A Vision of the Path Before Him

by Elizabeth Frerichs

  “I suppose that is so,” Elizabeth said. “I assure you that any intimidation is unintentional.”

  Darcy smiled. “I was not accusing you of using your beauty to win arguments. You seem the type of person who would prefer to win through the use of well-chosen words.”

  Elizabeth appeared flustered and did not reply, so Darcy allowed her respite by returning to the previous topic.

  “Have you any other local landmarks to recommend?”

  Elizabeth’s lips pursed. “As you are not opposed to man-made wonders, the grotto at Amwell House is worth visiting at any time of year.”

  “I shall keep that in mind.” Darcy considered what topic to introduce next, but after a short pause, Elizabeth began.

  “I am afraid that Lieutenant Pratt may have gotten the wrong impression of your circumstances regarding a certain person.”

  Darcy nodded. “Fitzwilliam has spoken to others in the militia who share the lieutenant’s opinion. It is not an uncommon occurrence.”

  “Oh?”

  “Those who are afraid of the truth often attempt to discredit any who might speak truth before it can come to light,” Darcy said carefully.

  “I am sorry you have had to bear such a burden.”

  “As long as you—as long as those who know me do not believe him, I am content,” Darcy said, once more warmly pressing her fingers.

  “I do not see how anyone who has the facts can believe him,” Elizabeth said stoutly.

  Darcy’s heart lightened as she once more sided with him. The distress of her rejection had swallowed up the pain of her siding with Wickham Before. Now, to have the woman he loved believe him over the young man who had perpetually turned others against him was a gift that made him wish to shout his joy from the rooftops or at least sweep Elizabeth into his arms. However, he schooled himself to merely smile widely at her.

  From there they returned to the topic of books, however, the conversation kept lagging as Darcy became lost in Elizabeth’s presence, in her eyes. He had danced with Elizabeth Before, but she had been frustrated and, he later realised, unwilling. To have an Elizabeth who desired to dance with him, who believed in him, who asked questions to learn more of him rather than to provoke him . . . . He had never dreamed of such pleasure.

  Elizabeth seemed equally enthralled with their dance if he read her eyes and posture aright. Their fingers lingered on each other’s as though speaking words their mouths were not yet ready to say. And he was not the only one who had to be recollected to their conversation.

  At the end of the dance, Darcy gathered Elizabeth to his side and escorted her in to dinner. Recalling the stress caused by his (and likely Elizabeth’s) proximity to Mrs. Bennet, he steered them towards the other end of the table housing her family and friends. Though he chose a seat near Bingley and Miss Bennet, the two were so wrapped up in each other that they did not appear to even notice.

  Unfortunately, Mr. Collins had apparently determined to remain close to Darcy or to Elizabeth (or to both of them) and so directed Miss Mary to the seats across from them. Fitzwilliam had ended up at a different table, and so Darcy did not have him to help manage Mr. Collins.

  “I must compliment you, Mr. Darcy, on your dancing. It is clear that you are a master of the activity,” he began.

  Suppressing a sigh, Darcy resigned himself to a dinner of listening to Mr. Collins instead of conversing with Elizabeth and sternly schooled himself to politeness anyway. “Thank you, Mr. Collins.”

  “I am not practiced in the activity, however, I find it a perfectly unobjectionable pursuit as, similar to walking, dancing raises the blood flow, and it allows one to enjoy time spent with the fairer sex. Though I pay homage to my fair cousins, I hope that my dancing may allow me to pay particular attention to my first dance partner of the evening: You are very well-versed in the activity of dancing, Miss Elizabeth. You possess that certain lightness of foot that so many extoll.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Collins,” Elizabeth said.

  “And what of you, Miss Mary?” Darcy broke in. “Have you enjoyed your dances tonight?”

  Miss Mary looked up from her food, her eyes wide.

  Darcy cursed himself as he recalled that she had just come from a dance with Mr. Collins, which he was certain she did not enjoy, and that her other dance had been with him, which might make it appear that he was fishing for compliments rather than attempting to draw her into the conversation and gain respite from Mr. Collins’s unending babble.

  “I—yes,” she said before returning to her dinner.

  “Indeed, Lady Catherine says that dancing is a means to occupy young people in a congenial manner that does not leave them idle. After all, idle hands are the devil’s tools,” Mr. Collins said.

  Darcy suppressed a growl of annoyance. The man did not know how to have a conversation. It was as though he had been born to speak at people from a pulpit rather than living among them.

  “—and she will have five thousand a year!” Mrs. Bennet’s shrill tones came from farther down the table.

  “I have observed that those who are idle often lack the fortitude to do the works they are best suited to,” Mr. Collins continued, “and sternness is required to bring them back to their sense of duty. Lady Catherine excels at such matters.”

  “I am sorry, Lady Lucas, that your Charlotte has not the beauty to attract such wealthy young gentlemen,” Mrs. Bennet continued. “Of course, she does not have to worry about being cast out of her home as do my daughters. However, my Jane will ensure the other girls meet rich, young men and are well provided for.”

  Indignation filled Darcy. He could not have imagined such vulgarity or such ridiculous moralising if he had tried. He was reminded of his conversation with Elizabeth in Netherfield’s library when they had spoken of his habit of fabricating stories about his ancestors. Never had he fabricated such nonsensical characters.

  If only it were so easy to turn this farce into a story—one that hurt Elizabeth less. He could see her wilting in her chair out of the corner of his eye as though she were overcome with mortification. He tried to catch her eye and smile encouragingly, but her attention remained resolutely on her dinner.

  Darcy froze as Mrs. Bennet shifted her exultations from Miss Bennet’s probable marriage to Bingley to Mr. Collins and how she was certain he found Elizabeth acceptable, despite her daughter’s lack of beauty and impertinent nature. Elizabeth cast a stricken glance at him before attempting to interject into Mr. Collins’s discourse.

  He was unsure what topic she began, but Mr. Collins appeared to have firm opinions as he began waving his fork around while he expounded on the subject. Darcy could not attend. His attention was locked on Mrs. Bennet. The woman expressed hopes that the entail might be resolved appropriately, contentment that she would have a home for the entirety of her life, and gratification that at least Elizabeth would be good for something.

  She had not said anything about Elizabeth Before. The thought sent icy tendrils throughout his body. She had only referred to Bingley and Miss Bennet. As hungry as he had been to understand Elizabeth, he had listened to her conversations with others and he was certain he would have noticed any conversation about her, especially one regarding her prospects. Why had this changed? Had he done something to push Mr. Collins towards Elizabeth?

  “Do you agree, Mr. Darcy?” Elizabeth asked, her tone edged with panic.

  “Regarding what, Miss Elizabeth? I am afraid I was not attending. Forgive me.”

  “That the grounds at Rosings are one of the premier landmarks of Kent,” Mr. Collins said. “I have been telling Miss Elizabeth that Lady Catherine’s excellent taste is reflected in the beauty of the grounds at Rosings.”

  “Actually, the grounds were designed by my Uncle,” Darcy said.

  “Forgive me for daring to disagree with you, Mr. Darcy, however, though your uncle may have designed the grounds, it is Lady Catherine who now sees to their continuation. And, I believe, she has put her own stamp upon them:
I refer, of course, to the ruins which were so excellently designed by your aunt.”

  Darcy’s lips quirked up as he recalled the so-called ruins that had been added to Rosings by Lady Catherine. He had never understood the point of installing artificial ruins. If the ruins were present on one’s property, it was one thing to make them a showpiece. However, building a ruin seemed an entirely different matter. Regardless of its popularity, Darcy would never countenance such a thing at Pemberley.

  “Lady Catherine is as informed on the current fashions as she is on the difficulties faced by her tenants,” Mr. Collins said.

  If only she paid as much attention to her tenants’ needs as she did to the current trends, Darcy thought.

  “What do you think of Rosings’s grounds, Mr. Darcy?” Elizabeth persisted.

  “As we have discussed, I prefer natural beauty over the man-made variety so I am perhaps less enthusiastic about the grounds at Rosings than some.” Darcy glanced at Mr. Collins. “They are certainly lovely, however, Lady Catherine’s garden is one where everything is arranged as designed rather than as Nature would design it.”

  “And that is how it should be,” Mr. Collins interjected. “Nature must be pruned. Just as a person’s nature must not be allowed to run wild, so a garden must be cultivated else the plants will not be shown to their best effect or usefulness. Surely you would not advocate such hedonism as is inherent in a wild landscape?”

  “I believe a gardener ought to enhance the beauties of Nature through pruning, as you put it, but forcing plants to grow in orderly geometric patterns does not match my idea of beauty.”

  “Beauty is in the eye of the beholder,” Mr. Collins said with disappointment. “I am certain you may yet grow to a proper understanding of gardening through your association with my esteemed patroness.”

  Across from him, Miss Mary put her fork down, her hands dropping to her lap, and her head bowed. Darcy was about to ask if she required something when Mrs. Bennet’s words filtered back into his consciousness.

  “—is the loveliest of all my daughters. If only they were all as beautiful as my Jane. At least my Lydia is nearly as beautiful and very good-humoured. She has a charm all her own. I look to Jane and Lydia to save us from destitution, you know. Although if Lizzy can secure Mr. Collins she will have finally proven of worth. I only hope that I can find another rich young man for the other two girls who is as willing to overlook their flaws as Mr. Collins seems to be with my Lizzy. I never thought that girl would marry anyone, as headstrong and unattractive as she is! I thought for certain she would die a spinster. Oh how fortunate Mr. Collins’s visit has been for us, Lady Lucas!”

  Darcy stared at the woman, flabbergasted both by her opinions and by her public airing of them. How could a mother propound such nonsense about her daughters? He shuddered as he imagined Georgiana growing up under such constant criticism. It would break her. The worst thing was the woman’s cheerful tone throughout. She did not seem to even realise how hurtful and inappropriate her criticisms were. It was as though she were stating unfortunate, but true, facts that she was attempting to make the best of.

  Had he been so focused on Elizabeth Before that he had not heard Mrs. Bennet’s criticisms of her other daughters? Or had something he had done caused her to be more critical than Before?

  Miss Mary’s drooping posture caught his eye once more. Resolve filled him. He could not prevent Mrs. Bennet from speaking ill of her daughters, but he could distract Miss Mary from the woman’s casual vitriol.

  “Miss Mary, do you have a favourite composer?” Darcy asked gently.

  With that, the conversation was off. Miss Mary gradually straightened and, after several minutes of expounding on the benefits of Mozart as compared to Beethoven, she even began to eat again. Elizabeth gave Darcy a grateful look before continuing to distract Mr. Collins. Warmth filled Darcy’s chest as he and Elizabeth united in a cause. It was but a small step to imagine a future where, as husband and wife, they could face difficulties together.

  Chapter 25

  Before long, the call went out for the young ladies to play music if they so desired. Miss Mary stood immediately and hastened to the pianoforte. Darcy braced himself. He had not cared about Miss Mary Before. But now, having spoken to her so much this evening, he cringed to think of the spectacle she had made of herself Before. If only he had done something to save her the embarrassment of Mr. Bennet’s comment and the room’s derision.

  In a repetition of Before, Miss Mary played one piece, her weak voice and pedantic playing making it an event to endure rather than a joy to savour. When she began the second piece, Darcy’s mind raced. He saw no means of preventing the events of Before from repeating. Sure enough, Mr. Bennet interrupted her with the same casually uttered set-down and Miss Mary scurried back to her seat, hunching in on herself.

  From where he sat, Darcy could see tremors running through her body, and he swore to himself that even if he did not marry Elizabeth, he would do what he could to help Miss Mary. Why had no one taken this child in hand? Why had no one given her a loving hint that others barely tolerated her playing? Why had no one taught her the error of her ways?

  Then again . . . some of Miss Mary’s dialogue floated back to him. Her turns of phrase, her topics, her opinions—they all showed that she was set in her ways. Perhaps others had tried to gently hint her on the proper path, and she had not listened. He was not even certain that Mr. Bennet’s set-down would cause her to change her behaviour; it seemed more likely that Miss Mary would see Mr. Bennet’s words as just another wound at the hand of one of her parents rather than a hint to change her approach.

  He knew because he had been there. How often had Fitzwilliam poked fun at his airs and inability to be social, and Darcy had ignored him because it was just a part of their relationship? It had taken Elizabeth’s plainspoken words for him to see the truth, and, even then, he had not accepted them at once. He had written her a letter, trying to absolve himself when he had been at fault.

  Elizabeth too had fallen silent, a fixed smile sitting brittle on her face as though it would crack into a thousand pieces at the least provocation.

  Mr. Collins rose. “If I were so fortunate as to be able to sing, I should have great pleasure, I am sure, in obliging the company with an air; for I consider music as a very innocent diversion, and perfectly compatible with the profession of a clergyman. I do not mean, however, to assert that we can be justified in devoting too much of our time to music, for there are certainly other things to be attended to. The rector of a parish has much to do.”

  Darcy suppressed a snort. In his time at Rosings, he had seen Mr. Collins primarily engaged in dancing attendance on Lady Catherine and walking back and forth to and from various locations. If the man would utilise a horse, he would have much more time. However, Mr. Collins was so in thrall to Lady Catherine’s opinions that he was lost to common sense.

  “In the first place,” Mr. Collins continued, “he must make such an agreement for tithes as may be beneficial to himself and not offensive to his patron. He must write his own sermons; and the time that remains will not be too much for his parish duties, and the care and improvement of his dwelling, which he cannot be excused from making as comfortable as possible. And I do not think it of light importance that he should have attentive and conciliatory manners towards everybody, especially towards those to whom he owes his preferment. I cannot acquit him of that duty; nor could I think well of the man who should omit an occasion of testifying his respect towards anybody connected with the family.”

  With this, Mr. Collins bowed to Darcy and then to Fitzwilliam. Darcy was not sure how to respond. If he nodded, he would appear to be accepting Mr. Collins’s ridiculous tribute. If he ignored the man, he would be rude. The decision was taken out of his hands, however, as Mrs. Bennet’s comments rang out in the silence, turning everyone’s attention away from him.

  “Mr. Collins, I commend you for speaking so sensibly,” Mrs. Bennet said, apparentl
y sincere. She turned to Lady Lucas but did not moderate her tone. “He is a remarkably clever, good kind of young man! He will do splendidly for my Lizzy. He did prefer Jane, but Bingley was there before him, so I hinted him away. Oh, Lady Lucas, I am so blessed! Two daughters nearly settled! And what a relief it will be to turn the younger girls over to their sisters’ care and not have to go gadding about at my age.” She put a sympathetic hand on Lady Lucas’s arm. “I am certain that your Charlotte will find someone who will not mind her plainness.”

  Through it all, Mr. Bennet watched his wife with sparkling mirth. Darcy was reminded of a child watching a comedic play. Once again, he wondered if Mr. Bennet had lost the ability to connect with reality and moved through a world of dramatisations.

  Elizabeth, on the other hand, appeared turned to stone, her fork poised over her plate while she attempted to smile. Two spots of colour on her cheeks betrayed her mortification.

  Fortunately, Miss Bingley sent Mrs. Hurst to the pianoforte and the music drowned out Mrs. Bennet’s clamours. Halfway through the piece, Miss Lydia capered into the room, a sword held aloft as she danced around the tables, Lieutenant Denny chasing her. Darcy glanced over at Fitzwilliam whose eyebrows were nearing his hairline. Though he wished he could have helped Miss Mary or curbed the younger girls for Elizabeth’s sake, their behaviour had hopefully proven his vision to Fitzwilliam.

  Fitzwilliam met his gaze and shook his head ruefully.

  Darcy returned his attention to Elizabeth. Attempting to set his beloved at ease, he interrupted Mr. Collins’s continued speech about how Lady Catherine had more natural taste in music than anyone in England and asked her whether she and Miss Mary had studied under the same music master.

  Elizabeth shook her head and reminded him that they had taught themselves.

  “It is remarkable that you both have such a good notion of fingering,” Darcy said, trying to include Miss Mary. “You would benefit from the polishing a true master would provide, but I do not think your efforts are by any means wasted.”