Page 34

Longbourn – Drawing Room – Mr Darcy

T he name struck him like a tuning fork.

Lady Catherine de Bourgh.

Darcy’s gaze flicked sharply to the pompous clergyman seated across from him-Mr Collins, who, moments ago, had declared himself as her humble servant with all the self-importance of a man announcing his knighthood.

Darcy schooled his features into polite indifference, though the irony did not escape him.

That he should be seated in the Bennets’ drawing room-within arm’s reach of Elizabeth-and be subjected to a reverent account of his aunt’s virtues, delivered by a stranger who clearly did not yet know of their connection, was almost too absurd.

Mr Collins, oblivious, prattled on. “Her ladyship is the finest judge of character I have ever known. Her opinions-always correct. Her advice-immeasurably wise. I make it a point, sir, to record her instructions in a dedicated volume.”

Darcy took a measured sip of tea and gave no reply.

Elizabeth, beside him, seemed caught between amusement and discomfort. Her eyes flicked from Mr Collins to Darcy with increasing curiosity. He could feel the question forming on her tongue and prayed she would not voice it.

As if to underscore the absurdity of the moment, a sudden rustle drew all eyes downward.

The small tabby cat who had been curled innocuously beneath Elizabeth’s chair leapt lightly onto the tea table. Her striped head dipped with silent precision toward a forgotten piece of cake, which she snatched and bounded off with in a streak of triumphant fluff.

Mr Collins gave a noise of pure horror and half-rose from his chair, recoiling as if Pudding were some manner of wild beast. “Madam! Your-your creature is on the furniture!”

Elizabeth’s shoulders trembled.

Mrs Bennet flapped her napkin. “Oh, Pudding, do get down, naughty thing! She is not usually allowed-Hill! Hill, the cat!”

“Is it- is it safe ?” Mr Collins asked in a strangled voice, stepping back as Pudding darted beneath the settee with her prize.

Lydia giggled openly. “She’s just a cat, Cousin. She does not bite-unless you’re holding ham.”

“She has claws ,” Mr Collins muttered darkly, eyeing the settee as though it might pounce.

Darcy bit the inside of his cheek.

Pudding, unrepentant, settled herself with regal satisfaction beneath the furniture, a slice of cake firmly between her paws.

Mr Collins muttered something about “disorder in the domestic sphere,” while Mrs Bennet assured him they were very particular about animals indoors. Mary offered a disapproving observation about vanity in house pets .

Darcy turned slightly toward Elizabeth, who was still watching the fray with shining eyes.

“Your household seems… lively,” he said.

She looked at him sidelong, the edge of a smile playing at her lips. “We like to keep our guests entertained.”

Darcy found he could not disagree.

Everyone settled again, and Bingley, still lingering near the hearth with his cup in hand, glanced across the room toward Miss Bennet.

“We had hoped for the end of November,” he said with an easy smile, “but it seemed prudent to delay the ball just a little-so that everyone might be well enough to enjoy it fully. The second Tuesday of December is settled. I shall be in Town for a few days at the end of the month, but we will have it as soon as I return.”

“That’s very thoughtful of you,” said Mrs Bennet, beaming. “And how wise to allow time for Elizabeth to recover fully. She will be walking without her stick by then, I am sure. And what a lovely occasion to celebrate her recovery!”

Mr Collins, who had been industriously stirring his tea and casting sideways glances at Elizabeth, perked up at once.

“A ball, you say?” he exclaimed. “At Netherfield?”

“Yes,” said Mr Bingley, pleasantly. “We shall send out cards in a day or two.”

“Such felicity!” Mr Collins beamed. “What a splendid idea-and what a great honour to be invited! Miss Elizabeth-” He turned to her with an expression of triumphant benevolence. “May I presume to request the honour of your hand for the first two dances?”

Elizabeth, caught mid-sip, lowered her teacup with an effort. “You may… if you truly wish it, Mr Collins.”

“I do, Cousin, most sincerely. The first two dances are, of course, the most desirable, and I would not dream of allowing another to secure them before me. ”

There was a pause.

“December, you said?” Mr Collins turned back to Mr Bingley, brow furrowed. “The second Tuesday?”

“That’s right,” Bingley confirmed, setting down his cup. “The tenth.”

Mr Collins froze, his expression faltering. “Dear me. I believe… yes, I believe I must return to Kent by the seventh. Lady Catherine expects me before the twelfth at the latest, and I must allow at least three days for the journey.”

“How very unfortunate,” said Mr Bennet dryly, from behind his paper. “To miss such a merry occasion.”

Mr Collins, now visibly flustered, turned back to Elizabeth. “Perhaps-I might request a dance in spirit, if not in person.”

Elizabeth offered a polite smile. “Of course, Mr Collins.”

“I shall write to Lady Catherine,” he said with renewed vigour, “and inform her how very kindly I have been received in Hertfordshire. Perhaps she will approve a more flexible departure-though I dare not presume.”

Darcy, still seated beside Elizabeth, glanced at her sidelong-just enough to catch the faint tightening at the corner of her mouth as she reached for her teacup once more.

Darcy sat still, his fingers resting against the side of his teacup, though he had not sipped from it in some minutes. The conversation had turned, but he heard none of it. His thoughts remained on the scene just past.

Collins had asked Elizabeth for the first two dances.

He knew it was a commonplace request-one rooted more in ceremony than intimacy-but the sight of her forced smile and the awkward tilt of her head had stirred something uneasy in him. Not quite jealousy. No, not that. But irritation, certainly. Discomfort.

No-protectiveness, he realised. That was nearer the truth.

It had been there in the quiet way she looked down, rather than at her cousin. In the way her fingers tightened slightly on the saucer in her lap.

She did not want the offer. She had accepted it because politeness demanded it. And had Mr Collins not then discovered his inconvenient return date, Darcy suspected she would have danced with him anyway-out of duty, out of kindness.

That thought stung more than it ought.

Darcy shifted slightly in his seat. He knew Elizabeth was not his to protect.

She had given him no encouragement-no claim.

And yet, some part of him bristled at the notion that a woman so spirited, so perceptive, would be made to endure the attentions of a man like Collins simply because the man did not know better.

The clergyman’s ignorance regarding his connection to Lady Catherine was both amusing and absurd.

And yet it had offered an odd reprieve. As Collins sang her praises and declared his devotion, Darcy could not help but feel the irony sharpen in his chest. Elizabeth had glanced toward him more than once.

She had to be wondering why he did not speak-why he did not contradict or affirm.

He had done neither.

Because to do so would have brought the attention of the entire room. Because even now, he was unsure whether revealing the truth would clarify anything-or make it worse.

Elizabeth’s brow furrowed slightly as she stirred her tea. Not displeased, but preoccupied.

He wondered if she thought of Wickham.

The name had not been spoken aloud, but the echo of it hung in the air. Her wariness this morning, her sideways looks, her quietness. It was too soon to ask her. Too soon to explain.

But if she looked at him now-truly looked-what would she see?

Not the man she had thought him to be, he hoped. Not only that. Not just the silent, proud figure who had spoken too little and judged too quickly. Not just Lady Catherine’s nephew.

He had stood beside her in the rain.

He had made certain she reached home in comfort.

And if she would let him-if she would trust him-he would do far more than that.

Darcy looked toward her now, and for a moment she looked back. Their eyes met, and something unspoken passed between them.

A flicker. A shift.

Hope, perhaps.

* * *

Longbourn - Drawing Room - Elizabeth

Mr Collins, however, was undeterred. “I must say, Miss Elizabeth has borne her recent convalescence with such grace and fortitude. I am sure you, sir, would agree that the resilience of the female spirit is one of the most admirable features of our sex.”

Darcy did not quite glance at Elizabeth, though Elizabeth suspected he wished to. “Miss Elizabeth possesses many admirable qualities,” he said carefully.

Elizabeth bit the inside of her cheek.

Bingley stood abruptly, as though sensing the need to prevent further awkwardness. “Well! I fear we must be going soon. Mr Darcy and I have quite a walk ahead of us.”

Mr Collins looked stricken. “You are walking, sir? Surely I might offer to accompany you part of the way? A clergyman should always be available to provide intelligent discourse-”

“I think,” Elizabeth cut in sweetly, “that Mr Darcy and Mr Bingley will find their own company sufficient, sir. ”

Darcy’s glance flicked toward her, quick and grateful.

Mr Collins looked vaguely chastened but nodded. “Ah, of course. Yes. Yes.”

Mr Darcy stood, offering a final bow to the room. “Ladies. Thank you for your hospitality.”

Elizabeth rose as well, her ankle making the movement slower than usual. Mr Darcy hesitated, as if to offer his arm-but checked himself.

“Miss Elizabeth,” he said quietly. “Until the ball.”

Elizabeth inclined her head. “Until then.”

He left with Bingley a moment later, the door closing behind them with a quiet finality.

* * *

Netherfield – Entranceway - Caroline

The carriage wheels crunched up the gravel sweep of Netherfield’s drive as Caroline and Louisa finally returned from their morning’s circuit of calls.