Page 37 of Colour My World (The Bennet Sister Variations #3)

His wife rushed forward. “Mr Bingley, how good it is to see you again.” Mrs Bennet grasped Jane’s shoulders and whispered. “You go walk with Mr Bingley.”

“Mama!” Jane flushed.

Bingley offered his arm. “Will you not join us, Mrs Bennet? I have a second arm, perfectly suited for the occasion.”

“Why, yes. Yes, I shall.” Moments later, six had become three.

That was efficient. Bennet said, “Darcy, I would have a word—”

“Mr Darcy!” Collins’s voice rang through the entry hall.

Bennet sighed. Of course.

Collins all but bounded forward, eyes shining.

“Oh, what an honour! What an absolute privilege to welcome the esteemed master of Pemberley to this humble estate! Lady Catherine herself speaks most highly of you and your intended match to her esteemed daughter, Miss de Bourgh!”

Darcy’s posture stiffened. “Mr—”

“Ah, but I must say! Such a match! A union of excellent breeding and unparalleled station! Lady Catherine has expressed her utmost certainty in the arrangement, and it is only natural that—”

“Mr Collins, I presume,” Darcy said with affected ennui.

“That you, sir, would see the wisdom in such a match! To unite the great houses of Pemberley and Rosings, to ensure the continuation of such noble lineages. Why, it would be my deepest honour to officiate at your nuptials. The duty, nay, the privilege of uniting such an illustrious couple—”

“Stop talking, man!” Darcy’s voice cracked like a whip.

Collins stumbled back a step.

“I am not betrothed to Miss de Bourgh. You are mistaken.”

Collins’s mouth opened. “But, Lady Catherine—”

“Has no standing in my affairs.” Darcy’s voice was steel. “My life is my own. You will do well to remember it.”

That will do. Bennet looked at Elizabeth. She remained ashen.

“This nonsense has gone on long enough.” He strode into his study, settled Elizabeth into a chair, and left her.

Yet, another matter remained. Darcy still stood where Bennet had left him. Collins, at last, had withdrawn, though the faint creak of wood near the doorframe betrayed his eavesdropping.

Bennet ignored it. He focused on Darcy.

“You will speak plainly, Mr Darcy. And at once.”

“Of course.”

“What happened in Meryton?”

“Bingley and I arrived to find Miss Elizabeth distressed. A dangerous man from my past was present among the militia.”

Bennet gestured for him to continue speaking.

“Miss Elizabeth was unwell at the sight of him. I intervened.”

“Intervened? You rode your horse at him.”

“Yes.” Too swift to be false.

“Who is he?”

Darcy hesitated only a moment. “George Wickham. The son of my father’s late steward.”

“A steward’s son, yet a gentleman among the militia?”

Darcy’s expression darkened. “A blackguard.”

Bennet considered this. “And my daughters?”

Something crossed Darcy’s face. Anger, concern? “I do not know. But they appeared importuned. Especially Elizabeth.”

From the hall came a muffled squeak of a large rat.

Bennet’s patience ended. “Mr Collins! If you mean to listen, at least dare to do so openly.” A heavy shuffle came from the other side of the door. Then silence.

“Young man, this discussion is not over.” Bennet paused, then added, “Still, I thank you for your intervention today. I am not insensible of what it may have cost you.”

Darcy nodded briefly. “Of course. Please let me know how the Miss Bennets fare.”

“They shall fare as daughters do—ornamental in peace, terrifying in crisis.”

* * *

Longbourn, the following morning…

Bennet looked up from his plate as Mr Collins entered the room. “You appear quite early this morning, sir.”

“It is with sincere regret, Cousin, that I find myself compelled to depart. Though the fare and domestic comforts of your home are most admirable, I cannot—nay, must not—remain where my intentions have been so grievously misconstrued.”

Bennet, still buttering his toast, glanced up. “If you feel compelled to leave, Mr Collins, I shall not obstruct your conscience.”

“Thank you. It is irresponsible for me not to wish adieu to your lady wife and daughters, but I fear to make the mail coach, I must transgress good manners. I can only ask your forgiveness as the remainder of your family remain upstairs.”

By design. And your hand. “You might find it practical,” Bennet added, “to have your luggage readied before Lady Catherine dispatches an armed escort.”

Collins missed the irony entirely. “Indeed, indeed! Her Ladyship is not one to brook delay. I shall see to it at once.”

Within the hour, Hill had overseen the loading of two cases, one valise, and a satchel of books into a waiting gig. A young boy of all works sat in the left seat, reins in hand.

Mr Bennet stood on the step as Collins clambered up into the transport.

“Godspeed, Mr Collins. We shall endeavour to carry on in your absence.”

Collins adjusted his cuffs. “Do extend my regards to your daughters. Particularly Miss Elizabeth, whose spiritual future I shall continue to uplift in prayer.”

Bennet bowed. “I would expect nothing less.”

* * *

Collins insisted on bestowing a silver coin upon the gig driver for punctuality and was assisted down with the solemnity of a statesman.

“A token, not of gratuity, but of moral commendation. Promptness is next to righteousness.”

The mail coach arrived and departed on time. Once settled, he removed a folded sheet from his breast pocket and balanced a slim pencil atop his valise. He read aloud what he had penned the evening before:

“My most esteemed and Right Honourable Patroness,” he read aloud, “Lady Catherine de Bourgh—” He paused. Then circled esteemed and scribbled venerated in the margin.

Esteemed showed deference. Venerated suggested worship. Both had merit.

The coach gave a mild jolt.

“It is with the deepest humility and reverence that I take up my pen to lay before Your Ladyship several matters of consequence.” Was it too strong? He underlined humility and added a query in the margin: Too sincere? Then, satisfied, left it.

“First, allow me to express my most sincere gratitude for your invaluable guidance regarding the management of my parish and my humble domestic arrangements.” He smiled.

That section was perfectly balanced—humility, duty, and devotion.

Perhaps domestic arrangements should be italicised? He moved on.

“Furthermore, I remain ever mindful of Your Ladyship’s most judicious counsel on the necessity of securing a wife from amongst my cousins.

The eldest, Miss Bennet, has shown an unfortunate resistance to my honourable intentions…

” He paused, acknowledging—if only privately—that she had not heeded him in any manner during his stay.

Still, the phrase unfortunate resistance struck the right note.

“Despite my most earnest efforts, the family has proven ill-disposed.” He considered: should he elaborate? Should he name Miss Elizabeth directly? No. He had named the eldest. That was enough. Let inference carry the insult.

“Yet it is not merely this disappointment that compels me to write, but rather a most unforeseen and, I dare say, alarming development.” He nodded. Strong. Purposeful.

“Imagine my astonishment upon discovering that Your Ladyship’s noble nephew, Mr Fitzwilliam Darcy of Pemberley in Derbyshire, has taken residence at Netherfield Park and has been frequenting the company of my cousins!

” He repeated frequenting the company twice.

Should it be visiting? Calling upon? No.

Frequenting suggested both regularity and impropriety.

“Indeed, he has made himself quite familiar with my cousin Bennet, engaging in conversation beyond the customary pleasantries.” He smiled.

That line was damning—but tasteful. He underlined beyond the customary pleasantries and added in parentheses: ( extended discussions—sometimes with only Miss Elizabeth present ).

Then he thought better of it, and erased the parenthetical with care.

But something itched. Her eyes. Those eyes. He muttered aloud, “One brown, one green. Witch’s eyes. Unholy eyes.”

Then stopped. Appalled at himself.

“No,” he whispered. “No, no, that will not do. I cannot point out what was part of God’s plan in a sacrilegious manner.”

He sat upright, struck by inspiration. The painting in the great room. That was it. A hunt. All in browns and greens.

“Yes. Yes, that is how I shall mention it.”

He turned back to his page and scrawled in the margin: Miss Elizabeth—peculiar eyes, like the tones of woodland game. A curiosity.

He nodded. “That shall do.”

And then, he began reading aloud again. “My most esteemed and Right Honourable Patroness… ”