by Jann Rowland
Mary shrugged, showing her agreement, and did not respond. Elizabeth took the opportunity to speak to her sister.
“It may be best to refrain from provoking them, Lydia.”
Turning, languid and uncaring, Lydia replied: “Do you think them capable of attacking a group of undefended women?”
“What do you mean?” asked Thomas, puzzled. “They are gentlemen of quality—no gentleman would do such a cowardly thing.”
“Gentlemanly they may appear,” replied Lydia, “but their behavior may be suspect, I think. I believe I have found a new diversion, for I like to mock them.”
The protests from her sisters were immediate and loud, not that their displeasure affected Lydia. She just sat there, a slight smile fixed on them all while they berated her for her behavior.
“Oh, do not be silly,” said Lydia after a moment of enduring their combined displeasure. “There is nothing they can do, for though they are Darcys, they are not savages, nor do I believe they are stupid. It was just a little harmless fun.”
This talk of mocking did not sit well with Elizabeth, but she decided there was no need to belabor the issue. It seemed the rest of her sisters agreed, for they said nothing more on the subject and they returned to their game. After a few moments, Lydia rose from where she sat on the blanket and joined them, taking her place behind Thomas and allowing Elizabeth to hit the ball with a little more force.
At length, they decided it was time to return to the house, and they packed the remaining food and the blankets away and began the walk back. Though Thomas was boisterous and eager to run on ahead on most occasions, this time he was quiet and introspective. When they had covered half the distance, Elizabeth discovered why.
“You do not think the gentleman would have done something reprehensible, do you, Lizzy?”
“Of course not,” replied Elizabeth, trying to impart her surety through her tone. “The Darcys are gentlemen, despite audacities the Bennets may attempt to attribute to them.”
“Then why did you scold Lydia?” asked Thomas.
“Because, Brother, it is not polite to behave so. Regardless of who it is, we should always strive to show respect to our fellow man. If the Darcy family thinks ill of the Bennet family, will such behavior not induce them to further suspect us of being untrustworthy?”
“I suppose you are correct,” replied Thomas. “As I said, when I am master, I shall not continue this silly feud. Then they shall have no reason to suspect the Bennet family of any poor behavior.”
Laughing, Elizabeth drew her brother to her as they walked. “I am sure you will make an excellent master, Thomas. It is my hope you succeed in mending the breach between our two families.”
The living of Lambton parish had been in the Bennet family’s possession since long before the family had been ennobled many generations before. The town was close to the manor at Longbourn—only two miles distant—and the glebe was just inside the border of the estate, an easy distance for the rector to see to the land which provided his support. When the previous parson at the estate had passed away, Mr. Edward Gardiner had been the obvious choice to succeed him.
Elizabeth enjoyed listening to her uncle preach every Sunday. It was somehow more personal, like the words of God were directed at her in particular when a close family member spoke them. Though Elizabeth was not as much of an adherent of the holy scripture as her sister, Mary, she thought her uncle’s knowledge of the Bible excellent, and thought someday, likely in the not distant future, there were loftier positions in store for him, for Elizabeth was certain the church was watching him with an eye toward a position in a college. There might even be a bishopric in his future.
That Sunday, however, not all those in attendance appreciated Mr. Gardiner’s lesson. When the first words rolled from her uncle’s mouth and she heard the word “forgiveness” feature prominently among them, along with similar admonishments to deal fairly with one’s neighbor, Elizabeth knew what her uncle had done. Lord Arundel kept his countenance, but to anyone who knew him well, it was clear he was quite displeased. It was fortunate her uncle could withstand his patron’s displeasure.
“I do not appreciate your choice of a sermon today, Edward,” said her father within Elizabeth’s hearing soon after the service ended.
“Yet I believe it was what the congregation needed to hear today,” replied Uncle Edward. Elizabeth knew it was a polite way of saying the Lord did not care what her father wished to hear on a Sunday.
Lord Arundel fixed his brother with an annoyed glare. “Perhaps, then, you should direct your comments to the Darcys. I doubt Robert Darcy’s parson is lecturing him about the situation between our families.”
“There you would be incorrect,” replied Uncle Edward, his tone and grin amused. “Mr. Peters and I spoke on Wednesday, and we agreed both parishes needed the reminder of the Lord’s commandment to forgive. I cannot say whether Mr. Darcy had any greater appetite for his parson’s sermon, but I assure you, he heard much the same message today at Kympton.”
The hard look with which Lord Arundel impaled his brother made no impression, and after a moment he turned away, muttering as he went. Uncle Edward did not seem affected at all by his patron’s displeasure. In fact, he appeared more amused than anything.
“It may be best not to provoke him, Brother,” said Uncle Gardiner, filling the space Lord Arundel had occupied only a moment before.
Uncle Edward just shrugged. “Do you think he did not need to hear it?” Then Uncle Edward’s look turned pointed. “For that matter, I suspect you needed the message as much as Lord Arundel did. More, perhaps.”
“You may be correct,” replied Uncle Gardiner, a pensive quality in his tone and look. “But you know the subject of the Darcys is sensitive for our brother, whether warranted or no. It is laudable that you should attempt to soften the enmity between them. Small steps are required, I think.”
Uncle Edward nodded his acknowledgment and then turned the subject, leaving Elizabeth to ponder what she had heard. Today’s dinner was to be at Uncle Gardiner’s estate, as it often was, despite his lack of a hostess. Her father might be a little out of sorts after exchanging words with Uncle Edward, but Elizabeth knew he would not hold a grudge. The matter of hating the Darcy family was more habit than conviction.
With the unpleasantness between her father and Uncle Edward at an end, Elizabeth concentrated on the others attending church that day. The Bingleys had, at times, attended in Kympton, but of late Mr. Bingley had ushered his family into the church in Lambton more often than not. It was no stretch to understand what brought him hither, and his eager attendance upon Jane proved the supposition.
Miss Bingley, who stood a little aloof, looking for all the world like she wished to be somewhere else—and Elizabeth was certain she did—was a contrast to her brother’s openness. Being of a lower social stratum, given her grandfather’s history in trade and purchase of the estate they now called home—Miss Bingley took care not to offend. But she did not attempt to deepen any acquaintance with the Bennet family, though Elizabeth knew there had been a time when she had been friendly with Jane.
Of more interest than a woman who wished to be in church with another family was the presence of another, the only woman in the room who outranked the Bennet sisters other than their mother. Lady Charlotte Lucas was the daughter of the Earl of Chesterfield, and was of an open, friendly disposition, though Elizabeth knew the woman was possessed of a haughtiness common to one of her social position. Her father was conversing with Lord Arundel, the only other peer in attendance, leaving Lady Charlotte to speak to Elizabeth.
“It seems Jane’s courtship with Mr. Bingley is proceeding apace,” observed the lady with a glance in the couple’s direction. Lady Charlotte had long been Elizabeth’s friend more than Jane’s—Elizabeth accounted her as one of her closest friends, in fact.
“It does,” said Elizabeth. “I may say without reserve that I do not think it will be long before the gentleman proposes
to her.”
Lady Charlotte turned a long look at Elizabeth before she said: “Since he has not forbidden it, I suppose your father is disposed to allow Mr. Bingley’s suit?”
There was the hint of arrogance Elizabeth had always known Lady Charlotte possessed. At the same time, Elizabeth knew Lady Charlotte did not intend to disapprove of Mr. Bingley or insinuate anything negative. It was something anyone of her level of society—and even lower—would consider. It was also true; a woman of Jane’s social status must be certain she wished to marry a man of Mr. Bingley’s.
“Papa has told us he wishes us to be happy,” replied Elizabeth. “He would not forbid Jane for any reason other than an unacceptable match.
“There are many who might view Mr. Bingley as unsuitable.”
“Perhaps they are. But not my father.”
“Then that is well,” replied the lady. “Mr. Bingley has always struck me as a good sort of man. I wish Jane every happiness. Your mother and father giving their support will help smooth their way.”
Again, Elizabeth knew Lady Charlotte was speaking the truth, but as the conversation was a little uncomfortable for Elizabeth, she wished to change it. It was fortunate that Lady Charlotte changed it first.
“It is only a month until our annual ball for the neighborhood. Might I count on your family’s attendance?”
Elizabeth laughed. “I believe you can unless you plan to invite the Darcys.”
“Lizzy!” scolded Lady Charlotte. When Elizabeth gave her an impertinent grin, Lady Charlotte fixed her with an exasperated glare, tinged with amusement. “For that, I believe I shall mandate that you open the ball with Mr. Darcy.”
“Why should he dance with me?” asked Elizabeth, feigning innocence? “Surely he does not wish to take a wife so much younger than he.”
“I know you have not misunderstood me,” said Lady Charlotte, her lips twitching. The higher ranked lady often reprimanded Elizabeth for her quips, but Elizabeth knew her friend delighted in her impertinence.
“For my part,” replied Elizabeth, taking pity on her friend, “I am all anticipation for your ball, regardless of the Darcy family’s presence or absence, and I believe I would even dance with Mr. Darcy if it was necessary. My father, however, after the scolding he has endured from my uncle, might not be eager. He might suffer apoplexy should he see me dancing with the son of his mortal enemy.”
“We should not wish to provoke him to expire in my father’s ballroom,” was Lady Charlotte’s irreverent reply
“No, indeed,” said Elizabeth with a grin. Then she changed the subject again. “I have not seen Colonel Fitzwilliam in the neighborhood of late. I hope he has not been sent to the continent.”
Lady Charlotte beamed at the mention of her betrothed. “Anthony is in London tying up some loose ends regarding the sale of his commission. His last letter suggested he will return to the neighborhood before the ball.”
“That is good news,” said Elizabeth. “Though I do not know the colonel well, he has always struck me as a good man. Have you decided on a date yet for the wedding?”
“It will be this autumn,” replied Lady Charlotte, “though we do not know the date. I am only relieved he has surrendered his position in the army, for I did not wish for the uncertainty of enduring his return to the continent.”
“Then I wish you the best,” replied Elizabeth sincerely. “It seems you will be very happy with him.”
They stayed in the attitude of conversation for some time, though now it consisted of Lady Charlotte speaking of the virtues of her intended. It was fortunate for Elizabeth’s sensibilities that she was interested in what Lady Charlotte was saying. As a young woman who had always been of a romantic turn of mind, hearing of such obvious affection was agreeable. Elizabeth hoped very much she could find the meeting of minds her sister and friend had. It was fortunate she was in a position that she need not accept the offer of any man who deigned to propose to her. Had she not possessed her own fortune her choices might have been limited.
Chapter VIII
One of the few living Bennet cousins who remained close to the family was Mr. William Collins. Though Elizabeth could not recall the intricacies of their connection, Mr. Collins was her father’s cousin at least several times removed, and had, until Thomas’s birth, been the heir to the Barony of Arundel. Though some might assume Mr. Collins would resent his young cousin for supplanting him, nothing could be further from the truth.
The day following Uncle Edward’s bold sermon that had angered his patron, Mr. Collins arrived for a visit which had been anticipated for some weeks. “Good morning, Cousin,” said he, greeting Lord Arundel, then turning to the baroness and each of the daughters in turn. Then he bent down and greeted young Thomas at eye level, something he often did. “How are your lessons, Thomas?”
“Very well, Mr. Collins,” replied Thomas with perfect civility. “But I would much rather catch frogs, yet there are none to be found.”
Mr. Collins laughed and ruffled the boy’s hair. “No, I should think it much too early in the season. Should I be here long enough, I shall assist you, for I recall my father teaching me similar skills when I was a boy.”
“Then we should love to have you,” said Thomas. “Lizzy will come with us too, for she is a master frog-catcher.”
While Elizabeth could feel her cheeks heat with embarrassment and she heard her mother give a huff, Mr. Collins only turned and regarded her with some interest. “I am not surprised Elizabeth would know of such things, Thomas. Then we shall make a party of it.” Mr. Collins turned an amused eye on Elizabeth’s sisters. “Shall any of your other sisters join us?”
The looks of revulsion he received from them all provoked a snort of laughter from her father. Thomas made a face and shook his head.
“In this, at least, Lizzy is much more fun than any of my other sisters. Unless we can persuade Papa or my uncles to join us, we must content ourselves with our party of three.”
“I am sure that will be enough,” replied Mr. Collins.
The gentlemen sequestered themselves in her father’s study for some time, though Elizabeth was not certain what they were discussing. That day she busied herself with her usual daily tasks, having already walked out that morning. When Mr. Collins returned to their midst, particularly that night at dinner, Elizabeth was interested to see how he behaved.
Elizabeth had always been fond of her cousin, a man who had been close to them all his life because of his father’s closeness with her father. Mr. Collins was rather tall and lean, possessed a dark head of messy hair, pleasant blue eyes and walked with a slight limp because of a fall from a horse when he was young. Though not handsome, Mr. Collins was pleasant and engaging, and while he could be a little pompous on occasion, he was a good man.
Mr. Thaddeus Collins—Mr. Collins’s father—and Lord Arundel had been raised together after Mr. Collins’s own father’s early demise. Elizabeth’s grandfather had taken the man into his house and provided for him, sending him to study in the church when he was old enough, after which he had taken a position in a parish in Bedfordshire. The son had followed his father into the church, but the unexpected passing of another relation and his son had left Mr. Collins the proprietor of a modest estate in Nottinghamshire. Not trained to become the master of an estate, Mr. Collins had found it difficult but with her father’s aid, he had learned what he needed to know.
“How is Brownlee Park?” asked Lord Arundel of Mr. Collins’s estate that night at dinner.
“Very well, Cousin,” said Mr. Collins. “With the improvements I made last year based on your suggestions, I have no doubt yields will increase next harvest.”
“And how do you like being a gentleman? It differs greatly from life as a parson, does it not?”
Mr. Collins paused in thought and chewed his food before responding. “Yes, it is different in many respects. As a parson one is responsible for the spiritual wellbeing of the parish. While a parson must also concern himself with
the physical, a gentleman has a much greater responsibility—and influence—over those who live on his estate. I cannot say which I prefer, for they are both worthy vocations. In some respects, I suppose I appreciate being a gentleman as it gives me much more freedom than I possessed as a parson, though one never wishes to benefit from the misfortune of others.”
“And yet,” said Lord Arundel, “I cannot imagine those living on your estate are not happier with you as their master than they ever were with Standish. The man was never more than an indifferent master, and his son had turned out very wild.”
“That is true,” agreed Mr. Collins. “I have endeavored to be a better master than the man who preceded me. If we all approached such tasks with such determination in mind, I cannot help but think the world would be a better place.”
“I intend to be a better master than my father,” piped up Thomas from his place beside Elizabeth. “I have already determined to end the feud with the Darcy family.”
The family smiled at their youngest member’s youthful zeal, though Lord Arundel appeared pained by his reference to the Darcys. Mr. Collins looked on with interest.
“Does that matter still lie between you?”
“Nothing has changed,” replied Lord Arundel, his tone informing them all he did not wish to speak further on the subject.
Mr. Collins, unfortunately, was often obtuse in times such as this. “As a former parson,” said he, his occasional pomposity showing, “I cannot urge you in a manner strenuous enough that you should not carry on this dispute. As the Lord has counseled us, we should allow no disputations to lie between us, for to forgive is divine.”
“Yes, holding a grudge is not praiseworthy,” said Lord Arundel, his tone testy. He was not enjoying the experience of having his relations preach to him. “It is unfortunate the Darcy family has ever been untrustworthy. However, I shall follow your advice and not raise the dispute in such a way that will lead to further unpleasantness. I hope you understand my point of view.”
