by Jann Rowland
This was why the man’s actions when they were out of sight of the house astounded Jane, and for a moment left her bereft of all sense. For with a growl of longing, Fitzwilliam stopped walking, and Jane only had a confused moment of seeing his lips descend toward hers before she was swept up in his ardent attentions.
The man invaded her mouth as if he were on a cavalry horse, spearheading a thrust toward some foreign army, his breath hot upon her face, and when he put his arms around her and lifted her up against him, her feet dangling a few inches above the ground, she thought she might expire from the pleasure.
When they finally separated, sharing murmured endearments and little nips and pecks, they once again began to walk slowly through the woods, content in each other’s company. Jane could not imagine such bliss as she was feeling now.
Could she have felt this way with Mr. Bingley in the colonel’s position? She could not say for certain, but the thought did not make much sense. On the surface, Mr. Bingley and Colonel Fitzwilliam were similar men—both amiable and open—but underneath there was a significant difference between the two. Jane could not quite state exactly what it was, but she thought perhaps it was the difference in their experience, both in life and in age. Whatever the case, she now found herself grateful that Mr. Bingley had left without a word.
“There seems to be some gravity to your thoughts, Miss Bennet.”
Jane could not help but smile, and she looked up at her companion. “Nothing so weighty. I was just thinking of how I came to be here. There were many times, many things which, had they changed even slightly, I might not be here right now.”
“You are referring to Mr. Bingley.”
“In part,” said Jane, shaking her head. Then she shot Colonel Fitzwilliam a teasing grin, much as her sister might have done. “Did you know a young man wrote poetry for me when I was fifteen?”
“And did he steal your heart with his verses?” replied the colonel in like manner.
Jane laughed. “No. In fact, it was atrocious. But Mama was determined that he was going to propose and that I was going to accept him.”
The colonel appeared intrigued. “What happened?”
“It turned out that he had not a penny to his name, and Mama withdrew me from consideration.”
“That is quite convenient for me,” murmured the colonel
Then he stopped and turned toward her, and Jane could immediately tell that he was much more serious than he had been before. A shiver of excitement raced up her spine, and she wondered if this was the moment for which she had been waiting.
“I would like to know, Miss Bennet . . .” began Colonel Fitzwilliam, before he fell silent, far less self-assured than Jane had ever seen. Then he squared his shoulders and looked directly at Jane. “I merely wish to ascertain your feelings for Mr. Bingley.”
“Mr. Bingley?” asked Jane, feeling stupid at the unexpected question.
“Yes,” said Colonel Fitzwilliam. He ducked his head and gave a little helpless shrug. “The evidence of my own eyes and heart should be enough, do you not think? And yet I find that I wish to know if you have any tender feelings yet for Mr. Bingley.”
At first, Jane wondered if she should be affronted at Colonel Fitzwilliam’s questions concerning Mr. Bingley. Then she realized that he had a right to know, especially if he was considering proposing, as she thought he was. Perhaps his eyes should have informed him, not to mention how passionately she had just returned his kisses!
“Mr. Bingley is an amiable man,” said Jane, looking into his eyes so he could see the truth of what she was saying. “But though he did pay me ardent attentions, he has been gone from me these last six months. If I reflect on the time I spent in his company, I cannot honestly say that I was ever in love with Mr. Bingley. In fact, I cannot say that Mr. Bingley ever felt anything more for me than the infatuation of the moment.”
Jane smiled and ducked her head in embarrassment. “I believe I may also say that I was more in love with the prospect of being in love. I am not used to being the subject of an eligible man’s attentions.”
Though he had been silent, listening to her intently, it was clear he could not help but protest. “Surely not! I cannot imagine that you are not the focus of attention of every man within range of your smile!”
“I do receive plenty of attention, sir,” said Jane, shaking her head. “But we do not have many eligible men in Meryton. Receiving the attentions of a man who cannot afford a wife, or who has no intention of marrying, is gratifying, but it tends to be playful, rather than serious. Mr. Bingley was the first truly independent man to make me believe he might offer for me.”
“He is a fool for letting you go,” averred Colonel Fitzwilliam.
Jane laughed and touched his face with affection. “Perhaps he was, perhaps not. I cannot say.” Jane paused and then, feeling mischievous, said: “You remind me of my sister, sir. Lizzy is always the first to take my part. Have you been colluding with her?”
“It is only that we are both very intelligent. We recognize excellence when we see it, and we are not afraid to promote it.”
Jane laughed. “I am not so special.”
“I beg to differ, Miss Bennet.” He paused. “I am sorry for speaking as if I do not trust you.”
“I understand, sir. In fact, it seems to me that it was more for my benefit than for yours.”
“Yes, that is it exactly! If you believe it is so, then I must agree!”
They laughed together, but it was quickly replaced by a renewed earnestness in the colonel which made Jane’s heart flutter once again.
“Then there is nothing to do but to state my affections for you, Miss Bennet. I love you, and even though we have not known each other long, I know that nothing would make me happier than if you would be my wife.”
“Of course, I will,” said Jane, her eyes misting over in her pleasure. “I would be honored.”
The kiss they exchanged on the occasion of their engagement was more playful and sweet than passionate. But there was the promise of so much more. And Jane knew she would experience it with her dearest Fitzwilliam.
They walked again for a time, meandering without thought of any destination, simply enjoying each other’s company. Their conversation was inconsequential, the words exchanged of no real interest to anyone other than the two involved. The only thing of any import which passed between them was a short conversation concerning her sister and his cousin.
“Do you think Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy will come to an understanding?” asked Jane, her thoughts on how happy it would make her to see her sister equally happy.
“Darcy can take care of himself,” replied Colonel Fitzwilliam. “He is capable of managing his own affairs.”
Jane turned a look of mock severity on him, and he grinned. “Oh, very well. I have never seen Darcy so animated or intense as he is in his admiration of your sister. I would not be surprised if he was asking Miss Elizabeth for her hand at this very minute.”
Whatever Jane was going to say in response went unsaid, for at that moment a loud yell interrupted their discussion. Surprised, Jane turned in the direction of the voice, but the foliage was thick and there was nothing to see.
“What do you suppose that was?” asked she.
“I do not know, but perhaps we should investigate.”
Then taking her hand, Colonel Fitzwilliam led her away down the path as it curved away to the right. As they walked, the sound of loud voices soon reached them, one of them Elizabeth’s. Sharing a concerned look with her newly betrothed, Jane hurried her steps until they burst upon the scene unfolding in front of them. Mr. Collins was there, speaking in a loud voice, berating both Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth.
Startled by the loud yell, Elizabeth drew back from Mr. Darcy, a feeling akin to guilt oversetting her at being caught in such a compromising position. Mr. Darcy was in little better condition, as he looked about them wildly, trying to locate the voice.
Out of the corner of her eye, Elizabeth caught sight of a large form charging toward them, and out of instinct she stepped back to protect herself. When she had finally managed to gather control of her faculties, the sight which assaulted her was of a visibly angry Mr. Collins bearing down on them.
“Cousin Elizabeth!” thundered the man. He hurried up to her and put his heavy frame in front of her, as he loomed over her, his posture intending to intimidate. “How dare you attempt to seduce Mr. Darcy! Are you no better than a common woman of the night?”
If Elizabeth had not been so affronted at her cousin’s indictment, she might have been amused. “Mr. Collins, are you mad? Did it seem like I was the only one involved in what just happened?”
Mr. Collins’s nostrils flared with anger, and he leaned forward, forcing her to retreat. “I never could have imagined that I was inviting a viper into the very bosom of Lady Catherine’s home. Well, it is a mistake I may rectify, for you shall return to Hertfordshire immediately.”
With a swiftness of motion she would not have thought him capable, Mr. Collins’s hand darted out toward her wrist, but Elizabeth pulled her hand away before he could capture it. Then Mr. Darcy was there, inserting himself between the enraged parson and Elizabeth, though Elizabeth, angry as she was, only shouldered her way forward to stand by his side.
“If you so much as attempt to lay a hand on her again,” snarled Mr. Darcy, “I will not be responsible for my actions.”
“Mr. Darcy, I understand this temptress is attempting to seduce you, but I abjure you to remember your duty! What of your fair cousin? Will you leave her broken-hearted and bereft?”
“For the final time, Mr. Collins, I am not engaged to my cousin!”
“She—”
“Anne is delusional! I have never been engaged to her, and I never will be!”
“It is none of your concern, Mr. Collins.”
As one, the three combatants looked toward the sound of the voice, and they saw Colonel Fitzwilliam and Jane approaching at a quick walk. Elizabeth did not miss the fact that their hands were clasped as if they never intended to let go.
“But Colonel! Miss de Bourgh herself has told me this is the case. How can she be doubted?”
“It is none of your concern, sir,” replied the colonel. When he stepped up to Mr. Collins, Jane released his hand and stepped close to Elizabeth, grasping her sister to her, feeling the need for the support of a beloved sister. “You seem to have a high opinion of yourself, sir, to be attempting to take Darcy to task. If you do not wish to be out of favor with your patroness, I suggest you be silent about matters which do not concern you.”
“But it does concern me,” replied Mr. Collins, a haughty tone, akin to Miss de Bourgh’s rebuking them all. “I am Lady Catherine’s spiritual advisor, and I am privy to all her concerns. She would not wish for me to allow this travesty, and I shall not.”
“I do say, Mr. Collins,” said Elizabeth, her tone scalding, “you are quite possibly the stupidest man I have ever met.”
Mr. Collins’s complexion took on the hue of a ripe tomato, and he growled at Elizabeth. But he was prevented from reaching for her by the combined presence of Colonel Fitzwilliam and Mr. Darcy, who both stood menacingly over the man in case he should attempt something.
“You will not touch her, Mr. Collins,” said Mr. Darcy, his tone icy and menacing. “If you ever attempt violence with her, I shall return your actions upon you tenfold!”
“I abjure you, Mr. Darcy,” said Mr. Collins, his tone descending into petulance, “do not fall prey to this temptress. She is nothing. Miss de Bourgh is the lady meant for you. Do not throw that all away!”
“Come, Darcy, Miss Elizabeth,” said the colonel, though his dark look at Mr. Collins suggested he would prefer to beat the man to a pulp. “There is no reason to stand and listen to this vermin. Let us return to the house.”
“Excellent suggestion, Fitzwilliam,” replied Mr. Darcy.
He turned and gathered Elizabeth’s hand, placing it in his arm, and began to walk back toward the house. By his other side, Colonel Fitzwilliam walked with Jane, while Mr. Collins followed behind them, his whining continuing as they walked.
“Mr. Darcy! Colonel Fitzwilliam! You must listen to me!”
With an abruptness that surprised Elizabeth, Mr. Darcy suddenly stopped and turned, confronting the man. Mr. Collins almost fell to the ground in his attempt to avoid running into Mr. Darcy.
“Do not say another word, Collins. Be silent, worm!”
“I cannot make you out, man!” said Colonel Fitzwilliam. “You protest Darcy’s attentions to Miss Elizabeth as if the fate of the very world depended on it, and yet you say nothing of my attentions to Miss Bennet. What do you hold against Miss Elizabeth?”
“Other than her improper, impertinent ways, I care nothing for her.” The sight of Mr. Collins’s sneer, which made him appear more than usually ineffectual, almost set Elizabeth to laughing. “But though I would not advise you to lower yourself to marry my cousin, at least you are not engaged already. Mr. Darcy is, and he simply cannot betray his fair betrothed in such a way.”
“For the last time, I am not engaged to Anne!” Mr. Darcy clenched his fists, seeming to use the rhythmic motion to prevent himself from throttling Mr. Collins. “How many times must I say it to be believed?”
“I flatter myself that I understand what is happening here, sir,” said Mr. Collins, his tone more than usually unctuous. “I am not unaware of the lengths to which young ladies will go to attach themselves to a man of fortune. Though I would not injure you by suggesting you do not know your own mind, it is clear that my cousin has beguiled you and led you astray, confusing you and pulling you away from your duty.
“As I have said, Mr. Darcy,” said Mr. Collins with a smile likely intended to be commiserating, but which struck Elizabeth as being fraudulent, “I myself almost succumbed to my cousin's siren call. There is no shame in falling prey to an unscrupulous woman, sir. The best thing to do is to separate yourself from her immediately, so you may begin your recovery. I am sure Miss de Bourgh is waiting for you and will extend the balm of forgiveness without hesitation. Shall you not come away?”
It was clear to Elizabeth that the only reason Mr. Darcy did not respond immediately was because he was fighting to control his temper. Elizabeth could well understand his feelings—Mr. Collins was enough to try the patience of a saint! The longer he was silent, the wider Mr. Collins’s smug grin became, and it was not long before Mr. Collins started shooting triumphant glances at Elizabeth. Elizabeth only smirked back at him, knowing the odious man was destined to be disappointed. She did wonder, however, about Mr. Collins’s apparent virulent dislike of her. It made little sense, though she supposed that since the man himself was not blessed with sense, it could not be helped.
“Mr. Collins,” said Mr. Darcy when he had finally mastered himself, and in a tone which made Mr. Collins visibly jump, “you reach too far above you. I will not hear another word from you, on this matter or any other.”
“But, Mr. Darcy!” wailed Mr. Collins.
“Not another word!” thundered Mr. Darcy. “Your opinion is not needed or wanted. If you do not wish your life to become very uncomfortable, you will not say another word!”
Then Mr. Darcy gathered Elizabeth’s hand in the crook of his arm and began leading her back toward Rosings, with Colonel Fitzwilliam and Jane following. Behind them all, Mr. Collins fluttered and fretted, his continued protests akin to the squawking of a crow, though none of them paid him any heed.
This was what it felt like to have a protector, Elizabeth thought. She found that she rather liked it, though she hoped Mr. Darcy did remember that she was a capable and intelligent young woman. They would need to find a proper balance. For now, she found that ceding their response to Mr. Collins was quite agreeable.
Chapter XIV
Mr. Bennet’s favorite room in Rosings was, not surprisingly, the library. Though Lad
y Catherine’s library was not as eclectic as his own, it was still a light, spacious room, held plenty of material to hold his interest, and with a ready supply of Lady Catherine’s port and her books to read, Bennet felt himself to be quite content. There was, of course, a steady correspondence between himself and Mr. Hill, his butler and the man who was caring for Longbourn in his absence, but it was not too onerous, and Bennet found he was rather enjoying himself. There were benefits to living in a large house, for even if Kitty and Lydia did cause a ruckus, unless it was in the next room, Bennet could not hear it. And with his wife as thick as thieves with Lady Catherine, well, he was not bothered by her either.
One further interesting point about the library was the fact that it allowed the person within a fine view of the back gardens, all the way back to the woods some distance behind the house. On the day in question, Mr. Bennet was ensconced in the library as usual, and when he happened to look up, he saw, coming from the east toward the formal gardens, a rather motley crew. Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth led the way, with the colonel and Jane following. But what interested him the most was that Mr. Darcy’s stride was stiff, his pace was such that Elizabeth needed to hurry to keep up with him, and Bennet’s jackanapes of a cousin was following behind, looking like he was worrying at them like a vulture at a corpse.
“Look, Mary,” said he to his daughter, who was sitting close by with Lady Catherine’s copy of Julius Caesar in her hands. “The storm approaches.”
Mary lifted her eyes up from her book—which, to her credit, appeared to have held her interest—and took in the scene. Her lips thinned, and the familiar disapproval overtook her features—it was much the same as the look the girl usually wore when confronted with Lydia and Kitty. Bennet concealed a smile at the sight; he would not lose his suddenly close daughter to Mr. Collins.
