“My aunt encouraged you to take a wife?” Mr. Darcy interrupted. Mr. Collins nodded.
“Indeed, she told me, under no uncertain terms, that I was to visit my cousins, and, in the name of familial charity—”
“Mr. Collins, I must interrupt you,” Mr. Darcy interrupted again. “I know my aunt quite well, and I am sure she would not have encouraged you to make an offer to Miss Elizabeth.”
A wave of anxiety rolled over Mr. Darcy as he watched Mr. Collins’ face fill with confusion. Beside him, Miss Bingley broke out into a wide smile of surprise.
“Mr. Collins,” Miss Bingley said. “Tell me, have you heard any rumors about your cousins since coming to Hertfordshire?”
Mr. Darcy glanced sideways at his companion as a jolt went through him at her words. What was she playing at? Mr. Collins grew quiet as a concerned look replaced his confusion.
“Miss Bingley, I cannot imagine that such cruel, vicious rumors would be true. I daresay that should one of the ladies marry into the Church, and with the help of my esteemed patroness, your aunt—” Mr. Collins trailed off, looking at Mr. Darcy for help. “Sir, do you believe your aunt would object to my choice on moral grounds?”
Mr. Darcy cleared his throat awkwardly, glaring daggers at Miss Bingley.
“I’m sure Mr. Darcy was not saying anything of the kind,” Miss Bingley cut in, answering for the tall gentleman next to her. “I only meant to say that it would be a shame if such nasty rumors were to follow your new wife to her new home. I’m sure your parishioners would not think badly of you for them though, for they are clearly fictitious.”
Miss Bingley was staring at Mr. Darcy throughout the entire exchange, and with a sickening feeling in his stomach, it occurred to him that she thought them of one mind. This was a game to her, a large joke she assumed they were both in on. But it had gone too far already, and Mr. Collins was looking panicked.
“Mr. Darcy?” he repeated. “Do you think your aunt would object?”
Mr. Darcy clenched his teeth, seeing no other option but to answer the man honestly.
“Mr. Collins, I say this only out of friendship for the Bennet family, but I must tell you truly, should my aunt ever learn of these rumors, true or no, it would not lead to domestic conviviality for you nor your wife.”
“Sir?” Mr. Collins asked, his eyes wide as he looked past Mr. Darcy. The gentleman shifted awkwardly.
“Would you advise me against such a match?” Mr. Collins asked.
“To put it plainly sir, I shall advise you as she would in this situation, though I never thought I would say such a phrase. Look outside the family; you will find a wife much more capable of upholding my aunt’s moral requirements for a clergyman’s wife,” Mr. Darcy said, biting back the sour taste in his mouth.
Look to anyone, just do not trap Elizabeth Bennet in a life of subservience and gossip, Mr. Darcy thought. The words sprung to his mind, unbidden, and in his surprise at their appearance he almost vocalized them.
“True or no, such rumors could ruin your standing in your parish sir,” Miss Bingley said warmly, glancing sideways to smile at Mr. Darcy again. Mr. Collins nodded, and excused himself quickly from the situation, hurrying away toward a far corner in an attempt to collect himself.
Elizabeth, who had just managed to extract herself from Sir William’s conversation, followed her cousin, a surprising streak of concern running through her. Mr. Collins, though odious and long winded, appeared to be greatly distressed, and she could not imagine what could have been said to make him so.
“Mr. Collins!” she exclaimed as she approached. “Are you well?”
Mr. Collins started as she approached, and he looked at her with wide eyes.
“Cousin Elizabeth? Oh, yes, I…” he trailed off. “I just had a rather strange conversation. I had been very close to a decision you see, but I seem to have forgotten to consider how my patroness, Lady Catherine de Bourgh would feel, and I…”
Elizabeth stared at him, confused.
“Sir, what do you mean? Can I help you with anything?” she asked.
Mr. Collins shook his head.
“As you know, I have been looking for a wife, and I had been close to a decision. I had heard the talk and such rumors, yes, but I now realize that my intuition may have led me down a path that is not morally appropriate, and given my position…”
Elizabeth went rigid.
“Morally appropriate?” Mr. Collins looked sheepish.
“That is, I…”
“Who suggested to you that your decision was incorrect?” she asked, her tone cold as she spoke across him.
“Well, he did not—”
“Mr. Collins,” she interrupted, her voice softer. “Did Mr. Darcy tell you something about my sisters and me?”
Mr. Collins eyes were wider now, and he looked absolutely terrified.
“Cousin Elizabeth, I beg you, I am not feeling myself. I believe I should retire for the evening,” Mr. Collins said. He paused for a moment, his brow furrowed, before looking up at her with determination. “I would wish to speak with you tomorrow, privately, if you will?”
Elizabeth, bewildered and alarmed, simply nodded, and Mr. Collins bowed to her and made his way quickly across the floor and out of the ballroom.
Across the room, Mr. Darcy watched this interaction closely, and was shocked when he saw Elizabeth turn to stare at him. Through the crowd they made eye contact, and a cold shiver washed through him. He saw fear and hurt in her eyes, but surely he must be imagining such a reaction from so far away. Before he was even aware of making the decision, his feet were carrying him around the crowd and toward her. She stood rigid as he approached. Had she always looked so fearsome? Were her dark eyes always so hard?
“Mr. Darcy, may I ask what you and my cousin were discussing?” she asked the second he reached her, her tone clipped and cold. She showed no surprise at his approaching, nor any interest in feigning ballroom manners.
Mr. Darcy cleared his throat and glanced over her shoulder, too hesitant to meet her eyes again.
“I learned that your cousin is soon to be married. He and I were simply discussing his future,” Mr. Darcy said awkwardly.
“Did you just tell Mr. Collins that my sisters and I were not ‘morally appropriate’ choices for wives?” Elizabeth asked directly. Surprise flashed over Mr. Darcy’s face, and for a moment it looked like he was going to blush.
“No, not precisely—” the gentleman began, but Elizabeth had cut him off.
“But upon learning that he was considering an offer of marriage to me, you encouraged him to seek elsewhere for a wife?” she pressed.
Mr. Darcy looked flummoxed, and struggled to find an answer. How could he justify his actions to her when he could not fully account for them himself?
“I did,” he said eventually, seeing no point in lying.
"You should not have said that!" Elizabeth exclaimed, reaching out her hand to the nearby wall to steady herself as a sudden feeling of dizziness washed over her.
"Why? Do you wish to marry him?"
She stared at the gentleman in horror. How dare he ask such a blunt question?
"No!" Elizabeth cried, before turning red at her confession. "But it was not your place to speak. You had no right to become involved sir," she said, her voice lower.
Mr. Darcy went rigid for a moment.
"He is my aunt’s curate. I have an interest in his affairs."
Elizabeth's jaw went slack as she stared.
"Lady Catherine de Bourgh is your aunt?" Mr. Darcy nodded curtly. A harsh, almost manic laugh escaped, unbidden, from Elizabeth's lips.
"From everything I have heard, she is an imposing woman who inserts herself into people's lives when she has no right; I now see that is a family quality!"
Mr. Darcy's composed mask slipped for a moment, and he opened his mouth to respond but Elizabeth was still speaking.
"His profession gives you no right to meddle in affairs of the heart, especially when
they concern individuals you have no rule over, sir! You are a man, not a god, and no amount of wealth will give you the right or ability to bend us mere mortals to your will."
Elizabeth was breathing heavily with rage and Mr. Darcy looked as though she had physically slapped him. Behind him, she saw Lydia silently slipping away, and a jolt raced through her as she realized the time. She had to stop her younger sister from completing the spell; far too much had gone wrong this evening already, and to attempt witchcraft while there were already rumors circulating! No, no good could come of it. And regardless, it was clearly pointless; if Mr. Collins were to propose at all, Elizabeth had been his choice. There was no need to attempt to push Jane further into love anymore.
Without another word to Mr. Darcy she curtseyed quickly and rushed past him, leaving the gentleman behind as he stared after her.
Lydia had already disappeared, either into the hallway leading to the alcove, or into the library, though Elizabeth could not tell which one. Seeing a group of men near the library, she chose to check the hallway first, and slipped out of the room quietly.
Mr. Darcy watched her flight in amazement, his anger bubbling up inside of him, his fist clenching and unclenching silently by his side as he attempted to control his emotions. A small cough came from behind him, and he whirled in surprise to see Mr. Bingley behind him.
Had the man been there the whole time? Had he heard that entire argument? Mr. Darcy's neck flushed in embarrassment at the thought.
"Darcy, what the devil did you do?” Bingley asked. Mr. Darcy stared at his friend as he attempted to sort through that question himself.
“I detest these kinds of things, Mr. Bingley,” Mr. Darcy said tersely. “Emotions run high, people willfully misunderstand you, and all the guests act as though they are on the stage in a great drama.”
Mr. Bingley stared at him, his expression of concern melting away to anger.
“Don’t try to blame this on me Darcy. I heard what you just said. Did you truly tell Mr. Collins not to marry a Bennet sister? Good God man, can’t you see why she’s upset?”
Mr. Darcy stood stiffly and gave a brief, stilted shake of his head.
“Miss Elizabeth is prone to fits of anger, and I have never been able to account for them,” he muttered. “Besides, she said she did not want to marry the oaf. I cannot see why she would be angry to lose out on such a partner.”
“Longbourn is entailed away,” Mr. Bingley said, his tone signifying his incredulous surprise at Mr. Darcy’s foolishness. “Mr. Collins is the heir to the estate; without him, they have nothing. He came here to marry one of them, but now that you have accused them of being witches to the man’s face, he is unlikely to be concerned with their well being once their father passes!”
Mr. Darcy stared at his friend, more than a little taken aback by his forceful demeanor.
“I did not accuse them of being witches,” Mr. Darcy started, indignant, but one look from his formerly affable friend silenced him.
“How did you know this?” he asked finally.
“I speak to them, Darcy! I take an interest in them rather than standing around like a brute and butting in on lives. This was badly done. Look, you’ve chased the young lady from the room,” Mr. Bingley growled, turning on his heel to walk away as Mr. Darcy stared, dumbfounded for the second time that day.
What had gotten into Bingley? He had never seen the man act in such a manner. He recognized the wisdom in his friend’s words, but his mood was too black to see clearly. He was unaccustomed to being treated as a child, and yet in the past ten minutes he had twice been scolded like a babe.
How had he missed that Longbourn was to be entailed away? Surely it would have come up in conversation at some point. But then again, he had to admit that he rarely listened to conversations at the Bennet household. When he was there, he chose to tune out most of the discussion, and only truly listened when Miss Elizabeth spoke.
Miss Elizabeth. He glanced toward the doors she had run out of with a hint of guilt. She had admitted herself that she did not wish to marry Mr. Collins, which alleviated some of the doubt building within him. But the entail changed things. She was clearly prepared to fulfill her family duty, to sacrifice for the greater good. It was a role he was uncomfortably familiar with, and a situation he knew he would find himself in one day. Though the woman was infuriating, he found that he respected her for it.
Though what kind of woman had such a temper? He had never in his life seen a gentlewoman verbally strike out like that, and so utterly unprovoked. An icy chill went to the core of his heart as he considered her words, especially her comparison to his aunt Catherine. With a great sigh, he unclenched his hand at last and looked toward the door to the hallway. Blast it all, he thought to himself, Bingley was right.
***
Lydia was not in the alcove when Elizabeth arrived. It was much cooler out in the hallway, away from the candles and crowds, and Elizabeth sat down on the bench that was hidden in the nook and pressed her hand to the back of her face. Her cheeks were flushed and red hot, and she was still breathing heavily as she attempted to sort through all that had happened.
In the dim light of the hallway it was impossible to tell whether Lydia had drawn the rune or not, but Elizabeth didn't care. It was too late to stop the process now anyway, but she would be sure to fail in her job to fetch Jane and Mr. Bingley. The spell would be harmless if no one were there to receive it, and then they could leave this horrid evening behind them.
How had it gone so wrong so fast?
Mr. Darcy.
How dare that abominable man interfere with their lives! He had no right. And was he truly going around telling people she was a witch? Her stomach churned at the thought. Mr. Wickham had been right all along; Mr. Darcy was clearly disdainful of magic and all those who practiced it. She did not know how he had found out, but she was positive he had no proof, which meant he had been driven to ruin her reputation on the strength of gossip alone.
Elizabeth took a deep, steadying breath as she fought back tears. Nothing was going at all the way it should have. A small tear leaked out, and Elizabeth sniffed quickly in an attempt to abate any further escapes, and took a deep, shuddering breath.
“Miss Elizabeth? I've been looking for you.”
Elizabeth's head snapped up as she made eye contact with Mr. Darcy, who was standing against the nearby corner, his hands clasped behind his back and a stiff expression on his face. Elizabeth wiped her eyes quickly and turned to him.
“What may I help you with, Mr. Darcy?” She asked, her tone clipped and severe. Mr. Darcy shivered slightly, as though a draft had run through the room.
“I beg your assistance in obtaining your forgiveness,” he said awkwardly. Elizabeth laughed bitterly.
“My forgiveness? For what, Mr. Darcy? I can hardly bestow such a thing when I do not know what should be forgiven.” She could hear the bitterness in her voice, but felt little impetus to soften it.
Mr. Darcy sighed and took a seat next to her on the bench, leaving a large distance between them. Elizabeth looked at the man, not even attempting to hide her dislike.
“For several things; chief among them my comments to Mr. Collins. Though you may not believe it, I did not intend to discourage him. He simply asked me a question and I answered truthfully. You know that I abhor disguise.”
“And what question did he ask, that you felt so compelled to inform him that my sisters and I are immoral?” She choked out.
“He asked me whether I thought his aunt would approve of a marriage to one of your sisters.”
“And you said no on what grounds? What was it that disqualifies my family? Our wealth? Our connections?” Mr. Darcy stared at her in horror.
“No! Of course not! It was merely suggested…”
“What was?” she demanded. Mr. Darcy sighed.
“Surely you have heard the rumors about your family, Miss Elizabeth. Though you do not know my aunt, you appear to have a decent understandi
ng of her character. Should such rumors reach her ears, it would be extremely damaging not just to your reputation, but Mr. Collins’ very livelihood.”
Elizabeth simply stared.
“Those rumors are gossip! The same stories have been told for years, but no one believes them! We live in a small village, Mr. Darcy, and people talk to amuse themselves. There is nothing malicious about it, and I daresay none of my neighbors would ever consider my family immoral.” Elizabeth’s voice was quiet and steely, and she turned her head away from him as she closed her eyes in resignation. “Had you ever deigned to speak to them, rather than pick through rumors and gossip, you may know that we are widely liked and respected.”
An Unnatural Inheritance: A Pride and Prejudice Variation Page 12
