Page 2 of Epiphany (A Little Bit More Darcy and Elizabeth #2)

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I t was a dull, unforgiving day—the sort that eroded one’s spirits. The leaden sky clutched selfishly to all but the most miserly scattering of sunlight, leaving barely enough to differentiate day from night. The remnants of the previous day’s snowfall had been shoved into heaps of blackened slush at each side of Arlington Street. A wintry chill stifled the aromas of the freshly served breakfast, leaving the room smelling no better than the damp newspaper that had been brought up with the post.

Darcy’s head throbbed with the legacy of an evening that ought to have cheered him but had only deepened the objectionable melancholy he could not dispel, and the heavens were doing their damnedest to parody. He sipped his coffee and glowered down upon the street, daring the world to give him a reason to be cheerful. He felt singularly inclined for a battle.

Behind him, his sister opened a letter with an obvious and vain effort to make as little noise as possible. He rued his surly responses to her several attempts at conversation, but he was in no humour for tittle-tattle. Knowing it was neither the triviality of Georgiana’s discourse nor the aching of his head, the temperature of the room nor the colour of the blasted sky that was responsible for his persistent dejection, only inflamed his rancour.

There came a soft exclamation from behind him, one he thought likely he had not been meant to hear. He twisted his head slightly, listening for further signs of distress, but Georgiana was silent. Unaccountably wary, Darcy turned away from the window to regard her. She was all agitation, the fingertips of one hand pressed to her lips and her head shaking as she read.

“What is it?” he enquired brusquely, his last vestiges of civility stolen by the horrible certainty that her answer would somehow pertain to Wickham.

Georgiana winced, glancing at him but briefly before returning her eyes to her letter. “It is Anne.”

“Anne?” he replied, thrown by the unexpected answer. “Anne de Bourgh? ” When his sister nodded, he pressed, “What of her? Is she unwell?”

Georgiana hesitated, inhaled, and at last raised her eyes to properly meet his gaze. “She has gone to Hertfordshire.”

For a moment, Darcy thought Georgiana had said Hertfordshire , and he reviled not only the preposterous lurch his heart gave at the mention of the word, but the very fact that his mind had contrived to hear it in yet another conversation. He was grown inordinately weary of his every passing thought being trespassed upon by his preoccupation with that place. Anne never left Kent. He had evidently misheard.

“I am sorry, Brother.”

He felt another unpleasant lurch, and now his headache was reasserting its presence with a more determined pounding. “For what?”

“For having caused you yet more trouble. It was unconsciously done. I had no intention of misleading Anne with what I wrote. Indeed, I had not the smallest idea of my words being ever felt in such a way. I simply did not wish to go to Rosings.”

“I have no idea what you are talking about. Pray explain to me what has happened.”

The dregs of last night’s overindulgence roiled in Darcy’s stomach when he beheld the turn his sister’s countenance then took. It was precisely the expression she had worn that past summer as she admitted her design to elope with George Wickham—the pitiful mix of a child’s fear of reproof and a young woman’s self-reproach. When she swallowed and held out the letter for him to take, he did so reluctantly, privately railing at the world for taking him so literally in his challenge of a fight.

Georgiana,

What a shame you are too busy to visit me, though I am pleased you and Darcy are enjoying your time with the Bingleys. I daresay you are mistaken about either gentleman’s wish to return to Netherfield, however. If they would not be pleased with Kent, then Hertfordshire cannot boast anything they would regret. Certainly not sharp-tongued country misses.

Regrettably, my mother has not yet returned. Mrs Fortescue’s condition has worsened. Terribly sad, if a little inconvenient, yet there are two very good reasons that you need not fear I shall be downhearted. The first is that you were correct in your conjecture that I do not want for other sources of entertainment. Indeed, I have been well attended by Mr Collins this past fortnight. His manner is somewhat affected, but I can forgive it, for such a mode of oration must be a necessary habit for a man who delivers sermons for a living. He is certainly eager to please me, an inclination that disposes me to be far better pleased with him than I might otherwise have been. I must say he has painted a very different picture of his cousin than you sketched in your letter. He has very little good to say of her at all, in fact, other than she is handsome—and looks are of far less importance to sensible men than good breeding and fortune. Therefore, despite your panegyric of Miss Elizabeth Bennet’s charms or Darcy’s unfathomable forbearance of her impertinence, I am disinclined to think any better of her.

The second reason you may set aside all concern for my entertainment is that I have decided to accompany Mr Collins when he returns to Hertfordshire on Monday. Since it was on my mother’s advice that he affianced himself in the first place, and since he is so eager that she and I approve of his choice, it seems fitting that I employ my newly unencumbered time travelling to meet this Miss Lucas to give my consent in person. It is a stimulating prospect, for I have not left Kent for above two years, and I vastly anticipate the change of scene.

If I should happen to meet Miss Elizabeth Bennet while I am there, and she should happen to see for herself the vast distinction in our relative situations in life, then all the better. Perchance she will drop whatever false hope Darcy might have given her when he singled her out for a dance at his friend’s ball. This I learnt from Mr Collins. Whatever was your brother thinking?

Wish me well. It will be quite the adventure, I am certain.

Yours &c.

Anne de Bourgh

Darcy stared at the letter, incredulity steadily curdling into fury. He had left—Devil take it—he had left Hertfordshire, left Elizabeth and her blasted impertinence behind! He had come away—and stayed away—despite the insuperable urge that plagued him to return at every moment, waking or otherwise. He waited, day after day, for the cloying feeling of having made a mistake to pass. He told himself repeatedly that his only mistake had been in allowing so many preposterous imaginings of what might have been had he stayed. For had he not indulged in those , it might not presently be taking such a damnably long time for the infernal fascination to loosen its grip.

Nevertheless, he had not gone back. Nor had he admitted his partiality to anyone, for it could lead to nothing, give nobody any pleasure, and end no other way than in disaster. Yet, somehow, he was discovered, and Anne of all people had gone to Hertfordshire with what appeared to be a resolve to intimidate Elizabeth out of any misplaced aspirations towards the family—towards him .

Hell’s teeth!

Darcy held his countenance motionless, unwilling to reveal any hint of vexation. Yet, oh, how he wished to rage at his sister! To demand of her what she thought she knew of his acquaintance with Elizabeth, to enquire what madness had induced her to discuss it with Anne, to upbraid her for being so indiscreet after all his endeavours to protect her reputation the previous summer—but what did it matter? Though she was likely to be as subtle as an ox, Anne’s visit would ultimately serve him well. It would do no harm for Elizabeth to be told categorically that he would never return for her, and it would save him having to waste any further thought on the matter.

He handed the letter back to Georgiana. “I suggest you are more careful what nonsense you write to our cousin in the future. Lady Catherine appears to have allowed her to become unduly fanciful of late.” He walked towards the door.

“You are not angry?” Georgiana enquired timidly.

He paused without looking at her. Angry was a term applied when one had spilt coffee on one’s ledgers, or been spoken to uncivilly, or dropped a precious trinket in a puddle.

Whereas in his case, his hapless sister had somehow begun a rumour that he was romantically attached to the penniless young woman from an unheard-of and vulgar family, with whom duty and good sense forbade him from ever considering an alliance, but whose extraordinary wit and captivating eyes he had been entirely unable to banish from his thoughts at any point in the eight weeks, two days, and twelve hours since he first met her, who had bewitched him to the point that he knew not where his memories of her ceased and his dreams of her began.

Now, thanks to his sister’s imprudence and his cousin’s unaccountable precipitance, any hope of somehow finding a way to overcome every impediment and give in to his incessant longing to be with Elizabeth was lost forever. It was possibly why what he felt was far more visceral, far more alarming, far uglier than mere anger.

“No,” was all he said. Then he left the room.

* * *

The fields surrounding Longbourn were crisp with frost, but since Elizabeth’s stockings had been soaked through within five minutes of leaving home, she was not discouraged. She put her foot to the next stile she reached, determined to venture farther than the lane on her morning’s walk.

“Lizzy!”

She stopped mid-clamber and stood tall on the stile to see her two youngest sisters dashing towards her along the lane, waving frantically. She withdrew her leg from over the rail and jumped back down to greet them.

“Lizzy,” Lydia panted, first to reach her. “Mr Collins has arrived, but he is not to stay with us after all.”

“Really? Well, I cannot say I am sorry, though such short notice is inconsiderate. Mama will be most put out. Do you know where he does mean to stay?”

“At Lucas Lodge, and you?—”

“You will never guess whom he has brought with him!” Kitty interrupted, catching up with them. She promptly found herself in receipt of a vicious swipe of Lydia’s reticule. “Ow!”

“Let me tell her!”

“I do not see why I should. I saw her first.”

“Saw who?” Elizabeth enquired as she confiscated Lydia’s reticule with an admonishing look.

“Miss Anne de Bourgh,” both girls said at once.

Elizabeth stared, all astonishment.

“It is why Mr Collins declined to stay at Longbourn,” Kitty said quickly, as though to share all the news before Lydia could. “Apparently, Miss de Bourgh insisted they stay with his new family. Sir William is well-nigh bursting with pride to have such a distinguished guest.”

“And Lady Lucas is furious, for Miss de Bourgh sent no word of her visit,” Lydia added.

How much like her cousin Mr Darcy she is, to expect the world to be at her disposal! Elizabeth reflected. “And Charlotte?”

“We did not see her. We left as soon as Mr Collins arrived, for the whole house was in uproar.”

“Heavens, what a turn of events!” Elizabeth set off in the direction of Longbourn. “Was anything said of why she has come? I understood from Mr Collins that ill health prevented her from travelling much.”

“And I daresay he is right, for she looked very ill indeed,” replied Lydia, her nose wrinkled in distaste. Elizabeth was about to ask that she expound on her description but was anticipated by Kitty.

“What does it matter why she is come? At least we shall not have to put up with our cousin at home.”

Elizabeth could not argue with that. After she refused his offer of marriage the month before, Mr Collins had been excessively cold in his manner towards her. Moreover, since he had two-and-seventy hours after that rejection become engaged to her dearest friend, Charlotte, she had been unable to view him with anything other than contempt, for a man who betrayed such flagrantly insincere affections could never command her respect. A reprieve from all his absurd affectations was most welcome. Yet, there were other circumstances to consider aside from her own.

“It might matter to Jane,” she pointed out.

“How so?”

“Miss de Bourgh is Mr Darcy’s cousin, and according to Mr Wickham, they are engaged. If she is come, it might signal his return. And if he were to come back, so might Mr Bingley.”

“But Miss Bingley’s note said the party had not any intention of returning.”

Elizabeth huffed a sceptical sigh. “Miss Bingley’s note said that Miss Bingley had not any intention of returning. I have never believed she spoke for her brother.”

Lydia’s countenance lit with interest. “It would please Jane very well if he did. She has been excessively dull since he left. Do you think he will?”

“I do not know. We can but hope—for his return, if not his friend’s.” Elizabeth felt a pang of apprehension at the prospect of seeing Mr Darcy again. She had received her fill of supercilious quarrels and disdainful looks the last time he was in Hertfordshire. From the first moment of their acquaintance, he had proven himself the proudest, most ungentlemanlike of men, which only heightened her curiosity in his betrothed. She opened her mouth to enquire again about the lady but was forestalled a second time by Kitty.

“I daresay Mama will be pleased not to have to host Mr Collins, too. It makes much more sense for him to stay at Lucas Lodge now that he is engaged to Charlotte. It was unaccountably strange that he still meant to stay with us.”

“Yes, well, he is an unaccountably strange man,” Elizabeth replied. “Though I should not be surprised if his purpose was to remind us that he is still heir to Longbourn, regardless of whom he marries.”

Kitty looked rather offended by this. Lydia looked outraged.

“And that is also why I fear you are wrong about Mama,” Elizabeth added resignedly. “She has not yet recovered from the indignity of forfeiting Longbourn’s future to the Lucases. She will not be at all pleased that the honour of such a prestigious guest has gone to Lady Lucas as well. And since that is all ostensibly my fault, I expect I shall be the object of a good deal of her displeasure for as long as Miss de Bourgh is in Hertfordshire.”

Both her sisters winced in commiseration, and neither of them attempted to tell her she was wrong before leaving her to walk behind them when the path became too narrow to admit three. Elizabeth fell back, content with her own thoughts as the two younger girls hopped about ahead of her, giggling as they helped each other over and around the muddiest bits of ground.

When the path widened sufficiently to allow it, Elizabeth came abreast of her sisters once more and enquired, “What was she like?”

“Miss de Bourgh? She did not seem particularly friendly.”

“Aye,” Kitty chimed in. “She had a superior air that made her look very severe.”

“She is not handsome, then?”

Kitty screwed up her face in thought, and Elizabeth reflected that anybody whose looks required that much deliberation could not possibly be considered beautiful.

“She is not ill-favoured, per se,” her sister answered at length. “I daresay she looks well enough beneath the sneer. Not as pretty as Jane, though.”

“Or me,” Lydia added.

“Well then,” Elizabeth replied, nodding towards the end of the path wither lay Longbourn. “Let us see what Mama has to say about it all.”

They arrived mere moments after a letter was delivered, announcing Mr Collins’s altered plans. Mrs Bennet, note in hand, appeared to be suffering some manner of apoplexy and was resolutely ignoring Jane’s attempts to persuade her to sit down. Upon espying Elizabeth, her mother grew unnervingly quiet, drew herself up tall, clasped her hands across her stomach, and tucked her resentment away beneath her bosom with several indignant nudges.

“This is all your fault, Lizzy,” she said in a clipped tone. Then she swirled around and strode out of the hall with a flourish that was lent uncharacteristic elegance by her pique.

Lydia and Kitty both snorted with laughter, but seeing Jane let out a quiet sigh, Elizabeth sent them on their way. “I am sorry I was not here to help with that,” she said as she closed the front door.

“It was probably better you were not,” Jane replied with a small shake of her head. “Mama was excessively vexed, but do not concern yourself on my account. Papa took the brunt of it and Mary the rest. I ought to see whether she is well. She was on the verge of tears when she ran upstairs.”

“Oh Lord! Let me go. I need you to save your strength to work on Mama.” Elizabeth had gone only two steps up the stairs before Jane called her back.

“Why do you think Miss de Bourgh is come, Lizzy? Do you think her visit has anything to do with Mr Darcy?”

Elizabeth sighed discreetly, understanding that it was not Mr Darcy about whom her sister truly cared. She had never seen Jane as happy as in those few weeks that Mr Bingley showered her with his attentions, nor so dispirited as in the weeks since he left without explanation or farewell. She hoped beyond anything that he might return to mend her sister’s heart, but she would not say anything that might give false hope.

“Truly, I do not know. What did Mr Collins say in his note?”

“Only that he was sorry for the short notice, but that he was obliged to honour the wishes of his patroness’s daughter, and that she has expressed a wish to become acquainted with Charlotte. There was no mention of her cousin.”

“Or her cousin’s friend?” Elizabeth pressed gently.

Jane shook her head.

“Then we shall have to wait and see. If she is, as Mr Collins once assured us, the British court’s brightest ornament, who knows how many gentlemen might follow her here. Hertfordshire could soon be inundated with eligible young men, and Mr Bingley will have to fight his way back in.”

That drew a gentle laugh from her sister. “I shall not set my heart on his coming back. It seems more and more unlikely.”

Elizabeth gave a lopsided smile of sympathy.

Jane returned it with a small but sad smile of her own. “I do think it is strange that she is come. Mr Collins said she hardly ever left Kent.”

“Indeed it is. I cannot help but wonder what sort of woman she must be.”

“To have made such a journey?”

“To be engaged to Mr Darcy.”

“Is she?”

“Yes, do you not recall? Mr Wickham mentioned it the same evening he gave me the account of his history with the Darcy family. The two cousins are pledged to unite their estates.”

“Well, the dismay of hearing you tell me the former must be my excuse for entirely forgetting the latter. Still, it is not uncommon for two cousins to marry.” Jane raised an eyebrow and smiled more sincerely than before. “Unless one of them refuses.”

Elizabeth shushed her sister loudly, grinning and peering pointedly in the direction her mother had gone. “Not so loud, if you please. Mama does not need reminding.” As an afterthought, she added, “She must be clever, do you not think? And handsome. I refused my cousin because he is ridiculous and certainly not to my taste in appearance. If Mr Darcy has no such objections, then Miss de Bourgh must be a more appealing prospect.”

“Perhaps, though recent experience has taught me that neither looks nor understanding will guarantee a man’s affections.”

A shrill summons came from the parlour. “Jane! Jane, come here at once!”

The sisters shared a knowing look, and Jane departed to wait upon Mrs Bennet.

“Was that your mother shrieking orders?” enquired Mr Bennet, stepping out of his library, book in hand.

Elizabeth replied that it was. “She is not pleased with Mr Collins’s desertion.”

“Nor am I, Lizzy. For what sport shall we have now? I had set my heart on more of his sermons on flattery. And to think, with the legendary Miss de Bourgh accompanying him, we might have seen him at work. Indeed, I am at least as put out as your mother that he will not be staying here.”

“Do not be too disheartened. You may depend upon an invitation to dine at Lucas Lodge arriving imminently, for Sir William will not wish to keep his illustrious guest a secret. You will have ample opportunity to discover whether she is as pleased by our cousin’s delicate compliments as he claims her to be.”

Her father observably brightened. “A good point, my girl. Let us hope she proves to be every bit as absurd as her travelling companion.”

Elizabeth smiled for her father’s benefit, but she was not convinced. “I would find it odd if she were entirely ridiculous. Indeed, I wonder quite what virtues she must possess to satisfy a man as difficult to please as Mr Darcy.”

“Well, we all know you do not please him, so we must presume she has a few that you do not, eh?” Mr Bennet replied, grinning gleefully. “But we all know Mr Darcy to be a proud, disagreeable man, so you ought not to let it trouble you.”

“I assure you, it does not,” she replied, rather more heatedly than she intended. Ignoring the way her father’s eyebrows rose, she excused herself to leave in search of Mary.