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Darcy awoke abruptly the next morning with a raging headache and a most acute sense of discomposure. His dreams had been filled with melodious laughter, smiling brown eyes, and white roses, all twirled together with music and a whirl of color. Turning restlessly upon the bed, he buried his face into the pillow and felt his temples throbbing. Must have been the punch. Dash it, what what had Miss Bingley been thinking to put out such a potent mixture with the wine?
He groaned, wondering if the threadbare pillow would be sufficient for smothering. He hadn't felt this sick since he'd raided his father's liquor cabinet fifteen years ago. Normally he didn't like drinking hard alcohol it took away some of his control, and he hated not being able to control himself. It was all Bingley's fault! The fellow had been pushing another glass of it into his hand every time he turned around.
Guessing by the light filtering in the room that it was nearing noon, Darcy tried to raise his head, wavered for a moment, and then promptly dropped back onto the pillow. He felt the ache all the way down to his toes. I swear, the next time I see Charles Bingley, I am going to wrap my hands around his sorry throat and...
"Quack!"
Darcy opened one bleary eye to find a very familiar mallard sitting comfortably on the pillow and amusing himself by slowly pulling the threads out of his master's nightshirt. "Sir Francis?"
The duck, recognizing the sound of his name, puffed out his feathered chest proudly and waddled closer. "Quack!"
"Must you destroy every article of clothing I possess?" he mumbled. "How in heaven's name did you even get in here?"
Sir Francis shot Darcy a look, and the latter then noticed that the bedroom window was swung wide open, sunlight streaming through. Groaning, he flung an arm over his eyes - when had the light gotten so bright? Oh, Lord, I'll never touch a drop of punch again...
Sir Francis, dissatisfied with his companion's inattention, gave Darcy a peck on the ear, a move which had never failed to receive results in the past. Indeed, the mallard presumed rightly, but the effect was not as he wished for his trouble he got a grumble and a careless swat on his tail-end.
Highly put out, Sir Francis huffed a little and ruffled his feathers with great indignation. However, his theatrics were to no avail, for Darcy had burrowed his face into the pillows again, aware of nothing but his headache. Giving up, the mallard slipped off the bed and went over to the door to seek more agreeable company. Finding the door firmly closed, he set up a braying racket until his master was forced to throw back the coverlet and get out of bed.
Darcy took to his feet hastily and immediately regretted it. His head swam, and he sagged back onto the mattress in hopes that the dizziness would ebb away. Sir Francis, satisfied in his object, stood patiently by the door to wait in blessed silence.
As he breathed in the fresh air and let his eyes adjust to the light, Darcy began to feel better, though his head would undoubtedly be fuzzy all day. Yesterday felt like a blur he could only recall fragmented conversations and manifold sensorial impressions. He had danced, he remembered, with Miss Elizabeth, and...
Suddenly it hit him the scent and texture of silky petals, of laughter and dark, teasing eyes. Had it all been a dream? Rising again and shuffling cautiously across the floor, he approached the escritoire by the bed, and his heart leapt. A single white rose lay on the polished surface.
Unable to help himself, he took the flower into his hands. It was a little wilted by the sun, but still as fragrant and beautiful as it had been last night, and he knew exactly how it had come into his possession. She had bestowed it upon him. Oh, what a gift!
But why? His foggy brain attempted to puzzle with the question. She had only barely met him why would she give him such a forward token? There could be denying that the action was exceedingly bold...but he would also be dishonest if he pretended to be displeased by that boldness. In truth, it gave him only private delight.
Darcy cast away the thought. He would ponder it later, when his mind was clearer. Now now he just wanted some strong black coffee.
Dressing hastily and forgoing stock, vest, and jacket for the comfort of a plain lawn shirt and breeches, Darcy went downstairs to the small dining parlor, Sir Francis trailing happily at his heels.
The pair entered the room to find Georgiana sitting at the table and Martha stirring a pot over in the fire in the adjoining kitchen. The smell of hot food wafted out to the doorway, and, stomach churning, the smile Darcy gave to his sister was more a grimace than anything else. Georgiana didn't notice, however, for her attention was immediately claimed by the creature at her brother's feet.
"Sir Francis!" Flying out of her chair, she hastened to snatch her pet up into her arms. "Oh, Will, where did you find him?"
"He flew in the open window and made free with my pillow," Darcy said testily, settling himself down in a chair.
Georgiana barely heard his reply, for she immediately busied herself with settling Sir Francis on an empty chair. "My poor boy! How hungry you must be! Martha, do we have any grain mash?"
"There should be some dregs from the horses," Martha said indulgently, coming over to give Sir Francis a welcoming pat. "There might even be a few acorns left over in the pantry."
After ensuring that Sir Francis was situated, Georgiana scurried into the kitchen to find him a suitable breakfast.
Dr. Lawrence, entering the dining parlor with a newspaper tucked under his arm, raised his brows upon finding a duck seated at his table. With the undeniably self-satisfied air emanating from the creature, the rector could not help but think his aquatic dinner guest looked rather like a short, gaudily-waistcoated little man. "Well, Darcy, I have always aspired to dine with a baronet, but I did not imagine my wish would be granted in such a manner."
Darcy just shook his head.
The rector took his seat and accepted a plate of eggs and bacon. He glanced up at Darcy, who acquired a rather green tinge to his face as the same fare was set in front of him. The rector chuckled. "Martha, could you bring out a pot of coffee, please?"
Darcy eagerly seconded this motion, and his companion only chortled again and shook out his newspaper.
"Too much punch, I presume?" Dr. Lawrence said blithely. "Ah, the follies of youth! I remember those days only too well. People suppose that being old is a punishment. I'll admit, some days I would rather not be quite so encumbered with years, but after I recall that much of a young man's life is spent agonizing over women, dancing oneself sick, and spending far too much time bent in the hedgerows after wild routs, I rather come to enjoy the serenity of my present situation. Youth is too highly regarded."
Martha, upon seeing Darcy's haggard face, had hastened to pour a bracing cup of coffee. Darcy nursed it gratefully, feeling the ache slowly wane from his temples.
"Actually," the rector said thoughtfully, "one should enjoy old age, for it has its advantages. A young man, should he espouse unusual ideas or mannerisms, is either locked up or largely cast from society. An old man, however, employing the same behavior, is simply deemed eccentric."
At that moment, Georgiana came back into the room with a bowl for Sir Francis, but the sound of knocking at the door stalled her. Setting down the dish, she went to answer the call. Darcy heard quiet voices, a muffled exclamation, and rustling from the hallway, and in a few minutes she returned to the dining room, blushing furiously and clutching a lovely bouquet of hothouse flowers.
Martha, who had come to see what the commotion was about, giggled like a schoolgirl upon spotting the flowers. "I see you have an admirer, Miss Georgiana! One dance, and some gentleman is completely besotted!"
Georgiana colored more, but was smiling. "Will you find me a vase, Martha?"
Staring at the profusion of blooms, Darcy demanded, "Who are they from?"
Georgiana bent close to sniff the blooms with undisguised pleasure. "Richard Goulding. I danced a few sets with him last night Miss Bennet introduced us. How very kind of him to send such beautiful flowers."
"Goulding?" Darcy searched his hazy memory frantically to match the name with a face, and at length it came. "Tall and brown-haired, right? Quiet fellow?"
Georgiana nodded shyly. "He is Mr. Goulding's youngest son. He was a very charming partner."
Darcy scowled. "Was he?"
Dr. Lawrence concealed a smile behind his coffee cup.
"Yes." She hummed to herself and set to work putting her gift into the vase Martha brought her. "He has just returned from Oxford this month to help his brothers and father with estate matters. He has two brothers and four sisters, Will can you imagine having so many siblings? I understand Haye-Park is not a terribly large home either. He said it oftentimes seems overcrowded."
His frown deepened, but Georgiana innocently steered him away from any chastisement he may have intended. "Miss Bennet looked very lovely last evening, didn't she?"
"Miss Bennet?" Darcy struggled to remember what Bingley's sweetheart had been wearing. "Oh, yes, very lovely. I have never seen Bingley so happy as he was at the ball. I am delighted for Miss Bennet and he."
"I was speaking of Miss Elizabeth Bennet, Brother. She told me she enjoyed the dances you shared very much."
Dr. Lawrence saw color leech into his curate's face, and again he had to struggled to suppress a smile.
"Yes, yes," Darcy said hastily. "Now, if you will excuse me, I...I have business to attend to at the church." He rose, bowed, and left with undue alacrity.
Georgiana watched her brother leave and sighed. "Why is it that men always have business to attend to when they don't wish to talk any longer?"
"Men generally do have things to occupy their time, and matters that do need to be seen to." Dr. Lawrence smiled. "However, some business is a very convenient sort of business."
"In any case, it is a pity that he didn't stay to hear what I intended to say." She looked at Dr. Lawrence with a confidential, and uncharacteristically mischievous, grin. "I meant to tell him that I had informed Miss Elizabeth that he would love to read her father's edition of The Iliad...and that she was welcome to deliver it in person to him at the church tomorrow."
Mr. Bingley arrived promptly at ten the next morning to make his application to his beloved's father. Mrs. Bennet had been the first to spot him riding up the lane, and, in hair-curlers and robe, she had dashed to Jane's room, shrieking all the way and waking the rest of the household.
Poor Jane had scarcely had time to put up her hair before Mrs. Bennet was dragging her downstairs to entertain Bingley, but she soon discovered that the young man was in Mr. Bennet's study, in a private conference! Her effusions were so excessive that it took all five sisters and Mrs. Hill to corner the matron in a quiet parlor long enough to administer a calming sip of wine and a sniff of salts.
"Jane, my darling Jane!" she cried, "I knew that Bingley could not resist you! He must be asking Mr. Bennet to marry you a spring wedding! What a delightful thing for my dearest girl. We shall invite the whole town, and it will be the grandest wedding Hertfordshire has ever seen! What riches you will have, Jane, what jewels and fine clothes and wealthy friends! And so close to Longbourn I will be able to visit my Mrs. Bingley everyday! Oh, dearest Jane!"
Jane flushed and attempted to soothe her, but Mrs. Bennet's enthusiasm could not be repressed for longer than a minute.
"And the people you will meet, Jane! Dear Bingley will throw your sisters in the path of other rich men you and he can even help the romances along! You can host them in London and take them to all the grandest parties. I may have all five of you married off before the year is out!"
It was a profound relief for everyone when Mr. Bennet sent word that Jane was to join he and Bingley. With a hasty squeeze to Elizabeth's hand, she hurried off to the library, her mother shouting advise after her departing form.
Elizabeth paced back and forth across the parlor while Kitty and Mary attended to Mrs. Bennet's spasms and flutterings and Lydia occupied herself with trying to out-talk her mother. The racket was almost unbearable, but the thought of Jane's happiness allowed Elizabeth to keep her temper in check and also served to keep her mind off her own foolishness.
She had spent a good part of the morning mulling over her actions the previous night. The flower had been a mistake she saw that now. It had been an impetuous decision, undoubtedly influenced in part by the surreal excitement of the night and the unusually strong punch. She had seen Mr. Darcy standing a mere foot below her, and the granting of a flower in remembrance of their dances seemed the most appropriate thing in the world at the time. She had carefully unpinned the largest rose from her braid and let it drift down, where it had landed on his jacket.
As soon as she had done it, however, the realization hit her, and she left in a hurry before he could look up to see her. Of course he would know it had been her flower...but she had not been thinking clearly.
In the harsh light of the dawn, her reckless gift seemed horribly improper. Oh, why had she done it? Undoubtedly he must think she was the most brazen, shameless creature in the whole of Hertfordshire. He was a man of the cloth, for pity's sake! Young ladies were not supposed to give their hair ornaments to their dancing partners, no matter how much they liked them.
He had probably thrown the flower away, disgusted by her audaciousness. She had lost all his regard he would never wish to speak to her again - he would think her unfit company for his sister he would...
She growled under her breath. It was pointless to chide herself now. The only recourse available was to somehow find a way to prove to him that she was a demure young woman who had only lost temporary control of her senses and was not accustomed to giving her every partner a personal token.
The next moment she scoffed at herself. You, demure? Who do you think you are Jane?
Elizabeth was suddenly distracted from her black musings by the sound of voices out in the hallway. Mrs. Bennet made a hushing sound and strained to hear what was being said.
Elizabeth heard her father's teasing voice clearly, "Well, Mr. Bingley, I am very pleased for Jane's sake. She seems to like you, after all. You are welcome here at Longbourn anytime should you wish to brave the company of the other Bennet women."
The enthusiasm in Bingley's reply was unmistakable, "I will, sir! Thank you very much, and I will come first thing tomorrow."
"You might as well stay for luncheon," the elder man said. "I suspect Jane may appreciate a little more of your company this day."
Elizabeth could almost sense that Jane was blushing. "I would be immensely pleased if you would stay and dine with us, Mr. Bingley."
"Mr. Bingley, indeed," Mr. Bennet said laughingly. "Now go on to the parlor, Jane, for you have the privilege of informing your mother. Mr. Bingley, I am no substitute for Jane, but if you are willing, we can go to the breakfast room to await the ladies."
The sound of the men's conversation faded and Jane's footsteps echoed clearly outside in the hallway. Before the girl was halfway through the door, she found herself smothered in her mother's embrace. "Jane! My dearest, most darling Jane! Married to Mr. Bingley!"
Jane managed to pull back a little. "Mama, Mr. Bingley has not asked me to marry him."
Mrs. Bennet's jaw well-nigh dropped. "What?!" Before Jane could answer, she sputtered, "Not marry my Jane? He has used you very ill, my poor girl! We shall get Mr. Bennet to take him to the task about it! Everyone knows how he has led you on! Oh, how could he not want to marry you? Did you say something to put him off? Don't fear, my dear, we will get your father to make him marry you..."
"Mama, he asked permission to court me, not to marry me."
Mrs. Bennet calmed a little at this assurance. "I suppose that will have to do. After all, Bingley can hardly go back on his word once he has spoken to your father. You must make sure you do nothing to lose him, then, Jane. Keep in excellent looks and agree with whatever he says until you are married."
Elizabeth, vexed for Jane's sake, broke up this unpleasant conversation and reminded her mother that Bingley and Mr. Bennet were waiting for them in the breakfast room. However, if the girls had hoped that Mr. Bingley's presence might instill a little more decorum in their mother, they were sadly mistaken.
"How pleased I am that you have decided upon Jane, my dear Mr. Bingley," she said, when they had sat down to dine. "She is quite our sweetest daughter and the prettiest by far. You shall certainly not repine your choice."
Bingley nodded uncomfortably. "I never shall regret it, ma'am, thank you. Jane is..."
"And so well-liked," Mrs. Bennet interrupted. "Why, she must have had six or seven gentlemen who were enamored of her in the past few years! She's had many devoted admirers and even an offer or two!"
"Mama!" Jane whispered, her face reddening even as Bingley's became pale.
Mrs. Bennet ignored her. "One wrote her the loveliest verses about her eyes and hair oh, I thought he would offer for her, but, alas, he was called away to London. A great loss for Jane, for he was quite rich. Nevertheless, I am very glad for it now, for you are much more suited to Jane, Mr. Bingley."
Bingley smiled tightly, but Jane looked down miserably at her plate. Elizabeth squeezed her hand comfortingly under the table and looked at Mr. Bennet, who was watching the scene with a trace of amusement on his face. She felt a spurt of anger flare up inside her. Why was her father not stopping his wife's remarks, when it was so apparent that Jane and Bingley were mortified? What was wrong with him?
Trying desperately to change the subject, she said, "I thought I heard Miss Bingley say that she was not to stay long in Hertfordshire, Mr. Bingley."
Bingley grasped onto the topic with obvious relief. "My sister is leaving this week for London. She and her fiancι are to marry next month, and she wanted to complete her trousseau and socialize a little before her marriage."
"I did not know she was to marry so soon," Elizabeth said. "Will they wed in London?"
Before Bingley could answer, Mrs. Bennet piped up, "London? Why don't you marry Jane in a nice London church at the same time as your sister, Mr. Bingley? A double wedding! How delightful that would be and Jane has scarcely ever been to London before!"
Jane blanched, and Mr. Bennet finally spoke up. "My dear, you are overeager. Did not Jane tell you? She and Mr. Bingley are not engaged just yet. Give them a little time the wedding need not take place tomorrow." He chuckled.
Mrs. Bennet pouted at her husband's decree. "Well, it seemed like a fine notion to me."
Elizabeth closed her eyes and resisted the urge to throw a conveniently-situated goblet at her mother's head. Poor Jane. No love could be possibly be worth all this mortification.
The week after the Netherfield Ball brought on one very welcome departure, as Miss Bingley set off early Monday morning for London. Conversely, it also saw the arrival of one very unwelcome guest at Longbourn Mr. Collins arrived promptly on Tuesday afternoon with three large portmanteaus and a ready supply of flattery.
At about noon, the family had filed out onto the drive to await their cousin. The girls were decked out in their finest, for Mrs. Bennet was determined to see Mr. Collins acknowledge the superior grace, beauty, and wit of her offspring. As loath as she was to cater in any way to the one who would usurp her husband's place as master, familial pride could not but make her resolved to show Longbourn at its very best.
The longer they waited, however, the more everyone's nerves frayed. Mrs. Bennet passed the time by repeatedly declaring she was apt to faint from the anticipation of meeting such a wretched man, and Lydia fidgeted and demanded to know why she should have to stand out in the sun just because some plain old parson was coming to visit.
Jane attempted to placate mother and daughter while Mr. Bennet looked on with a chuckle and Elizabeth with exasperation.
"I confess, Lizzy, that I hold great expectations for this meeting," he said cheerfully, watching his long-suffering eldest try to reason with his wife. "Mr. Collins holds considerable potential."
Elizabeth knew precisely what sort of potential her father was hoping for, but she could not help but wonder if the amusement would come at a price. "As long as he does not stay past a fortnight," she said shortly.
Mr. Bennet looked at her with mild surprise but chose to make no answer. Fortunately, or perhaps unfortunately, Kitty suddenly spotted a little pony-drawn phaeton rolling up the drive and sounded the alarm.
The Bennets closed ranks, lining up before their home to greet the man who would one day take it from them. The phaeton drew up, and they were treated with their first look at the Reverend Collins.
Their cousin was a tall, heavyset man of five-and-twenty, with a prematurely receding hairline and a round, grave face. He wore a clergyman's black coat and white stock, and Elizabeth could not help but compare the bearing of the form underneath to that of another churchman, whose prospect was vastly more pleasing. However, he did not look outwardly ridiculous, and Elizabeth briefly entertained the idea that he was not actually so bad as she had supposed. That notion, however, was dismissed the instant he opened his mouth.
"Greetings, cousins!" he announced, with the air of one who was delivering an important proclamation. "I have arrived."
No one felt the need to confirm this conspicuous fact. Mr. Collins, with a smile indicating his satisfaction with his succinct speech, hastened to alight from the vehicle. His foot slipped on the last step, and he would have tumbled headfirst into the dirt if not for the timely intervention of his driver.
Lydia and Kitty giggled madly, only barely muffling the sound behind their hands. Elizabeth shushed them quickly, fearing that he would hear. The object of their mirth showed no signs of embarrassment, however after profusely thanking the driver, he planted his feet firmly on the ground and turned his attention to his host. Elizabeth watched the two men regard each other, one intently, the other idly and with a hint of amusement.
"Mr. Collins," she heard her father drawl in ironic tones. "Welcome to Longbourn."
"My dear cousin Bennet," said he, with a flourish and bow worthy of a courier, "I offer my sincerest gratitude for your beneficent hospitality, and I ardently hope to return your kindness. I do not regret the long journey, for I flatter myself that I may serve as an ambassador of sorts between our two good families, which have long seen needless contention. I give you my very best regard, and I also bear good wishes from my most noble patroness..." He paused for dramatic effect. "...Lady Catherine de Bourgh of Rosings Park." With that, he bowed again.
Mr. Bennet's eyes twinkled, and even Jane fought to suppress a little smile. "I suppose introductions would be in order," he said wryly, "if you are interested, that is."
Mr. Collins eloquently fawned over each of the girls as they were introduced to him, and he seemed equally struck by each in turn, though perhaps a little less by Lydia, who snorted in his face when he referred to her as a lovely vision of delicacy and grace.' His eye was most caught, predictably, by Jane, and he attached himself to her person in such a way as made Elizabeth resolve to mention Mr. Bingley very soon.
"Will you not come in, Mr. Collins?" Mrs. Bennet said coldly, unappeased by his attention to her daughters. "I am sure you are eager to view the house."
"How very kind of you, madam," he said with a tip of his round hat. "I must profess I have long felt great curiosity about my inheritance."
Mrs. Bennet's eyes widened, but before she could speak, Jane, perhaps more in desperation than civility, intervened. "Mama, shall I have Hill lay out the luncheon? Mr. Collins must be famished after his journey. Kent is quite some distance."
Mr. Collins was nearly prostrate with admiration for the beauteous Miss Bennet's thoughtfulness a trait, he insisted, which was credited to her excellent upbringing by most excellent parents, and which was also heartily endorsed by his most excellent patroness, Lady Catherine de Bourgh.
"Although," he continued, as they sat around the table, "Lady Catherine does warn against the evils of being too charitable. Too much generosity can make lesser men lazy and self-satisfied. If there is anything Lady Catherine despises, it is idleness."
"She is an active woman, then?" Jane asked politely.
"She is constantly in the village with her tenants," he replied. "Her condescension is remarkable her advise always wise. I have been magnificently blessed with my patroness, for she is all a true lady should be."
"Oh." Jane searched about for another topic. "I thought perhaps she rode."
"Rode?" Kitty piped up, listening to the conversation for the first time - she loved horses, and they were the one subject she could speak sensibly about. "Does she have fine stables, Mr. Collins?"
"Resplendent stables," he said proudly. "Some of the finest in the land. However, Miss Catherine, my patroness does not ride herself. She dislikes the offensive odors and sights of the stables, for they are most unladylike."
Kitty looked dumbstruck. "She does not ride?"
Lydia dissolved into giggles. "Can you imagine some stuffy old lady dashing about on a pony?"
Mr. Collins's eyes nearly bugged out of his head, and Jane, Elizabeth, and Mary chorused, "Lydia!"
"Lord, don't be such scolds!" Lydia said defensively. "It's probably true."
Mr. Collins, with an air of wounded dignity, said sternly, "Lady Catherine is in excellent health."
Lydia looked as though she would like to reply, but a sharp kick from Elizabeth under the table convinced her to keep her mouth closed.
The conversation turned to more inane subjects, but Mr. Bennet seemed more and more diverted as time went on. His hopes had proved fruitful, for Mr. Collins was an unfortunate mix of ridiculousness and obliviousness.
Mrs. Bennet, however, could not be pleased. Her pride was injured by his references to his' home, and her outrage had been stirred after he tapped the side of the teacup and inquired as to whether it was genuine Dresden china. She replied heatedly that it was a wedding gift which was not included in the entail, to which he replied that it was a pity, for such a collection was eminently suited to a parson's table.
"Perhaps you would like to go to the kitchens and ask Hill to show you the silver?" she sniffed, "as it seems to be so interesting to you."
Mr. Collins merely nodded and resumed shoveling pigeon pie into his mouth. "Perhaps another time, Mrs. Bennet, thank you."
The matron's mouth gaped open.
Jane and Elizabeth exchanged nervous glances before the latter sighed and reached unsteadily for her twice-drained wine glass. Listening to her father chuckle quietly and watching her cousin noisily masticate his dinner, Elizabeth decided she would happily trade all of Rosings Park for the evening just to be over.
Eager to escape her cousin's company, Elizabeth convinced her mother that a trip to Meryton was desperately needed, for the Lucases were having a soiree later in the week and she required a bit of ribbon to spruce up her gown. Never passing up an opportunity to put her daughters forward, Mrs. Bennet agreed, and Elizabeth happily set off down the lane while her sisters endured Mr. Collins's stimulating conversation at the breakfast table.
Though winter's chill was beginning to take its hold on the land, it was a balmy day. The air was alive with spice and smoke, the staple scents of autumn. The sky was cloudless, and burnished gold leaves littered the ground like so many fallen stars.
Elizabeth passed the time in quiet reflection, but her spirits rose the longer she walked. How could one be morose when one was surrounded by such beauty? She found herself wondering whether Mr. Darcy was taking advantage of the unseasonable warmth, for he had told her that he was very fond of walking.
She caught herself looking around her as if for a glimpse of his tall figure and instantly chided herself for such foolishness. Even if he was walking nearby, the last thing he would want to do would be to spend time with her. Nay, his good opinion had probably been lost the moment she impetuously tossed him her rose.
Such thoughts would not do! The weather was too fine to allow gloomy musings, and she resolved to think of it no more.
Meryton was still enshrouded in sleepy silence, and but for a few red-coated soldiers and a servant or two, the main street was empty. Elizabeth turned into the trimmery with an inward sigh. She had no desire to purchase more ribbon indeed, she'd gotten so much in the past week that she felt she could be quite content to never wear it again but it was a necessary evil if she were to keep her disguise a secret.
She was greeted at the door by the proprietress and, after exchanging a few civilities with the woman, she wound through the deserted aisles to the ribbon display.
There was another customer, however, standing by the window and examining a length of silver lace. It took Elizabeth only a moment to recognize the young woman.
"Good morning, Miss Darcy. What brings you to the village so early?"
The girl startled and dropped the lace on the floor. Elizabeth hastened forth to help her retrieve it, and Miss Darcy gave her an abashed curtsy and a shy, "Good day. I hope you are well?"
"Quite well." Elizabeth glanced at the lace in the girl's hand. "That is very lovely, and I daresay it will look fine on your gown. You have exquisite taste."
Miss Darcy's cheeks filled with color, and swiftly, the lace was returned to the table. "I did not mean to purchase it, Miss Bennet. It is lovely, but I fear the price is not."
Elizabeth regretted her careless remark. Of course she had guessed that the Darcys lived on a modest income. Why on earth had she said such a thing, that was sure to reveal the disparity in their fortunes?
"The prices here can be somewhat shocking," she blurted, hoping to rid the awkwardness from the air.
"Yes." Unwilling to offend, Georgiana hastily added, "But they do carry a remarkable variety of things. Kympton has not half so many shops."
"Kympton?"
"A parish," she explained, "in Derbyshire. It will eventually be my brother's living."
Elizabeth eagerly took up this line of conversation. "Did you and your brother grow up at Kympton?"
"No. We lived in Lambton, which is about 5 miles from Kympton. After our parents died, Reverend Fallows took me in while my brother attended the university."
"How interesting. I should dearly love to hear more. Were you returning to the parsonage?"
"I was, for I promised Will I would be back before noon."
"I have a proposition then. I am on my way back to Longbourn anyway. Would it be too inconvenient if I were to accompany you as far as the parsonage?"
Miss Darcy was clearly amazed. "You want to walk with me?"
"If you would rather have solitude, I do understand. It is entirely..."
"Oh, no! I did not mean you were not welcome. I was only surprised. I should very much like your company, Miss Bennet."
"Very well!" Elizabeth linked her arm through Miss Darcy's. "Let us be off to brave the elements together."
Georgiana could not help but smile at her companion's ridiculousness, and before the two girls were halfway down the lane, they were chatting like a pair of magpies. Elizabeth was astonished at how talkative the timid girl could be, and it pleased her greatly. She was too direct to deal well with extreme shyness.
"Will told me that I would like Hertfordshire," Georgiana was saying, "but I was not sure that I would. Thankfully, the adjustment was not hard. This really is a beautiful place."
"But you still miss Derbyshire?"
"I believe I always shall. Hertfordshire is lovely, but Derbyshire Derbyshire is wild. Everything is green, and there are hills and rivers and great towering trees..." She broke off rather sheepishly. "You mustn't let me ramble on."
Elizabeth laughed. "You only love your home, tis all. With such praise, you've made me want to see it for myself. Are there many walks in the wood near Kympton?"
Georgiana nodded enthusiastically. "There are plenty of pathways, and the parsonage itself is built in a thatch of trees. It is so peaceful. Will and I often took walks there after meals."
"Your brother must be fond of the outdoors."
"He would live out of doors if he had the chance. Nothing pleases him more than nature. He says that Man is closest to God in the untouched wilderness."
Elizabeth was struck by this. "Does he? Does he really?"
Georgiana replied that it was so, looking at her quizzically.
"I have often thought the same thing! There is something so...so...fulfilling about being out of doors on a beautiful day."
The girl concealed a smile. "That is certainly true, Miss Bennet."
Elizabeth pulled herself from her distraction. "Miss Bennet? Surely we need not be so formal. Do you prefer Georgiana,' or do you go by something else? Or is Miss Darcy' more suitable?"
She colored. "You may call me Georgiana."
"Then you shall call me Elizabeth. Or Lizzy, if you like."
Georgiana's eyes widened. "I couldn't!"
"Why not?"
"It would not be appropriate." At her companion's bemused look, she clarified. "I should not speak so familiarly to a lady. You may call me Georgiana, but you must be Miss Bennet to me."
Elizabeth shifted uncomfortably. "It seems so awkward though, to have you call me that. How about Miss Elizabeth? It is still formal, yet more intimate than a dreary Miss Bennet.'"
Georgiana smiled shyly. "Miss Elizabeth, then."
They walked on, and, to fill the gap in conversation, Elizabeth said teasingly, "I have heard you speak of Hertfordshire, but you have yet to give your opinion of its inhabitants. We are a queer lot, to be sure."
Georgiana seemed unsure of how to react to the statement. "I am not much acquainted with the people here," she said cautiously.
Elizabeth laughed. "Very diplomatic! You resemble your brother more than I suspected. If you will not describe your new acquaintance, then how about the old? Have you known Mr. Bingley long?"
"Oh, do allow me to extend my congratulations to your sister! I apologize for not mentioning it sooner. Mr. Bingley seems so very happy."
"They both are. Is he a family friend?"
"I did not know him particularly well until we came here," she said. "He has been Will's friend for many years, and Mr. Bingley came back a few times with Will from Cambridge to spend the holidays with us."
"It is a strange friendship," Elizabeth said, "as both participants are so very different."
Georgiana made a noncommital gesture, and after a brief pause, ventured, "They are not so very different. Will is quieter, and Mr. Bingley rather boisterous, but they have many things in common."
"Oh?" Elizabeth rejoiced inwardly at this perfect opportunity. "And what does your brother like? What are his tastes? His interests?"
Georgiana had a look in her eye that a person who knew her better would have recognized as mischief. "What does he like? He likes books, wildflowers, Mozart, rain, fencing, the violin, wolfhounds, tomatoes, warm fires, dancing, good conversation, Earl Grey tea, the smell of gardenias, croissants, horseback riding, the seashore, opera, Plato, and pomegranates. He doesn't like mutton, the Price Regent, daises, watch fobs, Ovid, lavender, squeaky boots, mushrooms, and pugs."
Elizabeth blinked. "I see."
Georgiana's lips twitched, and after a futile struggle, she began to smile. "I am sorry, Miss Elizabeth!" she said, reddening. "But your face the look on your face!" She dissolved into nervous giggles, and Elizabeth soon joined her.
"Does he really dislike daises?" Elizabeth finally choked out when they had regained some control of themselves.
"He thinks they're horrid little flowers. The smell of lavender also makes him ill."
"I shall have to remember to wear only rose water in his company. Speaking of which, are you coming to the party at Lucas Lodge?"
The two discussed the upcoming gathering with easy camaraderie until the church spire loomed into view. Georgiana paused by the gate. "Would you like to come in and have some refreshment before you walk home?"
Elizabeth agreed, but as they approached the parsonage, she grew uneasy. "Perhaps I should not after all. Your brother may not care to have an extra guest."
"My brother? Will is out on his visiting rounds in Meryton today. Did I not mention it?"
Elizabeth suppressed a sigh of relief. "Well, then, I will not feel as if I impose. Your brother has been so kind to me."
Georgiana smiled. "Will is always kind."
The girls were greeted by loud quacking as they mounted the steps, and Elizabeth was astonished when a mallard duck appeared at their feet. Georgiana, however, seemed completely unperturbed she even bent to lift him up into her arms.
"Miss Elizabeth, this is Sir Francis. Sir Francis, Miss Elizabeth."
Recovering from her surprise, Elizabeth reached out to give the duck a pat on the head. "He is your pet?"
"He is." Georgiana gave him a kiss on the head and then set him down. "If you'll follow me, I will show you to the kitchen."
In no time at all, Elizabeth found herself seated at the kitchen table, watching Georgiana bustle around making tea and Sir Francis follow her every move. She was fascinated, for she had never been in a kitchen before except to fetch Cook or take out a tray.
Georgiana noticed her stare. "Do you dislike this tea, Miss Elizabeth? I believe we have another kind in the pantry if you would prefer something else."
"No, do not trouble yourself. It's just...well, I have never seen anyone make tea before."
"Never?" The girl sounded incredulous.
"Never."
Georgiana set down the kettle. "I can teach you, if you like."
"Would you?"
"Certainly. It's very simple, really. Just take a handful of these tea leaves and..."
Before long, the two girls were bent over the fireplace, laughing and gossiping while they waited for the water to boil. When the finished tea was put on the counter to set, Georgiana declared that her new friend was ready for her next lesson. She spent an hour teaching Elizabeth how to bake sweet biscuits. Even Sir Francis joined in the revelry by attempting to stick his webbed feet in the dough. When the task was completed, the girls collapsed into their chairs and gorged themselves on tea and sweets.
Though her gown was smudged, her hair in disarray, and her face and hands coated with flour, Elizabeth was certain that she had never had so much fun in her life. There was something immensely satisfying about preparing something with one's own hands the effort involved made the outcome even more gratifying.
They sat in comfortable silence until Georgiana began to giggle. "I can only imagine what Will shall say when he sees us!"
Elizabeth was instantly alarmed. The last thing she wanted was for Mr. Darcy see her like this so disheveled and dirty! He already thought her a brazen bit she could not bear to let hellion be added to the list.
"Miss Elizabeth?"
Elizabeth shook herself from her thoughts. "I would love to stay here with you all day, Georgiana, but I really should return home."
Georgiana looked as though she wished to protest, but instead she nodded. "There is a horse and cart in the stables. I will ask John to drive you home. Or you can wait until Will returns. He would be happy to see you safely to Longbourn."
"I shall be perfectly fine walking. Thank you for a delightful afternoon. I hope we may go on another walk soon?"
"I am free anytime, Miss Elizabeth." Georgiana led her back to the door, and after biding her and Sir Francis goodbye, Elizabeth started down the steps. She was halted, however, by the sound of the other girl's voice. "Elizabeth!"
"Yes?"
"I believe my brother will be at the church all day tomorrow. I shall see you again soon, Miss Elizabeth. Have a lovely afternoon." Georgiana curtsied, smiled sweetly at the expression on her new friend's face, and closed the door.
Sir Francis had flown the coop again. Georgiana awoke the morning after her walk with Miss Bennet to find that her pet had simply disappeared. Calling his name, she hurried from room to room, even going so far as to check in the fire grate and under the parlor settee.
She was at her wit's end when her brother came down the stairs to head off to the church. "Will, he's gone again!"
Within ten minutes, the Darcys, Dr. Lawrence, Martha, John, and Bessie were all searching through the house, calling Sir Francis's name and looking in every nook and cranny in the parsonage.
He was nowhere to be found, however, and at last it occurred to Georgiana to look outside in the garden. She and Darcy battled the hedges and the rose bushes, but their exploration revealed not so much as a feather.
"Come, my dear," Darcy said gently. "He must have gone off somewhere. Let it be. He returned once. Surely he will do so again."
"Once was more than enough," she insisted. "He may not be so fortunate this time!"
Eventually, however, he cajoled her into returning to the house, promising to scour the churchyard for a sign of her pet. As they mounted the steps, there was a loud quack from behind them. Sir Francis, ruffling his feathers in what could only be described as a very self-satisfied manner, strutted toward the pair. He stopped before Georgiana's feet, turned about, and warbled loudly.
There was a rustling in the wood and another duck emerged: a pretty little speckled female, who surveyed the humans warily.
Darcy laughed and reached down to scratch Sir Francis's head. "Why, you scoundrel! So this is the lady-friend you've been sneaking off to see."
"She is a lovely thing, isn't she?" Georgiana said admiringly. "Will she come near, do you think?"
"Probably not," Darcy said, watching as the female shifted uncomfortably back and forth, occasionally flapping her wings as if to reassure herself that she could make a hasty escape if need be. "She is wild, after all. She must be one of the pond birds."
"Well, in any case, she must have a name."
"What do you have in mind?"
His sister looked at him as though he were a half-wit. "He is Sir Francis, Brother. What name could she have but Lady Drake?"
Satisfied that all was well, Darcy left his sister to try and acquaint herself with Sir Francis's very skittish mate. After stopping in the house to assure his fellow search-party members that the missing duck had been found, he walked over to the church.
His main objective for the morning was to fix a few broken pews that had been stored in the vestry and took up far too much of the already-crowded area. The wood was perfectly sound, and the Meryton carpenter had assured him that they would be as good as new with a few extra nails and some careful chiseling.
Dr. Lawrence had been put out to discover Darcy meant to do the task himself, but after the curate had explained that there was not sufficient money to hire the carpenter out for the job, he had reluctantly agreed. Besides, how hard could nailing in a few planks be?
Darcy had his answer exactly forty-five minutes later, his shirt soaked through with sweat and his arms and shoulders aching. He rocked back on his heels and set down the mallet, surveying the dismantled pew before him with fresh appreciation for the workers who had constructed the benches in the first place.
He took a moment to catch his breath and then picked up the hammer and set to work. After the last nail had been pounded in, he thankfully relinquished his mallet and headed to the washbasin that Bessie had thoughtfully left for him on the altar steps.
Forgoing the wash-cloth entirely, he splashed his face. As he was toweling off, he felt certain he heard the front doors creak. Glancing hastily behind him, he saw nothing but rows of empty pews, and so turned his attention back to his wash. The cold water soothed overheated skin, and after carefully checking once again to ensure that the church was empty - he dunked his entire head into the basin.
Gasping and sputtering but invigorated, he wrung the worst of the water from his hair and shirt collar. He wasn't fast enough he felt rivulets streaming down his back and chest. Well, at least it was a warm day; his shirt would dry out soon enough.
He bent back over to the floor to wipe up the spilled water, and a loud gasp made his heart miss a beat. He turned about and found himself staring straight into the shocked eyes of Elizabeth Bennet.
Books in hand, Elizabeth had walked from Longbourn to the church, anticipating a conversation with the recipient of her parcels. As she neared the church, she heard the sharp tap of a hammer on wood, and, as the door was unlocked, she went inside.
It was dark within, and she paused. The sound of splashing water drew her forward, and she spotted someone bending over the altar. Shadowed it may have been, but she recognized the shape instantly.
"Why...Mr. Darcy!"
The figure by the pulpit straightened, and Elizabeth felt as if all the breath had been forced from her lungs.
The sunlight from the church windows seemed to pool about his hair, throwing the gleaming curls into bright glory. Droplets of water trickled down his cheeks and neck as he rose. Her eyes were drawn from his head to the form beneath it - and to his chest, where his shirt collar fell open. She felt herself color, but was unable to look away from the curve of golden brown skin and feathering of dark hair that could be clearly seen between the wet fabric that clung to his shape.
Good heavens, Lizzy, to have such thoughts about a clergyman...and in a church, no less! She reddened even further as he clutched the cloth to his chest in an inefficient attempt at modesty. "Miss Elizabeth?"
"Sir." She dropped a stiff curtsy and thrust the books forward. "Here are some of the books that your sister thought you might like to peruse."
He came forward hesitantly, running a hand through his glistening hair and seeming unaware of how the gesture disconcerted her. "Thank you." As he neared, she saw that his cheeks were scarlet as he fumbled for the jacket that lay on a nearby pew. "Excuse me for my dress, ma'am. I was not prepared for any visitors. I hope I have not offended you."
She made some sound of reassurance and let him take the books from her grasp. His shirt-sleeves were rolled up at the elbow, and she could not help but see how tanned and well-muscled his arms were.
It was a relief to both of them when he finally managed to tug on his coat, but an awkward silence fell, Elizabeth unable to think of anything but what she had just witnessed. Fortunately, Darcy broke the tense impasse.
"Will you take some refreshment, Miss Elizabeth?" he asked, the embarrassed color slowly draining away from his face. "I do not have much to offer, I'm afraid, but Bessie made some cold lemonade. It is very good, I assure you."
She was drawn by the sight of his dimpled smile. "Of course."
"It's back in the vestry, if you will follow me, Miss Bennet."
There was a small square table inside the room, with three chairs around it. A tall pitcher of lemonade sat on the table, along with a half-loaf of bread. Elizabeth accepted the chair he offered her, and he flipped through the books she had given him as he seated himself.
"Ah! Don Quixote de la Mancha." Darcy took up the book eagerly. "It's in wonderful condition. Your father must be an avid collector."
Elizabeth smiled. "It is one of his favorites."
"Mine as well. Cervantes is marvelously witty, but he also has a message to give to her reader."
"I always thought Cervantes could have elaborated on Don Quixote's character. His exploits are telling, but there is little background on his life." Elizabeth accepted the chair Darcy pulled out for her.
"Yes, but that is the mystery of it," he said. "Is Quixote an idealist or a madman? Is his imagined world a delusion or simply the willingly-created product of an imaginative mind?"
"What is your opinion, sir?"
He smiled. "You may regret asking me that, for I give long-winded answers."
"Do your worst," she said cheekily, "for I am not afraid of you."
"Very well. I think Cervantes created Quixote to represent all that is good about humanity the desire to do good works, to protect the innocent and oppressed, to be faithful and honorable, and to have courage.
"The people around Quixote accept him only to mock and deride him. Without a doubt, he does seem ridiculous, riding about in a rusty suit of armor and declaring himself a knight...yet they recognized that, his eccentricity notwithstanding, he is happy and I think that makes them resent him. The duke and duchess, for example, have all the world at their disposal, but they cannot enjoy it. Don Quixote, who has nothing perhaps not even his sanity is perfectly content to wander around the countryside."
"It is unfortunate," Elizabeth added, "that Quixote's family and friends were so determined to see him home. Without realizing it, they did destroy the one thing that made his life worth living."
Darcy nodded. "That is the tragedy of this story. Quixote embodies the very being of idealism. Even when at sword-point, he refuses to renounce Dulcinea he is willing to die for a woman who never existed. He would rather be killed than give up his honor. Yet, in the end, his aspirations are forcibly taken away by the people who love him most. It is remarkably tragic." He shook his head. "Now you see, Miss Bennet, what happens when you ask me my opinion on a book? Enough of this you must be hungry."
He rose to collect a knife from a nearby drawer to slice the bread. "I'm afraid this is the best I have to offer, Miss Elizabeth."
"It looks delicious."
He raised an eyebrow, but set to work carving up the loaf. Elizabeth could only marvel at it her father had never cut his own bread, and she doubted Mr. Bingley ever had. It was amazing how so menial a thing could have such significance she felt anew the difference in their lifestyles.
"Are you quixotic yourself, Mr. Darcy?" Elizabeth asked, more in jest than anything else. He surprised her, however, by answering seriously.
"Perhaps not as fanciful as Quixote. I have yet to try my sword against a windmill. But even so, I believe many of his ideals were correct."
"If I may be so bold, which ones?"
"Honor. The willingness to do the right over the easy. The ability to stand firm against others' dictates."
"I am less certain as to the standing firm," she said.
"How so?"
"Everyone is a slave to society's dictates." Even she heard the bitterness in her voice.
"In some part, yes, but we go into imprisonment with our eyes open."
"What are you saying?"
"Only that society can have no power over us unless we let it. In the end, it is our own hands which snap on our shackles. We allow power and influence and wealth to keep us bound to something we cannot like."
The room went still. "Yes," Elizabeth said softly, "but sometimes, Mr. Darcy, we have no choice but to put on our chains."
He looked at her somberly. "You believe that?"
"I do."
Before he could say anything else, Elizabeth set her glass aside and rose from her chair. "I truly should not stay any longer, sir. My mother will be anxious for my return."
"Of course." He picked up his hat from where it lay on an empty chair. "I will drive you home."
In a few minutes they were riding along the lane, jostling back and forth violently, for the cart had no well-oiled springs to absorb the shock. Elizabeth sat silently and watched Darcy drive.
"I hope I did not offend you." His sudden comment startled her, for she had been wholly absorbed in observing the way the sun put auburn highlights in his hair.
"You did not offend me. I spoke injudiciously, and I cannot expect you to understand. We lead very different lives." She wished desperately that he might smile at her again, for she did not like his grave civility.
His voice was so soft she scarcely heard it. "I believe I understand all too well."
The comment unnerved her. She rushed to think of another subject. "You and Miss Darcy will attend the Lucases's fete, won't you?"
"It would be rude not to."
"But you do not wish to go? There is no incentive to enjoyment?"
He turned and saw the look upon her face, and despite himself, he smiled. "There is always something to enjoy at a ball, Miss Bennet."
Her smile lit in response to his, and Darcy felt an uprush of tenderness. She was guileless, for all her sophistication her face a veritable window to her emotions.
"Perhaps you will take pity on me and spare me a dance or two," he said. "We may actually have a rational conversation in a ballroom."
She tried to conceal her eagerness but failed. "I would love to, but if you mean to have rational conversation, I'm afraid we will only be discussing the weather."
He shook his head. "That subject must be eliminated as well, for weather is based on predictions and forecasts, both of which are highly irrational."
"Then we must be silent?"
"Nothing is more rational than silence."
She flashed him a saucy look. "Nothing is more dull than silence. Between irrationality and dullness, I would much prefer the former."
"I did not take you to be an irrational woman," he said, "nor do I consider you dull. You may have to find a third choice, for those two will not do."
Far too soon, to Elizabeth's and Darcy's thinking, the cart pulled up Longbourn's gravel drive. He hopped down off the seat and grasped her waist to slide her down to the ground. She put her arms around his neck to keep her balance, but when her feet touched the ground, she didn't let go. Neither did he if anything, his clasp on her tightened.
She was so close she could feel his breath whispering against her hair, and she was sorely tempted to rest her head against the chest so conveniently placed in front of her. His scent was woodsy and clean, his hands strong where they splayed against her back, and warmth practically radiated from the man.
Prudence, however, overcame her moment of madness, and she pulled gently away. He looked rather out of breath, and his fingers shook where they gripped her. As if reality struck him too, he abruptly dropped her hand. "Goodnight, Miss Bennet. I wish you a pleasant evening."
With that, he scurried back into the cart. She had barely a chance to say goodbye before he tipped his hat, flicked the reins, and took off back to the parsonage.
Elizabeth could hear the murmur of voices from the door behind her, but she made no motion to rejoin her family. Slowly, she moved to stand below the eaves and, oblivious to the chill in the air, stayed to watch him drive away until she could see him no more.
If there was anything Sir William Lucas loved more than regaling his neighbors with tales of St. James's, it was hosting parties. Though his hair was steadily graying and his age approaching sixty, he was as exuberant as a schoolboy. His chief goal in life was to see that everyone enjoyed themselves as much as they possibly could, and he did everything in his power including blatant meddling to ensure that every lady had a partner and every table lively conversation.
Charlotte, standing with her father at the receiving line, greeting Elizabeth warmly and declared that they were long overdue for a private conference. As soon as Sir William was occupied in talking to Mr. and Mrs. Bennet, Charlotte drew Elizabeth way from the line. They joined the crush of people migrating to the ballroom.
"Tell me, Eliza," she whispered as they walked to the refreshment table, "am I to meet your Mr. Darcy tonight?"
Elizabeth blushed. "You have seen him in church already, Charlotte. What can you be about?"
"I have seen him, yes, but seeing and meeting are too different things. To be sure, I certainly didn't object to the seeing either."
"Now you are teasing me and quite cruelly! I should refuse to introduce you to him at all."
"But you won't," Charlotte said confidently, "because you are as eager to show him off as I am to speak with him. He must be clever if he has caught your notice."
"You are impossible!" Elizabeth laughed. "As you wish I shall introduce you. I see him over there by the door. Come, Charlotte, and you will see that he is not a mere figment of my imagination."
Before they had taken one step in that direction, Elizabeth discovered, much to her dismay, that another person had gotten to Mr. Darcy first.
Mr. Collins, upon perceiving a fellow clergyman was in their company, hastened forth to discover the source of the man's living. Though at first awed that Mr. Darcy was connected to Mr. Wickham the nephew of the most exalted Lady Catherine de Bourgh! Mr. Collins soon realized that he had the upper hand, for Mr. Darcy had only a curacy, and he had Hunsford. Delighted by this turn of events, Mr. Collins took it upon himself to offer the poor Mr. Darcy all manner of advise as to how a proper clergyman interacted with those of higher rank.
Elizabeth and her father watched the strange conference, and while Mr. Bennet was greatly diverted, his daughter felt nothing but chagrin. To have such a cousin! To be so represented by such a toadying creature it was reprehensible! (Although, as she observed Darcy bend his tall frame slightly to better attend to his comparatively squat companion, she couldn't deny that there was something wonderfully ridiculous in seeing them together.)
After a few minutes of worrying about what sort of things Mr. Collins might be saying, Elizabeth could take no more. Dragging Charlotte behind her, she rushed over to her cousin's side. "Mr. Collins!"
The clergyman turned, and upon seeing his hostess, he immediately began to compliment her on her superior elegance and beauty, and he informed her that his patroness, Lady Catherine de Bourgh, more than approved of such country gatherings as this which her father had so generously arranged.
"Thank you, sir," Charlotte said. "My father is a generous man."
"Lady Catherine does often speak upon the subject of generosity, for she is most gracious to the unfortunate, much like your esteemed father," Mr. Collins dipped another bow in Charlotte's direction. "As Christ said, And above all things have fervent charity among yourselves, for charity shall cover the multitude of sins.'"
Elizabeth noticed a little smile cross Darcy's face, which promptly disappeared as Mr. Collins added, "Yet too much kindness to the poor shows weakness of character."
"How so?" Darcy said, his voice dangerously soft. "I hardly think that kindness to anyone is a weakness."
"Perhaps," Mr. Collins conceded, "But you also must admit that too much charity can make them believe they can overcome their natural place in life. As Christ said, And withal they learn to be idle, wandering about from house to house; and not only idle, but tattlers also and busybodies, speaking things which they ought not.'"
Charlotte hastily made an inquiry about Lady Catherine and Elizabeth took advantage of her cousin's distraction to whisper to Darcy, "Is my memory faulty, or did Christ truly say that about charity?"
That hint of a smile again appeared on the curate's face. "St. Peter, I believe."
"And the other?"
"Timothy."
Mr. Collins was happily waxing eloquent on his patroness when Elizabeth decided to take pity on Charlotte, who was attempting to listen patiently to him.
"I believe, cousin," Elizabeth said loudly, "that my sister Mary was very much anticipating a dance with you. She sits over there, as you see."
After a few more pointed hints, Mr. Collins left to claim Mary for a dance. Elizabeth and Charlotte both breathed a sigh of relief, and if Darcy was also pleased to see the man depart, he indicated it only by a lessening of the tension in his stance.
Elizabeth recovered herself, and after greeting the curate and apologizing for her cousin's conduct, she introduced Charlotte to him.
Darcy studied Elizabeth's friend as he bowed. Miss Lucas was quite plain compared to her companion, but he thought she had a very pleasant smile and a lovely pair of brown eyes. She was older than Elizabeth too maybe even a few years older than he himself. He liked her instantly. There was a gentleness in her face that spoke well for her character.
"It is a pleasure to meet you, Miss Lucas. You father was very kind to issue me an invitation."
"We are pleased to have you here, Mr. Darcy." She smiled as she made her own examinations. Gracious, but he was a handsome fellow and she suspected it wasn't a shallow sort of beauty either.
Elizabeth, not oblivious to Charlotte's obvious and in her opinion all-too-apparent approval, said a bit too abruptly, "Is not Georgiana here, Mr. Darcy? I was sure she said she would be attending."
"I fear she was not feeling well this afternoon. She decided it would not be wise to go out tonight."
Elizabeth was visibly disappointed. "I was so looking forward to speaking to her. I hope she is not feeling too poorly?"
He shook his head. "It is only a chill. I would have stayed with her, but she made me promise to come so I could give her a full accounting of what everyone did and said."
"I hope she feel well again soon," Charlotte said politely.
The sound of a lively country dance interrupted the conversation. "I believe this is our dance, Miss Bennet," Darcy said, holding out his arm. "And Miss Lucas, if you are not already engaged for the next set, might I have the honor?"
There was a buzz of abrupt activity up near the head of the room, and necks craned to see what the commotion was all about. "What in the world..." Charlotte started to say.
There was a sudden hush, and Darcy glanced up as the crowd parted to reveal a man striding confidently into the room, oblivious to the stares and whispers he was attracting. Girls began to twitter, matrons murmured behind their hands, and people scattered back to make way for him. The man turned his head, and Darcy felt a shock go through him as he stared straight at the smiling face of George Wickham.
Mr. Wickham of Pemberley, Derbyshire, was a man of eight-and-twenty, yet unmarried and considered one of the finest catches on the marriage market. The lure of his pocketbook aside, he possessed great personal charm and a very handsome countenance. Women maidens and matrons alike sighed over his thick auburn locks and vivid blue eyes, and he had been known to cause more than a few fainthearted young ladies to swoon when he offered them his hand in the dance.
Yes, he was prime husband material. His estate was known throughout the area for its unparalleled grandeur, and his coffers were filled with money his father had earned through wise business ventures and careful speculation. There were whispers, of course, of some rather unsavory dealings a younger Mr. Wickham had involved himself in, but all suspicion was abandoned when the gossips were introduced to the fellow himself. There was such an expression of goodness and sincerity in his face as to make any allegation against him entirely unbelievable. After all, ten thousand pounds a year was nothing to scoff at. Of what use was character when compared to the comfort of a grand home, fine carriages, and jewels aplenty?
The good people of Meryton were no different. Within ten minutes of Mr. Wickham's sudden arrival at Lucas Lodge, word of his situation, heritage, and income were being circulated industriously to every matron in the room. He was a friend of Colonel Forster's, it was discovered, and had come to pay an extended visit to his friend. He was staying at the Meryton Inn in the best set of suites and had brought with him a crested chaise-and-four, a new curricle, and five servants.
Colonel Forster went up to greet Wickham with joy, and, with the assistance of Sir William, introduced him to as many people as he could. Mr. Wickham was indisputably captivating, and within moments, all the ladies were in agreement that he was the most gentlemanly man they had ever met with, and all the men declared that he cut a very dashing figure and seemed a sporting good fellow.
Mrs. Bennet was in hysterics. She flew around the room, gathering her daughters together in preparation for an introduction. She nabbed Elizabeth straight from Darcy's side, not even offering an apology as she dragged her second eldest away. In a matter of minutes the girls were lined up behind their mother, and Colonel Forster came forth with his guest.
Elizabeth tried to block out her mother's obsequious conversation and watched the young man interact with the matron.
It was true that Mr. Wickham was exceedingly pleasant to look at. His countenance invited confidence, and but for a thin scar tracing down alongside his left cheek, his features were clean and proud and unmarred. His form was tall and upright, his bearing dignified, and his manners perfectly polished. He smiled agreeably at each girl as they were introduced to him, but his gaze lingered on Elizabeth. She felt herself color under his scrutiny.
"The lovely Miss Elizabeth," he declared, lifting one hand for a kiss. "We meet at last."
Elizabeth raised her brow. "At last? We have no common acquaintance, Mr. Wickham, so I rather wonder how you might declare that you have met me at last'."
He kissed her hand. "Ah, but your beauty is legend, madam."
Elizabeth tried to suppress a smile. The flattery was so contrived as to be ridiculous, but she could not deny that there was something very charming about him.
"All my girls are beauties, Mr. Wickham," Mrs. Bennet informed him. "Jane is the prettiest, of course, but Lizzy is not half bad."
One elegant brow rose. "I must disagree with you on one point, madam. Miss Bennet is very lovely, but I believe that all your girls equal her in beauty."
Kitty and Lydia giggled and Mary scowled.
They passed a few minutes in inane conversation, and Elizabeth noted with pleasure that no matter how insulting her mother was, Mr. Wickham showed no surprise or disgust. After a spell, Wickham turned to Elizabeth. "Would you do me the honor of a turn about the room, Miss Elizabeth?" he asked. "This seems a very appealing house and I should like to see more of it."
"Of course I shall." Elizabeth caught the look of glee on her mother's face and instantaneously regretted her hasty agreement. She took Wickham's arm, and they began a slow stroll around the perimeters of the ballroom.
"How do you like it here in Hertfordshire, Mr. Wickham?"
"I have only been here a day, Miss Bennet, but I believe I shall like it very much. Forster said that I would, and he is always right." He smiled down at his companion. "The people here certainly are amiable. It was most generous of Sir William to invite me on such short notice."
"I suppose these gatherings are not much to your taste. Undoubtedly you are used to grander schemes. Sir William says you live in London."
"I do, for a portion of each year. I spend the spring months in Derbyshire."
"Are you fond of Derbyshire?"
"Extraordinarily fond of it," he said. "Sadly, business takes me to Town more than I should like. I infinitely prefer the countryside."
"It comes as no surprise that you should be fond of Derbyshire," Elizabeth laughed, "as everyone else seems wild for it. Mr. Darcy has been trying to convince me for some time now that it is the most beautiful place in England."
A strange look passed over Wickham's face. "Darcy? Darcy is here?"
"If you mean William Darcy, yes." Elizabeth searched the man's countenance. "Is something amiss, Mr. Wickham?"
"What?" He shook his head. "No, no. It only surprised me. Has he been here long?"
"About a month. He came to take the curacy under our rector, Dr. Lawrence."
"And his sister? Does she also accompany him?"
"Yes, but Miss Darcy is unwell and could not attend tonight. It is a great loss for us all. She is such a sweet girl."
Wickham nodded absently, and it was clear that his attention was elsewhere. His eyes scanned the milling group of people with an almost anxious intensity.
If Elizabeth thought his behavior odd, she made no remark on it. "Shall I take you to Mr. Darcy? I understand the two of you are old acquaintances."
Wickham actually took a step back. "No, Miss Bennet, thank you. I...I am sure Darcy is occupied at the moment. I should much rather..."
"Why, Mr. Wickham!" Sir William suddenly appeared behind them. "I hope you are enjoying yourself at our humble gathering."
"I am, thank you. The company is very congenial."
"Capital, capital!" He clapped his hands together with delight. "Our Miss Eliza is quite a jewel, Mr. Wickham."
"I have only been in Hertfordshire for a short while, sir," Wickham replied, "but I concur very heartily with your sentiments."
Sir William beamed from ear to ear. "What a gallant fellow, eh, Miss Eliza?" He chortled and winked in what he apparently thought was a sly manner.
Elizabeth smiled weakly. "Indeed."
"In fact," he continued jovially, "I may have something to further brighten your evening! I hear that an old friend of yours is here with us this very night."
Before Wickham could say a word, Sir William bellowed, "Ho, Darcy!"
After a moment, the curate appeared through a break in the crowd. He spotted his host waving him over eagerly and started to come forward. When he saw Wickham, however, he stopped dead.
A very strange thing happened then: the two men locked eyes, and one turned white, the other red.
Elizabeth looked between them in astonishment. Wickham seemed uneasy, almost affrighted, while Darcy...Darcy was furious. It occurred to her that she had never before seen the mild-tempered man angry, and it was not a pleasant thing to witness. His face, even his ears, were an alarming shade of red, and his eyes had narrowed into dark slits.
Sir William, oblivious to the tension radiating from the pair, said happily, "You see, Wickham? Is this not a wonderful coincidence?"
Neither man answered him. They had managed to regain some of their composure, though the upset was righted to varying degrees. They inclined their heads to each other, but did not bow and did not smile.
"Darcy."
"Mr. Wickham."
Sir William finally gathered from the stony visages of the two men that something was not quite right, but seeing that Miss Elizabeth was looking nervously between the two of them, he misinterpreted the cause. "Ah, Darcy, I see we two have interrupted at an inopportune time! Mr. Wickham and Miss Eliza were busy in their own conversation, I'm sure. It would be a shame if we were to spoil the amusement of such a handsome young couple, eh, Darcy?"
"Indeed," he said coldly.
"Well, then, Mr. Wickham, we shall leave you in Miss Eliza's excellent care. Come, Darcy, you must join me at the whist tables!"
Without waiting for agreement, Sir William steered the curate off to the crowded card room. Wickham appeared to recollect himself, and turning to Elizabeth, offered her his arm with a somewhat sheepish smile.
"I must apologize, Miss Elizabeth, for becoming so disconcerted. It was only a shock, that is all."
"A shock? Are you not well acquainted with him? I understood that you were."
He looked uncomfortable. "Yes, well...I would not speak of it. However, since you are so interested, I shall tell you some small part of it." He gestured to an empty settee by the rear window, and they sat down. Lowering his voice confidentially, he continued, "My father was godfather to Darcy, and we grew up together. However, as we grew older, we drifted apart. I believe..." He dropped his voice another notch. "I believe, Miss Elizabeth, that he was jealous of me."
Elizabeth pulled away. "Mr. Wickham, I do not believe Mr. Darcy capable of harboring such petty feelings!"
"Please, I did not intend to upset you. I can see he is your friend. As I said, it was many years past. He has probably changed since he went away to seminary, and I am delighted for it. I speak only of the past, and what he said then." He leaned closer. "The argument was about money, Miss Elizabeth."
She came to her feet. "I would prefer that we did not speak of this anymore, Mr. Wickham. What happened many years ago is of no interest to me, if you will pardon my plain speaking."
He rose as well and reached out for her hand. "I do beg your pardon, Miss Elizabeth, and I pray you will not hold it against me. I spoke unwisely to you just now. We shall speak on the subject no longer. Do forgive me."
"I do, sir." She took a deep breath. "Now, have you been introduced to the Gouldings yet?"
"Not yet. Will you do me the honor?"
"Of course."
Elizabeth drew him over to where Mr. and Mrs. Goulding stood, but even as she laughed and made conversation, there was a very uneasy feeling oppressing her, and the feeling would not leave her for some time.