“That rather confirms things, for me at least,” Jane said. “He carries a guilty conscience because he believes he may have led me astray and so of course that must be felt when he speaks to my sister.”
Though Elizabeth could understand the trail of logic in Jane’s thinking, it did not sit right. It did not seem possible that it could be right.
“In any case, Lizzy, I am in no way injured and I am well-prepared to meet Mr. Bingley without embarrassment. I do not believe I have done anything that anybody might comment upon.”
“Dear Jane, of course you did not. You never do.”
“Let that be the end of it, then, and we can go on happy.”
Despite her sister’s cheerful appearance, Elizabeth could not help but think that Jane’s heart had been touched by Mr. Bingley. It might be some time before she truly recovered her spirits.
Emma, Jane and Elizabeth sat together in the drawing room after breakfast. Kitty and Lydia had raced off to town at that early hour, with the excuse that they would visit their Aunt Phillips. Before they left, they were charged by Mrs. Bennet to communicate the success of a particular dish of peas. Elizabeth could only be grateful that particular message would never be delivered, as Lydia and Kitty would be strolling up and down the street hoping to encounter officers, not visiting their aunt. She was often embarrassed for her mother, and sorry for her aunt and uncle—they were invited to dine when they were needed and ignored when they were not. Last evening, apparently, they were not needed. It would rub salt in the wound to crow about the success of dishes.
Mary drifted into the drawing room. She looked longingly at the pianoforte, glanced at Emma who gravely shook her head no, and then drifted out again.
Elizabeth said, “Whatever else you may accomplish in life, Emma, perhaps your greatest triumph in this house is convincing Mary to give up playing. We are all grateful for it—my head pounds less than has been its usual habit at this time of day.”
“My greatest triumph in this house?” Emma said in some surprise. “No, Lizzy, there are far greater triumphs to come. You two will be engaged soon enough and only last night I began to plant the seeds in Mr. Collins’ mind that he ought to marry Mary.”
Elizabeth looked away, having given up debating with Emma on her wrong-headed opinions of Mr. Bingley and Mr. Darcy. Elizabeth thought the only way her cousin would be convinced that she would not marry Mr. Bingley would be upon hearing the news that he had married somebody else.
Emma herself had paused and gazed out the window. Softly she said, “Mr. Collins is not as quick to perceive as I would like, but that only means I must plant more seeds. Some fields require more attention to begin growing, or so I understand from Mr. Mallory. So it must be with love.”
Just then, Mr. Collins hurried into the room. He stopped, appearing startled to see them there, though Elizabeth could not account for it. They were nearly always there after breakfast.
“Ah,” he said, “I had understood the Miss Bennets had gone out, leaving Miss Woodhouse behind.”
“My sisters have gone out, Mr. Collins,” Elizabeth said, “but here you find us, and we would not be likely to leave Emma behind on anything.”
“I only thought, that is, I hoped…” Mr. Collins’ face twitched and he mopped his brow. He stared at the handkerchief and stuffed it in a pocket, then straightened himself from the slump that was his usual posture. “That is, I wished to speak to Miss Woodhouse. Privately.”
Emma stared at Elizabeth and Jane with a look of triumph. “Of course Mr. Collins wishes to speak to me,” she said, “and I am willing and able to assist him.”
Emma rose, and Elizabeth was utterly confused. She had been certain that Emma had got nowhere with her efforts to bring Mr. Collins and Mary together. And yet, here was Mr. Collins so eagerly seeking her counsel.
Elizabeth could not ignore the man’s nerves. It was clear enough that he wished to speak to Emma regarding something momentous. A man did not perspire and stutter in such a fashion over a trivial matter. She had no choice but to be convinced. Mr. Collins wished to gain advice from Emma on how he ought to proceed with Mary. It was astonishing.
Emma laid her hand on Mr. Collins’ arm. “Perhaps a turn round the garden, Mr. Collins?”
Elizabeth thought Mr. Collins had answered in the affirmative, though she’d not heard any actual words. She must presume, though, as they headed out the door.
She looked at Jane. “How extraordinary,” Elizabeth said.
Jane bit her lip. “I feel the same. Until now, we had not seen for ourselves how Emma works her magic.”
“Heavens,” Elizabeth said. “Mr. Collins will propose to Mary, and we may thank Emma Woodhouse for it, as I do not see how else those two people might have ever come together.”
Jane raised her teacup and said, “To Emma, our own fairy dispensing blessings upon us.”
Chapter Nine
On his way to the regiment’s headquarters, Darcy had attempted to think through all he would say to George Wickham. His attempts, surprisingly, were ill executed. He found his thoughts continually drifting toward Miss Bennet.
He could not pinpoint precisely what it was about the lady that captured his thoughts so. It was more than her lively manner. More than her exquisite eyes. There was something both familiar and yet never before encountered about Miss Bennet. There was this unaccountable urge to have her good opinion.
It aggravated him exceedingly that it should be so. And yet, not having obtained her good opinion rather felt like he walked with a stone tied round his neck.
Upon arriving at the headquarters, Darcy forced himself to attend to the business at hand. He informed Colonel Forster that he would speak to Wickham. He did not give the details, but the Colonel was made to understand that the interview would not be a pleasant one.
The Colonel had offered a small room at his headquarters for the meeting and sent a soldier off to find Wickham and bring him back.
As they waited, the Colonel hinted that he guessed it was a gambling debt, and that he’d already spoken to Wickham about those debts, as well as debts from various tradesmen.
Darcy was aggravated to hear it. Wickham would conduct himself here as he had ever done in Lambton and London. He had paid many debts in Wickham’s name and now he must decide if he were to do so again. He’d rather not, but it pained him to think of an honest tradesman losing what might be to his family a staggering sum. In the end, he knew he would probably pay—he did not wish to be haunted by the idea that somebody’s children had gone hungry because he did not pay what he could well-afford to lose. Justified condemnation was one thing, but condemnation that swept in and materially damaged innocent people was another, and not a circumstance he would wish to find himself a party to.
The Colonel had left him alone for a half hour. Now the door opened, and Colonel Forster led Wickham through it.
Wickham’s surprise was evident and Darcy guessed he’d not been told why he’d been summoned.
Colonel Forster said, “I will leave you gentlemen alone, though I will say, Wickham, that if you run up any more debts it will be the worse for you. This regiment is under my command and it is my responsibility to account for the behavior of my officers. I will not have you tarnish our reputation in this neighborhood. There are serious consequences for that sort of thing, you could lose your commission if I have a mind.”
With that, Colonel Forster closed the door with a good amount of force.
Wickham speedily regained his composure and leaned against the wall. “Darcy come to collect a debt from Wickham? That does not seem credible, as he is the one person who is certain to know it cannot be got.”
Darcy had thought he’d deliver a rational, decidedly firm, speech, but all thought of it disappeared in the face of Wickham’s flippancy. He crossed the room and grabbed Wickham by the neckcloth, pinning him against the wall.
“Hear me, you reprobate. You may not have planned to be in my vicinity, but as you are, you wil
l not inconvenience me in any way. You will not present yourself to any social gathering where there is the remotest chance that I and my sister may attend. That means, you will not attend any gathering at all, other than a low party thrown by your fellow soldiers in a tavern. If you do come to my notice anywhere, I will meet you at dawn and put a bullet in you, as I should have done some time ago. Further, if you rack up any further debt in this town, the Colonel will see to it that you are cashiered and stripped of your commission and you will get nothing further from me. Think carefully about whether you wish to wake up one morning and find yourself a valet in another’s house or a coachman in another’s stable.”
Darcy dropped his grip on Wickham and strode from the room, satisfied that for once Wickham did not have a glib answer. It was the first time he had absolutely lost his temper in Wickham’s presence and he thought he should have done it long ago—the abject fear on the scoundrel’s face had been deeply satisfying.
Emma worked to hide the glee from her features as she walked with Mr. Collins to the gardens. It would not do to frighten the gentleman off when she was so close to victory.
She was surprised it was so, that she could not deny. Emma had not thought Mr. Collins had ascertained her meaning the evening before. But then, she supposed he’d had time to think of it after he’d retired for the night and her hints had finally penetrated his less than agile mind.
The poor, dear man! His arm shook and he seemed nearly overcome. Emma hoped he would not faint before he had absolutely proposed to Mary.
They came to a charming fountain with a bench and Emma sat down, forcing Mr. Collins to cease his wandering about the flowers and speak to the subject at hand.
Mr. Collins looked this way and that and leaned in close to examine a hedge.
“Come, Mr. Collins,” Emma said. “There is no need to be shy with me. I am here to help you to your object. I am at your service, sir.”
Looking everywhere but at the person he spoke to, Mr. Collins said, “That is very kind, Miss Woodhouse. Very kind.”
“Nonsense,” Emma said. “I am delighted to assist you in attaining your aim.”
“You are delighted,” Mr. Collins said, looking encouraged. “Indeed. Then I would just say—”
“Oh, very good,” Emma said, “tell me what you would say.”
“I would say, that I’d never dreamed that I might come to the notice of such an extraordinary lady.”
Emma smiled. It was a good beginning. Rather a remarkable beginning, actually. She had never imagined that anybody would describe Mary Bennet as extraordinary. Ah, but that was the condition of love, was it not?
“Though when I was so kindly prompted by you to consider it,” Mr. Collins continued, “I did see its many advantages on both sides.”
“That is very true,” Emma said, “and a fine thing to point out in pleading your case. After all, what lady would not feel the advantage of someday becoming the mistress of Longbourn?”
“Indeed!” Mr. Collins said. “I thought that exactly. And so, taking in all the facts of the case, and feeling that there might also be the addition to marital felicity of certain feelings of affection, I could not be turned aside from my purpose. And so, I would wish you become my wife.”
Emma clapped her hands. “Bravo, Mr. Collins. I am certain the lady will say yes to that well-composed proposal.”
Mr. Collins beamed. “Then, am I to understand that the lady does say yes?”
Emma laughed. “Do not be a goose, Mr. Collins. You must ask the lady first.”
“But,” Mr. Collins said with a stutter, “I have asked the lady.”
“You have?” Emma asked in some surprise. “When?”
“Now,” Mr. Collins answered.
“Now?”
Emma glanced behind her, on the hoped-for chance that Mary Bennet lurked in the hedges. Seeing she was the only lady present, she said, “Mr. Collins, you do not propose to me?”
“Certainly, I do. Who else would I propose to?”
Emma rose in alarm. “Mary Bennet, Mr. Collins. You were to propose to Mary Bennet!”
“Mary Bennet?” Mr. Collins asked, his face draining of color. “Last evening, I thought you spoke of…you.”
Emma stared at Mr. Collins as if he were a sea monster risen from the depths of the ocean. “Bless me,” she said softly, “it is Mr. Elton all over again.”
She gathered her skirts and fled the garden. Mr. Collins watched her flee, more confused than ever about what went on in the female mind.
“Who is Mr. Elton?” he called after her.
Mr. Collins sat heavily down on the bench. There was much to unravel. There was the mysterious Mr. Elton, which could not be of any benefit to his cause. Then, there was the idea that he was to propose to Mary Bennet. Truly? Mary Bennet?
A sudden idea occurred to him and Mr. Collins suddenly struck his leg. “I see, now! William Collins, you are a dunderhead!”
Of course, Miss Woodhouse would refuse and mention another lady. A first refusal must be had by any elegant female. He could not expect a lady such as Miss Woodhouse to accept his first proposal. How ludicrous that he’d thought so. His dedication must be tested and found to be unwavering. He must declare that every other lady meant nothing to him.
Had he not read the same in Unrequited to Love, a particular novel he was so fond of? He had not dared discuss the novel with Lady Catherine, as he did not think it likely she would approve, but he had found comfort in its pages. No matter how many times he read it, the hero always wooed his lady in the end. Didn’t she refuse when first asked, when secretly she wished to be asked again? Didn’t she claim the hero was in love with another?
He felt greatly relieved that he’d managed to work it all out. He must be like his book’s hero and persist with intrepid determination.
Elizabeth and Jane had waited for some time for Emma to return to the drawing room, but they had not seen any sign of either their cousin or Mr. Collins. Elizabeth supposed the awkward man needed quite a lot of advice from Miss Woodhouse before he could carry on with his plan to secure Mary.
Just when Elizabeth thought they ought to go seek Emma out, as an entire hour with Mr. Collins must be tiring, Hill announced visitors. Miss Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam had come.
Elizabeth was both pleased that she should meet these two new people and relieved that Mr. Darcy had not accompanied them. And, were she to be completely honest with herself, a bit affronted that he did not accompany them, nor did Mr. Bingley.
Mrs. Bennet, never to be left behind when a new gentleman was in the vicinity of Longbourn, and no doubt tipped off by Hill, sailed in before anybody had a moment to speak.
“Miss Darcy!” she cried. “I pray you are recovered?”
Miss Darcy very prettily curtsied and said, “Quite recovered, Mrs. Bennet, and very sorry to have missed the evening. I understand from Miss Bingley that there was much talk about the peas.”
Elizabeth suppressed a smile. Miss Darcy would have no need to say anything further to secure Mrs. Bennet’s good opinion. The lady had risked much for the peas and would be rewarded.
The Colonel bowed and said “Ma’am.”
“You are very welcome here, Colonel. Where is Hill?” Mrs. Bennet said, turning around. She staggered as she found Hill conveniently standing not a foot behind her. “Hill, do bring in fresh tea.”
Hill nodded and departed the room. Elizabeth was certain that good lady would bring in the tea, and then see how quickly she might set off for Meryton to inform all and sundry of the visit.
The party seated themselves. Elizabeth said, “We were so looking forward to making your acquaintance last evening and very pleased to do so now.”
“I admit,” the Colonel said, “I was charmed by my brief entrance into the party and loathe to leave, so when Georgiana proposed to call today, I insisted on coming.”
“And Mr. Darcy and Mr. Bingley?” Mrs. Bennet asked.
Jane’s cheeks blushed the palest p
ink. The Colonel said, “My cousin had some business to attend to and I believe Bingley has escorted his sister to do some shopping.”
“Business,” Mrs. Bennet sniffed. “Mr. Bennet is always going about on business—I am sure I do not understand it.”
“Perhaps that is a blessing, ma’am,” the Colonel said good-humoredly. “It would not do for a man to burden his lady with all of his concerns.”
“You must be right, Colonel,” Mrs. Bennet said. “And you say you are cousin to Mr. Darcy?”
“I am,” the Colonel said, “though a poorer specimen than my relation. I am only a younger son out to make his way in the world.”
“Fitzwilliam is my guardian, along with my brother,” Miss Darcy said. “Do not allow him his over-modesty, I quite rely on his guidance and counsel.”
Colonel Fitzwilliam laughed. “I hardly think it over-modest to describe myself as you see me. It is only the kindness of my niece that makes her think so.”
“I did not realize that Miss Darcy had two guardians,” Elizabeth said. “It must be a great comfort to have two persons attending to one’s welfare, particularly if those two are aligned in their thinking.”
Georgiana nodded in agreement. The Colonel said, “Those who do not know Darcy and me well would not think us at all alike. Our outward demeanors rather differ. However, those that do know us well see that at heart we are very similiar.”
“My brother and my cousin rarely disagree on anything,” Miss Darcy said. “Though when I was younger, I often wished they would.”
Elizabeth smiled. “Can I guess that you would go to one for a prize of some sort and then, having been denied, go to the other hoping for a different answer?” she asked.
“That is precisely it, Miss Bennet,” Miss Darcy said. “I might ask my brother for a thing and if he refused, I would compose a tearful letter to my cousin.”
Cousin Emma Page 12
