Fifteen minutes later, Jane and Elizabeth were making their way back downstairs and to the dining room.
“I cannot believe he is the one who is to inherit,” Elizabeth said in a harsh whisper. “He seems foolish in the extreme!”
“Lizzy,” Jane whispered back imploringly. “We cannot change the entail. We may as well become accustomed to Mr. Collins, for it is his hands in which our future rests.”
“A sad commentary if ever I heard one,” Elizabeth whispered back.
“Perhaps you have judged him too quickly,” Jane suggested. “Anyone would be nervous meeting so many at once. And imagine how awkward the situation is for him—I am certain he does not relish the fact that he is to inherit away from us.”
“Perhaps,” Elizabeth said doubtfully. She did not share Jane’s tendencies toward seeing the good in people. No, she was rather quick to judge a person’s character—but she was accurate more than she was not. But Elizabeth hoped she were wrong about Mr. Collins.
“Come, Lizzy,” Jane continued, taking her arm and going into the dining room with the rest of the family. “Dinner will prove a much better place to observe his true nature.”
“Yes,” Elizabeth smiled at Jane and patted her arm. “I shall try to behave. I promise.”
However, it only took half a course for Elizabeth to know that her first instinct had been correct.
“Mr. Collins,” Mr. Bennet said from behind his wine glass. “Tell us of your parish. It is in Kent, if I am not mistaken?”
“Indeed, it is,” Mr. Collins confirmed. Elizabeth noted with distaste that he did not bother to swallow his food before speaking. “The church and rectory about the great estate of my patroness, Lady Catherine de Bourgh.” Mr. Collins continued to eat, as if he had not had a full meal in days. But that did not stop him continuing to speak of his patron.
“Lady Catherine has been quite generous in both her resources and her advice in outfitting my home. She once condescended to visit my humble parsonage, and she at once could see where I would benefit from some additional shelving. She is a rare person of rank. I have never before met someone who is so affable and condescending.” He paused, as if waiting for someone to agree with his assessment. When no one spoke, he continued.
“Yes, I am quite fortunate. Lady Catherine is always willing to share her opinions on my Sunday sermons, and has invited me to dine with her and her daughter, the Miss Anne de Bourgh, several times.” He again looked around impressively.
“Miss Anne de Bourgh,” Mrs. Bennet said thoughtfully. “I do not think I have heard of her. Has she been presented at court?”
“Unfortunately, not,” Mr. Collins said sadly. “For even though she is far more handsome than even the fairest of her sex, she suffers from poor health. Though quite strong in spirit, I assure you.” He laughed pompously. “I have often observed to Lady Catherine, even if it were not my place to say so, that Miss de Bourgh seems born to be a duchess.”
“You seem to possess a talent for such compliments,” Mr. Bennet observed. Elizabeth glanced at her father with amusement—she recognised the jest in his voice.
“I often find that a kind word does much for her ladyship, and it is the sort of attention which I conceive myself peculiarly bound to pay,” Mr. Collins answered, a certain pride in his voice.
“May I ask,” Mr. Bennet continued. “Do these pleasing attentions proceed from the moment or are they result of previous study?” Elizabeth brought her napkin to her lips, hiding her smile. Mr. Collins, however, continued on in his serious tone.
“I find they mostly arise from what is passing in the moment,” he said, but he gave a guilty grin. “However, I would be perjuring myself if I did not admit to amusing myself by arranging situations in which pre-arranged compliments might arise. But I always wish to give them as unstudied an air as possible.”
“I am sure you perform the task admirably,” Elizabeth said, struggling to contain her amusement.
“Your good opinion is most appreciated, cousin,” Mr. Collins replied with a thin smile. He stared at her, and she again hid behind her napkin, all amusement gone. She did not emerge again until the conversation had moved on to another topic.
“Tell me, are my cousins familiar with Fordyce’s Sermons?” Mr. Collins asked, glancing about the table. Elizabeth could almost hear Kitty and Lydia groan—they hated reading, and they hated Fordyce above all. Elizabeth found it was one subject in which she fully agreed with her younger sisters.
“Of course,” Mary answered. “I find his instructions for young women to be most illuminating.”
“As do I!” Mr. Collins said excitedly.
Elizabeth watched in amazement as Mary and Mr. Collins struck up an animated conversation. However, her disinterest in the topic soon overwhelmed her amazement and she felt her eyelids growing heavy. Between Mr. Collins’ ridiculous nature and his insistence upon dismally boring topics of conversation, this was turning into a horrible meal.
By the end, she was almost willing to dine with Caroline Bingley again—at least that had been interesting! But as she remembered the meal at Netherfield, a shudder ran through her.
Almost willing. Almost.
Chapter 16
Darcy
Darcy walked the streets of Meryton with a sour look upon his face. The gathering clouds in the sky seemed to match his mood. Caroline Bingley had bullied her brother and him into browsing the shops this morning and Darcy was still feeling bitter that he could not think of a fair reason to refuse the woman. Meryton was the last place he wanted to be: the memory of his meeting with Wickham was still harshly fresh in his mind. He did not want to run into the man again.
Meryton, the picture of a quaint country village, was small enough that a meeting was well within the realm of possibility. Perhaps in the realm of probability. With only a handful of streets and hardly a greater number of shops, Darcy kept his eyes open. Unfortunately, his attentiveness did not go unnoticed.
“Darcy,” Caroline said, drawing his attention. “I swear, you look as though you expect an attack! What has you so on edge this morning?”
Darcy gritted his teeth against the surge of annoyance. It seemed Caroline had forgotten his reticence to venture forth this morning. Or, she simply did not connect his mood to earlier events. Darcy thought either was possible; Caroline was not particularly attuned to the feelings and opinions of others.
“I am simply observing the town,” Darcy replied, not wishing to discuss the true reason for his darting glances. “I find it advisable to be acutely aware of my surroundings at all times. There is nothing worse than losing one’s way in a strange place.”
“A blind man could not lose his way in this town,” Caroline laughed. “It is small enough that I hesitate to call it even that. What do you think, Louisa?” She turned to her sister, who was laughing as well, for her opinion.
“A hamlet,” Mrs. Hurst said, casting an eye about. “For any place that lacks the basic necessities, could hardly be called a town.”
“Quite right,” Caroline replied with a nod. “There is but one shop that sells lace. One! Had I known we would be subjected to such privations, I would have stocked up before we left London.”
“Yes, a shortage of lace certainly is cause for alarm,” Darcy said dryly. Bingley laughed, but quickly turned it into a cough as his sisters glared at him.
“You may mock us, Mr. Darcy,” Mrs. Hurst said. “But you have no notion of what is expected for women such as ourselves, and the challenges we face.”
Darcy heaved a sigh. He was caught in a conversation that could have no positive outcome, not for him, anyway. Agree with Caroline and Mrs. Hurst, and they would continue to voice their displeasures to him. Disagree, and they would react like angry cats.
“You are most correct that I do not understand the demands placed upon you,” he said with a bow. “Forgive me for saying such things.”
“Darcy, we know you were jesting,” Caroline said sweetly. “Can we not have fu
n with words among friends?” Her smile widened in a forced manner. “After all, this sort of banter is what you enjoyed about Miss Elizabeth Bennet, is it not?”
Darcy felt a shield go up at the mention of Elizabeth—why would Caroline mention the other woman now? He decided to ignore Caroline’s comment.
“Wordplay is hardly a past time which I should invest much effort,” he said stiffly—both because of the mention of Elizabeth and because he did not enjoy admitting a fault.
“Then perhaps we should cease our games and go visit the shops instead,” Caroline said, stopping outside a shop. “The selection will undoubtedly leave us wanting, but there is no harm in at least looking at the merchant’s wares.”
“A fine idea, sister,” Bingley said, opening the door for the ladies. “And do not mourn the wares just yet. You never know, perhaps you shall find something that meets even your exacting standards.”
“You do possess an eternally optimistic outlook, Charles,” Caroline said, smiling at her brother as she entered the lace shop. Bingley smiled back, but sighed heavily as the ladies disappeared through the door.
“I do wish she would not hate this place so,” Bingley told Darcy quietly as they followed his sisters inside. He watched the women from across the shop as they examined the various fabrics, laces, threads and a wide assortment of things whose purpose Darcy could hardly imagine.
“The country has certainly captured your imagination,” Darcy observed back. Bingley turned a bit pink at his comment and cleared his throat.
“Yes, the country, quite right,” he said. Darcy glanced at his friend and hid his own smile: perhaps it was not the country that held Bingley’s affections. “I’d best see if I can talk my sisters into finding something of which they approve,” Bingley continued. He excused himself and Darcy found himself wandering about the shop by himself.
This shop held little interest for him; he could think of nothing that he cared for less than clothing. Darcy viewed his own wardrobe as a matter of necessity—he was a gentleman, after all, and must look the part. But he had no role in choosing his clothing. He left that in the hands of trusted servants and Georgiana—they had far better taste than he. But he still stopped to touch different materials and examine their colours. There certainly were many to choose from.
A small display in the corner of the room caught his eye for, unlike the rest of the shop, it held finished products. Darcy bent with interest to examine the needlework; it seemed of a far higher quality than he had ever seen either of Bingley’s sisters produce, or even Georgiana. Whoever practised this craft seemed to be quite talented.
“May I help you, sir?” The shopkeeper had come up behind Darcy, and he turned to face the man.
“This is quite fine work,” Darcy said politely.
“You are kind,” the shopkeeper said, obviously pleased. “My eldest daughter is a deft hand at this sort of work. She gives my customers a fine example of what is possible with my wares. Would you care to examine anything more closely?”
“Unfortunately, I am not in the market for ribbons or laces today,” Darcy replied, somewhat apologetically.
“Of course,” the shopkeeper said with a chuckle. “Should you require any assistance, please do not hesitate to ask.” He bowed politely and left Darcy to himself.
One of the pieces caught his eye. It was a ladies' silk handkerchief, finely embroidered with a pattern of lilies of the valley. For some reason, Elizabeth Bennet popped into his head. He did not know why such a thing would remind him of her, but he was not surprised. It seemed that his mind was always on Miss Elizabeth Bennet these days.
It was a confusing sensation. He could not imagine why he kept thinking of the woman. She was pleasant company, to be sure. And quite pretty. And quick to laugh. But so were many other ladies in his acquaintance. So why would Elizabeth occupy more of his thoughts than any other woman he had ever met?
Perhaps it was because of Wickham’s threat. Darcy scowled at the memory. The loathsome man had blatantly challenged Darcy’s honour and dragged an innocent into their feud—it was difficult to bear such an injustice. That was the reason behind his fierce reaction the previous day, Darcy was sure of it.
Except, the more often Elizabeth came into his thoughts, the more he questioned his motivations. He was becoming increasingly aware that his feelings towards Elizabeth were different than he had previously experienced. Never before had the thought of a woman brought the rush of excitement and nervousness that came with Elizabeth. Darcy was not certain he wanted to admit it to himself, but it was becoming more and more difficult to deny his burgeoning feelings for her.
“I think I know of what you are thinking,” a voice said behind him. Darcy felt himself jump as he turned to face Bingley. “Or rather, of whom you are thinking,” Bingley said with a smile.
“Do you?” Darcy asked doubtfully. “I would be quite surprised if your guess were correct.”
“Then prepare yourself, dear friend, for I am sure your thoughts lay with a certain lady. The sister of the lady upon whom my mind constantly dwells.”
Darcy was surprised. How had Bingley known when Darcy was still so unsure himself? It was only in the last few moments that he had finally admitted the possibility to himself.
“How, dear Bingley, could you have possibly known that?” Darcy asked, curious to know his friend’s evidence.
“Simple deduction,” Bingley said with a wide smile. “You seem not to realise, but your face takes on a distinctly pleasant countenance whenever the Bennets are mentioned. You are standing here, fingering a handkerchief with lilies, which is the scent Miss Elizabeth wore to both the assembly and to dinner the other night. If that were not enough to convince me, there is the fact that Caroline looks as if she has eaten an unripe plum every time the Bennets come up.”
Darcy stared at his friend incredulously: How on earth had Bingley known the scent Elizabeth wore? He was right, Darcy remembered the light, pleasant, aroma and it now seemed obvious. But how had Bingley known?
Darcy determined to ask.
“Pray tell,” he said mildly, “how do you know which scent Miss Elizabeth favours?”
Bingley turned a shade of pink and smiled guiltily.
“It is the same scent Miss Bennet wears,” he admitted. “When I saw what you were staring at, my mind immediately went to her. It was not much of a guess to think yours went to Miss Elizabeth.”
“It seems you know my feelings better than I do,” Darcy said with a sigh. “For I am still not quite certain what I think about Miss Elizabeth.”
“How can you not?” Bingley asked, surprised. “You are as comfortable around her as any person I have ever seen. That, in itself, speaks quite loudly of your good opinion.”
“I suppose,” Darcy said, knowing Bingley was correct. “But it seems a bit foolish to make such serious judgements after so little time in her company.”
“I know you speak wisdom,” Bingley admitted. “But I fear that I am a fool. Miss Bennet occupies far too much of my thoughts for her to be a passing fancy. Come, let us visit the ladies tomorrow.”
“I do not know,” Darcy hesitated, suddenly nervous at the thought of such a visit to Elizabeth. What if she felt differently? Or thought him dull and boring? He had heard these descriptions from enough women to fear the labels from Elizabeth.
“Come, now,” Bingley said, a pleading note in his voice. “Do not force me to make such a journey by myself. It is a poor friend to leave a man in such a position.”
Darcy smiled, sensing Bingley’s own nervousness. Bingley was a charming man who had never before displayed the slightest fear or hesitation towards a woman. Perhaps his new sense of shyness was a sign of true depth of feeling.
“I think you overestimate the support I can offer,” Darcy mumbled, still hesitant to take Bingley up on his offer. In truth, he dreaded learning that Elizabeth had no desire to see him. But he could hardly admit this to Bingley.
“I must insist you come,”
Bingley said, suddenly sounding quite stubborn. Darcy raised his eyebrows at his friend and Bingley immediately backed down. “Please,” he added, in a more apologetic tone.
“Very well,” Darcy sighed, his heart beating faster. “I shall go with you. But let it be known that I feel quite put upon with this request,” he added, somewhat grumpily.
“Noted,” Bingley said with a smile. “I shall find some way to repay you.”
“Repay him for what?” Mrs. Hurst asked, breaking into the conversation. Her eyes shone with the curiosity that helped her sniff out the best gossip in any situation. Bingley and Darcy exchanged a quick glance, and both men wordlessly agreed to keep their upcoming visit to the Bennets between them.
“Darcy has given me some fine advice,” Bingley said smoothly. “Business advice. Very boring. Have you found something you wish to purchase?” He diverted Mrs. Hurst’s attention back to the shop.
“Surprisingly, yes,” Caroline said, her tone echoing her surprise. “I had not thought to find such fine lace in a place like this, but so we have. Apparently, this shopkeeper’s mother is quite the artist—I think even our friends in London will be impressed with our find.” She looked pleased with herself.
“Oh, yes,” Mrs. Hurst agreed. “They shall all want to know exactly where we found it; hand-made lace is so rare these days. I think we shall keep this secret to ourselves.”
“Agreed,” Caroline said. She looked truly delighted. Bingley also looked excited that his sisters had found something to their liking in this town. Darcy now realised how important it was to Bingley for his sisters to like this place. However much the lace cost, Bingley would consider it a small price to pay. Seeing his friend so happy, Darcy thought the trip was far more successful than he could ever have anticipated.
Chapter 17
Elizabeth
Elizabeth walked down to the breakfast table with trepidation. She knew it was the height of impoliteness to hope Mr. Collins had finished his meal and left the table, but she could not help herself. Mr. Collins’ visit thus far had been painful to endure—the man simply had no idea how to act around women! Or men, for that matter. When he was not offering up flowery and insincere compliments, he was droning on and on upon the most uninteresting topics imaginable, with no regard for the attention of his audience.
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