“Clergymen are often called upon to reveal unpleasant truths, like the hated prophets of old,” he said, arrogance dripping from every word.
Darcy cleared his throat, anger welling up within him. The man had no right to claim such a position of judgement!
Elizabeth was glowering at the clergyman, anger showing up sharply upon her face. Mr. Collins seemed to deflate under her stare.
“But perhaps this is not one of those situations,” he mumbled, finally finding a look of humility. He looked from Elizabeth to Darcy, whose face also bore traces of anger, and quickly bowed. “If you’ll excuse me, I think I will greet your companion.”
Darcy inclined his head an inch, but did not say anything. Mr. Collins swallowed hard and scurried away, all the bluster he had built up while talking about Lady Catherine gone. Elizabeth watched him go, anger slowly draining from her face. However, her look of humiliation remained.
“I apologise,” she said softly. “I had no idea…”
“Of what?” Darcy asked. “That Mr. Collins would behave in such a way? Or that I am Lady Catherine’s nephew?”
“Both,” she admitted. They stood side-by-side, both observing the other conversations in the room. Elizabeth seemed preoccupied with her own thoughts and Darcy could not blame her. He too was considering this newest experience.
He had known that her family was poor. Her father may be a gentleman, but he was among the lowest of the gentry. He knew her mother was from the trade class. Catherine had been quick to emphasise both these points during the uncomfortable dinner. However, these facts had never been apparent to him—until today.
Elizabeth was related to that smug little man. Distantly, he was certain, but still related. If local rumour was accurate, this was surely the cousin that would inherit upon Mr. Bennet’s death. It was a sobering thought.
A high-pitched giggle pierced the air, drawing Darcy’s attention to the other conversation. He expected to see that the laugh had come from one of Elizabeth’s younger sisters, but he was shocked to realise it came from Mrs. Bennet!
“Come now, Mr. Bingley,” he heard the youngest, Lydia, if he remembered correctly, say. “You must throw a ball! It would be ever so much fun!”
“A ball?” Bingley replied, clearly off balance by the suggestion.
“Yes, a ball!” Another of Elizabeth’s sisters exclaimed. “To become better acquainted with your new neighbours!”
“Kitty, Lydia,” Elizabeth said sharply. “You cannot insist someone throw a ball.”
Darcy glanced at Jane and then Elizabeth, noting that each shared a similar look of embarrassed horror. They, at least, seemed to know how to behave. But he already knew that, having spent a lovely evening with them only a few nights prior.
“If the goal is relationship between neighbours,” another of the Bennet girls said, this one the plainest of all, “then a ball is a terrible idea. Conversation, not dancing, should be the order of the day.”
“Oh, Mary,” Kitty, Darcy thought he had them all straight now, said. “You would insist upon ruining everything.”
“No, no,” Mr. Collins interjected. Darcy was surprised he had waited this long before speaking. He seemed to share his opinion quite freely, especially for someone with so little to add to the conversation. “Miss Mary is quite right. I admit, as a clergyman, I have been known to enjoy a dance or two.” He laughed indulgently. “But, conversation is undoubtedly a morally superior activity.”
“But balls are superior for people enjoying themselves,” Lydia said stubbornly. Darcy privately agreed. Though he generally disliked dancing and balls, it was a far more attractive option if the alternative was an evening of “morally superior” conversation with Mr. Collins.
Watching Mr. Collins, Mrs. Bennet, and the youngest daughters, Darcy could not help but wonder if Caroline Bingley had a fair point about the Bennet family. It was clear that their behaviour among guests was questionable at best. Perhaps they truly were too different from him…
“You shall name the day,” Bingley said, bringing Darcy’s attention back to the conversation. Darcy wasn’t surprised by Bingley’s decision—he loved balls and parties and had already been thinking of hosting one. The Bennet girls’ request seemed to be the push he needed.
Kitty and Lydia jumped with delight, and Mrs. Bennet looked nearly as excited. Darcy wanted to shake his head—Mrs. Bennet seemed quite as silly as her daughters. Youngest daughters, he corrected himself. Elizabeth and Jane continued to look appropriately abashed at their family’s behaviour.
Bingley caught sight of Darcy ruefully shaking his head, and called out to him, “And we shall have to ensure that Mr. Darcy enjoys himself as well!”
“A challenge to be sure,” Elizabeth said, her eyes dancing.
Darcy felt a blush creep onto his cheeks. Not out of anger, but actually enjoying that Elizabeth would say such a thing. It was a jest, to be certain, but one that showed she understood him.
“Mr. Darcy’s aunt shares his low opinion of such gatherings,” Mr. Collins said confidently. Darcy groaned as Mr. Collins again moved in to speak with him. “Not that her opinion stems from a deficit of grace or ability on the dance floor. Rather, Lady Catherine believes that dancing takes away from one’s enjoyment of music.”
“An interesting viewpoint,” Darcy said. He hardly knew his aunt’s opinion on various aspects of society, but it was annoying for this man to educate him on a woman he had known since birth! He glanced down at the man, for Mr. Collins was several inches shorter than he, and hoped that his disinterest in the conversation would forestall any more discussion of the Lady Catherine de Bourgh.
“Lady Catherine is a rare soul in her appreciation for fine music,” Mr. Collins continued, taking no notice of anyone else. “I have often told her that the world lost a magnificent talent when she was denied the opportunity to learn to play. And, undoubtedly, the same is true for her daughter, Miss Anne de Bourgh. Do you not agree, Mr. Darcy?” Mr. Collins finally looked up at him, a questioning look on his face.
Darcy did not know how to respond. He thought the best course of action would be to agree, however, he disliked being forced into such a position. His aunt already had a tendency towards treating him in such a manner, it was too much that she was able to do it from afar through this foolish man.
“Mr. Collins,” Elizabeth walked into the conversation smoothly. Unlike her last intrusion, there was no rebuke in her voice. “I am so glad you are here. Mary has a question for you, upon a matter of scripture?”
Mr. Collins looked surprised at Elizabeth’s intrusion. His mouth tightened.
“Cousin,” he said stiffly. “I am speaking with Mr. Darcy. Could this question not wait until another time?”
“I was under the impression that questions of theological import should not be put off,” Elizabeth said, her face serious. “For such questions have eternal ramifications, do they not?”
Darcy was amused—Elizabeth had done a neat job backing him into this corner.
“Yes,” Mr. Collins said quickly. “Yes, of course. If you’ll excuse me, Mr. Darcy?”
Darcy nodded his head at once, eager to see the man go.
“I had no idea that Mary was a student of theology,” Darcy said quietly.
“Well, if she is not now, she will be after Mr. Collins finishes speaking with her,” Elizabeth said, amusement dancing across her face.
“Thank you for the rescue,” Darcy said wholeheartedly. “I do not think I could have survived another minute of that.”
“What, does the glamour of the great Rosings Park bore you?” Elizabeth said, laughing aloud now. “It is almost beyond belief that you would be so uninterested in a place with over fifty windows!”
“It sounds as if you have heard much of my aunt and Rosings,” Darcy said.
“Indeed,” Elizabeth agreed. “Your aunt could hardly have bestowed patronage upon a more grateful subject.” She blushed suddenly. “He is not a close relative,” she said in a ru
sh. “In fact, I have not laid eyes on him until two days past. Yet, he is to inherit everything, so we must endure.”
She looked troubled, and Darcy felt sorry for her. He had not considered the matter before, but having no son must be quite difficult for the Bennets.
“The law can be most unjust,” he said sympathetically.
“We will manage,” Elizabeth said, shaking her head and squaring her shoulders. “Even with five daughters, we will manage.”
“I have no doubt,” Darcy agreed. “I sense that you possess a strength of will that will allow for nothing less.”
Elizabeth glanced at him, an eyebrow raised questioningly. Under her look, Darcy realised his comment might have been out of place.
“You are a good judge of character,” Elizabeth said with a laugh. “If you ask my mother, she will tell you that my strength of will is not our salvation, but will be the death of her.” She turned her gaze to where Mrs. Bennet was still talking with Jane and Bingley. “But she means well. She cares for us deeply, even when her efforts might appear otherwise.”
Darcy nodded; he sensed this was Elizabeth’s attempt to explain her mother’s behaviour. He still disapproved of the foolish woman, but he was beginning to understand a bit more. Beyond understanding Mrs. Bennet, he could see that Jane and Elizabeth were of a different mould than the rest of their family.
Whatever Caroline’s concerns had been for the Bennet family, he was coming to see that they did not apply to Jane and Elizabeth. What that realization meant for him, however, he was still trying to decide.
Chapter 19
Elizabeth
Several hours later, Elizabeth and Jane watched from the window of the sitting room as Mr. Darcy and Mr. Bingley rode away toward Netherfield. The two men seemed to enjoy their time at Longbourn, despite Mr. Collins’ obtuse attempts at proper conversation.
Although, Elizabeth thought to herself, there was one benefit to Mr. Collins’ behaviour: she was able to observe the manner in which Mr. Darcy treated someone of clearly inferior station.
Ever since Mr. Wickham made his claims against Darcy, and insisted upon Mr. Darcy’s arrogance, she had wondered if he had a shadow side—one that could treat Mr. Wickham as he claimed. The thought had plagued her more than she cared to admit to herself. But Mr. Darcy had maintained a polite, if distant, attitude with the insufferable Mr. Collins. She had not sensed arrogance in that reaction.
“Well, I can hardly imagine that going better!” Elizabeth heard Mrs. Bennet exclaim from her armchair by the fireplace. Elizabeth turned and saw that her mother was glowing with excitement from the visit. “Jane, dear, you have made a marvellous conquest! We shall be celebrating a wedding within three months, you mark my words!”
“Mama!” Elizabeth said reproachfully. “You cannot know these things. Is it not better to hold your enthusiasm until things are more certain?” Elizabeth looked at Jane; she knew Jane was intensely private about her affections and the last thing she wanted was her sister to be forced to confess her feelings in front of the whole family.
“Lizzy, you are far too cautious,” Mrs. Bennet said with a wave of her hand. “I have hardly seen a man more affectionate than Mr. Bingley! Although the same cannot be said for his friend.” She looked cross. “I heard he was unfriendly at the public assembly, but I am an openminded person, not easily swayed by the opinions of others. I wanted to extend him every courteous assumption, but I see today that the talk was true!”
Elizabeth pursed her lips together, annoyed at her mother’s assessment.
“You do not know the half of it,” Lydia said conspiratorially.
“What is this?” Mrs. Bennet asked, leaning forward, eager to hear the gossip.
“You remember the handsome and brave Mr. Wickham?” Lydia asked, a dreamy look coming over her as she imagined the militia officer. Mrs. Bennet nodded eagerly. “Well, apparently Mr. Darcy robbed him of his rightful inheritance! Ignored his father’s wishes and stole away poor Wickham’s dream of serving the church.”
“How awful!” Mrs. Bennet said.
“Indeed,” Mr. Collins added, looking scandalised. “To deny a man his calling to the church is bad enough, but such actions also shame the rest of his family! I can assure you that, had Lady Catherine been made aware of such cruelty, she would not have allowed it to stand!”
“Well, that is Mr. Wickham’s story,” Jane said quietly, looking softly at Lydia, Mrs. Bennet and Mr. Collins. “But I think it fair to remember that Mr. Darcy has treated us with nothing but kindness. And he saved Lizzy and I from brigands, remember?”
“An action that takes on new meaning when cast in the light of cruelty,” Mr. Collins said loftily. “Perhaps it was an excuse to engage in violence. You never know with men such as he.”
Elizabeth felt a surge of anger. Mr. Collins was easily swayed, it seemed. Gone was the reverence for the nephew of his beloved patroness, replaced instead with hard judgement.
“That,” Elizabeth snapped, “is ridiculous.”
“I think the question is, why would Mr. Wickham lie?” Mrs. Bennet said, quickly cutting Elizabeth off from saying more.
“He wouldn’t,” Lydia said at once, convinced of the officer’s honesty. “And there is evidence to back up Wickham’s story—just look at Mr. Darcy’s behaviour!” Elizabeth opened her mouth angrily, but Jane laid a hand on her arm, and Elizabeth closed her mouth without a word.
“What do you mean, Lydia?” Jane asked gently.
“I know what she means,” Mrs. Bennet answered instead. “At the assembly, he left right after dancing with Lizzy, and today, he hardly said two words together! Is there any doubt that he has quite the high opinion of himself?” She glanced around impressively. “Yes, the Bennets are good enough to save from highway bandits and to make him look quite the hero, but we are not good enough to dance with or talk to—I do not like this Mr. Darcy one bit. He is not welcome at Longbourn again, not so long as I am here!”
Elizabeth looked at her mother, hardly believing what she heard. On some points, she too was curious—why had Mr. Darcy left so suddenly from the assembly?—but on others, Mrs. Bennet was just wrong. Mr. Darcy was a man of few words, shy even, that was why he did not talk, not because of an elevated sense of arrogance! Her mother had so quickly come to a harsh opinion. There was far more to the story between Wickham and Mr. Darcy, and it seemed unjust to judge Mr. Darcy with such finality. And to say he was not welcome at Longbourn!
She began to form her argument, but stopped short of speaking. She suddenly realised that an impassioned defence of Mr. Darcy might be perceived in a manner she was not ready to claim. Especially since everyone else seemed to fervently dislike him. Part of her felt like a coward: Mr. Darcy did not deserve to be spoken of in this manner. If she were truly courageous, she would have defended him no matter what opinions her family formed. But this guilt was not strong enough to overpower the uncertainty of her own feelings.
Instead of listening to the continued abuse of Mr. Darcy, Elizabeth excused herself from the room. She saw Jane look after her with a worried expression on her face, but Elizabeth motioned Jane to stay where she was. Elizabeth needed time to think by herself. This latest encounter with Mr. Darcy had presented many new points of information that she needed to integrate into the tangled web of her feelings.
She gathered her cloak and bonnet and immediately went outside and began to walk at a brisk pace. Walking always helped her clear her mind of unnecessary details, and often allowed an unexpected resolution to appear. She hoped this would be one of those times. It would make everything so much less confusing.
* * *
It was nearly nightfall when Elizabeth returned to Longbourn. She eased the door open gently, not wishing to alert anyone to her return. She would see them at dinner soon enough, and she valued the additional time to herself. However, as she closed the door behind her, she heard the creak of the floorboards and knew she was found out. She turned slowly, filled with dread, but her d
read dissipated as soon as she saw who stood before her.
“Papa,” she said fondly. She walked to him and kissed his stubbly cheek.
“Elizabeth,” Mr. Bennet said with equal fondness. “Follow me.” He motioned her and began to walk towards his study. Wondering what her father wanted, Elizabeth pulled off her bonnet and followed him into the dimly lit room. The servants had not yet come in to light the candles for the evening.
Mr. Bennet closed the door behind her. “Sit down, if you please.” He motioned to a straight-backed chair that stood beside his own armchair. Elizabeth sat, still at a complete loss for what Mr. Bennet wanted.
“What is it, Papa?” She asked. “You sound serious.”
Mr. Bennet did not answer at once. He sat in his armchair and touched his fingertips together. He stared at her over his hands. Elizabeth was about to ask her question again when Mr. Bennet finally spoke.
“Tell me of this Mr. Darcy,” he said calmly, in a tone that betrayed nothing of his intent.
Elizabeth was startled. Mr. Darcy? Why would her father want to know about Mr. Darcy?
“What do you want to know?” She asked, not knowing what else to say.
“I have just been listening to your mother decry the man for the past quarter of an hour,” Mr. Bennet said. “She told me the most salacious piece of gossip, and I wondered your opinion.”
“My opinion?” She repeated, feeling nervous.
“You are a good judge of character,” Mr. Bennet said, dropping his hands on the arms of his chair. He settled back comfortably. “Before I ban a man from my house, I want to ensure he is deserving of such treatment. So, tell me, do you believe this Mr. Wickham’s story?”
Elizabeth thought for a few long moments.
“No,” she finally said. “No, I do not believe I do.” She paused, thinking about how to explain.
“Go on,” Mr. Bennet invited. His face was now completely in shadow and Elizabeth could not read his expression. She had no indication as to what he thought of her assessment.
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