One Thread Pulled: The Dance With Mr. Darcy (15 page)

“Were they expected?”

“Mr. Collins had written your father of his coming, and Mrs. Bennet had informed me that he would be here for dinner tonight, but they arrived early, and we did not know about the ladies.”

“Are the ladies to stay for dinner?”

Hill shrugged helplessly, and Elizabeth realized that she would get no more information from the distraught housekeeper. She encouraged Hill to return to her duties before approaching the parlor door.

“Out?” a shrill voice assaulted her ears through the door. “All of your daughters are out? The youngest before the eldest are married?”

“Yes. My youngest, Lydia, is a great favorite among the gentlemen, and....”

“If your youngest is turning the heads of the men of your acquaintance, your eldest will never marry, of that you may be certain. Had I had another daughter, I would never have allowed such foolishness in my house. It is unheard of.”

“Your ladyship, my eldest is very soon to be engaged,” Mrs. Bennet said apologetically.

“You are very fortunate, Mrs. Bennet, that Mr. Collins has come. When he informed me of the entailment of this estate, I assured him that it was his obligation to secure his wife from among your daughters. His duty to his family is second only to the responsibilities of his ministry. In marrying a genteel woman, he will set the example for all in his parish. In marrying one of your daughters, Mr. Collins may serve both interests with equal diligence. Such expedient solutions are rare in this world, Mrs. Bennet, and I prize them highly. Where are your other daughters?”

“They are at the neighboring estate, Netherfield Park. My daughter Jane suffered an accident on the grounds there and could not be moved,” Mrs. Bennet answered with a quiver in her voice. “My daughter Elizabeth is....”

Elizabeth opened the parlor door and stepped inside, fearing that her mother's nerves would be her undoing.

Mrs. Bennet looked up in surprise at her daughter. “My daughter Elizabeth,” she repeated, “is just arrived home from…” she glanced in embarrassment at the Elizabeth's dusty shoes and hem. “Is just arrived home.”

Elizabeth scanned the occupants of the room. In the center of their finest settee sat a woman, about the same age as her mother or a little older, dressed in finery fit for court, and she reeked with heavy perfume that nearly caused Elizabeth to choke. The two other ladies were not dressed as finely although their gowns were far more expensive than anything Elizabeth owned. She immediately pitied the youngest, for she looked unhappy and fragile, as though a puff of wind could blow her down. She smiled encouragingly at the poor creature when their eyes met.

The man who sat in an armchair next to the fireplace did not look even remotely related to her father. Mr. Bennet was a distinguished, handsome man, but this man, allegedly a cousin, was difficult to look at. She could not tell his age due to an unfortunate degree of scarring on his round face, undoubtedly from significant boils and other blemishes that he must have suffered in his youth. The effect was blotchy and red, reminiscent of the skin of a toad. His hairline was already receded, and he had combed long strands of thin, stringy hair across his head in an attempt to conceal the exposed scalp. His eyes could barely be seen due to their squint, although he was looking directly at her, smiling with a seamy grin that caused her stomach to turn slightly.

“Are you going to introduce us?” Lady Catherine prompted Mrs. Bennet after a moment of silence.

“Oh, yes.” Mrs. Bennet was flustered, and looked like she was about to faint. “Lady Catherine, this is my second eldest, Miss Elizabeth Bennet.”

Lady Catherine nodded at Elizabeth, who curtsied and nodded back pleasantly.

“Elizabeth, this is Lady Catherine de Bourgh, Anne de Bourgh, Mrs. Jenkinson and Mr. Collins.”

Elizabeth politely acknowledged each of them, trying hard not to laugh at Mr. Collins as he belatedly rose for the introduction. She could hear Lydia and Kitty giggling from their seats in the corner, and she saw Mary smoothing her hair next to them.

“Did you walk home, child?” Lady Catherine scrutinized Elizabeth.

“Yes, I did.
 
It is a fine day for a walk, Lady Catherine.” Elizabeth said cheerfully, for she recalled the last time the phrase had been uttered—by Mr. Darcy, and she found herself mysteriously amused by her ability to reference the interlude with no one but herself knowing it.

“Take note, Mr. Collins,” Lady Catherine turned to the strange little man. “A sturdy constitution and a resourceful, cheerful disposition are most desirable characteristics for a parson's wife.”

“Yes, your ladyship.” Mr. Collins simpered.

“It would be well,” Lady Catherine continued, “to find a lady who does not always feel entitled to the luxury of a carriage to transport her, one who is not above walking, as befits her station.”

Horrified at the implication, Elizabeth said, “I did send for the carriage.” She looked meaningfully at her mother, “But it could not be spared.”

Lady Catherine looked at Elizabeth suspiciously. “Where is your sister?”

“I have four sisters, Lady Catherine. Three of them sit over there.” Elizabeth indicated where they sat, and Lydia paid her for it with a frown. “My other sister, I expect, will be delivered by the carriage from Netherfield Park in time for dinner.”

“This is most irregular,” Lady Catherine muttered to herself and turning to Mrs. Bennet, said, “I had hoped to meet all of your daughters today, Mrs. Bennet, for Mr. Collins relies upon my guidance in all of his most important decisions.”

Mr. Collins nodded in agreement. “Her ladyship is most....”

“We shall not stay for dinner.” Lady Catherine announced abruptly, declining an invitation that had not been extended. “I cannot be detained any longer than is necessary.” If she sensed the general sigh of relief in the room, she did not reveal it. “My business in London is of utmost urgency. It is a family matter that requires my immediate attention. I believe that my nephew is in grave peril, and his situation requires my intervention as a priority.”

“If that is the case,” Mr. Bennet said, standing up, “I will go and ascertain the state of your carriage.
Your nephew needs you
.” His manner being most gracious, only Elizabeth detected the note of facetiousness in his address before he quit the room.

Elizabeth tried to imagine what the nephew of such a woman could possibly be like. Was he like his cousin Anne, pallid and sickly? She looked at Anne again, who was clearly exhausted from travelling. It seemed that mention of the nephew had caused her eyes to moisten and her lip to tremble. She looked miserable. Compassion filled Elizabeth's heart for this girl, and for the first time in a long time, Elizabeth was grateful for the nature of her own mother, for one such as Lady Catherine would be much worse.

“Excuse me.” Elizabeth curtsied again, “I fear I am covered in dust from my walk and have a need to freshen my appearance.” She was out the door in a second, as she had not come very far into the room.

“That one,” she heard Lady Catherine say as she left, “holds promise.”

With a shudder, Elizabeth fled to the kitchen, where she persuaded the cook to prepare a small knapsack of foodstuffs that could be eaten in the carriage, for her concern for Anne was real, and Elizabeth was a person of action when she saw a need.

She went to her room and hurriedly changed, washed her face and tidied her hair. She raced back down the stairs to the kitchen and helped the cook finish with her gift for Miss de Bourgh, packing it all as neatly as she could. Just as they finished, the de Bourgh carriage passed by the kitchen window on the way to the front of the house. Elizabeth hurried through the entryway to be outside the door when the ladies departed.

Elizabeth intercepted Anne as she came out of the house, calling softly, “Miss de Bourgh.” When she turned to face her, Elizabeth stepped forward, and grasped Anne's hand, causing her eyes to widen in surprise.

“Miss de Bourgh, your journey has been long, and it is another twenty miles to London. Please take this with you. I find that when traveling has made me weary, eating even a morsel makes me feel better.” She pressed the sack into Anne's hand.

Anne looked at Elizabeth in wonder and replied quietly, so her mother, who was making a production of getting into the carriage, could not hear her. “How very kind you are, Miss Bennet, but my mother does not allow me to eat in the carriage.” She looked down longingly at the package in her hand.

“Put it in your pocket,” Elizabeth said in a merry but hushed tone, “and eat it when your mother falls asleep. She will never know!”

Anne de Bourgh, who never smiled, smiled. “She will never know!” Anne whispered back at Elizabeth with a grin as she slipped the food into her pocket and turned to climb into the carriage. She settled in and waved goodbye to Elizabeth, thinking to herself that she hoped that Mr. Collins would chose this daughter for his wife, for then she would be a neighbor, and they could possibly even be friends.

~*~

Not long after the de Bourgh party left, Jane arrived at Longbourn in Mr. Bingley's carriage, just as the sun was going down. She was escorted by Mr. Bingley, Mr. Darcy and a maid, for Mr. Bingley did not want to risk any discomfort to Jane should any complications arise during the ride. He had persuaded Mr. Darcy to accompany them and brought the maid for the sake of propriety.

Mr. Collins had been shown to the room he would be staying in, to relieve the household of his effusions regarding his patroness, and was not to descend to the lower floor until dinner. When the gentlemen arrived at Longbourn with Jane, they were shown into the parlor for a brief visit. Mrs. Bennet was in the process of supervising the dinner they were laying out for their guest, and Mr. Bennet was in his study, so Elizabeth joined Jane, Mr. Bingley and Mr. Darcy in the parlor.

After they had settled that the roads had been fine, and that Jane had fared well, Mr. Bingley and Jane once again had no eyes or ears for any other. They began quietly whispering to one another as they had at Netherfield, Jane with her sweet, gentle smile adorning each word and Mr. Bingley so enamored with her that he hung on every one of them.

Elizabeth picked up some needlework that her sister had set down and turned slightly to give Jane and Mr. Bingley some privacy. Mr. Darcy walked to the window and stared out at a scene lit only by fading twilight. Elizabeth smiled to herself, for she had caught him in the very act. She looked up at the window, meeting his gaze boldly, for she wanted him to know that his game was discovered and that he could not spy on the room this way anymore—at least not undetected.

Mr. Darcy pressed his lips together, suppressing the laugh that threatened to escape at the challenge in her eyes. He had not desired to come with Bingley tonight—seeing Elizabeth in Meryton had shaken him to the core, and he did not know how much more he could take. Even looking at a warped reflection of her in the ever-darkening glass, her lips puckered in disapproval, her eyes throwing sparks at him wore at his defenses. She intoxicated him when she was near. She was speaking to Jane and Bingley now, her lilting voice chased by an unguarded laugh.

He breathed in deeply, irrationally hoping to inhale a trace of her scent, even though she was across the room, and he did smell something—something familiar—and disturbing. What was it? He looked away from the glass, concentrating on the odor that now permeated his nostrils and made him feel queasy. It took several minutes to place it, for the context was all wrong. Aunt Catherine!
 
It could not be.

He turned abruptly from the window and approached Elizabeth. “Has Longbourn seen any other guests today?” He asked the question casually, with an air of nonchalance that one usually reserved for conversations about the weather.

“Why, yes,” Elizabeth responded, somewhat surprised by the odd question. “Our cousin, Mr. Collins, has come for a short stay. He arrived earlier today.”

“Mr. Collins?” Darcy looked baffled.

“That is his name. He is the parson,” Elizabeth offered, “at a rectory in Kent.”

“He came alone?” Darcy inquired, casually again.

“No. His patroness was traveling to London and brought him here,” Elizabeth answered.

“How odd—London lies between.” Darcy puzzled.

“I thought so myself. I suspect the lady wished to oversee the particulars of Mr. Collins' affairs,” Elizabeth replied. Darcy looked at her expectantly, so Elizabeth continued, “She was, to put it delicately, somewhat imperious in demeanor.”

“I am familiar with Kent, as I have relations there. Do you know where the rectory is located?”