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“What are we planning to tell Mother?” Jane inquired as the Bennet carriage rattled its way back toward Longbourn.

Elizabeth was looking out the carriage window but her mind was fixated on their remarkable visit to Netherfield.

“I am sorry, Jane. What did you say?”

“What will we tell Mother about Mr. Collins? She was insistent that he return home since, as we both know, she wishes him to marry you.”

“I am saved from that horrifying fate, anyway. I would have refused him, but Mama would have berated me for days, I daresay. As to what we will say now, that is simple enough. Mr. Jones examined our cousin and said that Mr. Collins sustained a head injury and thus must not be jostled about in a carriage. Mr. Bingley kindly offered to host him as long as necessary.”

Jane nodded in relief at this. It was a reasonable enough explanation, and Mrs. Bennet, who never lost sight of a potential matrimonial partner, would doubtless send them frequently to Netherfield to obtain updates on their cousin’s progress. Jane would not mind that since it meant more time with Mr. Bingley.

“What do you think of that extraordinary information about Mr. Collins?” she asked Elizabeth timidly. Jane was always inclined to think the best of people, but she wondered if their unctuous cousin was quite mad.

Elizabeth stirred restlessly in her seat, “While I am completely bewildered by Mr. Collins, I confess that I am more focused on the extraordinary behavior of Mr. Darcy.”

“Mr. Darcy? I thought he was kind, attentive, and sympathetic to Mr. Collins.”

Elizabeth turned to face her favorite sister. “Yes, he was, Jane. He was all of those things. Here is a man who is haughty and arrogant and rude, and yet he was kind and gentle with our possibly insane cousin. How can that be?”

Jane frowned, “Do you wish Mr. Darcy to be unkind to poor Mr. Collins?”

“Of course not, Jane. I merely do not understand the man. He has no responsibility towards Mr. Collins; indeed, our cousin is a lowly clergyman with deficient connections. And yet, the highborn master of Pemberley was considerate and understanding with our injured cousin and offered him advice on reading material. He even intends to purchase books for Mr. Collins’s reading pleasure. When I think of how Mr. Darcy persecuted Lieutenant George Wickham over the matter of the church living, it makes no sense at all! Mr. Wickham was his father’s godson and the living was destined for him, and yet Mr. Darcy set aside his own father’s desire. Mr. Collins is only his imperious aunt’s rector, and quite unworthy of his notice!”

Jane sighed, “You know my opinion of the matter.”

“I do, dearest sister. You believe that there was some great confusion and that both Mr. Wickham and Mr. Darcy are in the right. Well, that will not do, Jane. They cannot both be blameless.”

“Then perhaps,” her sister replied, though diffidently, “you should consider whether Mr. Wickham might be the one at fault.”

Elizabeth knitted her brows in astonishment, “What can you mean, Jane?”

Her sister blushed and looked down at the floor of the carriage, “Lizzy, you know I do try to think the best of everyone, but it really was not ... not kind of Mr. Wickham to tell you such dreadful things about Mr. Darcy when you were so newly acquainted. It shows a sad want of delicacy on the lieutenant’s part.”

“Oh, but,” Elizabeth cried out, and then stopped. It was true that Mr. Wickham had only just met her when he told his extraordinary story of Mr. Darcy’s cruelty toward him.

“Perhaps Mr. Wickham merely wished to warn us?” she mused unhappily.

“Warn us of what?” Jane demanded. “Did he indicate that Mr. Darcy is a danger to young ladies in some way?”

“No,” Elizabeth admitted. “He merely stated that Mr. Darcy is arrogant and proud and rude, which I knew already, and told me the story of the stolen living.”

Jane looked as disapproving as she was capable of, but remained silent.

Elizabeth sighed, “You are correct. Mr. Wickham should not have spoken so to me.”

“He should not,” her sister replied quietly. “It is possible that he is so devastated over the loss of the living that it leaves him intemperate, but I do urge you, Lizzy, to keep an open mind. Mr. Bingley is such a good man. I do not see how he could be close friends to an unprincipled individual who would callously set aside the ardent wishes of his own father.”

Elizabeth Bennet sighed, “You have given me much to think of, Jane.”

“Good, and now I will give you more to think of. We must tell Father something about Mr. Collins, surely?”

“Yes, we must.”

***

Mr. James Bennet lifted his head from his book and gazed warily at his two eldest daughters.

“Well, my dears? I assume Mr. Collins is once more in our company, intent on proclaiming the glories of Lady Catherine de Bourgh?”

Jane and Elizabeth exchanged troubled glances.

“No, Father,” his second-born informed him. “Mr. Collins is at Netherfield and will remain there for at least another day.”

“Is he still unconscious?” Mr. Bennet inquired with concern.

“No, he regained consciousness,” Lizzy explained, “but he is quite altered. His personality seems almost entirely different.”

“Altered in what way?”

“His demeanor,” Jane mused. “His speech patterns …”

“His words,” Elizabeth chimed in. “He informed me that he would not be offering for my hand because I am an independent woman and would thus despise being under the authority of Lady Catherine, whom he described as a termagant.”

Longbourn’s master sputtered in astonishment, “A termagant? That is an enormous change given his previous addiction to praising the lady to the skies.”

Elizabeth continued determinedly, “Mr. Collins also, according to Mr. Darcy, recited an entire chapter of the gospel of John word for word with ease, and claims to remember everything that he reads. Mr. Darcy thinks that he is a very intelligent man whose phenomenal abilities were suppressed by his tyrannical father’s abuse.”

“Mr. Collins, intelligent?” Bennet protested. “Surely we are not speaking of the same man! Our cousin is many things, but intelligent is not one of them.”

“He is very altered, Father,” Jane said quietly. “I think perhaps you should visit him and see for yourself.”

Mr. Bennet sighed deeply and glanced outside. It was a pleasant day for late November, but chilly, and he was very cozy and comfortable in his warm library.

“I will go visit him tomorrow morning, my dears,” he promised. “It may well be that Mr. Collins is merely addled from his fall, and by tomorrow he will be entirely back to his normal absurd self.”

“When you do, perhaps you could bring a few history books for him,” Elizabeth suggested dryly. “He claims to be very interested in such topics.”

***

Once Jane and Elizabeth had departed the library, Jane went upstairs to refresh herself and Elizabeth walked to the front sitting room where, to her surprise, she found the militia officers Mr. Wickham, Mr. Denny and Mr. Pratt being entertained by her mother and two youngest sisters.

“Oh, Lizzy,” Mrs. Bennet cried. “There you are! I thought you should never return from Netherfield though it is quite all right that you stayed for a time. Did Mr. Bingley and Jane have a pleasant talk?”

“Yes, Mother, they did,” Elizabeth assured her mother, even as her eyes lit up at the sight of the handsome lieutenant, Mr. Wickham. “It is delightful to see you, sirs.”

All three men bowed and Mr. Wickham smiled at her, “It is most pleasant to see you, Miss Elizabeth. We were overjoyed to meet your youngest sisters in Meryton this morning, and honored when they invited us home to meet your eminent parents.”

“Mr. Bennet, of course, only stayed for a few minutes to converse,” Mrs. Bennet said pettishly. “It is very hard to pull that man away from his library for long.”

“Ah, but reading is the mark of an intelligent man, is it not?” Mr. Wickham commented winsomely. “I know that Miss Elizabeth is a great reader, is she not?”

Elizabeth chuckled, “I would not say that I am a great reader, sir, but I certainly enjoy it very much. What kind of books are you partial to, sir?”

“Well, as to that, I must confess I am not a great reader,” Mr. Wickham returned with a gleam of his white, even teeth. “Perhaps I would have been more interested in such things, but my patron’s son wished to earn his father’s approval by focusing on such pursuits. I did not care to provide any sort of competition since the elder Mr. Darcy was prone to prefer me as it was.”

Elizabeth blinked in astonishment at these words as Lydia, her youngest sister, cried out indignantly, “Mr. Darcy is such a rude, jealous man! First he insulted Lizzy at an assembly, and now we know that he cruelly deprived you of the living which your godfather wished for you.”

Wickham shook his head sorrowfully, “The elder Mr. Darcy would be most distressed at what his son has become, but come, let us change the subject to more cheerful topics. I hope you all had a pleasant time at the ball last night?”

“Oh yes,” Lydia cried out exuberantly. “I danced every dance, though I wish I could have danced with you, Mr. Wickham.”

“Well, I for one am pleased that he did not attend,” Denny commented with a sly glance at Wickham. “If he had, I daresay many of us lesser mortals would have been deprived of the pleasure of partnering you in a dance, Miss Lydia.”

Lydia, always susceptible to open flattery, lifted her chin saucily and replied in kind, and the conversation grew general.

Elizabeth, who had seated herself on the blue couch on the south wall, turned her attention to Mr. Wickham as he settled down near her.

“I do regret that I was unable to dance with you last night, Miss Elizabeth,” the man said gravely. “I found as the time grew near that I had better not meet Mr. Darcy; that to be in the same room, the same party with him for so many hours together, might be more than I could bear, and that scenes might arise unpleasant to more than myself.”

Elizabeth stared at the lieutenant, a stray thought niggling in the back of her mind. Had not Wickham insisted that he had no reason to avoid Mr. Darcy? That as he was the injured party, it was for Darcy to stay away if he wished?

“Is something wrong?” Wickham inquired, his tone concerned, his handsome face gentle.

Elizabeth shook her head, “Not at all, Mr. Wickham. I am sorry you were not at the ball. As a matter of fact, Mr. Darcy was not much in evidence so it is unlikely you would have interacted.”

“Ah, so he hid himself away? That is not surprising to me; his great pride will not permit him to converse and dance with those he considers below him, which is almost everyone.”

“In truth, he was caring for Mr. Collins.”

“Mr. Collins? Your cousin, the clergyman?”

“Yes. Did not my younger sisters tell you? Mr. Collins tripped during the first dance, struck his head on the floor, and lost consciousness. Mr. Darcy arranged for his care while the ball continued. It was kind of Mr. Darcy to assist.”

“No, your sisters did not mention Mr. Collins’s accident,” Wickham replied, looking slightly uncomfortable for a moment. “But wait, your cousin is Darcy’s aunt’s rector, is he not?”

“That is true.”

“Well, that accounts for it, I am certain. Darcy is very desirous of pleasing his aunt in order to facilitate his eventual marriage to Miss de Bourgh. I am certain Lady Catherine will be exceptionally pleased to learn that her nephew assisted her clergyman.”

“Perhaps,” Elizabeth agreed noncommittally. “But let us speak of something else. How was your trip to Town yesterday?”

“It was pleasant enough, though it was a delight to return to Meryton. London, while always an exciting place, pales compared to the delights of excellent society I have found here.”