By the time the gentlemen retired to Mr. Bennet’s library after the meal, there was an almost tangible air of tension. As could be expected, a healthier amount of port than was usually offered seemed to be in order. Aside from Mr. Collins’s sermon on morality and familial duty, there was little conversation to be had. It was all Darcy could do to keep his temper in check, especially after struggling against the uncharacteristic inclination he felt to lay claim to a substantial portion of the decanter.
As they rejoined the ladies, Mr. Collins succeeded in further astonishing those around him by approaching Darcy and requesting a private conference with him.
“You cannot be serious, Mr. Collins. I have nothing further to say to you tonight on any subject.” His reply was barely civil and his features filled with a cold disdain that would have easily deterred a more discerning man. Darcy quickly turned his attention back to Elizabeth, but Mr. Collins stood his ground and continued his assault.
“But my dear Mr. Darcy,” he continued in an urgent, slightly amplified voice, “as a clergyman, and particularly one who has pledged my undying bond of allegiance to your own, most respectable aunt, I feel it is my holy duty to point out to you the particular evils of such lustful pursuits as you have so recently engaged in, for it has been my keen observation that you, sir, have not been the first illustrious gentleman to have been led astray by the wiles of a woman. My heart, in any case, goes out to you, for your lamentable weakness in succumbing, and most unconsciously I might add, to the forbidden lures of the flesh.”
There were horrified gasps, and then the entire room fell into uncomfortable silence. The void was filled again, and quickly, by Mr. Collins. “Furthermore,” he continued, “though my fair cousin does have innumerable temptations at her disposal, which have, undoubtedly, served to benefit her most advantageously in this nefarious ensnarement, I feel, and am certain, beyond any doubt, my most generous and condescending patroness will agree with me when I say that, as an unsuspecting victim of this cruel and artful ploy to capture your favor, not only, Mr. Darcy, are you truly not at fault for indulging in such a natural indiscretion such as this, but you are most certainly to be pitied and prayed for to our merciful God in Heaven and not to be held accountable in the least for any breach of faith in your otherwise honorable and dutiful intentions toward your cousin, Miss Anne de Bourgh of Rosings Park.” He finished this speech with what he apparently believed to be a subservient smile before bowing.
It was, by far, too much. “You forget yourself, sir!” Darcy’s furious voice filled the quiet drawing room, resonating off the walls and causing Mr. Collins to cringe. Raising himself to his full height, he took several threatening steps toward the clergyman, who, it appeared, had finally acquired sense enough to retreat several faltering steps in the opposite direction.
“Until now,” Darcy said in a dangerous voice, “I have endured your preposterous impositions, your tiresome meddling, your baseless slander, and your outrageous insults! You flatter yourself, Mr. Collins, with your gross assumptions, not only in presuming yourself superior enough in situation and rank to dare to speak on behalf of my aunt and my cousin, but by your insufferable presumption that you could possibly have any knowledge of my heart, my mind, and my desires. There is but one other person aside from myself, and one person only, who is privy to such information, sir, and you have unjustly insulted her at every turn and in a most offensive manner in her own father’s home. You will take the opportunity now to apologize to my future wife, and if I ever learn of your leveling another insult at her for any reason, make no mistake, Mr. Collins, it will become my mission in life to see you live to regret it.”
Mr. Collins was not remiss in his apology to Elizabeth, making use of all the eloquence in his possession as he groveled before her, begging her forgiveness for his crimes. Whether he truly meant it was another matter entirely.
By this time Darcy had long since had enough, and making his apologies to Mr. and Mrs. Bennet for losing his temper in their drawing room, he took his leave, but not before exchanging a private, lengthy, and somewhat emotional good-night talk with Elizabeth.
It was not until Darcy was safely removed from Longbourn that Mrs. Bennet happened to recall several words from the heated exchange with Mr. Collins in which Darcy had referred, most definitely, to Elizabeth as his future wife. Upon receiving confirmation of this, both from her husband and her daughter, she reacted in very much the only way she was accustomed to responding to such happy news. Her raptures were so effusive that none in attendance were in any doubt of her joy of the impending event, which could be heard all the way to Meryton and, very likely, well beyond.
Chapter 11
After receiving such a set-down from Darcy, and after indulging in a fair amount of reflection, Mr. Collins was finally forced to concede what had become painfully obvious to everyone else in the house—he could no longer expect to receive the proper distinction and respect he believed his due by remaining any longer at Longbourn; thus, he quitted his cousin’s house at first light the following morning and hastened to Lucas Lodge, where he would remain until his departure for Hunsford several days hence.
Rather than riding over to Longbourn and braving the effusions of Mrs. Bennet after spending what he had deemed to be an exceptionally trying day in that house not twelve hours earlier, Darcy suggested to Bingley that they extend an invitation to the two eldest Miss Bennets, entreating them to spend the afternoon and evening at Netherfield instead. Declaring it an excellent idea, and quite wishing they had thought of it a good deal sooner, Bingley wasted no time dispatching a footman with his carriage and a note to Jane.
Just as the ladies were making ready to leave, Charlotte arrived. “Lizzy!” she called out as she hurried toward them.
“Charlotte! It is good to see you,” she said with a smile and an affectionate embrace. “We are to dine today at Netherfield and were just about to depart.”
Charlotte’s expression, which her friend had thought appeared somewhat troubled, became even more so. “I am glad, then, to have caught you, Elizabeth. I am afraid I have some rather distressing news to relate that I would not wish you to hear from another source. Indeed, it cannot wait.”
Elizabeth and Jane looked at her quizzically. Taking Elizabeth’s hands, Charlotte revealed that it concerned Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy.
“Me and Mr. Darcy? Charlotte, I cannot possibly imagine what could be so distressing about any news concerning us.”
“I am sure you are aware of Mr. Collins’s hasty removal this morning to Lucas Lodge?”
Elizabeth and Jane nodded their assent.
“You must also be well acquainted, then, with his immense displeasure on the subject of Mr. Darcy and the strength of that gentleman’s attachment to you.”
Again, both sisters nodded.
“Elizabeth, Mr. Collins is extremely indignant. He has claimed Mr. Darcy has gone against the express wishes of his aunt, Lady Catherine de Bourgh—and, perhaps—his entire family by entering into an engagement with you. From what I have been told, Mr. Darcy has a prior understanding with Lady Catherine’s daughter.”
Jane gasped, and though she felt a moment of panic at the mention of Darcy’s family, Elizabeth only scowled and said in a bitter voice, “Yes, that is what Mr. Collins has accused him of, Charlotte, but I can assure you any claim of that sort is untrue. There was never any understanding between Mr. Darcy and Miss de Bourgh. Mr. Darcy informed me himself that it was merely the fanciful whim of Lady Catherine and nothing more.”
“I confess I am relieved to hear it. Please understand I do not doubt you, Elizabeth, nor do I doubt Mr. Darcy’s integrity as a gentleman, but Mr. Collins has taken the liberty of relating all the particulars as he is acquainted with them, not only to myself, but to my father, my mother, and my entire family—and all within earshot of the servants. Tomorrow morning he means to leave for Kent to inform Lady Catherine of Mr. Darcy’s engagement, and that is not all, I fear. I hesitate to mention t
he rest.”
“Charlotte, please,” she entreated, “did you not just say you would not wish for me to learn of anything from idle gossips?”
By now, all three ladies had grown decidedly agitated.
Charlotte drew a deep breath and exhaled fully before she next spoke. “Very well, Elizabeth, I will tell you all, but please know it gives me great pain to do so.” She tightened her grip on her friend’s hands and continued, “Mr. Collins has spoken quite explicitly of a moment of shocking intimacy he claims to have witnessed between you and Mr. Darcy last night in your father’s garden. I believe it is his intention to inform Mr. Darcy’s aunt you have somehow drawn him in—seduced him, even—thus, forcing him to offer you his hand under duress. Oh, Elizabeth, I am so very, very sorry! Mr. Collins seems quite confident Lady Catherine will insist upon Mr. Darcy breaking his engagement to you, and, as he has told me Lady Catherine is one of Mr. Darcy’s few living relations and very nearly the head of his family, he is certain her wishes shall be carried out.”
It was Elizabeth’s turn to gasp as she felt the blood drain from her face and swayed.
Jane, though feeling rather unwell herself, moved to help Charlotte support her. There was concern written plainly on the faces of both.
“Lizzy,” said Jane urgently, “you must come into the house, and we will inform our father at once of all we have just learnt. Certainly, he will know what is best to be done.”
For several moments, Elizabeth was capable of nothing beyond a blank look of incomprehension and, when she had finally recovered her voice enough to speak, sounded so very much unlike herself—so faint and distressed—that Jane and Charlotte found themselves fearing for her. “No. I must go to Netherfield. I must speak to Mr. Darcy at once.”
Jane attempted to dissuade her, but on this, Elizabeth was adamant: she would speak with Darcy. Seeing her sister’s distress only continue to increase, she finally consented, though with great reluctance, and all three ladies soon found themselves settled in Bingley’s carriage and on their way to Netherfield. Charlotte accompanied them only as far as the lane to Lucas Lodge.
When the carriage arrived at its destination, both gentlemen were waiting to greet the ladies from Longbourn. Bingley hurried forward and handed Jane down with a smile, which faltered upon seeing her troubled expression. When Darcy stepped forward to extend his hand to assist Elizabeth, she remained in the far corner of the carriage, her naturally rosy complexion decidedly pale, and looking as though she would burst into tears at any moment.
“Good God!” he exclaimed. “Whatever is the matter? Truly, Elizabeth, you look extremely ill!” Unable to elicit from her any response beyond a look of utter despair and complete wretchedness, he turned toward Jane with no small amount of concern.
“I am afraid, sir,” she began unsteadily, “we have just had a visit from the future Mrs. Collins, in which she has imparted to us some most distressing news. I am afraid it concerns Lizzy and you, and, I am sorry to say, is of a most disturbing nature.”
“What news? What in God’s name has that odious man to accuse me of now?” he demanded indignantly.
Eying the driver and footman, Jane quietly addressed Bingley. “Cannot we all go into the house, Charles? I believe we should discuss this unfortunate development with Mr. Darcy in private.”
Bingley understood her perfectly. “Yes. Yes, of course. Darcy, I am certain Miss Elizabeth would benefit from a few moments in which to collect herself. Perhaps you can join us in my study when she is feeling better?”
Darcy nodded distractedly, and after Bingley had dismissed the driver and footman and escorted Jane into the house, he took a seat in the carriage beside Elizabeth and closed the door. No words were uttered, but Darcy was able to read her anguish as clearly as if she had spoken it aloud. Suddenly, Elizabeth reached for him, burying her face in his lapel. He enfolded her in his embrace, one arm wrapping around her shoulders while his other hand moved to cradle the back of her head. He held her while she wept.
It seemed as though an eternity had passed before Elizabeth was once again in control of herself. Darcy produced his handkerchief from his waistcoat and wiped her tears with unexampled affection. When he had done, he drew her back against his chest, his tone soft and filled with concern. “Elizabeth, dearest, please. Will you not speak to me of it?”
Her head was pounding, and at first, she was unequal to saying anything, but after several moments she managed to speak in a low, angry voice, the words nearly choking her. “He saw us, Fitzwilliam. My hateful cousin. He actually watched us last night for some time when we were together in the garden… while you and I… when you were… touching me. He saw it all! I am disgraced! My reputation, my family, all my sisters! We are all sullied because of this! He means to tell your aunt and put an end to our engagement!” Elizabeth fought to control her agony, to prevent more tears of anguish from falling, but it proved a hopeless business.
Darcy continued to hold her close, kissing her hair and stroking her back. He could not stop himself from shaking with the rage rising within his breast at the persistent, unwarranted, and malicious interference of Mr. Collins. Try as he would, Darcy’s anger did not abate. At long last, Elizabeth quieted, giving way almost completely to exhaustion.
When she finally felt well enough to leave the carriage and enter the house, it was to discover her sister had already apprised Bingley of their conversation with Charlotte. After repeating the particulars for Darcy and watching his anger continue to swell to a quiet fury as he paced the length of the room, Bingley rang for a servant to prepare a room for Elizabeth, so she might rest for a few hours. Pausing to take a long, thoughtful look at the woman he had long since given his heart to, Darcy excused himself and strode stiffly from the room.
* * *
It was many hours later that Elizabeth opened her eyes to vaguely familiar surroundings. Casting her gaze about her, she was startled to find herself still occupying the elegant bedchamber that Mr. Bingley’s housekeeper, Mrs. Blakely, prepared for her that afternoon, along with a strong cup of medicinal tea the elderly woman insisted would ease the throbbing in her head and allow her to sleep. As her headache now appeared to have gone, and the delicate floral pattern upon the walls was bathed in nothing but the soft glow of a low-burning fire, she could only assume the tea must have worked its magic. She yawned and attempted to pull herself to a sitting position, only to discover she appeared to be restrained by something warm and heavy pressing upon her body.
Panic flowed through her, and she began to struggle against the weight that seemed to be pinning her. Then she heard a muffled voice and felt a warm breath upon her neck, which made her freeze. “Shh, Elizabeth, it is late. Go back to sleep, my love.”
“Fitzwilliam!” she gasped. “What are you doing here? Why are we sleeping in the same bed?” She could not begin to account for his presence there, for such a complete breach of propriety—and under his friend’s own roof!
Darcy tightened his hold on her and, nuzzling her neck, replied in a sleepy voice, “You have nothing to fear from me, dearest. Go back to sleep, or you will surely wake the house.”
Despite Darcy’s reassurance, Elizabeth could not help but worry. “But why has no one bothered to wake me? Where are the Bingleys and Mr. and Mrs. Hurst? And where is Jane? She must be terribly worried about me.” She stopped then, placed her hand over her eyes, and groaned. “Fitzwilliam, please tell me I have not slept all afternoon. Poor Mr. Bingley must think me unpardonably rude.”
At this, Darcy released her and, raising himself upon one elbow, fixed her with a steady gaze full of love and longing. He was lying beneath the counterpane, clad only in his fine linen shirt and, Elizabeth fervently hoped, his breeches. Her gaze traveled over his handsome features, and she inhaled sharply as she beheld the beauty of his neck for the first time, completely unencumbered by a cravat.
Darcy chuckled at her reaction and took pity on her. “As I said, you need not have any fear of me, Elizabeth
. Your sister is sleeping just down the hall, and a note has long since been dispatched to Longbourn, informing your family you had taken ill upon your arrival. I am sorry to inform you, however, you have indeed slept, not only through luncheon, but through supper, as well. By the time your sister and Bingley became aware of the lateness of the hour, the weather had taken such a turn as to make it necessary for both of you to spend the night. You are now, and quite to my satisfaction, I might add, stranded by a rather unrelenting storm.”
More than a little mortified by his account of her current circumstances, not to mention most reluctant to credit it, Elizabeth threw back the counterpane and made her way toward the window, muttering irritated words under her breath about Mrs. Blakely and the strength of her tea. Sure enough, upon peering through the curtains, her sight was instantly assailed by a blinding torrent of thick snow.
Turning back to Darcy in astonishment, she found his eyes lingering on her form with a look she had come to know well. It was at that moment she recalled she was wearing only a low-cut night shift she had borrowed from Mrs. Hurst, which clung to her body. Judging from his passionate gaze, he had noticed as well.
“Are you going to continue there all night in the cold, or will you come back to me where I can resume keeping you warm?” Darcy patted the empty space beside him on the bed.
Elizabeth moved to cover herself, but finding nothing near at hand to suit her purpose, she was forced to settle for wrapping her arms securely about her chest. This only served to make Darcy erupt in silent laughter. Elizabeth failed to see the humor in her situation. “I… well… exactly what, pray, are you doing in my bed, Mr. Darcy? I am correct in my assumption this is, indeed, my bed, sir, am I not?” She finished with a raised brow and an arch look.
“Indeed, it is, Miss Bennet,” he said in a voice full of mirth as he rose from the bed to join her by the window. “But I far prefer to think of it as our bed.”
Truth about Mr. Darcy Page 11
