by Meg Osborne
Lizzy squinted, for he was in shadow, but she could not place the figure and turned a questioning glance towards Charlotte, who had straightened and seemed likewise puzzled.
“Forgive me for startling you! I wondered if either of you might be Mrs William Collins?”
Charlotte’s anxiety relaxed into a tentative smile, but before she could confirm her identity, the stranger had glanced behind him, exchanging a look they could neither see nor decipher with his friend. “And another of you a Miss Bennet? Miss Elizabeth Bennet?”
This was surprising indeed and both young ladies exchanged their own glance, first surprise, then suspicion.
This pantomime must have been amusing to witness, for the stranger roared with laughter.
“Dear me, what a mess I have made of things. Here you are, happily out for a walk together and not wishing to be hailed from horseback by a stranger. Forgive me.” He bowed, low enough that his horse was forced into a quickstep to compensate for the shifting centre of gravity. “My name is Colonel Fitzwilliam. I believe you are acquainted with my aunt, Lady Catherine de Bourgh.”
His laughing blue eyes lit on Elizabeth, and he grinned.
“And lately with my cousin, who lags behind. Given sway, I do not doubt he would have had us continue without stopping, but I thought it far more pleasant to stop and be introduced. Come on here, Darcy and say hello to your friends!”
Chapter Five
The party soon reached the small church, and Colonel Fitzwilliam, ever the gentleman, had dismounted his horse and handed the reins to his cousin almost before Darcy could say a word. He choked out a quiet “good afternoon” when first greeted with the surprising picture of not one but two young ladies he had been acquainted with in Hertfordshire, but beyond that was silenced by Richard’s effusive, obnoxious friendliness.
That his path should cross Charlotte Lucas, now Collins, was of little surprise to him, nor indeed had it been a matter he had given more than a passing thought to. Even hearing from his aunt’s own lips that Elizabeth Bennet would be staying with her friend in Hunsford had been only a fleeting cause for alarm. They might be pressed into society at dinner once, but he did not think it likely that they would be forced to meet otherwise. Apparently, fate, or Fitzwilliam, had other plans in mind.
“Do you not wish to come inside and tour the church, Darcy, or must I accompany these two delightful young ladies alone?” Richard was being infuriatingly friendly that afternoon, his reasons for being so a mystery to Darcy. When the cousins had been reacquainted they had passed scarcely an hour in the parlour with Anne and their aunt before Colonel Fitzwilliam advocated for some entertainment out-of-doors and Darcy had been easily persuaded to go riding. He had not intended on their seeing Mrs Collins and Miss Bennet seeking their own fresh air and activity, and certainly, had he been sensible enough to observe them without comment, he would not have ridden close enough to greet them. Alas, his slight acknowledgement had caught Richard’s ear and once he knew Darcy recognised the two young ladies, and from where, he had taken off at all speed to be introduced. Or to introduce himself, Darcy thought, with a scowl.
“One of us must wait here with the horses, Richard,” he muttered. “It won’t do to leave them unattended in a churchyard.”
“Very well. Come, Mrs Collins. You must be our resident expert, having absorbed your husband’s intelligence on the building in which he can most often be found. Why, he might at present be pegging away at his studies. Let us go and disturb him, shall we?”
Richard laughed, good-naturedly, and Darcy’s blood pressure rose further when the heard the musical twitter of laughter from first one young lady and then her friend.
With a sigh, he dismounted, and led both horses to the shade of a tree, barren of leaves, but with a low enough branch that would prove a sturdy place to secure their reins. Thus freed of his immediate burden, he took a step closer to the door. Wretched Richard! Darcy had been prepared, albeit hastily, to greet the young ladies and permit them to continue on their journey, whilst he and his cousin returned to Rosings by any road they chose. He would have been cordial, as befitted their acquaintance, but nothing like the level of familiarity Richard had insisted upon. Such affection was groundless, and no doubt Elizabeth Bennet would be wondering just what gave Colonel Fitzwilliam to believe them such close friends. It was not as if the name Elizabeth Bennet had even crossed Darcy’s lips before that afternoon, at least not within his cousin’s hearing. Were it not for Richard’s likeability the whole thing would be embarrassing indeed, rather than merely an irritation.
The door to the church opened, and the small party emerged, still deep in conversation. Darcy glanced at them, counting their number, and called out a question intended for his cousin.
“Was Mr Collins not to be disturbed?”
“He was not to be found!” Richard replied as they drew level with Darcy. “Yet it was not quite a wasted journey. What a pretty church your husband pastors, Mrs Collins.”
Darcy was about to bid the ladies farewell, when Richard beat him to speaking, pledging their company a little longer still.
“In the absence of Mr Collins, perhaps you ladies will allow Mr Darcy and I to escort you home?”
“What of your horses?” Elizabeth asked, stifling a laugh.
“Oh, Darcy manages them so well...” Richard began, but one glance at Darcy’s stormy countenance forced him to change tack mid-sentence. “And so I do not doubt it is my turn to walk a while with them.” He turned back to the ladies. “You do not mind?”
Mrs Collins shook her head enthusiastically but Lizzy’s refusal was a little less sincere, Darcy noticed. He wondered if she was tired of Richard’s efforts at amiability, but when they began to walk, and she fell in step beside him, putting a few paces distance between herself and the horses, he realised that any disdain she felt for his cousin did not automatically position her in approval of him.
“Tell me, Mr Darcy, how was London?” She eyed him shrewdly. “I believe you spent Christmas there, in company with Mr and Miss Bingley.” She laughed, but there was no humour in the sound. “Truly you all hastened away so quickly after the ball that we were left to wonder if we had not said or done some awful thing to cause you offence!”
A memory of the last gathering he had attended, wherein he had danced with the young lady before him and been rewarded with a rather more welcoming manner than she displayed towards him at present, floated through Darcy’s mind. Evidently, he offered no reply quick enough to satisfy Miss Elizabeth, for she nodded, slowly, and turned her face away.
“I did not realise you would be at Hunsford, Miss Elizabeth,” he muttered, finding his tongue at last.
“Or else you might not have come?” Elizabeth smiled sardonically. “I apologise, Mr Darcy, but please be assured my presence here has nothing to do you with you, for if you recall, I thought you in London.” Her heavy emphasis on these last two words suggested in no uncertain times that she wished he had remained there, and, chastened, Darcy said nothing, walking along in silence and listening to the merry tones of conversation from their friends.
“I trust Mrs Collins is well settled into her new home,” he said at last. He cared little for a discussion of the domesticity of the newlyweds but gathered it would be a subject close to Elizabeth Benet’s heart and, at least at that moment, Darcy dearly wished to win himself a point or two in her favour.
“She seems to be.” Elizabeth glanced over her shoulder as if to reassure herself of their distance from the young lady they discussed and to ensure her words would not be overheard. Even so, she lowered her voice so that it took all of Darcy’s concentration to hear her.
“I hope she is.”
Her voice was tinged with such sadness and worry that Darcy himself glanced back, to see if he could detect the cause. He had not known Charlotte Lucas well in Hertfordshire, but he had certainly passed the time of day with her father, and been pressed into society with her once or twice. She was quiet, more l
ike Jane than Elizabeth, he had fancied, when he had considered her at all, but here she seemed quieter still. If he had not known how well Richard liked the sound of his own voice he would imagine his cousin trying excessively hard to engage the quiet Mrs Collins into the conversation. Trying, and failing! Recalling that, of the sparing compliments he had reserved for the Hertfordshire ladies, he had always considered Charlotte Lucas to be one of the more sensible, he wondered how indeed she was faring wed to such a buffoon as William Collins. He grimaced, recalling the simpering way that fellow had hurried to make his acquaintance at Meryton, and the perpetual manner he had of dropping Lady Catherine’s name into conversation whenever the two gentlemen were present, as if she provided an intangible link between them, an oeuvre into a friendship that was not forthcoming.
“It is not easy to pursue a marriage when two people are ill-matched.” He had made this observation to himself, little realising he had spoken it aloud until Elizabeth stiffened and sucked in a breath.
“Indeed!” she said, with a tight, bitter smile. “For people cannot possibly find a commonality in spite of perceived difference.” Her eyes gleamed with meaning Darcy was not entirely sure he understood.
“Miss Elizabeth, I fear you have misunderstood me -”
“No, Mr Darcy, I understand you completely. Do not think I am unaware whose decision it was to remove to London almost immediately, and do not think I believe it to be your desire for society.” Her voice dropped again, dangerously low this time. “You intended to separate my sister and your friend, and evidently you believe you have managed it admirably. How unfortunate for you, then, that a visit to Kent has so unhappily forced you and me into society once more. Still, we all have our cross to bear. Charlotte! Look over yonder, is that not the figure of your dear husband heading in our very direction?”
And, so saying, she picked up her skirts and hurried forwards, leaving Darcy quite alone, quite bewildered, and surprisingly disappointed to deduce her true opinion of him.
“HOW FUNNY THAT OUR paths should cross with Mr Darcy’s!” Charlotte remarked, as she and Lizzy dressed for their evening at Rosings. The figure on the road had indeed been Mr Collins and he had taken great delight in sharing his news with his wife and the entire party: that they were all to dine together that very evening at the request of Lady Catherine. If Charlotte had been disappointed at such an announcement, she had not shown it. Indeed, she was already well practised in affecting delight at any prospect which might, in truth, fill her more with despair than contentment. Ordinarily an impromptu visit to Rosings, particularly so soon after the arrival of her friend, would be the cause of disappointment for the new Mrs Collins, but that evening the prospect was not so dismal after all.
“His cousin is certainly an interesting fellow.”
“Colonel Fitzwilliam?” Elizabeth sat up on the bed. “Yes, how unlike the two are!”
Charlotte frowned.
“Mr Darcy is a little taller, I suppose.”
“No, Charlotte, you goose!” Lizzy laughed, standing and walking over to her friend. She reached for the comb Charlotte was struggling with and quickly, expertly, fastened a particularly unruly curl in place with a hand that had practised on four sisters and a mother who demanded everything be “just so”. “They are not so very unlike one another in appearance. I meant in nature. Why, Mr Darcy is so staid, so withdrawn, so...” she threw up her hand in frustration at her lack of a suitable descriptor. “Bad-tempered! Colonel Fitzwilliam, by comparison, is amiable, outgoing, interesting...and the teller of such amusing stories!” She smiled, and Charlotte recalled the last such tale Colonel Fitzwilliam had told the two young ladies as they toured the church, describing a particular misfortune befalling he and his men in the peninsula. In the hands of another, the story might have been dire indeed, but Colonel Fitzwilliam dwelt on the more amusing elements, and so the story became one of daring victory and humour, rather than despair.
Charlotte watched her friend’s reflection in the glass and noted a small smile playing on Elizabeth’s lips.
“I see he certainly made an impression on you, Lizzy,” she ventured, with a laugh. “Dear me, less than a day in Hunsford and you have lost your heart already!”
“My heart?” Elizabeth dismissed this notion with the exasperated shake of her head. “Nonsense. I have lost nothing but my ability to dress hair.” With a sigh of resignation, she set down Charlotte’s last comb. “It is not perfect, I fear, but I hope a little improved.”
Charlotte regarded herself in the mirror, satisfied with Lizzy’s efforts, if not their result. All the hair-combs in Kent could not improve upon a plain face, and Charlotte felt decidedly plain, particularly when sat as she was at present, in close proximity to smooth-cheeked, bright-eyed Elizabeth Bennet.
“Is something the matter?” Lizzy asked, Charlotte’s quiet reaction not having gone unnoticed. “Would you like me to try again?” She glanced at the clock. “There is a little time, still.”
“No, do not trouble yourself,” Charlotte said, shaking her head. “I am merely lamenting my own reflection, and wishing it were prettier. What a vain creature I am becoming!”
“You are very pretty!” Lizzy said, loyally. “Why, I would give my arm for your...even complexion.”
“Thank you, Lizzy.” Charlotte’s laugh was genuine this time. “But I notice how you paused before summoning up something - anything - you might offer as a compliment.” She stood and looped her arm through her friend’s. “It is very kind of you, even if I do not think your words contain a particle of truth. You must pay me no mind. I am bad-tempered today.”
“Bad-tempered? Charlotte Lucas? Unheard of.”
“Charlotte Lucas may not have been, but I assure you it is a mood that settles more often than it ought over Charlotte Collins.”
She had uttered these word quite easily and truthfully, little noticing or caring their effect on her friend. Lizzy, hearing the way Charlotte’s voice fell, and seeing the sigh that accompanied it, said nothing at first. In fact, the girls had reached the door to the hallway before she paused, dragging her friend to a sharp stop.
“Charlotte,” Lizzy said, urgently. “Are you very unhappy?”
“Unhappy?” Charlotte turned the word around in her mind. It seemed too much for the disappointment she felt in her everyday life. She had a status that was forever eluding her in Hertfordshire. She had a position, a home all of her own. And Mr Collins was a very good man, really. He did not drink, or behave scandalously. She might have made a far worse choice in selecting a husband, and it would do her well to remember that. “No,” she said, forcing a smile onto her features. “I am not unhappy, Lizzy dear. How can I be, when you are here?”
Pulling the door open, she hurried her friend through it, and they took the stairs down to the hallway at a pace, stopping only when they saw the staid figure of Mr Collins before them.
“Oh, have we kept you waiting?” Charlotte asked.
Mr Collins had been watching their progress with something like interest in his features, a vague smile that grew as his gaze rested on his wife before it fell away and he resumed his perennial blank expression.
“Not waiting, Mrs Collins, no. But I fear we will be late if we do not make haste to depart soon. I trust you are both ready?”
Nodding, Elizabeth extricated her arm from Charlotte’s, leaving her free to accompany her husband out towards their small carriage, rarely used other than for this particular journey.
“You do not mind our attending Rosings this evening do you, ah, dear?”
Her husband’s question was so unexpected that it took Charlotte a moment to reply, and ensured that she missed entirely the use of the warm sobriquet that had heretofore passed his lips only a small handful of times, and never comfortably. Her lack of immediate response prompted him to continue. “Only, I know that you will wish to spend time with Elizabeth alone, and as such I might go in our stead and send your apologies, if you wish.”
T
his suggestion was generosity indeed, for it would mean Mr Collins undertaking the visit to Rosings alone, which he was not fond of, and of disrupting Lady Catherine’s plans by ensuring the absence of his wife and cousin. That the latter would even enter his mind was revolutionary and Charlotte stared in confusion at the man before her. He looked like her husband, yes, and sounded like him and was - must be - Mr Collins himself. But this offer was so uncharacteristically kind and thoughtful that it was some time before she found her voice.
“No, it’s quite alright. We will go along with you, but...” she patted his arm, awkwardly, as the carriage lurched into motion. “You are kind to suggest it. Th-thank you.”
This seemed to be the best result Mr Collins could have hoped for, for the smile he offered her was genuine, and, almost to her own surprise, Charlotte found herself returning it.
Chapter Six
Darcy fixed his attention on the fireplace, willing his features to remain impassive and not to betray his true feelings to his neighbours. How was it that he was standing in yet another room, awaiting the arrival of guests with whom he was not well acquainted but who he would now be expected to make conversation with and appear interested in for the duration of their visit? How many evenings had he spent thus in just the past few months? All I wish is to be left in peace, he thought, his brows knitting. Why do I never find myself allowed that small luxury?
“Darcy.” Colonel Fitzwilliam’s hand fell heavily on Darcy's shoulder in greeting, and the force, or its suddenness, was such that Darcy flinched, jerking his gaze from the roaring coals to his cousin’s amused grin.
“Where did you spring from?” he asked, irritated by Richard’s perennially sunny disposition. Ordinarily, being around his cousin cheered him. The two gentlemen were not alike in temperament, but, having grown up together were well attuned to one another's foibles. Added to that the fact that Colonel Fitzwilliam had been as often out of the country as he had been in it of late, and Darcy ought to be glad of this time together. Why, then, did he find Richard's indomitable good mood almost infuriating, or envy him his ease of manner with complete strangers? Richard had successfully won both Mrs Collins and Miss Bennet to his side within minutes, where Darcy seemed only destined to irritate and alienate. Not that I care what opinion Elizabeth Bennet has of me. The thought offered him a degree of comfort, no matter how untrue he knew it to be.
