by Jann Rowland
Unable to believe what he had just heard, Darcy only stared at Mr. Collins. Fitzwilliam was equally surprised, though he seemed to be feeling a hint of dark amusement, and even Mr. Bennet, who laughed at all and sundry, seemed to be taking offense at Mr. Collins’s words.
“On the contrary, Mr. Collins, I find your cousin to be charming. There is nothing of her manner which is improperly forward or lacking in any way.”
The look Mr. Bennet bestowed on Darcy at that moment was filled with speculation, but Darcy paid the man little heed. Mr. Collins, though he frowned—directed at Miss Elizabeth rather than Darcy himself—said nothing further. But he did not stop watching Miss Elizabeth the entire time they were there.
Later, those staying at Rosings took their leave, with promises that Lady Catherine had charged Darcy to make, of an invitation to dinner on Easter Sunday. Mr. Collins’s effusions on the subject were predictable and highly redundant, and Darcy did not feel the need to pay any attention to the man’s blathering. Soon, they departed, the youngest leading the way, their elder sisters following, while Darcy and Fitzwilliam brought up the rear.
“We have fallen in with an interesting bunch, have we not?” said Fitzwilliam. “But though the Bennets are, indeed, a disparate group of characters, I cannot quite make Mr. Collins out.”
“Obsequiousness mixed with pomposity,” replied Darcy. “It is not a usual combination, but we have met others who were similar.”
“Yes, but none of them take it to the extremes the excellent parson does. I dare say there are not ten people in all of England who can match Mr. Collins for the sheer brilliance of his absurdity.” Fitzwilliam glanced at Darcy. “I thought you might deliver a beating upon the man for what he said to Miss Elizabeth.”
“If she is disposed to laugh at him, why should I bother? As you said, he is ridiculous, so his opinion cannot signify.”
“True. I commend you for your choice, Darcy. She is in every way exquisite.”
“I have made no choice, Fitzwilliam.”
“Oh, I believe you have. You simply must acknowledge it. For my part, though I consider Miss Elizabeth to be everything that is delightful, I find my eyes drawn to her elder sister. Now there is a woman unlike any other. I find myself wishing to know her better.”
The sharp look Darcy directed on his cousin went unnoticed, for Fitzwilliam was otherwise engaged. Should Fitzwilliam turn his attention on Miss Bennet, Darcy wondered what would happen should she be reintroduced to Bingley, who had been paying her an inordinate amount of attention before Darcy departed. He could not imagine Bingley truly enamored of her, considering how he had left Hertfordshire without a backwards glance—of course, that might have been the doing of his sisters, too. It would be an interesting scene, indeed, should she meet him as a relation by marriage of Darcy.
Chapter VII
As they did every year when they visited their aunt in the spring, Darcy and Fitzwilliam spent some time assisting her with the estate. Lady Catherine was capable of directing the estate toward prosperity and making decisions as astutely as any estate master. But the times being what they were, the assistance and direction of a man did wonders to smooth any ruffled feathers among the tenants or those who had dealings with the estate.
In addition, Darcy reviewed her books to provide his aunt with any opinions she might request, and he and Fitzwilliam surveyed the estate while present. In general, Darcy did not find much to criticize—his aunt had been managing the estate for some time and knew what was to be done. Those times Darcy offered his advice, her ladyship had often already taken the action that he had suggested.
“Thank you, Darcy, for visiting and taking an interest in such matters,” said Lady Catherine one morning not long after they had arrived. “Not many young men would give of their time so freely when there are other amusements to be had.”
“It is no trouble, Aunt,” replied Darcy. “Fitzwilliam and I enjoy the time we spend with you.”
“Then you should come more often.” Darcy did not think he had reacted to her suggestion, but she burst out into laughter anyway. “Do not concern yourself, Darcy. I understand Anne is a trial, and doubly so when we visit Pemberley. I appreciate your attention all the same.”
“I can deal with Anne,” said Darcy. “She is determined, but I am more so.”
Lady Catherine shook her head with rueful exasperation. “I wish she would come to her senses, but she is convinced you will offer for her.”
“Perhaps you should take her to town to be introduced to other men.”
“She will not go. She declares she is quite content to stay at Rosings until you ‘come to your senses.’ I am at my wits’ end.”
There was nothing more to be said, so Darcy held his tongue. Anne was a blight upon their coming, a source of frustration and stress, but Darcy would not avoid his aunt because her daughter was objectionable.
In watching them, he was struck, as he often was, by how different mother and daughter were: Lady Catherine kind and generous to all, quick to laugh, though perhaps too eager to share her wisdom; and Anne the opposite—arrogant, proud, and at times insufferable, especially to their guests. For their part, the youngest Bennets ignored her—a rather erudite decision by them—while Miss Bennet accepted the abuse with patience, and Miss Elizabeth laughed at her. In Darcy’s opinion, Anne would benefit by learning to laugh the way Miss Elizabeth did.
Anne was a constant source of annoyance. The girl followed him about with that predatory look in her eye, and if he was not careful, Darcy knew she would attempt some sort of compromise. She tried to be coquettish, but the result was not what she expected.
“Shall we not talk of our future,” said she to him the day after his arrival. “I am certain you have been waiting to speak with me.”
“On the contrary, there is nothing particular of which I feel the need to speak.”
“Oh, Darcy, I know you do not truly feel that way.” She reached forward and attempted to lay a hand on his arm, but Darcy only shifted, making his movement appear natural but preventing her from achieving her objective nevertheless. “We have much to recommend us to each other. Shall we not come to an agreement?”
“I do not know to what you refer,” said Darcy. “I am happy with our relationship as it stands now.”
Though Anne was quite obviously displeased with his response, she only redoubled her efforts. She would follow him from room to room, speaking to him without cessation, making allusions to their future felicity, which were subtle only to her, and generally ensuring his time in Kent was miserable. She was worse than Miss Bingley in many ways, which was saying quite a lot.
The only thing that made the situation tolerable was the sight of Miss Elizabeth’s amusement. His cousin’s unsubtle attempts at wooing were a source of hilarity for Miss Elizabeth, and her grin rarely disappeared when Darcy was present. But far from displeasing Darcy to be a source of her entertainment, it further endeared her to him.
She took to interfering with Anne’s machinations whenever possible. On a day when his cousin’s attentions had become so intolerable that Darcy was considering the relative merits of strangling her, Miss Elizabeth rose and announced her intention to walk in the back gardens, which itself was not remarkable. But as she stood, she turned a look on Darcy so casual, and yet so pointed, that he immediately offered to accompany her.
“Oh, Darcy, you do not need to walk the gardens,” said Anne, her tone petulant, a dark hatred for Miss Elizabeth in her eyes. “Miss Elizabeth may walk as she knows nothing better. Why do we not ride the area in my phaeton? It will be so much more delightful.”
“A walk is just what I need now, Anne. Perhaps we might ride in your phaeton another time.”
Anne pouted, but she said nothing further. Thus, Darcy found himself walking the back gardens with the enchanting young woman who was rapidly beginning to consume his thoughts once again.
“I thank you for your suggestion, Miss Bennet,
” said Darcy after they had quit the house.
“Suggestion?” asked she, her eyes shining with repressed mirth. “I cannot recall having said anything, Mr. Darcy.”
“Not in words, you did not. But I fancy that sometimes a more profound understanding is exchanged with no more than a glance. I knew there was an invitation in your gaze the moment you looked at me, and I was more than happy to accept.”
“Then you have caught me out. I had observed how uncomfortable your cousin made you and thought a little fresh air would do you good.”
“Indeed, you are correct, Miss Bennet.”
When the attempted compromise was put into motion, Elizabeth did not know whether to be annoyed with the woman for trying to enforce her own desires upon an obviously unwilling man or simply laugh at her for her ineptitude. Surely Miss de Bourgh did not even understand what constituted a proper compromise, which Elizabeth was forced to own was entirely fortunate for Mr. Darcy.
The day after their walk in the gardens, Elizabeth had gone to the library to look at Lady Catherine’s collection of books, for she had exhausted the few volumes she had brought herself. It was while she was engaged in looking at the bookshelves that the door opened behind her, and Mr. Darcy stepped in. He appeared surprised to see her, but he hesitated only a moment before he stepped forward to greet her, leaving the door wide open behind him.
“Miss Bennet,” said he with a bow. “I was not aware that you are a connoisseur of the written word.”
“I was taught at my father’s knee,” replied Elizabeth after returning his greeting. “A more dedicated bibliophile you would have difficulty finding.”
“A man after my own heart, then,” said Mr. Darcy. He stepped forward to the shelf Elizabeth had been examining. “I believe this is Lady Catherine’s history section. I was not aware you read such a wide variety of works.”
“What wide variety do you call it?” asked Elizabeth, directing an arch smile at him. “As far as I am aware, we have never discussed reading before.”
“Then perhaps we should rectify that deficiency.”
Elizabeth agreed and they spent the next hour in pleasant conversation. Elizabeth was interested to discover that while their tastes were by no means the same, there were still some opinions they shared, particularly in the area of poetry and the works of Shakespeare. She enjoyed histories, and while he did too, she preferred the history of antiquity, while Mr. Darcy preferred that of England and France. And while Elizabeth laughingly owned to reading a novel on occasion, she teased his predilection toward farming treatises.
“What dusty, dull accounts those must be!” exclaimed she. “Much as a farmer must feel after a long day of tending his fields.”
“I do not deny that,” replied Mr. Darcy, his complacency indicating he took no offense to her sportive words. But as a gentleman farmer myself, does it not follow that I should understand my tenants’ concerns?”
“You are correct, of course,” replied Elizabeth.
They continued to speak for a little longer when they began a discussion of a work they had both read, until they disagreed on one of the lines it contained. Certain she was correct, Elizabeth stood to retrieve the book, which was situated in a bookcase along the wall behind the door. It was while she was obtaining the volume to prove her point that she heard a rustle of skirts.
“Fitzwilliam, there you are,” purred a voice. “I have looked all over the house for you.”
“Anne,” replied Mr. Darcy, standing and executing a courtly bow.
At once Elizabeth realized that Miss de Bourgh had not noticed her presence, hidden as she was by the open door, and she stepped out a little way to see what the woman wanted. Elizabeth recognized the determined gait of her walk, and had she been able to see Miss de Bourgh’s eyes, she was certain a predatory glint would have been reflected in their depths.
“Finally, I have found you without that Bennet woman present. She must be trying to capture you, Fitzwilliam. You should avoid being in her company so often.”
“There is nothing objectionable about Miss Bennet’s behavior, Anne. She is propriety itself.”
Elizabeth noted the stiffening of Miss de Bourgh’s back. “I do not know what you see in that hoyden. I do not know why my mother insists on housing the Bennet sisters in such superior circumstances. They are naught but minor gentry, completely unsuited to mingling with those of us of a more exalted sphere.”
“They may surprise you, Anne,” replied Mr. Darcy, though in a voice so quiet Elizabeth was forced to strain to hear him. “The eldest Miss Bennets in particular are all that is good.”
She was almost able to hear the frustrated grinding of Miss de Bourgh’s teeth from where she stood by the door. What happened next was almost so fast that Elizabeth could not follow it. Miss de Bourgh stepped toward Darcy, and though there was nothing in her way, she feigned tripping over something, and Mr. Darcy, by reflex, reached out a hand to steady her. She caught his arm, and drew herself to him, attempting to wrap herself around his torso and cling onto him. At the same time, she said in a seductive sort of voice:
“Oh, Fitzwilliam, I thought we would never be alone like this together. I believe we must marry, since you have compromised me so thoroughly.”
But Mr. Darcy stepped back, causing her to lose her balance, and she threw out a hand to steady herself on the corner of a sofa. “I do not know of what you refer, Anne. I only steadied you when you stumbled. I have no more intention of proposing now than I had this morning.”
“You must!” said Anne, though the purr had become more of a growl. “Our reputations shall both be ruined if you do not. We are alone. Alone! It is the very definition of compromise!”
Though Elizabeth was bursting with the need to laugh at this ridiculous scene, she noted Mr. Darcy’s pleading expression and took pity on him. She was sorely tempted otherwise, however.
“You are not alone, Miss de Bourgh.”
Once again Elizabeth’s composure was put to the test. At the sound of her voice, it seemed like Miss de Bourgh jumped three feet in the air, and she was reminded of a cat’s propensity to land on its feet when Miss de Bourgh spun around to face her. When she saw who it was, her eyebrows furrowed in fury.
“You!” screeched she. “Why are you here spying on us?”
“I should think that is what you wished. Would you not wish for your ‘compromise’ to be published to every corner of Kent?”
“I could not trust you to do it,” spat Miss de Bourgh. “You wish to have Darcy for yourself!”
“Whatever it is that I wish for, I believe I have more refinement than to feign stumbling on nothing more substantial than air in order to fling myself into the arms of a man who will not have me.”
“You know nothing,” said she. “Fitzwilliam, throw this upstart from the room, so that we may begin planning for our nuptials. We must marry.”
“Do not be ridiculous,” said Elizabeth. “There was no compromise, for I was here the whole time.”
Surprised, Miss de Bourgh turned an accusing glare on Darcy. “You will not own to compromising me, yet you are in a room alone with this Jezebel and allow her to sink her talons into you?”
“The door was wide open the entire time,” said Mr. Darcy.
His tone had taken on a particularly distant and emotionless quality, which Elizabeth remembered from when he had been in Hertfordshire the past year. In a flash of insight, she realized that it was how he protected himself from unwanted attention and those with whom he was not familiar. In that moment, she understood him better.
“In addition,” continued Mr. Darcy, “the footman has been stationed outside the entire time and can testify that nothing improper happened.” Then Mr. Darcy turned a stern eye on his cousin, which Miss de Bourgh returned with seeming composure, though Elizabeth thought she detected a hint of nervousness. “Really, Anne, if this is the best you can do to try to compromise me, then I have worried for no reason t
hese past years. In matters such as this, you are nothing more than a babe in arms, when compared to scheming misses of London.”
Offended, Miss de Bourgh pulled herself up to her diminutive height and scowled at her cousin. “You will see, Darcy. One day soon you will come to your senses and propose to me.” Miss de Bourgh turned a sneer on Elizabeth. “In that day, I shall laugh at this pretender.”
Then with a swish of her skirts, Miss de Bourgh turned and stalked from the room. For a moment, the two left behind were silent. But Elizabeth could not hold it for long, and soon she burst into laughter, and though Mr. Darcy appeared surprised, he joined her quickly.
“Did she truly feign a stumble and hurl herself into your arms to compromise you?” asked Elizabeth between her peals of mirth.
“I believe she did,” replied Mr. Darcy. “It surprised me as much as it did you.”
“Oh, I suspected she would eventually make the attempt,” replied Elizabeth. “I am simply surprised at her utter lack of anything resembling style.”
“Style?” asked Mr. Darcy. His tone suggested a certain incredulous surprise, but Elizabeth was too amused to reign in her wit.
“Surely you have seen much better attempts in London. Would not an affected faintness be much more convincing? Or perhaps she could wait until you are seated and throw herself on your lap. Or the invented assignation in your bedchamber—would not arranging a servant to find her there a moment after you have walked into the room be that much more damaging to your reputation?”
By the time Elizabeth finished speaking, Mr. Darcy was laughing openly. “I did not know you were so versed in such arts, Miss Bennet. Should I be more concerned with what you might do rather than my cousin?”
“Oh, I think not,” said Elizabeth, breezily waving his words aside. “I shall not make the attempt to entrap you.” She paused and threw him a devilish smile. “But I can assure you that should I decide to do so, I would do it with much more panache than your cousin just showed. I can also promise that if I did, I would be successful.”
