Page 8 of The Heroic Mr Darcy’s Bad Manners

A letter from her grandmother awaited Elizabeth when she returned to Longbourn. The perceptive old lady had detected a melancholy in her granddaughter that Elizabeth had deflected by enquiring after what she knew about Mr Bingley. She had explained that the gentleman, who was handsome, agreeable, and well situated to support a wife, was currently pursuing Jane. His only known disadvantages were two supercilious sisters, who could not be overlooked when one was unmarried, and a self-admitted tendency towards capriciousness.

Unfortunately, the widowed Mrs Maeve Bennet had no idea who Mr Bingley was but promised to investigate once she and her brother returned to town.

Elizabeth counted it as a particular blessing that her sisters had yet to relate the sordid encounter with Mr Darcy to her grandmother because her móraí [5] did not mention him. Either they had not written or they assumed that she had informed her herself.

Elizabeth’s respite at home was short lived. Mr Bennet’s cousin, a Mr Collins, arrived unexpectedly. Judging by the parson’s greeting, her father had been informed about his visit but had chosen not to tell his family. His motives were easily discovered when Mr Collins turned out to be a tall, heavy-looking man of five-and-twenty, who needed no encouragement to speak with little sense.

“Dear enchanting cousins! As you know, I am heir presumptive to Longbourn,” Mr Collins declared before he had even been served his tea.

“You are misinformed,” Mr Bennet drawled. “My father and I broke the entail the year I came of age.”

Mr Collins spluttered and spat, whilst his face took on an alarming shade of red. “I do not believe it! My father—”

“Was mistaken,” Mr Bennet interrupted. “I shall happily show you the documents at my solicitor’s office on the morrow. According to my will, my first-born grandson will inherit Longbourn. But let us not bother the ladies with tedious talk of business.”

Mr Collins’s eyes took in the incredulous countenances of the ladies present and nodded reluctantly. He did not gainsay his host and chose instead to expound upon his obsequious admiration for his exalted patroness. He had not been long in their company before everyone but Mr Bennet was heartily tired of hearing his voice. The patriarch found his cousin to be highly entertaining, and as a result, he spent more time with his family.

Elizabeth was not amused, and as Mr Collins droned on and on about his venerable patroness, she was wool-gathering. She stared vacantly out of the window and paid no heed to the raindrops’ slow descent down the windowpane.

“…in the point of true beauty, Miss de Bourgh is far superior to the fairest of her sex.”

Elizabeth listened to the raindrops patter against the glass, but Mr Collins’s pitter-patter occasionally intruded upon her thoughts. Especially after her mother mentioned the new additions to their community.

“I had no idea that the illustrious Mr Darcy was in the neighbourhood. You know, of course, that Lady Catherine and Lady Anne were sisters, and consequently she is the aunt of the present Mr Darcy.”

Poor Mr Darcy, who had such a termagant for an aunt!

“Miss de Bourgh has a very large fortune, and it is believed that she and her cousin will unite the two estates.”

Elizabeth had just taken a sip of her tea, and she swallowed it the wrong way. She coughed, and Mrs Bennet slapped her on the back.

“Pray, child! Must you upset my nerves by choking?”

“It was not my intention,” Elizabeth croaked. “May I retire until this bout has receded?”

“Yes, you should rest in your room and not spread the ill humours.”

Elizabeth curtseyed to no one in particular and hastened to her room. She threw herself on the bed and buried her face in the pillow.

Of course Mr Darcy is engaged. A gentleman of his standing with a prosperous estate must naturally marry to beget the necessary heir.

The last thought made the tears threatening to spill impossible to retain. How stupid she had been. He probably was engaged even when we danced at the masquerade ball. Her current misery was her own fault for allowing her imagination to run so freely with her high-flying fancies. Her admission did nothing to relieve the ache in her heart, but it did harden her resolve to stay as far away from Mr Darcy as possible, at the very least until this wearying infatuation was but a distant memory.

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Lydia intended to walk into Meryton in the hope of discovering whether Lieutenant Denny had returned from town. Elizabeth joined her sisters but for Mary, and at Mr Bennet’s request, Mr Collins was to attend them. Even the patriarch was beginning to tire of the incessant chatter from his cousin, which was not strange considering he had spent his morning at Mr Phillips’s office, explaining the broken entail to exhaustion. Mr Collins was not a sensible man—a deficiency that had not been tempered by either education or society.

According to her mother, Mr Collins had been raised by an illiterate, miserly father, which had given him originally great humility. His humble upbringing was counteracted by self-conceit and a weak head, which was probably a consequence of the early and unexpected prosperity of receiving the living in Hunsford. The result of these circumstances were an unfavourable mixture of unwarranted pride and unpalatable obsequiousness.

Mrs Bennet had further apprised Elizabeth that having such a good house and sufficient income had compelled the parson towards matrimony. His sycophantic praise of the beauty of the Bennet sisters was only tempered by him proclaiming them not brought up too high—which would have displeased his patroness. At first, he had singled out Jane, as the eldest and most beautiful of the sisters, but his hopes had been discouraged by Mrs Bennet. Once he had been informed that his chosen lady was soon to become engaged, he had changed his admiration to the second eldest daughter, whom he deemed almost Jane’s equal in beauty. Mr Collins had forwarded this affront within Elizabeth’s earshot, and the distinction of second best had not raised him in her esteem. Quite the contrary. Her mother had then tried to steer him in the direction of Mary, whom she believed to be the most suited of her daughters to become a parson’s wife. Mr Collins had afforded Mary one glance before he had declared her too plain, which had made Mrs Bennet lose all interest in the eligible gentleman. No one disparaged her mother’s girls without heartily regretting it…

Mr Collins’s never-ending stream of pompous nothings was met with civil but evasive replies from his cousins as they walked the mile to Meryton. The sisters were afforded a brief respite when they happened upon a couple of officers from the militia. The two youngest especially were delighted by the introduction to a new addition, a Mr Wickham, due to his favourable appearance. The whole party was engaged in agreeable conversation when Mr Bingley was discovered riding down the street. Distinguishing one lady in particular, the gentleman came directly towards them. Unfortunately, he was accompanied by Mr Darcy, and Elizabeth slipped quickly into the haberdashery. It was ominous how he turned up wherever she went. Was she ever to be safe from his presence?

Fortunately, Mr Darcy rode off suddenly in a cloud of dust that allowed Elizabeth to leave her hiding place. Unfortunately for Jane, Mr Bingley followed his friend, and the sisters were left to return home with Mr Collins.

Despite the parson’s long legs, his gait was rather slow, making them late for an engagement that evening. Mrs Phillips had invited them all to one of her lauded card parties. It was a good thing she was Mrs Bennet’s sister and easily forgave their tardiness. Elizabeth was quite certain that Mr Darcy had not been invited. Her mother had lamented the fact due to her worries that Mr Bingley might forget all about Jane should they spend an evening apart.

The militia was present, and with them was the newly enlisted Mr Wickham. Elizabeth acknowledged that a slight degree of admiration was reasonable. The officers in general were a creditable, gentlemanlike set, but Mr Wickham was beyond them in person, countenance, air, and walk. Her broad-faced, port wine breathing, and stuffy uncle Phillips followed the officers about the room and performed the introductions whilst all female eyes were turned to the newcomers.

Elizabeth was the happy woman the handsome lieutenant chose for a partner, and she enjoyed the agreeable manner with which he immediately fell into conversation. Not at all like a certain other gentleman who thought himself above Meryton’s society. Mr Wickham could make a rainy day sound interesting—the commonest, dullest, most threadbare of topics. She dismissed an intruding thought about philosophy, art, and politics. It was an enjoyable evening, and she was the fortunate one who garnered the envious looks of her friends.

Mr Wickham politely declined her aunt’s invitation to play whist, and Elizabeth thought that it might be to prolong their pleasurable tête-à-tête. She rejoiced in the company until the gentleman introduced the most unpalatable subject she could imagine.

“How long has Mr Darcy been visiting the neighbourhood?”

“About a month,” she replied in the most disinterested manner she could muster.

“He is a man of large and noble property in Derbyshire. A clear ten thousand a year.”

Elizabeth cared not if he had ten times as much, but how was she to disabuse Mr Wickham of the notion that she held the slightest interest in that gentleman?

“You could not have met with a person more capable of giving you information about that man than myself. I have been intimately acquainted with him since infancy.”

Elizabeth’s heart dropped into her stomach, and whatever admiration she might have felt was immediately extinguished. Mr Wickham did not notice her detachment and droned on.

“You may well be surprised, Miss Bennet, by such an assertion, after seeing the cold manner of our greeting earlier today. Pray, do you know whether he intends to remain long in the neighbourhood?”

Had he not noticed her mad dash into the haberdashery? She had not been present to witness any greeting, cold or not. He was more like Mr Collins than her first impression had allowed. The parson certainly paid no attention to his audience when he droned on and on.

“I am sure I have no idea. Please excuse me, Mr Wickham, my mother is calling me.”

Mrs Bennet had done no such thing, but given his previous form, she doubted that Mr Wickham had noticed. Elizabeth was in no mind to hear anything about Mr Darcy, and certainly not from someone who was intimately acquainted with the oaf and must know most of his affairs. Particularly his romantic interests and his engagement to the lauded Miss de Bourgh, about which Elizabeth had no wish to know anything at all. It was unfortunate that such an otherwise agreeable acquaintance had to be cut short, but there was nothing to be done about it. Hence, she added Mr Wickham to her list of gentlemen to avoid in the future.

When they returned home in the evening, Jane was sad she had missed Mr Bingley. He had visited to offer the Bennet family an invitation to a ball on the twenty-sixth of November. Mrs Bennet immediately concluded that a proposal was imminent and ordered Jane a new dress whilst her sisters had to manage with the ones from the assembly.