Elizabeth frowned at the idea. She still worried over agreeing to involve herself in Miss de Bourgh’s scheme. She was also still uncomfortable with all that had passed between her and Mr. Darcy. She’d been mildly interested, however, to experience what it was like to be courted by him.
“I said, Cousin Elizabeth, how long will you require to ready yourself?”
Elizabeth looked up, realizing Mr. Collins had been speaking. “I beg your pardon?”
“Woolgathering, Elizabeth?” Charlotte asked, her eyes twinkling with mischief.
Maria giggled again, louder this time.
It was on Elizabeth’s tongue to deny it, but in a way she had been and, if the plot was still afoot, it might be best to perpetuate the notion. “Perhaps.”
Charlotte’s eyebrows shot up.
“Of course you were not,” Mr. Collins said. “For that to be the case, you would need to have someone to woolgather over, which you cannot.”
“I’m sure you are correct, Mr. Collins,” Charlotte replied, her tone placating but her expression thoughtful. “On both points. Elizabeth ought to go to her room and ensure she has all the time she needs to ready herself to see Lady Catherine.”
“I did not mean she should go this moment,” Mr. Collins said. He turned to Elizabeth. “First, we must review your every interaction with Lady Catherine. It is best we discover what you have done to please her, Cousin, so you may endeavor to repeat it. I, myself, find she enjoys an attentive listener who can offer affirmation of her wisdom as she reveals it. I can instruct you in how best to do this.”
Elizabeth stood, having no intention of subjecting herself to any of her cousin’s propositions. “I am sorry, Mr. Collins. I’m afraid you were more correct than you knew when you suggested I needed time to ready myself. My walk this morning was revitalizing, but I’m afraid I still suffer some lingering effects from yesterday’s malady. I must close my eyes in rest for a short time in order to be at my best for Lady Catherine.”
“Yes, yes, well, if you think that is more important than learning how best to please her ladyship--”
“Indeed, I do.” Elizabeth mustered a smile. “I promise, as I repose, I shall think on what I must have done to garner her attention.”
“Well, then, I suppose--”
Casting a smile at Charlotte and Maria, Elizabeth made her escape, intending to catch up on her correspondences before readying for dinner. Instead, she found herself rereading Mr. Darcy’s letter. She pondered it, his proposal, and their meeting that morning. This not only distracted her from writing her own letters, but ended with her losing track of time and being almost late coming down to leave for dinner.
The four of them walked to Rosings, Elizabeth enjoying both the exercise and the cool evening air. When they arrived, she was surprised to see carriages standing before the grand home. It appeared the gathering would not be so intimate as they were accustomed to. Elizabeth wondered what, if anything, adding more people to dinner could have to do with Mr. Darcy’s supposed pursuit of her. She concluded it might be in their favor, hoping the additional guests would ease the awkwardness she worried would flourish between them.
They were greeted by a footman, who led them in a slightly different direction than usual. As always when visiting Rosings, Elizabeth was both impressed by the grandeur and amused by what she considered an overstated ostentatiousness of décor, which followed fads of twenty years ago rather than aiming at timeless beauty. The home itself was attractive, yet she couldn’t agree with what could only be Lady Catherine’s taste. Elizabeth wondered, if Miss de Bourgh did bar her mother, would the decorations change?
The parlor they arrived at was larger than the one Lady Catherine customarily received them in, and Elizabeth immediately preferred it. The room had oversized, airy windows, though the deep blue curtains were nearly closed. In spite of what, at a glance, appeared to be six additional guests over the usual gathering of Mr. Darcy, Colonel Fitzwilliam, Miss de Bourgh, Mrs. Jenkinson and Lady Catherine, there seemed to be more space than in the stuffy red parlor Lady Catherine preferred. Here, the theme was a subdued blue and cream, the colors more soothing, though the furnishings didn’t appear any less fine.
The footman stepping aside. Mr. Collins took point and led their little party to a halt before Lady Catherine. He bowed. Elizabeth, Charlotte and Maria curtsied, Maria doing a much more practiced job than when they’d first reached Kent.
“Lady Catherine,” Mr. Collins said. “May I say what a tremendous honor you do us by inviting us to dine with you. We are, as always, made better by being permitted to bask in your presence, your knowledge and the loveliness of your home. I think I can speak for . . .”
Elizabeth, rising from her curtsy, stopped attending to her cousin’s speech. It was the same one he used each time, with small modifications she knew he labored over more than his Sunday sermons. Not needing to hear it again, she sought out Mr. Darcy with a look, wanting to assure herself their mock courtship was still on.
The moment she fixed her eyes on his, she was reassured. He gazed at her so warmly, in fact, she felt her skin heat. His mouth curved into a smile and he nodded in silent acknowledgement.
Elizabeth returned the greeting, feeling slightly breathless. Now she had an inkling of what it was like to be properly courted by Mr. Darcy. Even knowing his feelings about her family, that he’d wronged Jane, and that his courtship was a ruse, Elizabeth felt her blush heighten under his gaze.
“Of course it is your honor, Mr. Collins, Mrs. Collins, Miss Lucas.” Lady Catherine’s haughty tones brought Elizabeth’s attention back. She realized her cousin’s first speech of the evening was concluded. Lady Catherine fixed narrowed eyes on her. “It is to your credit you understand your place and how to conduct yourself among your betters.”
Elizabeth suppressed her amusement as the rest of the greetings and introductions were exchanged. Lady Catherine took every opportunity to slight her, something Mr. Collins was obviously noticing. Her cousin began to sweat, casting frequent worried glances her way. Colonel Fitzwilliam and Miss de Bourgh, on the other hand, were courteous and warm. Elizabeth couldn’t help but notice which of those in the room were truly displaying good breeding.
Of the six new people, four were women, and most took their cue from their hostess. Elizabeth didn’t mind, not feeling the need to befriend Lady Catherine’s followers. Their cold shoulders merely afforded her a greater opportunity to speak with the always affable Colonel, as well as with Miss de Bourgh and Mr. Darcy.
When dinner was announced they all made their way into Lady Catherine’s formal dining room. The long table sparkled with enough additional silverware and crystal to make Maria’s eyes go wide with worry. Elizabeth would have sat near her, to help her avoid mistakes, but this evening the table also boasted place cards. Due to the surplus of women, the cards didn’t alternate between male and female guests. When Elizabeth found hers, she was between Miss de Bourgh and one of the two gentlemen Lady Catherine had invited, a younger man of about thirty. He seemed overly charming to Elizabeth, reminding her slightly of Mr. Wickham. Predictably, Elizabeth was seated almost as far from Mr. Darcy as the table permitted.
Miss de Bourgh reached the table as Elizabeth did. Frowning, she plucked Elizabeth’s name card from the expensive linen. “I believe I am supposed to sit there,” Miss de Bourgh said, switching her card with Elizabeth’s. She cast Elizabeth a quick smile, then permitted a footman to pull out her chair.
As they were all seated, Elizabeth found herself moved nearer to Mr. Darcy. She now had Miss de Bourgh on her left and the other gentleman Lady Catherine had invited to her right. He was a pleasant enough looking fellow, somewhere on the north side of forty.
Lady Catherine finished fluffing her skirts and raised her gaze to survey the table. “Miss Bennet, what are you doing there? Can you not read, girl? You are in the wrong seat.”
“I beg your pardon, Lady Catherine.” Elizabeth kept her tone even, wondering why Miss d
e Bourgh had switched their cards. Being one seat nearer to Mr. Darcy wasn’t worth having Lady Catherine label her as illiterate before the other guests. With a slight shrug, she picked up her card and displayed it to the man seated next to her, who’d been introduced to her earlier as Mr. Veitch.
“I can’t see how it makes any difference, Aunt Catherine,” Colonel Fitzwilliam said. “We aren’t hosting members of parliament.”
Lady Catherine scowled. “It is not where I want her to sit.”
The younger man, now seated beside Miss de Bourgh, leaned forward to look around her at Elizabeth. He eyed her up and down in a way she decidedly didn’t care for, looking eager. “I see, so you’re the one--”
“Silence, you idiot,” Lady Catherine snapped.
“The one, what?” Mr. Darcy asked, his voice cold.
The man swallowed and sank back in his chair.
“One nothing,” Lady Catherine said. She glared about the room. “He’s babbling nonsense. I’m of half a mind to expel him from our meal. This is not appropriate dinner discourse. What is the matter with the lot of you? Do you possess no manners whatsoever?”
There was a long silence. Elizabeth was actually relieved when Mr. Collins launched into one of his sycophantic speeches, freeing the rest of the room to talk. She was also relieved the party was large enough so that there were individual conversations. Unfortunately, she was too far from Mr. Darcy or Colonel Fitzwilliam to engage either of them. The good fortune of that arrangement was that it also put her too far from Lady Catherine to be expected to either speak to or listen to her.
Striking up a polite conversation with Mr. Veitch, Elizabeth soon suspected he would become boring after a week’s acquaintance, but for a single meal, he had much to say. He was the magistrate for the district and brought up some interesting cases. She noticed he was careful not to talk about anything that had happened in the last few years, but sometimes a twelve-year-old case could be interesting.
She enjoyed their conversation enough that she wasn’t paying attention to the servants. She was peripherally aware of footmen coming and going, and rather stunned when one spilled half a glass of red wine down her shoulder. Elizabeth could feel it quickly soak through her dress both front and back, but mostly across her chest. Tamping down an exclamation, she began applying her napkin in an effort to contain the damage.
“Have a care there, man,” Mr. Veitch said, his gaze looking over Elizabeth’s shoulder to the footman.
“I’m sorry, miss,” the young man mumbled, backing away.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Lady Catherine screeched.
Elizabeth looked up, finding their hostess glaring at her, not the footman. “Excuse me?”
“I embroidered that napkin,” Lady Catherine said, all hauteur. “How dare you ruin it to save your paltry dress.”
Elizabeth looked at the napkin, momentarily remorseful. She frowned. It was hemmed, of course, but there was no embellishment.
“I don’t observe any embroidery, Lady Catherine,” Mr. Veitch said, peering at the napkin Elizabeth held.
“Don’t worry, Mother,” Miss de Bourgh called from where she sat on Elizabeth’s other side. “It seems I have the embroidered napkin, though why one is out when the rest of the set are not, I can’t imagine.”
Where he sat near Lady Catherine, Colonel Fitzwilliam covered his mouth, coughing. On her other side, Mr. Darcy smiled slightly. Lady Catherine scowled at her daughter.
Miss de Bourgh twisted in her chair, looking over Elizabeth’s shoulder. “John, I have a shawl on the chair in my room. Please send one of the maids to bring it so Miss Bennet can use it.”
“John, stay. The wine will ruin the shawl,” Lady Catherine said. “I’ll not have all of our fine things ruined by Miss Bennet.”
Elizabeth couldn’t see the wine-spilling footman where he stood somewhere behind her, but there were no footsteps to indicate his departure. Lady Catherine continued to glare at her daughter. Miss de Bourgh shrank into her chair, looking down.
“It won’t ruin the shawl,” Miss de Bourgh whispered, but neither tone nor posture held any defiance.
Elizabeth could see Miss de Bourgh’s courage was failing.
“Yes, it will,” Lady Catherine snapped, causing Miss de Bourgh to wince. “Besides, Miss Bennet should wear the mark of her vulgar ways as punishment. She deliberately caused John to spill the wine, to call attention to herself. Don’t you agree, Mr. Collins?”
“Certainly. I am sorry my cousin is behaving so inappropriately,” Mr. Collins said. “Cousin Elizabeth, we will speak on this later, at length.”
It took all of Elizabeth’s manners not to grimace, for that was a threat more dire than Lady Catherine’s outrage. At least outrage spurred stimulating discourse. Mr. Collins in the mood to lecture would slay Elizabeth with boredom and absurdity.
“But Miss Bennet was speaking with me,” Mr. Veitch said. “She couldn’t have seen the footman. He was behind her.”
“I saw the entire incident,” said the woman across from Elizabeth. She cast a simpering glance toward Lady Catherine. “Miss Bennet was entirely at fault.”
“I disagree,” Mr. Veitch said, but he said it without force.
Elizabeth looked quickly about. Mr. Darcy’s expression was darkening. Charlotte looked uncomfortable and Maria almost scared. Mr. Collins’ face was growing more pale by the moment, and Colonel Fitzwilliam’s more red. Not wishing to prolong everyone’s suffering, Elizabeth put on her most pleasant smile. “I’m sure, though the details may be obscure, in some way I was the responsible party.”
“You see?” Lady Catherine directed this at Mr. Darcy. “She admits as much.”
“I also believe that, if you are correct, Lady Catherine, the most fitting punishment is for everyone to return to their conversations. After all, did you not postulate my motive is attention?” Elizabeth kept her smile aimed at her hostess.
Colonel Fitzwilliam seemed to be taken with another of his coughing fits, this time raising his napkin to his face, muffling the sound and hiding his mouth. The corners of Mr. Darcy’s lips twitched, the anger in his eyes fading to amusement. About the table, people exchanged glances. Lady Catherine scowled, but didn’t intervene as conversation resumed.
Elizabeth dabbed at her dress again, sopping up the wine.
“I can send for a shawl,” Miss de Bourgh whispered.
Not looking at her, something sure to catch Lady Catherine’s attention, Elizabeth whispered back, “It’s nearly dry. Thank you for taking the place set for me.”
Miss de Bourgh didn’t reply. Elizabeth resumed her discussion with Mr. Veitch, whom she felt even more kindly disposed toward than before. She decided his stories weren’t as dry as she’d first imagined. Anyone willing to stand up to Lady Catherine for her certainly wasn’t boring.
Much later, as the evening drew to a close and farewells were made, Mr. Darcy approached with a low bow. “Miss Elizabeth.”
They weren’t standing far from Lady Catherine. Elizabeth could all but see her ears turning toward their conversation. “Mr. Darcy. It’s been an educational evening.”
“I’m sorry we did not have the opportunity to hear you play tonight.”
“You flatter me with your continued assertion I play well, sir.”
He gave a slight shake of his head. “While I would flatter you in any way warranted, there is no flattery in my statement. You do play well, and I delight in listening.”
Elizabeth smiled, hardly able to contain a laugh. How strange it was to hear such words leave Mr. Darcy’s mouth. A quick glance showed Lady Catherine appeared quite livid.
“Will you walk tomorrow?” Mr. Darcy asked, favoring her with that warm look again.
Unaccountably, Elizabeth felt her pulse quicken. “I will. I’ve been enjoying seeing how much the park has changed since I’ve come here. I will walk directly following breakfast.”
Mr. Darcy bowed again. “I bid you a pleasant evening, then.”
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“And I you,” Elizabeth said, curtsying.
He moved away and the farewells continued. When they concluded and Elizabeth’s party left, her final impression of Lady Catherine was of fury. She couldn’t dwell on that, however, her mind taken up by the warmth in Mr. Darcy’s eyes.
Chapter Five
Elizabeth woke the next morning with a lightness in her heart. The bedroom was sunnier than the morning before, the decor somehow prettier. She smiled, recalling Lady Catherine’s almost childish attempts to drive her off. Or had she intended for Elizabeth to have a strong reaction which would somehow show she was ill bred? It didn’t matter, as it would take more than spilled wine and hollow accusations to cow her.
Recalling the spilled wine drew Elizabeth’s eyes to her dress, which hung near the window. She and Charlotte had made a valiant attempt to remove the stains, all the while enduring Mr. Collins’ lecturing, but the bodice would have to be reworked with new fabric. Elizabeth still had little intention of accepting the money Miss de Bourgh had offered, but thought she might ask for enough to buy fabric to repair her dress.
Bustling about the cozy room, Elizabeth readied for the day. Soon she was in the parlor, finding Charlotte and Maria there, but not Mr. Collins. It seemed the morning was only getting better.
“Good morning,” Elizabeth said, heading for the sideboard. “Is Mr. Collins not yet about?”
“Good morning,” Charlotte replied. She frowned slightly. “You must have missed him by moments in the hall. He’s already breakfasted. He said he was wanted with all haste at Rosings.”
“I think he didn’t want to see Elizabeth,” Maria said. “We heard the door to your room close and he went running from the parsonage.”
“Maria, don’t spread rumors.” Charlotte’s frown deepened as she turned it on her sister. “I’m sure he simply didn’t want to get caught up in pleasantries when he knew he was meant to be at Rosings.”
Courting Elizabeth: A Pride and Prejudice Variation Page 5
