introspective, lightly moving his glass in circles, causing the liquid inside to flow around, creating a whirlpool in the middle. “Nasty, smelly things, she called them. Said that I would need to have the entire dining room aired out if I dared to smoke them. And a group of men smoking? She would have fled for the hills!”
The four gentlemen who had known the lady laughed at Mr. Bennet’s comment, Mr. Bingley shaking his head in amusement. Bingley said nothing, taking a sip from his glass instead. Mr. Collins was the only one who made a response.
“A good woman, Mrs. Bennet. The kindness with which she welcomed me when I came to Longbourn, I shall never forget.”
“Yes, she was a good woman.” Mr. Bennet paused and smiled. “Perhaps not the most proper specimen, and she often afforded me much amusement. But she kept my home and provided me companionship for more than twenty years. I miss her very much.”
Mr. Bennet fell silent, and for some time, he did not say another word. The other gentlemen in the room, apparently sensing the atmosphere becoming a little maudlin, turned the subject to other matters, speaking amongst themselves. For his part, Darcy stayed mostly silent, observing the other men present. It was not long after that Mr. Collins turned to Darcy.
“Mr. Darcy, am I correct in apprehending you are connected to the Fitzwilliam family?”
“I am, sir,” replied Darcy, looking at the parson with interest. “May I ask how you know of my family?”
“Of course, sir. You see, I studied at the seminary in the company of a Randall Fitzwilliam, with whom I formed a friendship.”
“Cousin Randall,” acknowledged Darcy with a nod. “A younger son of my uncle’s younger brother. My uncle is the Earl of Matlock.”
“That is what I was given to understand. Upon his completion of our studies there, I believe he was destined to receive the living at Rosings Park in Kent. His patron, I believe, is your uncle, Sir Lewis de Bourgh.”
“That is correct,” replied Darcy. “However, I do not believe he had ascended to the parsonage yet. Mr. Peters is still in possession of the living, though I believe he is getting on in years and means to retire soon.”
“So Randall informed me.” Mr. Collins paused and seemed in thought for a moment. “Mr. Fitzwilliam is, indeed, a good young man; an excellent example of the nobility, I believe. I still correspond with him regularly.” Mr. Collins paused and then said with seeming hesitance: “Your cousin told some rather amusing anecdotes about your aunt, Mr. Darcy.”
Darcy could not help but laugh. “Lady Catherine de Bourgh. Yes, Lady Catherine is an interesting woman. I cannot imagine what she might be like if her husband was not there to check her.”
“There was some suggestion of a cradle betrothal?”
“So she likes to say,” said Darcy, shaking his head. “But though she has attempted to press it on the family, my mother contends that they only spoke of it once, and to her way of telling, it was nothing more than a fantasy—amusing thoughts of what might happen if we suited each other. Lady Catherine does not appreciate it, but my father refuses to even consider a formal betrothal.”
Mr. Collins nodded. “I can only wonder what it might be like to be a parson under her patronage. My friend shall soon discover it, though he will not benefit, as I have myself, from another’s misfortune.”
“I would not necessarily call it misfortune,” said Mr. Bennet, rousing himself to speak. “Mr. Taylor was quite elderly and had held the living since my grandfather’s time. At times, I wondered if he would ever give it up.”
“Of course,” said Mr. Collins. “But the fact remains that I have ascended to the incumbency of a living long before most of my fellows. I feel the honor of it exceedingly, I assure you, and intend to do my utmost to fulfill the sacred obligations which have been bestowed upon me and perform my duties to the best of my ability.”
Darcy found himself a little surprised by the man’s statement, for it smacked a little of subservience, which attitude Darcy had not attributed to him. At the same time, Mr. Bennet caught Darcy’s eye, rolling his own and looking at his cousin with evident fondness. It seemed there was a history of which he was not aware, beyond the fact that Mr. Collins had come to the Bennets as a young boy and of his subsequent elevation to the parsonage. But Darcy knew it would not be polite to ask and thus directed the conversation back to a previous statement the man had made.
“Randall will take control of the living before too many years have passed. And just in time too, for I believe he has his eye upon a young woman he means to make the mistress of the parsonage.”
Mr. Collins smiled, though Darcy fancied it did not make its way to his eyes. “That has also been a common theme of his letters. I am happy for him—to meet a young woman and have one’s feelings returned is the greatest of blessings.”
It was an odd statement, to be sure, and Darcy did not know what to make of it. Mr. Bennet, however, seemed to know exactly of what the man spoke. He leaned forward and clasped his shoulder.
“There are plenty of fish in the sea, Son. And the search for one’s life mate is not one to undertake lightly. You will find someone with whom to share your life—it is just a matter of time.”
The smile Mr. Collins returned to Mr. Bennet seemed more than a little forced, but he did not speak again. After a few more moments of desultory conversation, in which Mr. Collins contributed nothing, the gentlemen arose, making their way toward the sitting-room and the ladies waiting there. It did not miss Darcy’s notice that Mr. Bennet walked close to Mr. Collins, speaking to him softly all the way, so much so that the two men stopped as they were walking and stood in the hall for a few moments speaking. Darcy, not wishing to give the impression of eavesdropping, walked around them, though he noticed that Mr. Bennet spoke and Mr. Collins listened, nodding his head on occasion, though his gaze did not rise from the floor.
A few moments after Darcy entered, the matter became clear, for Mr. Bennet entered with Mr. Collins by his side. The young man appeared to have recovered some of his former mood, for he entered with a smile for his cousin. But then Darcy noted a look that passed between Mr. Bennet and his second eldest daughter, and soon after, Miss Elizabeth spoke to Mr. Collins.
“Cousin, will you not come and sit with us?”
A beaming smile lit up Mr. Collins’s face and he went eagerly to sit with Miss Elizabeth, who was spea
king with her elder sister and Bingley. Soon the four were sharing an animated conversation. Or it was more accurate to say Miss Bennet, Miss Elizabeth, and Bingley were speaking, for Mr. Collins remained mostly quiet. It was the look of adoration bestowed upon Miss Elizabeth which betrayed the truth of the matter.
“I see you have seen it, Mr. Darcy.”
The sound of a voice by his side startled Darcy from his study—it had suddenly seemed imperative that he determine Miss Elizabeth’s feelings for her cousin. Thus far, he was unable to be certain, though it was clear that she liked him.
“Do not demur. I can see your understanding.” Mr. Bennet’s own eyes found his daughter and the young man who sat by her side, hopelessly in love with her. “It is not a secret within the community, after all.”
“And her feelings?” asked Darcy before he could consider the matter fully.
Mr. Bennet’s immediate response was to smile, and Darcy did not miss the smugness inherent in the expression. “Thank you, Mr. Darcy, for confirming your interest.”
“That is not it,” Darcy was quick to say. “I was merely inquiring whether there was another—or even, I dare say, a third—wedding in the near future of the Bennet family.”
It was clear to Darcy that the other man was not deceived in the slightest. Rather than press the issue as Darcy might have expected, instead Mr. Bennet responded to his question.
“I would think it is evident, even to one who has not known her long, that though Lizzy likes the young man, she feels nothing more than cousinly affection for him.”
Darcy turned and considered the group before him. “Then is it not impolitic of her to draw his attention as she has?”
Belatedly Darcy realized how his question might sound, and he flushed, feeling more than a little uncomfortable speaking to this perceptive man. But again Mr. Bennet confounded him, as he did not become angry at Darcy’s comment. Instead he arched an eyebrow and chuckled.
“Do you suggest Lizzy is playing with the gentleman’s emotions?”
“Of course not,” said Darcy. “It is clear from watching her that is not the case.”
