by Jann Rowland
“When they are determined to rule our lives and ensure their wishes take precedence over ours, then there is little choice.”
“True,” said Darcy. “Very true.’
And Darcy fell silent and returned his attention to the passing countryside. For once, Fitzwilliam was silent, allowing him to brood.
When Mr. Darcy and his cousin entered the room after they had refreshed themselves from their journey, Elizabeth was treated to a spectacle easily the equivalent of something her mother might have authored. Only this time, the insanity originated from one who was accounted to be among the highest society had to offer, the granddaughter of an earl, no less.
The gentlemen had no sooner entered the room when Miss de Bourgh stood and approached Mr. Darcy, a predatory glint in her eye. “Darcy! You have finally come for me!”
For his part, Mr. Darcy regarded Miss de Bourgh as if she was a dangerous animal. “Anne,” said he with a curt bow. “I trust you are well?”
“I am well now that you are here.” The woman actually fluttered her eyelashes at her cousin, and Elizabeth was forced to cough to stifle a laugh. Miss de Bourgh shot her a sour look, but Elizabeth affected not to see it. It mattered little, as she soon turned back to her cousin and sidled up to him.
“Shall we go to another room for our long-overdue conversation, Cousin? I am certain you are as impatient as I.”
“Come now, Anne,” said the other man, subtly stepping up next to Mr. Darcy and allowing him to back up a little, so that he could step in between them. “Do you not wish to greet your favorite cousin?”
“Fitzwilliam,” said Anne shortly. “I am certain I may greet you after other, more important matters are dealt with.”
“But then we would be rude to your mother’s guests. You forget I have not yet been introduced to them.”
“Of course, you have not,” said Lady Catherine, standing and glaring at her daughter. “Let us observe the proprieties, Anne.”
Observing the proprieties seemed like the last thing Miss de Bourgh wished to do, but she turned and strode back to the sofa, throwing herself onto it, where she sat, arms crossed, a petulant pout displayed for all to see.
“Hello, Aunt,” said Colonel Fitzwilliam. “I can see you are quite well. I am happy to see you.”
“I am well, Fitzwilliam. Thank you.”
The three exchanged the greetings of family long sundered, and then turned to the Bennet sisters who were waiting, in some cases, impatiently. Lydia seemed to be inspecting Colonel Fitzwilliam, likely attempting to imagine the picture he would present were he wearing his red coat.
“Now, Aunt, if you will introduce me to these lovely young ladies, I will be much obliged.”
“Of course, Fitzwilliam,” said Lady Catherine, a smile on her face which seemed to suggest that she knew some great secret to which no one else was privy.
“Nephew, may I present Miss Jane Bennet, Miss Elizabeth Bennet, Miss Catherine Bennet, and Miss Lydia Bennet. They have agreed to stay with us while their parents and middle daughter, Miss Mary Bennet, are staying at the parsonage with their cousin, Mr. Collins. Miss Bennets, this is my nephew, Colonel Anthony Fitzwilliam, the second son of my brother, the Earl of Matlock.”
“Ladies,” said the colonel, bowing to them all. “I am pleased to make your acquaintance.”
Though his words were directed at them all, Elizabeth thought she detected more than a hint of admiration for Jane, and for her part, Jane seemed to sense it and was far from displeased. Elizabeth turned a critical eye on the colonel, noting that while a handsome man, he was not Mr. Darcy’s equal. But he was tall, and broad shouldered, possessing of dark, wavy locks, and moved with grace and an economy of motion. After Jane’s disappointment with Mr. Bingley, Elizabeth was wary of any man paying attention to her dearest sister. But should Colonel Fitzwilliam take an interest in Jane, Elizabeth decided she would have no objections. There was something about the colonel which spoke to maturity.
“A colonel!” said Lydia as she stepped up to him and curtseyed, looking at him with more brazen confidence than a girl of only sixteen years should possess. “I am happy to make your acquaintance, sir, for I have only ever met one colonel.”
“And he is old and tired and commands only the regiment at Meryton,” said Kitty with a giggle.
“Ah, but if he commands a regiment in Hertfordshire, then he is naught but a militia colonel.” Colonel Fitzwilliam grinned at them. “I, on the other hand, am a colonel in the regulars, and though I have been in the army for some years, I do not consider myself to be old and tired.”
“Oh, Fitzwilliam, do not encourage them,” said Lady Catherine. “Come, girls, let us at least attempt to adhere to propriety.”
“I believe propriety is alien to them,” said Miss de Bourgh sotto voce.
“I think she is hardly one to speak,” said Elizabeth in an aside to Jane.
It appeared, however, that Mr. Darcy had overheard her words, for he turned to her, and though he did not say anything, his eyes seemed to express mirth. Uncertain, Elizabeth smiled tentatively at him, which seemed to prompt him to speak.
“Miss Elizabeth. I see you have not lost any of your wit.”
“I hope not, Mr. Darcy. A woman may age and her face lose those qualities which drew young men to her in her youth, but I would hope the mind remains as sharp as it ever was.”
Mr. Darcy laughed, the first time Elizabeth had ever heard him give voice to his mirth. “It is not above five months since I saw you last. Surely you have not become old and decrepit in such a short time.”
“I hope not,” replied Elizabeth. “I am sorry, Mr. Darcy, but we were led to understand that you left Meryton to attend to your sister. I hope she is well?”
“Yes, very well, indeed.”
“I wish you would convince Georgiana to attend us here,” said Lady Catherine.
“Perhaps later in our stay she might be persuaded. At present, she is much engaged with her masters and preferred to stay with Aunt Susan in London.”
Lady Catherine harrumphed and allowed the subject to drop. They sat down and conversed for several minutes, and Elizabeth watched as the sitting-room descended into controlled chaos. Kitty and Lydia, though chastened by Lady Catherine’s admonishment, were not ready to cede the attentions of the colonel to anyone else. Lydia continued to badger him, asking for stories of his experiences. The colonel only showed her a mysterious smile and chatted happily with her.
Mr. Darcy sat with Jane and Elizabeth, and though he was not verbose, he was at least more vocal than he had been in Hertfordshire. As for the de Bourghs, Lady Catherine sat watching of them all like a queen on her throne, joining each conversation to interject a comment or two and then sitting back and watching them. Miss de Bourgh said nothing, though the scowls she directed at Jane and Elizabeth told them clearly that she wished for Mr. Darcy’s full attention. That changed about fifteen minutes into their visit, when something Lydia said drew the colonel’s close attention.
“I am sorry, Miss Lydia, but did you say you know a Mr. Wickham?”
“Yes, we all do,” said Lydia, continuing with blithe unconcern. “He is frightfully handsome, though not nearly so interesting as Denny or Carter.”
As Lydia continued to speak of her acquaintances in the militia, the two gentlemen shared a look with their aunt. Then Mr. Darcy turned to Elizabeth, and she sensed something odd about his mood. “Mr. Wickham joined the militia? Mr. George Wickham?”
Elizabeth nodded. “He arrived in Meryton not long after you left. I am sorry, but you are acquainted with him?”
“As much acquainted as I ever wish to be.” He paused, and then he turned his gaze upon Elizabeth, and there was something penetrating in it, though Elizabeth thought it was not directed at her. “Did Mr. Wickham . . . Did he mention a connection with me?”
Though surprised, Elizabeth was able to answer: “Nothing of which I am aware. He is quite the charmer, it s
eems, as half the ladies were in love with him not five minutes after he arrived. I do not know him well, though Kitty and Lydia might know more of him.”
A tension seemed to drain from Mr. Darcy’s shoulders at that moment, a tension Elizabeth had not even noted. With concern and compassion, Elizabeth reached out and touched his arm.
“Am I to understand that yours is not a happy association with Mr. Wickham?”
“As perceptive as ever, Miss Elizabeth. No, it is not a happy association. Mr. Wickham is not who he portrays himself to be, and many have discovered that to their detriment.”
“I understand that he began courting a Miss Mary King after the New Year.”
Mr. Darcy shook his head. “Can I assume she has some fortune to tempt him?”
Not surprised that Mr. Darcy should guess this much, Elizabeth nodded. “She recently inherited it from an uncle, I understand. She has been staying with some relations in Meryton for the past several months, so I am not much acquainted with her.”
For a brief moment, Mr. Darcy fell silent. Then he seemed to shake off his mood, giving Elizabeth the image of a dog shaking the water from its coat, and he turned back to Elizabeth. It was as if he had made the decision not to allow disagreeable memories to plague him.
“I would not talk of Mr. Wickham, Miss Elizabeth, for he is not an agreeable subject. Perhaps we could defer such talk to another time?”
Elizabeth agreed readily, and they began speaking of other things. Though the conversation was general between them all, Elizabeth had never been so entertained in Mr. Darcy’s company. Mr. Bingley had on one occasion said something to the effect that Mr. Darcy was more open and comfortable in society with which he was familiar. Now that Elizabeth had seen it, she was certain that he had only spoken the truth.
“Fitzwilliam,” said Darcy, beckoning his cousin to join him.
After spending some time in Lady Catherine’s sitting-room, Darcy had remembered that the other Bennets were staying at the parsonage and thought it proper that he and Fitzwilliam pay their respects as soon as may be. Lady Catherine had waved them off, wishing them a pleasant visit, before going to attend to some matter of the estate. Of course, Anne could not be roused to pay a visit to such an objectionable location, so Darcy and Fitzwilliam had left with the Bennet sisters for the short walk to the parsonage.
Miss Lydia and Miss Kitty, as Darcy remembered she was called, seemed disinclined to give up Fitzwilliam’s company, but he bowed to them and said a few low words, and then allowed himself to fall back to where Darcy was walking. Miss Bennet and Miss Elizabeth were leading the way, and aside from the need to speak to his cousin, Darcy was desperate for a distraction to keep him from staring at Miss Elizabeth’s form.
“I must say, Cousin,” said Fitzwilliam as he fell into step with Darcy, “she is not what I would have expected from you.” Darcy shot a look at Fitzwilliam, but he was watching the ladies and not paying attention. “I might have thought you would gravitate to a woman more like her sister, at least in looks. In temperament, she almost seems a little too . . . spirited for you.”
“It only proves you do not know me nearly so well as you think,” replied Darcy. “But none of that now. I think it might be prudent for you to write a letter to the colonel of the militia company in Meryton. He should know some of the more salient facts concerning one of the men under his command.”
Fitzwilliam’s responding grin bared his teeth, and Darcy was reminded that for all his jovial nature, Fitzwilliam was a fierce enemy when crossed. “Just the thought I had, old man. Miss Lydia was kind enough to share the name of the colonel of his regiment with me. Tonight I shall compose a letter to him, and I will be sure to leave none of the important points out.”
“I am certain he has run up debts.”
“I am certain he has. I take a great amount of pleasure in the thought that our friend George will finally be called to account for at least some of his actions.”
Though he nodded, Darcy did not reply. A part of him remembered the engaging Wickham as a young boy, how they had played together, the fun they had shared, and his father’s regard, though Wickham had become increasingly unworthy of it. Then he remembered all the times he had cleaned up Wickham’s messes, and the tears his sister had shed, and he wanted Wickham to pay for his crimes. It was best to just leave it in Fitzwilliam’s hands. Darcy himself was too conflicted to act with impartiality.
The parsonage loomed in the distance, and soon they had entered therein. Mr. Bennet and his wife were just as Darcy remembered them—indifferent and silly in turn. Miss Mary was still quiet and watchful, not saying more than three words together. Mr. Collins, however . . .
“Mr. Darcy. Colonel Fitzwilliam.”
The man spoke in a solemn and awed voice, and when he bowed, he bent over so low that Darcy was afraid he would tip over and fall onto his head. When he rose, he fixed them with an expression of utter vacant servility.
“We are so greatly honored to make the acquaintance of such august personages that words simply fail to give meaning to our feelings. You are very welcome, indeed, sirs, and I cannot imagine that my humble abode has ever seen such illustrious visitors as those who grace it at present. Of course, Lady Catherine de Bourgh, your aunt and my beloved patroness, has also graced these halls, so I must exclude herself from my observation, given how gracious and condescending she has been to assist me in my poor home.”
It seemed all that Fitzwilliam could do to hold in the hilarity Darcy was certain was bubbling under the surface. For himself, Darcy wondered what had ever possessed Lady Catherine to grant the living to such a buffoon.
“Thank you, Mr. Collins,” said Fitzwilliam. “I have heard much from our aunt, but I am afraid reality does not do you justice.”
Mr. Collins preened at this perceived compliment, but Darcy was hard pressed to hold in his laughter. Nearby, Miss Elizabeth’s eyes danced with mirth, though she gave no outward sign of it.
They sat down, and Darcy was treated to the oddest visit he had ever experienced. Mr. Collins’s ability to flatter was positively indefatigable, as the words spilled from his mouth like water over a fall. Nothing was beneath his notice; he even praised the color of Darcy’s hair, as if it was something Darcy could control!
“Your cousin is quite . . . singular,” said Darcy in a low tone to Miss Elizabeth. “If I had not been informed of it, I could never have imagined he was a relation.”
Miss Elizabeth laughed. “It is a distant connection, and one who was unknown to us for many years. My father and his had some disagreement when they were young, which has only recently been healed.”
“Your father seems to take some pleasure in his company.”
Once again she laughed. “It is only because he finds his brand of ridiculous behavior diverting.”
Darcy did not know what to make of that statement, but he noted that Mr. Collins, though he still spoke, was glaring at Miss Elizabeth. For her part, Miss Elizabeth affected to take no notice, though she seemed to understand what had offended him. Though Darcy would have liked to call the man to order, he remained silent, knowing it was not his place to do so.
Though he had only been in her presence again for a few moments, Darcy felt as much danger from this vibrant country miss by his side as he ever had. In the autumn, when he had left Hertfordshire, his stated reason for doing so was to rejoin his sister, who was in poor spirits. He had also told himself that he wished to be away from his friend’s sister, who had started grating on his nerves mere moments after his arrival. Renewing his acquaintance with Miss Elizabeth exposed all his pretensions and forced him to acknowledge that which he had not wished to acknowledge.
As they sat in the parlor, Darcy watched the scene with a critical eye. Mrs. Bennet, as he had noted before, was still noisy, her society still a trial, but able to look at her from a different perspective, Darcy could see there was little harm in her. Miss Bennet was as serene and beautiful as ever, an
d even Miss Lydia and Miss Kitty seemed to have improved a small measure. The most unfathomable member of the family was Mr. Bennet. He could see the man was aware of his family’s shortcomings, but to take no action to correct them was a grave oversight, in Darcy’s opinion. Surely an intelligent man would act to curb their excesses.
But the true gem, in his opinion, was still Miss Elizabeth. She was effortless, even with the irksome Mr. Collins in attendance, and in the sometimes unruly company of her family, though he supposed she must be easy in their company, if only because of her long association. When she spoke, she did so with joy and laughter, and she made others around her smile for the simple reason of her presence. He was as drawn to her as he ever had been. He could not imagine how anyone could resist!
But there was one who was apparently able to resist. Through his long monologues and ponderous speech, Darcy noticed that Mr. Collins kept his eyes on Miss Elizabeth, and though Darcy originally wondered if it was the eye of a suitor, unable to take his eyes from the lady of his affection, the tightness in Mr. Collins’s eyes soon revealed it to be disapproval. To what the man objected Darcy could not say, but the longer they sat there the more apparent it became.
“Your cousin seems to be watching you carefully, Miss Elizabeth,” observed Darcy to Miss Elizabeth at one point.
“Yes,” replied she in the same low tone Darcy had used. “He seems to be offended by my very existence.”
“Do you not know why?” asked Darcy, frowning.
Miss Elizabeth turned her expressive eyes on him, filled to the brim with amusement.
“Mr. Collins considers me dreadfully impertinent, Mr. Darcy. It is shocking, do you not think?”
Before Darcy could respond, the sound of Mr. Collins’s voice interrupted them. “You are very kind to pay attention to my cousin, Mr. Darcy, but you do not need to feel obligated. Elizabeth is . . . well, we shall simply say that her forward nature and tendency to laugh at everything sometimes bring her trouble. She would do well to assume a demure demeanor, for others would respect her more.”
