Page 5 of Epiphany (A Little Bit More Darcy and Elizabeth #2)

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“W hat a delightful observation,” Mr Collins simpered. “The plums are, as you say, glazed to perfection. But then, you are looking particularly radiant yourself this evening, madam. Your charms would outshine even the glossiest of fruits.”

This compliment, absurd—and inaccurate—though it was, might have been better received had it been paid to his betrothed. Instead, it was lavished upon Miss de Bourgh, in keeping with what appeared to be a well-established method . First, Mr Collins complimented her. Next, he complimented himself for having paid her such a pretty compliment. Then, he waited eagerly for some sign that his blandishments had pleased her.

He had so far been waiting three and a quarter hours, which was precisely how long it had been since the soiree began. Miss de Bourgh seemed neither diverted nor vexed and certainly not flattered by his ongoing panegyric. Her attention seemed to be elsewhere entirely, begging the question why she was there at all.

“You have spent your time wisely today, I see, Mr Collins,” said Mr Bennet. “Not only arranging an entire bank of subtle little compliments to please the ladies but taking the trouble to discover what delights were being planned for dinner so that all your praise would be perfectly apt. A day well spent, sir.”

Mr Collins thanked him. “I consider it an imperative part of my duties to be fully prepared to offer whatever encouragements I can that might afford comfort or pleasure.”

Mr Bennet gave a nod of appreciation. “I commend your commitment to your craft, sir.”

Charlotte’s youngest brother scoffed loudly. “Anybody can compare a person to food and call it a compliment. Watch this. Charlotte, you look like a cabbage.”

“Thank you, Timothy,” Charlotte replied drily, “though I do not think you have quite mastered Mr Collins’s finesse just yet.”

“Almost,” Mr Bennet mouthed to Elizabeth with a mischievous expression that nearly ruined her composure.

“Indeed. You look nothing like a cabbage, my dear,” Mr Collins objected, “except that your gown has a greenish shade to it. That is no bad thing, I should add. Miss de Bourgh often wears green and wears it well, too, for it enhances the colour of her eyes.” After casting her an unctuous and toothy smile, he glanced back to inform the rest of the dinner guests, “I take care to mention often that Miss de Bourgh’s indifferent health has, in no way, diminished the magnificence of her eyes and flatter myself that such reassurances are always gratefully received.” He stopped speaking and regarded Miss de Bourgh with all the patient adoration of a puppy.

Miss de Bourgh did not look up from her plate as she replied, coolly, “My eyes are blue, Mr Collins.”

Elizabeth barely stifled a laugh.

“Oh—ah—pardon me,” he stammered. “Perhaps I was thinking of your mother and assumed a family resemb?—”

“Her eyes are also blue.”

“Or perhaps your cousin, Mr Darcy?”

“Mr Darcy’s eyes are brown,” Elizabeth corrected him.

“How very observant, Miss Elizabeth,” said Miss de Bourgh, looking up at her. “Do you recall the eye colour of every man with whom you barely converse and dance with but once?”

Elizabeth, wholly unaware that she possessed this nugget of information until she said it, felt her cheeks redden. “Apparently.”

“Well, whatever colour his eyes are, Mr Darcy is a most estimable gentleman,” said Mr Collins, “and one of the most illustrious personages in the country.”

Elizabeth caught Jane’s gaze and rolled her eyes. Evidently, having failed to impress Miss de Bourgh with his attentions to her, Mr Collins meant to move on to eulogising about her relations instead. She doubted he would find the present company particularly receptive to such a scheme—a suspicion that was substantiated in the next moment by her mother.

“Mr Darcy does not even like the country. He considers it nothing at all, in fact.”

“Come, come, Mrs Bennet,” cajoled Sir William. “That cannot be true. Mr Darcy has a house in the country the same as the rest of us.”

“It certainly is true,” she replied heatedly. “He told me himself that he considers the society constrained and unvarying , by which you can be sure he meant to disparage anyone who does not live at least half the year or more in town.”

Mrs Bennet was quite mistaken about the conversation in question, but Elizabeth felt no inclination to defend Mr Darcy until she noticed Charlotte’s discomfort. Following her friend’s gaze to Miss de Bourgh, she could easily discern that lady’s displeasure. It was hardly surprising, she supposed, that one might take offence at the censure of one’s relation and future husband, and so for Charlotte’s sake, she resolved to correct her mother’s misapprehension.

“You have quoted Mr Darcy out of context, Mama. That is not what he meant.”

“But it is what he said, and therefore, I shall take whatever meaning from it I choose.”

“Let us leave the gentlemen to their port,” Lady Lucas announced, coming to her feet abruptly and indicating to a footman to clear the table.

The ladies all duly filed out and busied themselves finding cups of coffee, talking partners, and places to sit in the drawing room. Elizabeth had assumed with some relief that was the end of any discussion about Mr Darcy. She soon discovered otherwise.

Charlotte cornered her at the refreshment table and, whilst maintaining a perfectly composed smile, began whispering in a decidedly uncomposed manner. “I mean no disrespect to your mother, Eliza, and I am very sorry if Mr Darcy was uncivil to her, but her words have angered Miss de Bourgh, and I know not what to do to put things right.”

Elizabeth dared not look at Miss de Bourgh, for it would too clearly mark her as the object of their discussion. She smiled innocuously into her coffee cup and enquired, “Has she said she is displeased?”

“No, but she has a face like thunder, and Mr Collins is beside himself that she has been offended.”

“Then I am very sorry, but if you are hoping my mother will apologise, I think I had better warn you it might be better to let the matter drop. She will only make it worse if you bring it up again.”

Charlotte shook her head. “I was hoping you would speak to Miss de Bourgh.”

“Me?”

“Yes. You said your mother quoted Mr Darcy out of context. I thought you could explain that she had misunderstood him.”

Elizabeth restrained herself to a quiet sigh before conceding. “Very well. But only because it is you.”

She reluctantly made her way to sit next to Miss de Bourgh. Elizabeth received no more than a cursory nod in greeting and sipped her coffee in silence as she attempted to fix on how to broach the subject.

“The dinner was very pleasant,” came a squeaky voice. Miss de Bourgh had not moved her lips, and Elizabeth looked around in bewilderment until Mrs Jenkinson made her presence known by leaning forward in her seat on the other side of Miss de Bourgh. “The lamb was cooked to perfection.”

Elizabeth smiled and nodded back. That appeared to be the extent of the lady’s contribution. She leant back in her seat, disappearing from view once more. Miss de Bourgh glowered ahead as though neither of them were there.

“I must apologise for my mother,” Elizabeth said quietly. “I assure you she quite mistook Mr Darcy’s meaning.”

“I doubt it.” At last, Miss de Bourgh turned to face Elizabeth, and Charlotte’s description of her countenance proved to be remarkably accurate. “It sounds just the sort of thing he would say. I scarcely blame your mother for being offended. Those of us who have little choice but to avoid London can do without the disdain of those with the luxury of going there whenever they choose.”

Surprise kept Elizabeth quiet too long, and Miss de Bourgh snapped, “I cannot imagine why you should be astonished at my saying so. It was you who told me a woman ought not to be judged by the company she keeps or the places she visits.”

“That is true, I did. Though, if you will pardon me, it was you who remarked on the disadvantage of my having spent so little time in London myself.”

“Do not fool yourself into believing it is not a disadvantage, Miss Elizabeth. It will certainly be viewed as such by any gentleman wishing to attach himself to you.”

Elizabeth began to suspect what was truly at play. Miss de Bourgh feared her cousin would think less of her for having been similarly deprived of what he considered refined society.

She seeks to comfort herself by undervaluing me. It might have rankled had Elizabeth cared for Mr Darcy’s good opinion. As it was, she pitied Miss de Bourgh for being made to feel as though her intended thought ill of her. She had no great fondness for him, but it was unfair that Mr Darcy should be in disfavour with his future wife for something he had not said.

“That is as may be, but whether or not that is Mr Darcy’s true opinion, in this instance, it really is not what he said. I had remarked that I like to study people’s characters. He merely observed that there was a greater variety of people to study in London than in the country.”

“I see.”

Elizabeth could not tell from Miss de Bourgh’s countenance whether she was convinced. “Truly,” she insisted, “he was not in any way disdainful.” On that occasion, she did not add aloud .

Rather than appearing any more persuaded, Miss de Bourgh merely began to look vexed.

Elizabeth had begun, however, and thought she might as well finish the job. “I assure you my mother’s indignation was not Mr Darcy’s fault. Once she takes a dislike to somebody, she does not easily shake it off. Mama was determined to take offence, and when she thought she saw an opportunity, she took him to task directly.”

“For what reason was your mother determined to be offended by Darcy? Had he insulted her in some other way before this…”

Miss de Bourgh’s voice faded, replaced by Mr Darcy’s, as Elizabeth recalled him telling her that his good opinion once lost was lost forever. She had ridiculed him for admitting as much, but in retrospect, it was no different from the implacable resentment she had just attributed to her mother without censure. She twisted her mouth in chagrin to have caught herself exercising such contrasting principles. She might even have felt guilty had she not presently been engaged in saving him from the ire of his betrothed. That was surely enough to compensate for one captious remark.

“Miss Elizabeth?”

“I beg your pardon. What was that?”

“I asked what else my cousin did to earn your mother’s disapprobation?”

Elizabeth smiled wryly. She may not have been her mother’s favourite, but Mrs Bennet did not suffer criticism of any of her daughters from any one other than herself. That Mr Darcy had spurned Elizabeth’s looks and refused to dance with her upon first making her acquaintance had set him firmly in her mother’s bad books from the start. She did not explain that, however. Despite having laughed about it often enough, Elizabeth found herself strangely averse to divulging his slight to Miss de Bourgh.

“They merely got off on the wrong foot,” she said instead. “I am not aware that Mr Darcy was ever directly uncivil to her. Indeed, I believe he was the recipient of rather more of my mother’s spleen than she was of his.”

Miss de Bourgh looked taken aback. “How did my cousin act? He is not known for suffering fools.”

Overlooking the insult to her mother, largely because it could not easily be contended, Elizabeth replied, “Nothing, except to treat her to some of his companionable silence until she gave up arguing with herself and went home.”

Miss de Bourgh laughed, then observably stopped herself and scowled instead. “A woman ought to try not to be handsome and witty, Miss Elizabeth. She will get a reputation for being greedy.”

Elizabeth closed her mouth on her first response and, after a moment, replied, “Thank you for the advice. I shall bear it in mind.”

“Oh! Is Wickham coming?” Lydia shrieked from across the room, saving either of them from saying any more.

“They are all coming, my dear,” replied Lady Lucas. “Even Colonel Forster.”

“What is this?” Elizabeth asked of Kitty, sitting nearest to her.

“Lady Lucas says Sir William has invited the officers to join us for supper.”

“Will there be cards?” Lydia enquired of no one in particular, veritably bouncing in her seat. “And dancing? Please let us have some dancing. I have not danced with Wickham since we were at Mrs Long’s last week.”

“Wickham?” Miss de Bourgh said. “I know that name. Who is he?”

“He is the late Mr Darcy’s godson. His father was Pemberley’s steward.” Elizabeth wondered whether they were acquainted. Did Miss de Bourgh know that Mr Darcy had refused to honour his father’s will, refused to give Mr Wickham the living he was promised? Would she be as disdainful of Mr Wickham’s straitened circumstances as her cousin had been? Elizabeth could scarcely keep her countenance as she watched Miss de Bourgh for any sign of recognition.

“Oh yes,” she said presently, her brow creasing faintly. “I vaguely recall that Mr Darcy used to fish with him.”

“You know him, then?”

“I know of him. I did not fish with them, if that is what you are implying.”

Elizabeth longed to ask more but dared not. “I do not believe they fish together anymore,” was as much as she would venture.

The next hour passed interminably slowly as Elizabeth awaited the officers’ arrival. She was pleased for the opportunity to see Mr Wickham, for he was exceptionally good company, but she hoped he would not be distressed by Miss de Bourgh’s presence.

She began to worry he would not come, for surely Sir William had mentioned his guest when issuing the invitation, and if Mr Wickham had eschewed the Netherfield ball to avoid Mr Darcy, then it was not inconceivable that he would find a reason to avoid Miss de Bourgh as well.

At last, Colonel Forster arrived, with seven of his officers in tow, and Mr Wickham one of the party. He caught her eye almost immediately and sent her a small, private bow. The contented smile he directed at her lingered only a moment, however, vanishing when Sir William, with great ceremony, announced Miss de Bourgh’s presence. Elizabeth watched closely and did not miss that Mr Wickham blanched, just as he had the day he encountered Mr Darcy in Meryton.

In contrast, Miss de Bourgh seemed wholly unaffected, seemingly uninterested in any of the soldiers, let alone Mr Wickham in particular. Nevertheless, the manner in which he shrank back into the midst of his company made it seem likely that he believed there was good reason to avoid her notice.

Elizabeth rose to her feet angrily. Mr Wickham was the wronged party, and it was unpardonable that he should be made to feel unwelcome. She attempted to make her way to him, but Lydia anticipated her, pulling Mr Wickham into a dance almost immediately. After completing a reel with her, he then danced with Kitty, Miss Long, Miss King, and finally Maria Lucas before allowing himself to be drawn into a game of loo. Only when John Lucas gave up his seat at the card table half an hour later was Elizabeth able to get close enough to speak to Wickham.

He greeted her with a plaintive look and an entirely unnecessary apology. “I thought it best to avoid the guest of honour. I regret it has kept me away from you all evening also.”

“There is no need to apologise, sir. I completely understand, although I do not think you need to worry. Miss de Bourgh scarcely remembers you.”

He observably brightened at the news. “You are sure?”

“I am. She recalled your name and that you used to fish with Mr Darcy as a boy but no more.”

“That is a relief.”

“How so?” Elizabeth objected. “That she is ignorant of how her cousin has mistreated you is hardly something to be celebrated. It only means that Mr Darcy has concealed his abhorrent actions from all his relations.”

“Perhaps, but it means I shall not have to dishonour my godfather’s name by discussing his son’s misdeeds.”

It was not a perspective Elizabeth had considered. She grinned ruefully. “And there I was about to insist that you tell her everything and demand justice.”

He shook his head. “I have long since given up hoping for justice, Miss Elizabeth. I have learnt to survive well enough on what I have. It would only cause trouble were I to speak up now, and I hate to cause trouble. In fact, now that I can be sure there will not be any, why do we not go and speak to her?”

Elizabeth could hardly refuse, and she accompanied Mr Wickham to the sofa where Miss de Bourgh yet held court and presented one to the other in an odd exchange that was more of a reminder than an introduction.

“You look remarkably well, madam. Lovelier even than I recall,” Mr Wickham said, bowing low.

Elizabeth wondered at that. She had seen glimpses of Miss de Bourgh’s handsomeness, but the woman’s prevailing features were sallowness and hauteur, and this evening in particular she looked very ill indeed. It rendered Mr Wickham’s praise hollow and made her wonder what his real opinion had been when he said the same to her.

“Wickham!” Lydia shouted, dashing over to join them. “Tell me you are still coming to the Meryton assembly tomorrow. Lieutenant Denny said he was not sure whether you meant to.”

“Lydia, you are interrupting,” Elizabeth admonished.

“I shall be there, Miss Lydia,” Mr Wickham assured her.

“You knew my uncle well, I understand,” Miss de Bourgh said, entirely ignoring Lydia, who sighed loudly and stomped away to pester another unwitting officer.

“Exceedingly well,” Mr Wickham replied. “He was an excellent man.”

“He was—as is his son, who has grown very much in his father’s image.”

Elizabeth looked at Mr Wickham with pity, anxious that he might be pained by this, but he betrayed no hint of discomfort.

His smile was undiminished as he replied, “Well, if he is only half as honourable as his father was, then yours will still be an excellent marriage.”

Miss de Bourgh cast Elizabeth a triumphant look. Yet, with growing evidence of how difficult to please both she and her cousin were, Elizabeth was increasingly disinclined to think it a good match. Some of her doubt must have shown on her face, for Miss de Bourgh’s pride changed instantly to indignation.

“It will be,” she said haughtily, “and those who think otherwise are quite mistaken. Mr Collins?”

The rector hastened to her side. “Yes, madam?”

“I hear there is an assembly tomorrow evening in Meryton. I wish to attend.”

Mrs Jenkinson let out one of her expressive gasps. Mr Collins’s eyes widened in panic, and he swallowed hard.

“Miss de Bourgh, you know I would do anything to serve you well, but this wish, I fear, is not one I am able to grant. I must return to Hunsford tomorrow. The curate cannot stay beyond noon, and there is nobody else to?—”

“That is not my concern. I should like to attend the assembly. Therefore, we cannot return to Kent tomorrow.”

“But madam, you cannot— I cannot—the parish—your mother!”

“Miss de Bourgh, I beg you to reconsider,” Mrs Jenkinson pleaded urgently. “You cannot possibly attend a dance. It would be too much. You would surely be overcome. Just the thought of all those foul humours in one room! You must not attend, I beg you. I dread to think what might become of you.”

Such nonsense provoked Elizabeth to hiccup a tiny laugh before she could prevent herself. She bit it back instantly but too late.

Miss de Bourgh glared at her malevolently, then all but snarled at Mr Collins. “I suggest you begin to make the necessary arrangements directly, if your curate is to be prevented from leaving at noon tomorrow.” Turning to her companion, she said, “And I suggest you do whatever you must to ensure that I am not overcome, as you put it, because if I am, my mother will be seriously displeased.”

“Bravo, madam,” Mr Wickham said with an amused smirk. “May I be so bold as to secure your hand for the first two dances?”

Miss de Bourgh’s consent drew another gasp of horror from Mrs Jenkinson, who began to lament the very grave dangers of overexerting oneself, a whimper from Mr Collins as he watched his preferment teeter on the edge of an abyss before him, and a small frown from Elizabeth as she attempted not to be offended that Wickham had overlooked her for the honour of dancing the first set.