Page 47

“Mr. Darcy.”

Darcy looked up in alarm from the book that he had been holding in his hands. Not that he was reading it. Because Miss Elizabeth’s bright eyes and light figure had filled his mind and he was distracted from … from … a book on sheep diseases.

He grimaced wryly as he rose to his feet to greet Miss Bingley. No doubt Miss Elizabeth would be gratified to learn that the mere thought of her had distracted him from such a riveting topic.

Regrettably, this was one of the very few books on the shelves that he had not already read. Really, Bingley’s library was a disgrace. If he was going to spend much more time at Netherfield, Darcy must acquire more books.

“Yes, Miss Bingley?” he asked of the lady in question, and then, upon observing her sister beside her, added, “Good morning, Mrs. Hurst.”

Given that Mrs. Hurst was present, it was unlikely that Caroline Bingley was plotting to compromise him. That was all to the good.

“We came to speak to you of Charles,” Miss Bingley said, her eyes worried. “He is dangerously close to offering for Miss Bennet.”

Darcy frowned in confusion, “You cannot know that, Miss Bingley. Your brother has shown considerable interest in other handsome, blonde ladies in the past, and has never made an offer.”

Caroline Bingley shook her head, “It has gone farther than that, has it not, Louisa?”

“It has,” her sister agreed. “Last night, Sir William Lucas announced loudly that there was a general expectation among the people of this pathetic town that Charles would make an offer to Miss Bennet. Surely you must have heard it.”

“Mr. Darcy was arranging for the care of that clumsy parson after he tripped over Miss Elizabeth,” Miss Bingley told her sister. “Really, these Bennets and their tiresome relations. You missed almost the entire ball, Mr. Darcy!”

“I thought it my duty,” Darcy replied. In actual fact, he was not very fond of dancing and Bingley adored it, so he had thought it appropriate to arrange for the proper disposition of Mr. Collins, thus allowing Bingley to return to the smiles of Miss Bennet. Darcy had considered asking Miss Elizabeth to dance but in retrospect, that would have been a poor idea. It was best not to give the young lady any hopes of winning the master of Pemberley.

“Mrs. Bennet said the same thing at dinner, that her insipid daughter would soon be mistress of Netherfield,” Caroline Bingley added in outrage. “Really, these country folk! That is why I believe we must send Mr. Collins back to Longbourn as quickly as possible, and then convince Charles to leave Hertfordshire for London! Once he is back in Town, he will forget Miss Bennet, her degrading family, and indeed all the occupants of this miserable and lowly town! None of them are worthy of us!”

“There is neither Jew nor Greek, there is neither bond nor free, there is neither male nor female: for ye are all one in Christ Jesus.”

At these words, the threesome spun around in shock to find Mr. Collins standing at the door to the library, his face pale.

“I beg your pardon, Mr. Collins?” Caroline Bingley demanded icily.

“We are all one in the eyes of God,” Collins stated, his eyes odd, his posture uncertain.

“Mr. Collins,” Darcy said, setting aside his astonishment in favor of concern, “you should not be out of bed. Please, do sit down.”

Collins took a few wavering steps forward and Darcy grasped his arm and guided him to a nearby chair, where he collapsed more than sat.

“Er, thank you, Mr. …”

“Darcy,” the gentleman replied, turning his gaze on Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst, “Perhaps one of you could summon Mr. Jones? I believe he should examine Mr. Collins.”

Miss Bingley was still pink with outrage but with an explosive huff of her lips,and a shake of her skirts, she stalked out of the room with Mrs. Hurst close behind her.

“Where am I?” Collins asked plaintively.

“You are at Netherfield Hall, Mr. Collins,” Darcy explained in a soothing tone, sinking down on a chair nearby. “You fell at the ball last night. Do you remember, sir?”

“I do not,” the rector replied, his forehead scrunched in worry. “I do not remember.”

“Well, that is perhaps not surprising,” Darcy said in what he hoped was a reassuring voice. “You hit your head quite hard.”

“You said your name is Mr. Darcy, sir?”

“Yes.”

“Mr. Darcy of Pemberley?”

Darcy felt his body go rigid with discomfort, “Yes, Mr. Collins.”

“I am the rector at Hunsford and your aunt, Lady Catherine de Bourgh, is my patroness.”

“I see,” Darcy commented grimly. Lady Catherine was an imperious woman with a very high opinion of herself, and she only hired those who venerated her obsequiously. Her underlings were almost uniformly tiresome.

The injured man sat back in the chair, his gaze fixed on the book of sheep diseases, which was bewildering. Why would a parson care about sheep?

“That verse you quoted?” Darcy asked curiously.

“Yes, sir? Galatians 3:28?”

The gentleman from Derbyshire blinked in surprise. “You know the Bible very well, sir.”

He was genuinely astonished at this. Many clergyman had only a passing knowledge of the Scriptures, and Lady Catherine seemed an unlikely patroness for a true scholar.

“I know it all, I think. Well, perhaps not the entire Old Testament, but the New, yes.”

“What do you mean, you know it all, Mr. Collins?”

“I have it all in my head, sir,” Collins explained calmly, tapping his skull with one long finger. “All of it.”

“You mean you have memorized the entire New Testament?” Darcy demanded in disbelief. Nonsense!

“I believe so.”

“The first chapter of John,” Darcy prompted, reaching for a Bible and opening it to the appropriate page.

“In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God,” Collins began, and proceeded to recite the entire chapter. When he had finished, Darcy closed his mouth with an astonished click.

“Word for word, Mr. Collins,” he breathed, more amazed than he had been in many a month, “and you truly know it all?”

“Yes.”

Darcy knew himself to be an intelligent man, but this was beyond belief,“How do you do it?”

Collins’s brown eyes shifted away from the book on the sheep diseases to focus on his face, “I was born with the curse, Mr. Darcy. I remember everything I read so long as I concentrate.”

“Curse? Why would you call it a curse? It is a blessing!”

The rather portly man shook his head and turned to gaze out the window of the library, “My father was illiterate, Mr. Darcy, and did not approve of a boy who loved books. I had my addiction of reading beaten out of me at a young age. I was permitted to read the Bible because Mr. Collins wished for me to be a clergyman, but little else was permitted. At Cambridge, I read enough to pass any exams and that was a delight, but my father …”

He trailed away, his face downcast, and Darcy was filled with a sudden, disgusted horror. His own father had loved books and reading, and had inculcated that love in his son. To think of a man brutalizing his brilliant progeny over reading was beyond belief.

“I am sorry,” he stated awkwardly, suddenly aware that this was an extraordinarily frank conversation between two men but newly met. “I hope you will feel free to read any book you like in this library, Mr. Collins, though there are not many books here. My friend Mr. Bingley is a very pleasant man, but not a great reader.”

“Sheep diseases sound interesting.”

“Do they?”

Again, that hungry gaze was turned upon him, “Everything is interesting, Mr. Darcy.”

“Yes, I suppose it is.”

Darcy stood up hesitantly. Collins seemed mostly rational but it seemed unwise to leave him alone.

“Your aunt, Lady Catherine de Bourgh,is very rude to those who are under her in position or rank, which is essentially everyone,” Collins commented.

Darcy let out a startled gasp, followed by a chuckle, “That is true, Mr. Collins. I confess that you are not entirely what I pictured when I imagined her latest clergyman.”

“He is unconscious, or dead.”

Darcy frowned in confusion, “Who is?”

The brown eyes turned upon him again, the man’s expression remote. “Mr. Collins. The other Mr. Collins. This is who I truly am, but Mr. Collins has been in charge of my life for far too long.

Darcy felt his scalp creep with these words. It appeared that Mr. Collins was not, in fact, completely rational.

“Darcy, Mr. Collins!” Bingley cried out, stepping into the library with a footman at his heels, “How are you feeling, Mr. Collins?”

“Rather odd,” the portly man replied, pushing himself cautiously to his feet. “May I return to my bed now?”

“Certainly,” Bingley said heartily.

“May I borrow the book on sheep diseases?” Collins inquired piteously.

“Erm, yes?” Bingley agreed in a puzzled tone.

“Have you read Shakespeare?” Darcy asked gently.

“No, my father …”

“You should start with that and come back to sheep diseases at your leisure,” Darcy interrupted. “Come, I will carry the complete works up for you to read. You will enjoy it.”

A smile slowly spread across the parson’s homely face, “Yes, Mr. Darcy, I am sure I will.”

The footman held out an arm to the parson, who grasped it and began walking slowly out the door toward the stairwell.

Darcy, following behind with Bingley, opened his mouth to convey some of his remarkable conversation with Collins, but refrained from speaking when Bingley’s butler stepped into view.

“Miss Bennet and Miss Elizabeth Bennet have arrived and have asked to speak to you concerning Mr. Collins’s health. They are waiting in the sitting room, sirs.”

Bingley’s expression grew hopeful and Darcy spoke up quickly, “I will escort Mr. Collins upstairs, Bingley. Perhaps you can tell the Miss Bennets that Mr. Jones will be arriving shortly and will provide an update in time.”

“Yes,Darcy, thank you,” Bingley agreed happily, his face turning yearningly toward the room where the lovely Miss Bennet waited.

Darcy frowned slightly at this. He had been largely indifferent to his friend’s infatuation with Miss Bennet, but it was true that there seemed to be a deeper attraction to the young woman than usual. Perhaps Miss Bingley had a legitimate reason to be alarmed.

He walked behind the footman and Mr. Collins and he noted that the clergyman was limping slightly; his left foot seemed slightly impaired. On the second floor, Darcy was relieved to meet Mr. Jones, who had obviously just arrived.

“Mr. Jones. You made good time.”

“I was already on my way to Netherfield to check on Mr. Collins, sir,” the apothecary explained briskly. “It is very good to see you awake and walking about, Mr. Collins. How do you feel?”

Collins scowled and swayed slightly, “I feel rather odd, Mr. … Jones? I do not remember falling at the ball, and my head hurts.”

“That is not surprising,” the man assured his patient. “But come, let us get you to your bedchamber where I can examine you.”

Darcy found himself following along in their wake, his mind a whirl of confusion. What was happening with this man? Based on Darcy’s knowledge of Lady Catherine, Mr. Collins could only be a weak minded man with a cringing and subservient disposition; his aunt required such behavior in those under her authority. But here was a man who spoke boldly and claimed to know the entire New Testament by heart.

It was bewildering and fascinating. It was also none of his business. Netherfield was Bingley’s estate, not Darcy’s, and Collins was a man of the lower classes, far too plebian to be of particular interest to a gentleman of Darcy’s stature.

On the other hand …

No, he could not let it be. Collins was an enigma, and given that Darcy was here to advise his friend, it was legitimate that he take a close interest in the individual who was not only an unexpected guest, but his aunt’s parson.

That was justification enough for Darcy to involve himself in this most bizarre of situations.