A Favorite Daughter

by P. O. Dixon

  “Pardon?”

  “Indeed, when I inquired about the book, St. Irvyne, I am certain you said you did not have a single copy in the store and yet, you were all too eager to produce a copy for that gentleman over there.”

  “Well–about that. you see Miss –?”

  “Miss Bennet,” Elizabeth replied.

  “Yes, well, Miss Bennet, the gentleman to whom you are referring is not just anyone. He is Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy. He is a most loyal customer.”

  “Be that as it may, you could have no way of knowing he would frequent your lovely establishment today or if he would even desire the book that I inquired about. Rather than sell it on a first-come, first-served basis, you opted to hold it back, just in case. Is the value of my money less than the value of that gentleman’s?”

  The shopkeeper hardly knew how to look or how to feel in the wake of Elizabeth’s rebuke. However, as Mr. Darcy’s attention was also drawn, he suffered no such affliction.

  “Is there a problem here?” he asked, having approached Elizabeth and the shopkeeper at the counter. First, he looked at the shopkeeper, and then he looked at Elizabeth.

  What a commanding presence this stranger was, now standing directly beside Elizabeth. If he meant to intimidate her, he had gotten off to a good start.

  Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy. Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy, Elizabeth silently repeated, suffering the weight of his stare. His dark, brooding eyes seem to pore all over her, and she began to think she might grow afraid of him if she did not say something.

  “Either there is a problem or a deliberate misunderstanding between the shopkeeper and me. For the sake of civility, I would rather prefer the latter.”

  “Yes, yes,” the older man began, “a misunderstanding is precisely what it is. You see, Mr. Darcy, the young lady–”

  “Miss Bennet,” Darcy interrupted, his dark eyes fixed on her.

  The sound of her name uttered by the tall, handsome stranger nearly took Elizabeth’s breath away. How familiar he sounded, indeed intimate.

  Perhaps he will relinquish the book to me once he hears the entire account of what unfolded before he entered the establishment. It is only fair.

  “Yes, Miss Bennet,” the other man said, nodding his head, “happened to ask about the book moments before you entered the shop.”

  “I did, indeed,” Elizabeth added. “Only to be told by the shopkeeper that he did not have a single copy of the book in stock, when in fact he was holding it back on the chance that you might come along and claim it for yourself, Mr.–” here Elizabeth paused, feigning ignorance as regarded the gentleman’s surname. Never mind that she had committed not only his name, but everything else about his handsome person to memory.

  “Allow me to introduce myself. I am Fitzwilliam Darcy,” he said bowing. He took Elizabeth’s gloved hand into his and brushed a kiss atop her knuckles. Releasing her hand, he resumed his former attitude. His eyes met hers. “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

  Ignoring the fluttering in her stomach, Elizabeth replied, “I know the proper thing to say is the pleasure is all mine, but surely given the circumstances, you will pardon me if I cannot.”

  “Circumstances, Miss Bennet?”

  “Surely you will concede to the injustice of what has unfolded, Mr. Darcy.”

  The shopkeeper interrupted them. “If the two of you will pardon me, I need to retrieve the book from the back.” He was gone directly.

  Mr. Darcy clasped his hands behind his back. The manner in which he regarded her from head to toe gave her to wonder if he was looking at her merely to find fault.

  “So, you contend it is unfair for a merchant to anticipate the needs of a most loyal patron at someone else’s expense?”

  Who is this man?

  “Well—when you put it that way,” she retorted, half annoyed by the condescending nature of this question, half derisive. “How is it not unfair?” Elizabeth continued. “How difficult would it have been for him to say I only have one copy in stock, and it is being reserved?”

  Mr. Darcy arched his brow. “Somehow, I doubt you would have been pleased with such a response.”

  “Sir, you know nothing about me.”

  “I believe you like to have your own way; else you would have said nothing at all to the shopkeeper about how he chooses to conduct his business.”

  Now it was Elizabeth’s turn to arch her brow. “And I believe you are far too opinionated and officious, else you would have stayed on the other side of the room and not cast yourself in the middle of my discussion with another.”

  “So, you are headstrong and unhindered, and I am opinionated and officious. What a pair the two of us make.”

  She scoffed. “We are hardly a pair, Mr. Darcy. Indeed, we are total strangers.”

  The shopkeeper returned with a nicely wrapped parcel in his hand. “Will you be paying for this in the usual way, Mr. Darcy?” he asked, poised to hand it over.

  Darcy nodded. “Yes, my account. Pray, leave it there for now if you would,” he said, gesturing to the countertop.

  “But, of course,” uttered the shopkeeper. He placed the package on the counter and walked away, once again leaving Darcy and Elizabeth to themselves.

  “Total strangers, indeed,” Mr. Darcy uttered. “However, we may not necessarily remain that way.” He picked up the book. “I want you to have this.”

  “No, sir! I could not accept such a gift.”

  “Why not? It is clear that this book means more to you than it does to me. Please accept it. Consider it as less of a gift, but an olive branch, if you will. It is my way of making amends for any unpleasantness you had to endure.”

  Elizabeth was not about to argue the point all afternoon. She really did want to read that particular book during her stay in Kent, so accept it, she did.

  “Thank you, sir,” she said. “Perhaps our paths will cross again, at which point I might reciprocate your kindness. Indeed, I may even return your kindness in the form of this very book.”

  The smile that spread across his face in hearing this nearly took Elizabeth’s breath away.

  “In a village the size of this, no doubt our paths shall cross again. That being said, perhaps you will allow me to see you home safely. I imagine you are here visiting acquaintances.”

  A sense of panic rose up in Elizabeth. She could well imagine Lady Catherine would be livid were she to return to Rosings with a complete stranger. Making matters worse, she had escaped the manor house without telling the grand lady of her plans.

  “No!” Elizabeth said. Remembering herself, she added, “What I meant to say is, I am in no need of an escort, sir. The rest of my party is close by. I fear I have kept them waiting long enough.” Elizabeth did not like to speak untruthfully. She reasoned that Rosings Park really was close by, under three miles, and as for keeping her party waiting, if she did not make haste, they would indeed be waiting.

  No harm, no foul, she told herself.

  Clutching her gift to her bosom, Elizabeth smiled a little. “Thank you again, Mr. Darcy.” With a slight curtsy, she quickly went on her way. She paused only after placing her hand on the door handle. Perched to open the door, she glanced back and was more than a little pleased to find the gentleman still looking at her.

  The same gentleman whose brooding dark eyes had held her captivated, whom she had described as opinionated and officious, and who had gifted her a costly new book, was still looking at her.

  Perhaps our paths will cross again.

  For Elizabeth’s part, she hoped it would be much sooner rather than later.

  Chapter 7

  Miss Bennet.

  Darcy smiled in the recollection of his earlier encounter with the young lady. He never thought of himself as someone who was easily distracted by a pair of fine eyes, but there he was reliving every second of his time spent with her.

  I wonder if I will ever see her again.

  In all of his years visiting that part of the country, Darcy could honest
ly say he had never come across a more intriguing creature than Miss Bennet.

  Miss Bennet.

  Before entering the shop that afternoon, Darcy had been riddled with concern over his inability to be in two places at one time. His friend, Charles Bingley, had been more than a little disappointed that Darcy’s arrival in Hertfordshire would be delayed. However, his own family business required the latter to be in Kent. Such dissonance had all but dissipated. For now, his mind was full of but one thing or rather one person: the mysterious stranger in the shop.

  He found himself repeating her name out loud as he rode along on horseback to Rosings Park. As he was in no particular hurry to return to the manor house, he encouraged his stallion to trod along at a snail’s pace.

  Miss Bennet.

  Darcy exhaled. Why do I feel I have heard her name before?

  Could it be that I heard the mention of Miss Bennet’s name from Lady Catherine? He pursed his lips. Her ladyship is always going on and on about the business of the parish and the like, so much so that I rarely attend a word she says.

  He started searching his memory for those bits and pieces he could recall of his aunt’s most recent ramblings.

  I do recall some mentioning of guests.

  The citing of her vicar’s name as a precursor to his aunt’s speech had rendered the entire discourse mute to Darcy’s ears. A more thorough racking of his brain, however, soon confirmed that which he had by now taught himself to hope. Spurring his stallion on, Darcy could hardly wait to reach the manor house.

  Elizabeth’s worst suspicions about Mr. Collins’s deficits in terms of sensibility were confirmed when she was introduced to Lady Catherine’s daughter, Miss Anne de Bourgh. She recalled in vivid detail the way he had described the young heiress. How eloquent the gentleman had been in her praise:

  “She is a most charming young lady, indeed. Lady Catherine herself says that, in point of true beauty, Miss de Bourgh is far superior to the handsomest of her sex because there is that in her features which marks the young lady of distinguished birth.”

  In Mr. Collins’s defense, he had mentioned Miss de Bourgh’s being of a sickly constitution.

  What an understatement, Elizabeth silently surmised. She was astonished at Miss de Bourgh’s being so thin and so small. There was neither in figure nor face any likeness between the young woman and her aristocratic mother. Miss de Bourgh’s features, though not plain, were insignificant, and she spoke in a low voice, which Elizabeth could scarcely hear. What a striking contrast to Lady Catherine, indeed.

  Mary, if she did share a similar opinion as Elizabeth’s of Miss de Bourgh, did not betray any signs. Instead, she took the seat next to the young heiress. Another woman, a Mrs. Jenkinson, had been introduced as Miss de Bourgh’s companion.

  There the ladies sat and listened as Lady Catherine prognosticated on what the weather would be during the course of the week and pontificated on how her guests ought to plan on spending their time during their stay in Kent.

  Elizabeth barely attended a word being said. Her mind was busily engaged in thinking of the encounter with the tall, handsome stranger at the shop. Even now, her heart skipped a beat just thinking about him. She had gone from being intrigued by him, to being perturbed by him, to being fascinated by him in the span of a quarter-hour.

  Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy.

  An odd feeling came over her. She had not allowed herself to indulge in such flights of fancy in more than a year—not since her beloved father had passed away. Overnight, it seemed, she had gone from being a carefree maiden whose marital prospects, though limited by the size of her family’s fortune, were something to be viewed with hope, to the de facto head of the family, responsible for securing her family’s future.

  Even such weighty burdens as these would not diminish the excitement she felt in having met Mr. Darcy.

  I really do hope our paths soon cross again.

  All heads turned when the object of Elizabeth’s musings entered the room.

  “Mr. Darcy!” she exclaimed, forgetting herself.

  Taken aback, Lady Catherine said, “Do you know my nephew?”

  “Your nephew?” Elizabeth’s heart nearly sank in her chest. What if he is just like his aunt?

  Mr. Darcy said, “I had the great pleasure of meeting Miss Bennet earlier today, Lady Catherine.”

  “Earlier today? How can that be when the young woman only arrived a few hours ago? Where exactly did this meeting take place?”

  “We met at a shop on Meeting Street,” Elizabeth confessed.

  “Meeting Street? How is that possible when you were meant to go to your room and rest? How could you possibly have been in two places at one time?”

  “I wasn’t tired, your ladyship, and after traveling for so long in the carriage, I was in need of exercise, and so I decided to take a walk about your lovely grounds. Before I knew what I was about, I was in the village.”

  “Why! The village is over three miles away!”

  Elizabeth nodded. “I am very fond of walking.”

  “I never heard of such a thing. A young lady traipsing about the countryside.” Lady Catherine scoffed. “Fond of walking indeed.” She threw a glance at Mary. “Does that mean you, too, have a habit of exhibiting such recklessness?”

  “No, your ladyship,” Mary replied. “My sister is known as the great walker in our family. I can hardly keep up. I much prefer remaining indoors.”

  The older woman nodded her approval. “That is precisely what I expected you to say. You strike me as being a sensible young lady and one who knows a woman’s place.”

  Mr. Collins’s words immediately came to Elizabeth’s mind: “The Bennet daughter of my choosing must be an active, useful sort of person and one who knows and understands a woman’s place.”

  From Lady Catherine’s mouth to Mr. Collins’s ears, Elizabeth silently prayed. This bodes well for my sister, indeed.

  Before she could dwell too long on her sister’s prospects, another gentleman entered the room.

  What a relief it was when Lady Catherine focused her attention on the newcomer. “There you are, Fitzwilliam,” she said. She could not have missed the interested manner in which he regarded Elizabeth. “Pray, tell me that you are not acquainted with my guest as well.”

  “I should be so fortunate,” he said, approaching Elizabeth directly. “Colonel Fitzwilliam at your service,” he said with a slight bow. Taking Elizabeth’s hand in his, he bestowed a light kiss upon it before resuming his former attitude.

  Elizabeth felt the color spread all over her body. It did not go unnoticed by her that Mr. Darcy appeared to take umbrage with the gentleman’s behavior.

  Lady Catherine said, “That will be quite enough of that, Fitzwilliam.” She gestured for him to move away from Elizabeth, which he did, taking his place standing beside Mr. Darcy. Their aunt continued, “I take it that neither of you has met the other Miss Bennet in the room. This is Miss Mary Bennet.”

  Both men greeted Mary with bows, the colonel’s far more gracious than Mr. Darcy’s.

  “You two will recall my telling you that Mr. Collins, the vicar, traveled to his recently inherited estate to meet his relations. The Bennet daughters are but two of them. If things go as planned, well, let me just say that family’s misfortunes are soon to be elevated.”

  “That sounds rather intriguing. Dare I ask you to elaborate?” Colonel Fitzwilliam inquired.

  “You would be wise to mind your own business, Nephew.”

  Next, her ladyship’s butler walked into the room. “Mr. William Collins,” he announced.

  Elizabeth, as much as she wanted to resume where she and Mr. Darcy had left off at the shop, had but one purpose in mind for the evening. That being to elevate her sister Mary in Mr. Collins’s esteem.

  There will be time enough to get better acquainted with Mr. Darcy, as well as with Colonel Fitzwilliam, who, incidentally, has not taken his eyes off me.

  Chapter 8

  The dinner was ex
ceedingly handsome, and there were all the servants and all the articles of plate which one might expect of a hostess as noble as Lady Catherine de Bourgh. She was exceedingly impressed with herself as evidenced by her noble manner and her speech. “I do not suppose I have to tell you, young ladies, how fortunate you are to be dining among such lofty company this evening. I rightly suppose you have had no such opportunities in Hertfordshire. In a country neighborhood, you move in a very confined and unvarying society.”

  “On the contrary, your ladyship. Our society is rather more diverse than one would expect. That is not to say it is so vast as in town, but I suppose there are few neighborhoods larger. I know we dine with four-and-twenty families.”

  “I suppose I do recall a gentleman who hailed from Hertfordshire, who was an acquaintance of my late husband, Sir Louis de Bourgh. If I remember correctly, his name is Coble. The last I heard, he was recently widowed—his third wife, I believe. I do not suppose your families are acquainted.”

  Elizabeth shuddered at the notion. The two families were by no means close, but she had undoubtedly heard of the gentleman and his plight. With three wives dead, he was practically a legend. And not in a good way. He was whispered to be the ‘merry’ widower. With each new wife came an increase in his fortune.

  The less spoken about that particular gentleman, the better, Elizabeth thought.

  Lady Catherine continued, “Aside from Mr. Coble, I grant you none of the other families you mentioned are of any real consequence.”

  Not willing to be dismissed and not seeking to be contrite, Elizabeth grasped for the most persuasive argument she could find. “Sir William Lucas, whose estate abuts Longbourn, would beg to differ.” What did it matter to her that ‘estate’ was hardly an apt characterization of the gentleman’s home, which he had dubbed Lucas Lodge? What are the chances Lady Catherine will ever be in a position to refute my assertion?

  “Upon my word,” said her ladyship, “you give your opinion very decidedly for so young a person. Pray, what is your age?”