Darcy paused. Could it be that Miss Woodhouse had been mistaken? As much as he did not perceive any particular interest on Jane Bennet’s behalf, he was not so certain he’d noted anything beyond the usual from Elizabeth Bennet either.
In truth, the thought of Miss Elizabeth Bennet expressing interest in Bingley irritated him like a hair shirt. It did not sit well, or seem right, or some other thing he could not name.
But then, it was unlikely that Miss Woodhouse would be mistaken. How would such a thing ever come about? A lady either indicated her interest or she did not.
What was he to do to help Bingley? Bingley could not secure Jane Bennet, that much was clear. Darcy also did not wish for his friend to turn his affection in the other direction toward Miss Elizabeth Bennet.
Good Lord, what if that were to happen? Would he be forever lectured any time he was in the vicinity? Should he have his words pronounced badly done at every turn?
Darcy paused near an old oak and surveyed the grounds. He admitted to himself that the fault could not all be laid at the lady’s door. He remained unhappy regarding his interaction with Miss Bennet. He felt he’d not articulated his thoughts very well. Surely, that must be the case. His thoughts made perfect sense while he thought them. They had only not had the same impression when he’d spoken them.
Since that unfortunate evening, he and Miss Bennet had maintained a cool civility. Still, he could not be unaware of the lady’s private opinion of him.
Perhaps when Georgiana and the Colonel arrived, he should propose they only stay in the country to meet their engagements—Bingley had accepted three invitations to dine over the next weeks. After that, they might all set off for London together. Georgiana would not be opposed to shopping and surely Bingley would not wish to remain here long, given the circumstances.
The morning of the fourteenth was fraught with activity. Where one ought to be able to consume a leisurely breakfast, one found oneself pushed out of the room and sent on various errands and given various tasks by Mrs. Bennet.
With the dawning of that particular day, a dinner was to be hosted and Mr. William Collins was expected to come on the scene. Elizabeth could not guess at how the visit would unfold, though she supposed the gentleman ought to just be grateful that he was not to be shot on the drive.
Mrs. Bennet, having given up all ideas of shotguns, was delighted that Mr. Collins would come. She could not, though, put all her attention toward that event. Her dinner was to take place that evening. Invitations had been issued and duly accepted—it would be a full table. Seeing she had two chairs unoccupied, and seeing that she needed more gentleman at table, Mrs. Bennet had prevailed upon Mr. Bennet to include two of Lydia and Kitty’s favored officers along with Colonel Forster’s invitation.
The silver had been polished, the table cloth ironed, and a menu set just to Mrs. Bennet’s liking. Lady Lucas might complain all she wished about Mrs. Bennet’s intent to serve a particular dish of peas with a particular sauce on them. Lady Lucas did not own all the peas in the world and the right to serve them. Further, anybody might have composed a sauce similar to one lately served to good effect at Lucas Lodge.
Mrs. Bennet was confident she should be declared the preeminent hostess in the neighborhood and anybody commenting that their recipe for peas had been stolen would only look foolish.
Mr. Collins bounced merrily along in his carriage. It was a momentous thing he was about to do—heal the rift with Mr. Bennet and propose to one of his daughters.
His father had relayed, many times, the circumstance of his falling out with Mr. Bennet. It had occurred many years ago, before Mr. Bennet had married. Mr. James Collins had visited Longbourn to ascertain if the gentleman intended to remain a bachelor. If that were so, James Collins would inherit. Discovering the likelihood of an inheritance had been a practical step filled with foresight, though Mr. Bennet did not appear to view it in that light.
That the falling out was entirely Mr. Bennet’s fault was clear, though Mr. Collins would certainly decline to point that out to him. Still, the clergyman could not fathom why, when a man as learned as Mr. James Collins had condescended to educate an individual on the various methods by which one might analyze the current state of society, that individual would find himself so free with contrary remarks.
Over a dinner, Mr. Collins’ father had pointed out, rightly, that a gentleman’s worth could be measured by his strict adherence to the lessons found in the bible. Mr. Bennet had retorted that a gentleman’s worth was more often measured in pounds and pence.
Mr. James Collins had persevered and noted that those most lowly-placed in society did not seek to look higher and were satisfied where they were. Mr. Bennet had commented that they became somewhat less satisfied if they did not have enough bread for their children.
As if Mr. James Collins, educated as he was, would not comprehend that!
Mr. Bennet had purposefully misunderstood his father on any number of points well into an evening over port. His jocularity had grated, and then insulted. Finally, Mr. James Collins, a man with strict ideas of honor, had thrown his napkin on the table and challenged Mr. Bennet to a duel.
The man had laughed. Laughed! Mr. Bennet swore he would not turn up for the meeting, as a duel was the stupidest thing a man could involve himself in. Before Mr. Bennet closed the front door on Mr. James Collins and unceremoniously packed him off to the local inn, he had said, “If you think you’ll get hold of my estate by shooting me at dawn, you are mistaken.”
The implication of it! That James Collins, a man bound by the word of God, would feign insult to kill off the only impediment to an estate!
Mr. Bennet was as good as his word. At dawn, he hadn’t turned up. Mr. James Collins had also not turned up, finding himself somewhat less fiery in the cold light of day. However, he had it on good authority from his named second, a hastily hired farmhand, that the dawn broke with nobody at all turning up. The farmhand stated that he looked in all directions, saw nobody, ate a stale roll and hunk of cheese, and then set off for home.
Based on that crucial account, Mr. James Collins claimed the honor of winning the duel, as his second was the only person who’d turned up. He’d sent off a blistering letter to Mr. Bennet and that was the last the two men ever spoke.
As he watched the countryside pass by his window, Mr. Collins thought he might have to exert all his patience to manage Mr. Bennet. Lady Catherine had given him all sorts of advice on the matter. The particular thing that stuck in Mr. Collins’ mind was to remind the Bennets that he was associated with Lady Catherine de Bourgh. He did not suppose Mr. Bennet would see his way clear to laugh at that.
As for the daughters, how ever many of them there were, he would simply choose the one he liked best. And also, the one Lady Catherine would like best. She had given him a helpfully exhaustive list—mild, agreeable, economical, competent at a card table, pleasing looks, but not so pleasing as to upset Miss de Bourgh, and, well, many more things. The list was in his trunk and he would review it once he was settled into the house.
He supposed the ladies had been apprised of his intentions and were even now decorating bonnets and dreaming of becoming the mistress of Hunsford and, ultimately, Longbourn.
Chapter Seven
It being close to the time that Mr. Collins was set to arrive, all the inhabitants of Longbourn had gathered in the drawing room. All but Mr. Bennet, who would comfortably reside in his library until he was absolutely forced out of it.
Emma sat with Mary in a cozy corner, counseling her to be brave in the face of a suitor. Emma also mentioned that Mary might forgo playing the pianoforte, as conversation was what was needed. And then as a final note, Mary might perhaps keep her vast knowledge to herself and pleasantly surprise the gentleman with it at some later date.
Mary protested that any man worth knowing must value practiced playing and an educated mind. Emma hinted that one’s triumphs were best appreciated if they were discovered gradually. No gentleman co
uld be comfortable under the full assault of a lady’s accomplishments. Men were raised to feel superior and a lady must humour that impression and only ever so slowly disabuse them of it.
Mary had nodded as if this made perfect sense and was only an idea she’d not considered.
Elizabeth sat with Jane and Mrs. Bennet near the fire, there being a chill in the air that morning. Lydia and Kitty had been giggling in the far corner of the room. Now they marched over to Mrs. Bennet.
“Mama,” Lydia said, “when will you make the final decision on the seating for tonight’s dinner? Kitty and I will argue ourselves into exhaustion over it. I say Mr. Denny must be on my right and Mr. Wickham on my left and Kitty insists she be placed between the two officers.”
Elizabeth laid down her sewing. “Mr. Wickham? Mama, you invited Mr. Wickham?”
“Yes, Lizzy,” Mrs. Bennet said. “Why should I not? As I explained to Mr. Bennet, we will not have the ridiculous arrangement we found at Netherfield. A dinner overflowing with ladies and lacking gentlemen is silly, to my mind.”
“It was terribly silly, I thought,” Kitty said.
“Really, Lizzy,” Lydia said. “I am surprised you did not note it.”
“Of course I noted it,” Elizabeth said. “I was seated between Kitty and Mr. Mallory, I could not help but note it. Mama, I do wish you had consulted with me before choosing which officers to invite. I might have suggested others.”
“Might you have?” Mrs. Bennet said with some asperity. “Well, Lizzy, you cannot be both helping me plan a dinner and studiously avoiding my company, now can you?”
Elizabeth blushed at the charge. It was true, her mother did at times wear on her and she would take herself to another room. She had not imagined it had been noticed and vowed she would not continue the habit. Mrs. Bennet might tire her at times, but Elizabeth would not wish to insult her. It was rude and hurtful, by anybody’s measure.
That having been settled in her mind, her thoughts moved to Mr. Wickham.
“Jane,” Elizabeth said softly, “would you take a turn around the room with me? I rather fancy seeing what the garden looks like from this view.”
Jane, being perfectly used to her sister suggesting they take a turn when she wished to have a confidential conversation, nodded and rose.
“And there they go, Mama,” Lydia said. “Lizzy will be scheming on how it might be her situated between the two officers. I shall set myself on fire if you allow it.”
Elizabeth, and everybody else known to Lydia Bennet, was well-used to her dire threats. Over her shoulder, she said, “The fire is right there, Lydia. Leap in, if you must.”
Elizabeth guided Jane to the French doors at the far end of the room and gazed out at the garden. “Jane,” she said, “this is likely to be a most uncomfortable dinner. Mr. Wickham has apprised me of the fact that he is acquainted with Mr. Darcy, and that Mr. Darcy somehow wronged him. Wronged him so materially as to alter the course of Mr. Wickham’s life.”
“Goodness,” Jane said. “What on earth could Mr. Darcy have done? How are the two gentlemen connected?”
“That, I do not know. I believe Mr. Wickham would have told me the whole of it if we had not been interrupted.”
“But surely,” Jane said, “if there has been some irreparable rift between them, both gentlemen would decline the invitation.”
“Neither has declined,” Elizabeth said. “I doubt Mr. Darcy is even aware of Mr. Wickham’s presence in the neighborhood. As for Mr. Wickham, I cannot speculate as to why he should choose to encounter Mr. Darcy, other than he believes it is he that has been wronged and so perhaps he does not see why it should be himself that avoids the meeting.”
“What can we do?” Jane asked. “We cannot demand one of them stay away.”
“No,” Elizabeth said. “I suppose not, though I would find myself up to the task with Mr. Darcy.”
“Why do you dislike him so much, Lizzy? I know you claim he does not esteem our little society, but it sounds as if that were only one statement and people do so often say things they do not really mean. You know it yourself.”
Elizabeth blushed. Jane, more than anybody, had been privy to all her mistakes, most of them made by saying something she wished she had not.
“It is true that I have been known to say a thing and instantly regret it. Though, Jane, I did not tell you of a second conversation on this particular subject. At Netherfield, Mr. Darcy sought to explain himself and proceeded to school me on the idea of rank. You see, sister, I was to understand that it was not an insult that Mr. Darcy puts himself above us, as a duke might very well put himself above Mr. Darcy. We are all a human ladder and Mr. Darcy stands on a higher rung.”
“Heavens,” Jane said.
“Heavens, indeed,” Elizabeth said.
“Still,” Jane went on, “I cannot believe that Mr. Darcy does not have good qualities. It seems to me that he must, else Mr. Bingley would not count him as a friend.”
Jane blushed furiously at the mention of Mr. Bingley. Elizabeth smiled. “You will see that Emma is wrong there, Jane. Only watch where Mr. Bingley puts his attention this evening.”
Before Jane could answer, the sound of carriage wheels on the drive took their attention.
“Mr. Collins,” Elizabeth said. “Poor Mary, she is as pale as a ghost.”
Mr. Collins had been greeted on the drive. Elizabeth found him a ponderous sort of individual, both in his person and his eloquence. Mr. Bennet had looked on in good humour as Mr. Collins was all deference and vague hints about what had gone wrong between Mr. Bennet and his father.
Mrs. Bennet had interrupted him as he waxed on about the sins of the fathers by noting that they grew chilled on the drive.
Introductions in the drawing room had been awkward, as Mrs. Bennet had practically thrown Mary in Mr. Collins’ way. Mr. Collins, for his own part, surveyed the bevy of ladies surrounding him.
Elizabeth thought he had a calculating eye and appeared well-pleased with himself. He seemed the sort of individual who was very much sympathetic to his own feelings, but perhaps not as skilled at ascertaining the feelings of others. This was rather confirmed when he persisted in engaging Jane in conversation, despite her being almost unwilling and Mary pursing her lips and fairly steaming over it.
It was a blessing when they all went above stairs to change before a luncheon was to be served for Mr. Collins’ benefit. The Bennets did not, as a habit, sit down at mid-day, but when a guest arrived it was presumed that guest must be hungry. As Mrs. Bennet was entirely engrossed in the preparations for the dinner, Elizabeth could not imagine what had been arranged for the luncheon. Perhaps they would all be handed fishing poles and directed to go catch something to eat.
Elizabeth and Jane helped each other with their hair, as was their habit. Emma, on the other hand, went to Mary and would brook no argument over who was to arrange Mary’s hair. Elizabeth had met her sister on the stairs and was rather surprised—gone was the austere French knot and in its place was a much softer arrangement. More remarkably, curling tongs had been taken to it and formed ringlets about Mary’s face. Her sister would never be a renowned beauty, she was no Jane Bennet, but she did indeed look well.
Now, they sat at table and Mr. Collins waxed on about Lady Catherine Bourgeoisie, or some such person. She was Mr. Collins’ benefactress and sounded an unpleasant sort of woman who imposed her strong opinions on any number of subjects and dispensed endless amounts of advice.
“So you mean to say, Mr. Collins,” Mr. Bennet said, the delight barely kept from his voice, “that Lady Catherine has strict ideas on closets and would rearrange your own?”
“Indeed, Mr. Bennet,” Mr. Collins said. “It is her kindly condescension that no circumstance occurring in her realm of influence be too small for her attention. She does come regular to the parsonage to view my various improvements.”
“I see,” Mr. Bennet went on, “and what if she should not approve of some change you have made? Should you h
ave to tear the thing down and start over?”
“That would never occur, sir,” Mr. Collins said, laying down his fork, “as I only make changes she has suggested. She is firm in her thinking and once she has determined a thing, she will stick to it.”
“She sounds marvelously resolute,” Mr. Bennet said, hiding a smile behind a sip of wine.
“Mr. Collins,” Mrs. Bennet said, “as you appear a learned gentleman, you will like to know that Mary is my most learned daughter. Everybody says so.”
“But not so learned as to be…overwhelming,” Emma said. “Mary has only the right amount of knowledge.”
Mary beamed at this assessment. She said, “Whatever it is that I have learnt, I only display it gradually, so as not to be felt as an assault.”
All but Emma appeared stymied by that remarkable statement.
Mr. Collins, in particular, did not appear to appreciate Mary’s sage strategy for the jewel that it was. He turned to Jane. “Miss Bennet, I understand there is to be a dinner this evening. Perhaps it would be pleasant to hear of the various guests. I might, at my leisure, compose pretty compliments for all who would attend.”
“Oh,” Jane said, appearing startled, “well, there is Mr. Bingley and Miss Bingley, who have taken Netherfield. Then there are their houseguests, Mr. Darcy, and arriving this day is his sister, Miss Darcy and his cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam—”
“Mr. Darcy!” Mr. Collins cried.
Elizabeth rather thought his evident enthusiasm at hearing the name Darcy had been as if Jane had named the king as one of the guests. But certainly, Mr. Collins could not be acquainted with Mr. Darcy. There must be some other gentleman of the same name.
“Mr. Darcy of Pemberley?” Mr. Collins asked.
Lord. He did know Mr. Darcy. How on earth?
“Mr. Darcy is Lady Catherine’s nephew,” Mr. Collins said. “How fortuitous! I have never been introduced to the gentleman; when he visits Rosings my benefactor is much engaged in entertaining him and has not yet found time to include me in a dinner. I expect she will do so in the near future, of course. Now, I may communicate that I have met him in society. Lady Catherine shall be much pleased to hear it.”
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