Elizabeth laughed. “It is fortunate, then, that the doors open outwards, for I would otherwise fear for his well-being!”
Thus it was that within moments of this exchange, the anticipated event occurred, with Mr Collins removing rapidly to his patroness’ side even as the footman entered to summon them all to table.
Chapter Seven
Having risen from his seat more slowly than the rest of the company, Darcy waited until everyone had passed through the doors before turning to follow them. He kept his distance as they made their way to the dining room, envying his cousin’s easy banter as he escorted Mrs Collins and Elizabeth across the hallway. Any attempt at pleasantries was beyond his reach at that moment, the lady’s very presence a severe distraction that destroyed any remaining equilibrium.
His tarrying cost him dear, however; by the time he joined the remainder of the party at table, there was only one seat remaining, and, as Fate would have it, by Elizabeth’s side.
Seated at last, Darcy reached quickly for the water jug. Normally a man in full control of his life and his emotions, he knew not, in such circumstances, how to behave – doubtless he should be striving to act as if nothing untoward had passed between them but he knew it was beyond him to do so.
Taking a welcome gulp from his glass, he strove to relax and let his eyes drift about the table, taking comfort from everyone seeming suitably distracted, his cousins engaged in a low-voiced dialogue and his aunt addressing herself loudly in the direction of both Mr and Mrs Collins. He glanced towards that end of the table: Mrs Collins appeared to be paying polite attention, as her husband attempted to bow and listen at the same time, putting him in serious danger of dipping his ear into his soup.
Darcy leaned back in his chair slightly as the servant finally arrived to serve him, and chanced a quick glance in Elizabeth’s direction. She sat sedately, her hands in her lap and her head bowed – it was a position more reminiscent of his cousin Anne than the Elizabeth Bennet he knew, and he was filled with regret at being the cause, struck anew with the futility of this further encounter. She hated him, wanted nothing more to do with him, and this enforced closeness must be a sore trial to her.
Sitting forward once more, he made a pretence of applying himself to his soup bowl. The fact remained that his company brought her no pleasure, nor had it ever, and the sooner he relieved Elizabeth of his presence the better for them both.
Staring at her hands, Elizabeth frowned. Her mind was in conflict over Mr Darcy. Though his avoidance of her company did not surprise her in the circumstances, she was disturbed to discover that this indication of the loss of his regard saddened her. Yet if his fine opinion of her had gone why should she care? She had neither sought his estimation nor anticipated his proposal.
And how was it that the man affected her so? Nothing could have prepared her for the onslaught of feelings that had coursed through her when held against him, and now she seemed destined to be haunted by those self-same sensations whenever they locked eyes.
Raising her head, Elizabeth looked about the table. How she despised this weakness in herself. Admittedly, no man should have to deal with such humiliation as this evening provoked, but her own vulnerability towards Mr Darcy unsettled her. It was an opportune moment to recall that some of his actions deserved no such attention as an apology from her, and deliberating thus, she determined not to be cowed by their present situation.
Elizabeth turned her attention to her cooling soup, though she had little appetite for it, but then her eye caught a movement to her left, and she observed Mr Darcy’s hand as it lay upon the table. His spoon rested loosely in his fingers, his thumb stroking the handle as if he was unaware of doing so; he appeared to have made no attempt to place it in the contents of the bowl.
Staring at his thumb as it moved to and fro, Elizabeth found the all too familiar heat invading her cheeks. Fighting a powerful urge to reach over and still his movement, and frustrated again at the conflict in her emotions – that she could be both angered by him as well as entranced – she sought refreshment and reached for the water jug. Unfortunately, the combination of the fullness of the pitcher and its heavy crystal ware made it cumbersome for her slender wrist, and her hand shook as she endeavoured to lift it. Without a word, the jug was taken from her grasp and a glass of water poured for her before she could catch her breath.
Ignoring the sensation engendered by Mr Darcy’s fingers brushing against hers, yet aware she should acknowledge his assistance, she sat back in her chair and murmured, “I thank you, Sir.”
Sensing his quick glance towards her, she suspected his intention had been to look away again immediately, but it appeared that once their eyes met, he was as unequal to the task as she. For a long moment they stared at each other, both equally expressionless. Then, with a quick nod in her direction, he returned his gaze to his setting.
Silence continued to reign over them as the opening course was cleared, though conversation amongst the remaining guests continued apace, accompanied by Lady Catherine’s terse instructions to the servants and the occasional snippet of advice thrown in the direction of Mrs Jenkinson, who sat silently in a corner, awaiting her charge’s dismissal.
Elizabeth chewed her lip, then bestirred herself. If she really hoped to secure the opportunity to speak with Mr Darcy, then the deed must be done this evening, and as they were such a small party at table, leaving little opportunity for completely private discourse, she must diffuse his apparent desire to avoid her company after dinner.
Recognising that much of their interaction before now – in Hertfordshire and Kent – had stemmed from her determination to provoke him, she realised this might be the best way to return them to a familiar footing; confrontation had, after all, served them well in the past.
Straightening in her seat, she said softly, “Mr Darcy,” and when he sent her a startled look, summoned a smile. “I believe that we must have some conversation, Sir. To sit here in silence will, perhaps, draw attention we neither seek nor desire.”
Elizabeth held his gaze for a moment before he gave an almost imperceptible nod, but speech seemed at that moment beyond him, and she sighed. Have some sympathy for him she may, but he could frustrate her as no other. She only hoped that her instinct served her well and that taxing him might restore some of his equilibrium.
Darcy felt some conflict of emotion. Why Elizabeth had attempted to approach him before dinner he knew not, but upon reflection he did not think it unreasonable that she might be intending to reproach him for some further aspect of his behaviour on the previous day.
Yet this protracted silence between them had been growing into an obstacle that was beyond his means to conquer, and his head seemed full of subjects upon which there lay an embargo: his sister, her sister – indeed, anything that touched on any of their relations – their encounters in Hertfordshire, her enjoyment of her time at Hunsford were all a potential stumbling block to fluid conversation, and all likely to raise associations that would be uncomfortable for them both.
But converse they must. Darcy resisted the urge to take a drink from his glass and, his eye caught momentarily by Fitzwilliam and Mrs Collins deep in conversation, said with relief, “Mrs Collins – she must have enjoyed your companionship these few weeks; I am certain that you have missed her since she moved away?”
“Indeed I have, for in Hertfordshire, with so confined and unvarying a society, the loss of one friend is sure to be keenly felt, would you not agree, Mr Darcy?”
Darcy threw Elizabeth a sharp glance. Was he mistaken, or was she hinting at a conversation from earlier in their acquaintance? Meeting her steady gaze, he cleared his throat, deciding that perhaps Mrs Collins was also a subject he had best avoid, He glanced quickly about the room, seeking further inspiration, his eye soon lighting on a painting on the wall opposite.
“I believe you informed my cousin that you hope to travel to the Lakes this summer?”
Elizabeth admitted that it was so. “I will be ac
companying my aunt and uncle,” she paused briefly. “My relations from Cheapside, Mr Darcy – I am sure you must have heard them mentioned?”
He narrowed his gaze and studied her thoughtfully. Her chin was raised in a way that was not unfamiliar, and her eyes glimmered with what he surmised might be growing humour at his expense, but he refused to bite.
“And have you travelled to the Lake District before now?” Darcy observed Elizabeth’s raised brow as she acknowledged his evasion.
“I have not; did not Mr Bingley and his sisters visit there last year? I am certain I heard it mentioned during my stay at Netherfield.”
She cast him a sidelong glance, and Darcy suppressed the sudden urge to laugh. It would seem that whilst he desired to avoid almost every possible topic of commonality between them, Elizabeth felt the contrary. What had she said to him that entertained her? The follies of people, their whims and inconsistencies – and now it appeared he was to be her sport.
“You refer perchance to Miss Bingley’s mention of visiting Windermere and her suggestion that perhaps a stroll around a lake of such significance might sufficiently curb your hunger for a good walk?”
Elizabeth smiled, a genuine smile of amusement and Darcy’s breath caught in his throat. “Ah yes, Miss Bingley’s desire that I walk Windermere, the largest lake in all the land!”
Wrapped in both the memory of the conversation at Netherfield, and their unexpected shared amusement, their eyes met and once again they neither seemed able nor willing to disturb the connection. Sadly, no such compunction affected their hostess.
“What is this I am hearing, Darcy – Bingley? Windermere? I thought Bingley’s new residence was further south. What would induce a man to take an estate in a place so remote as the Lakes? You must advise him accordingly, Darcy. He relies upon your esteemed counsel, as well you know, for you have never guided him ill. What purpose is there for a gentleman to be situated so inconveniently for Town?”
Observing instantly the change in Elizabeth’s expression, Darcy turned impatiently towards his aunt, but his embarrassment at her discourteous interruption and her inference of his power over his friend rendered him silent as she continued to loudly voice her opinion, and within seconds his mind had drifted, consumed once more with despair over the situation.
Colonel Fitzwilliam frowned. The gnawing at the edges of his subconscious had grown in intensity, and he would be damned if it was not starting to affect his interest in his repast – most singular.
Yet the uncomfortable look exchanged between Darcy and Elizabeth upon his aunt’s mention of Bingley had not escaped him. Mystified as to the reason, the Colonel tried to recall what his cousin had said lately of his friend. He had been in love again, and Darcy had been of assistance in extracting him from the potential of an alliance with an unsuitable family. But where had Bingley met this woman? Had it been in London, or out where that new estate of Bingley’s was – he was certain his aunt was mistaken and that it was nowhere near the Lakes.
He frowned at the platter in front of him.
“Fitzwilliam!” his aunt’s strident tones bestirred him, and he looked up. “Is something amiss with your food?”
The Colonel stared blankly at Lady Catherine for a moment, still frowning.
“Your food, Fitzwilliam. You are glowering at it as if it does you a disservice. Do you wish a fresh platter?” Lady Catherine motioned a footman towards the Colonel as she spoke, then began to launch into a monologue on how solicitous she was of her guests and their constitution.
With resignation, the Colonel sat back in his chair whilst the bemused footman removed his full platter and replaced it with a clean one. The servants lined up to offer meat, vegetables and gravy once more, and the Colonel shrugged before helping himself to the food on offer. There was little he could do to solve the puzzle in the interim, and sitting forward now that his plate was filled, he picked up his implements and set to.
The suggestion of Mr Darcy’s influence over his friend piqued Elizabeth, but despite the gentleman’s attention seeming no longer with her, she had little intention of them drifting back into silence, and before such recollections could influence her mood, she attempted once more to engage him in conversation.
“Do you leave particularly early for Town on the morrow, Sir?”
Elizabeth glanced at him, wondering if he would even hear her, so deep in thought did he appear to be. The sudden turn of his head in her direction was thus unexpected, but as her eyes met his and she absorbed the anguish and pain blatantly expressed upon his features, her insides lurched and for some inexplicable reason, she felt the pricking of tears behind her eyes. Concerned as she was over her own vulnerability, she had failed to consider his until seeing it openly displayed before her. Swallowing hard on an inexplicable constriction in her throat, she turned back to the table and grasped her wine glass, raising it a little unsteadily to her lips.
“Yes -” her gaze flew back to him as he spoke. “Yes, I must depart at first light. I have tarried too long in the country…”
His voice seemed to fail him, and with deliberation, Elizabeth placed her glass back upon the table and, stifling her original intent to antagonise him, responded neutrally, “Time away from one’s affairs can bring tiresome results, can it not? I do not envy you the responsibility, for I see my father suffer for it often, even with an estate the size of Longbourn.”
“Darcy, do you sicken for something?” Lady Catherine’s sharp enquiry prevented the gentleman from responding to Elizabeth’s overture. “Your air is quite distracted, and you are by turns pale as can be, then flushed with colour, and I confess I have yet to see any food pass your lips these four and twenty hours. What ails you? I must know it!”
Throwing a quick glance at the man by her side, Elizabeth returned her gaze quickly to her platter. The tightening of Mr Darcy’s jaw as he glared at Lady Catherine did not auger well.
“I am perfectly well, Aunt.”
“Nonsense, Darcy. You most certainly are not. I insist that you reconsider and join us in Bath. The waters there will be the perfect restorative for your malady.”
“I assure you they will not.”
Lady Catherine ignored his response, and attempted to engage the support of the Colonel. Elizabeth, feeling all the awkwardness of being privy to such a display, glanced across the table and shared a small smile with Charlotte. With relief, she observed the entrance of the servants once more, signalling the arrival of dessert and coffee, and knowing that the separation of the parties was imminent, she heaved a thankful sigh.
Their hostess, also remarking the clearing of the table, glared pointedly at Mr Darcy once more, before directing her attention to ordering her staff in duties that they knew full well how to perform.
Chapter Eight
At the earliest post-dinner opportunity, Mr Collins hurried to the library in an attempt to discover a book advocated by his patroness. The volumes on horticulture had all been relegated to a shelf befitting their level of interest, and the only conceivable way for him to read the titles in this gloomiest corner of the room was to take a candle and recline at floor level as he read the spines.
As such, concealed by furniture, his presence went undetected by Darcy and Fitzwilliam as they entered some two minutes later.
The Colonel headed for the drinks tray and poured himself and his cousin a generous helping of port, but upon turning to hand over the second glass he found Darcy had not followed him. Instead, he leaned against the ornate mantelpiece, absent-mindedly kicking the fender.
Fitzwilliam sighed and walked over to join him. His cousin and Miss Bennet had entered into what appeared a quite lively exchange before his aunt’s interruption regarding Bingley. He remained mystified as to how that gentleman could be of any relevance in all this, but was conscious that his own disquiet had increased at the mention of his name and the reaction it invoked.
“Darcy?” the Colonel held out the glass, unsurprised when his cousin gave a visible
start, and suggested they sit, and they had soon taken up the same chairs they had possessed on the previous evening.
“How fares young Bingley, Darce? When last we talked of him, he nursed his wounds, did he not?” The Colonel watched his cousin closely, but gleaned no specific reaction, Darcy’s gaze being intent upon his booted feet. “And where did he meet this love of his life? In Town, or down near that country estate of his – wherever that is?”
“I have no wish to discuss Bingley further with you, Fitzwilliam,” Darcy raised his head and leaned back in his chair.
The Colonel shrugged. “As you wish. I am merely curious – I had an inkling it was nearer London – his estate.”
Darcy closed his eyes whilst Fitzwilliam talked, but the grip he had on the stem of his port glass and the shadow that crossed his features bespoke the touching of a nerve. Knowing his cousin would need some serious provocation to confess what really troubled him, the Colonel decided to change tactics.
“I had an enlightening discussion with Miss Bennet before dinner.”
Darcy eyes flew open, his gaze snapping to his cousin’s. “You did?”
“Indeed,” the Colonel nodded. “She is a most lively conversationalist, is she not?”
Gaining no reaction other than a narrowing of his cousin’s eyes, the Colonel took a sip of his port. “We were discussing, amongst other things, marriage.”
Darcy, having just taken a fortifying gulp of his own drink, almost choked upon it.
“What? Fitzwilliam, have you taken leave of your senses?”
The Colonel raised a brow. “I think not. It was most informative.”
Darcy placed his glass on the side table, then fixed his cousin with a piercing look. “You know full well my point, Fitzwilliam. It is hardly an appropriate subject.”
The Colonel shrugged. “If the lady raised no objection, I cannot see what there is to protest. Indeed, I extolled the pressures upon you,” and at his cousin’s look of abject distrust added, “No, seriously. I was most assiduous in letting Miss Bennet know what a trying time you suffer whenever you are in Town, at the mercy of all those aggressively matchmaking mamas and their socially aspiring daughters.”
A Fair Prospect Page 6
