Page 34 of The Shades of Pemberley

Any such suggestion was beyond outlandish, for Darcy and Elizabeth had been destined to marry for at least the past four years. Darcy, noting the anticipation on his mother’s face, responded in like fashion.

“Must I resort to pistols at dawn? I am surprised at Elizabeth, for she must know what I will not give way.”

A laugh escaped her lips. “No, William, I cannot suppose you must enforce your claim with the use of violence. The rival is that in his mind only, and he is perhaps the most ridiculous man I have ever met in the bargain. I judge we have a few moments before your companions join us, so I shall tell you.”

There was no time for a full accounting, so his mother gave him only the barest explanation of the Bennets’ visitor, his interest in Elizabeth, her disinclination for his company, and her father taking him to task for his presumption.

Darcy thought he recalled some mention of Bennet’s heir, though he could recall no specifics.

For a man to pay attention to a woman with such haste after making her acquaintance without taking the trouble to discover if she was already engaged was not the act of a rational man.

Darcy was tempted to become angry, but he thought laughter would become his best weapon.

“He has desisted then?” asked Darcy when his mother concluded her tale.

“I have not visited in two days, but when I was there the day that Mr. Bennet reprimanded him, he displayed all the petulance I would expect from a child of five.”

“Then I shall watch and wait to see how he behaves. If he continues to overstep propriety, he will need to deal with me.”

“Oh?” asked Fitzwilliam, who arrived in Georgiana’s company at that moment. “Is there some other man sniffing around your lady?”

“Mr. Bennet’s cousin and heir,” provided Mrs. Darcy.

“What is the connection?” asked Fitzwilliam with some curiosity.

“A cousin to some degree. I am not certain even Mr. Bennet knows the exact connection.”

“Elizabeth will never even look at him twice,” averred Georgiana. “It took only a few moments in her company to know how devoted she is to you.”

“The state of Elizabeth’s constancy does not worry me,” said Darcy, nodding to his young cousin. “It is the actions of this man staying at Longbourn. He sounds like a chucklehead, indeed.”

“Then let us depart for Longbourn at once,” said Fitzwilliam. “Should he see you with Miss Bennet, he will have no choice but to desist.”

They all agreed, though Mrs. Younge said nothing—Darcy noticed her watching him and wondered what she was about. The desire to be in Elizabeth’s company again overcame any consideration of his cousin’s companion, and he focused instead upon departing at once to be at Longbourn as soon as may be.

When approaching Netherfield from the north, there was a small track wide enough for a carriage that led from Stevenage, so he had not yet passed through Meryton that morning.

The main road from the estate led through the nearby community, so it was wider and better maintained, allowing for swifter travel.

As they passed through, Darcy pointed out the town, not that there was much to see, for the road to Longbourn was a wide fork at the very northern edge of the village.

As the carriage proceeded along the path leading to Lucas Lodge and Longbourn in the distance, Darcy fancied every rock, every tree was familiar to his questing eyes; the closer to the estate they traveled, the more his anticipation grew.

When they passed the turn-off to Lucas Lodge, the carriage traveled up the side of a hill and soon reached the grove of trees where Longbourn village stood outside the manor grounds.

At the end of the street sat the gates to Longbourn.

“Oh, look, is that not Elizabeth?” exclaimed Georgiana as they neared the gates.

Darcy followed her pointed hand and saw the figure of a woman on a path in the woods, one Darcy knew was a favorite of hers.

On the verge of ordering the coach to stop, Darcy saw the unmistakable shape of a tall man dressed in black following her.

The memory of his mother’s account of the Bennets’ parson relation entered his mind, and he reacted at once.

“Stop the coach!”

When the conveyance rolled to a stop, Darcy lost no time in opening the door and stepping down, breaking into a run after the retreating pair.

THE DAY AFTER HER FATHER spoke to Mr. Collins, Elizabeth had a reprieve from him, for the man spoke little, though Elizabeth felt the burden of his eyes on her. What he could mean by it and why he was so fixed on her, Elizabeth could not say, but she remained wary of him.

The next day—the day William was to return—silly Mr. Collins reappeared, though now he was not so blatant as he had been before.

Whereas he had all but showered her with his attention the first few days of his stay, droning on about his happy situation, his patroness, and his assurance that she would find his home to be to her taste, now he focused on banal matters that bore no open resemblance to his previous speeches.

Underneath, however, Elizabeth fancied she saw something of his purpose, for he was not exactly subtle.

“You show a pleasing piety when reading the words of the dear reverend, Cousin,” said Mr. Collins that morning with approval. “A woman who follows Fordyce’s counsel cannot go amiss.”

The way Mary regarded him, Elizabeth thought she might forswear Fordyce now that Mr. Collins had recommended him; if she did, the entire family would rejoice, for Mary’s comments were seasoned with little homilies written by the old-fashioned author.

“Might I assume you also possess a copy of his sermons?” asked Mr. Collins of Elizabeth. “As you are an excellent young lady of taste and discernment, I cannot but suppose you have the highest reliance in his advice.”

“I am sorry to disappoint you, Mr. Collins,” said Elizabeth, “but I have never cared for Fordyce. His writings are a relic of a bygone and less enlightened age.”

While Elizabeth might have supposed that Mary would protest such characterization, she said nothing, contenting herself with closing her book and focusing her attention on the conversation. The parson, Elizabeth noted, appeared perplexed by Elizabeth’s response.

“I am certain I do not know to what you refer, Cousin.”

“Fordyce was an idiot,” said Elizabeth, not holding back her opinion. “His views were so puritanical and restrictive that any woman who lives under them must consider her situation akin to slavery.”

“Oh, I would not go so far as that,” said Mary while Mr. Collins gave the impression of a fish.

“There is, to be certain, a pompous tone in his writings, and he is far too judgmental and restrictive to be certain, but I believe his ideas have some merit. The danger to women who do not behave themselves in our society is real.”

The significant glance Mary directed at Lydia did not escape Elizabeth’s attention, though the girl herself had no notion of it.

That was for the best, for Lydia would not take such censure without response, and Elizabeth had no desire to witness an argument.

Lydia was livelier than she ought to be, but the girl was not without restraint.

“That is a singular opinion of a man I consider enlightened!” exclaimed Mr. Collins, discovering what existed of his wits. “When you reflect on the benefits of adherence to his counsel, I am certain you will wish to reconsider your misguided stance.”

“Your assurance is unwarranted, Mr. Collins,” said Elizabeth, testier than she had intended.

The parson regarded her with suspicion. “I have seen your propensity to enjoy the written word, Cousin. Pray, tell me what you like to read.”

From this, Elizabeth expected Mr. Collins wished to deplore her tastes, decry them as unsuitable for a woman, and perhaps browbeat her into accepting his interpretation of what was proper.

In this, Elizabeth suspected he had not abandoned his hope of persuading her to his view.

If he wished to know, Elizabeth had no qualms about informing him, for his disapproval was nothing to her.

When she named a few volumes she considered favorites, the man proved her suspicions correct.

“ This is what you read?” Mr. Collins tsked and shook his head in dismay.

“I suppose it is no surprise you would consider such reading material acceptable, given the man who raised you. However, I advise you, dear cousin, to think better of it and accept my counsel to focus your attention on more worthy works, for a woman must be knowledgeable only of those things that she can understand.”

“I assure you, Mr. Collins,” scowled Elizabeth, “that I do not lack understanding. As for your comment about my father, I care little, for so long as he does not disapprove of my reading material, I shall not concern myself with your opinion.”

Haughty was the only word to describe Mr. Collins’s reaction. “Your obstinacy will do you little good, for I shall know how to act. My patroness will not endure such insolence, I assure you.”

A frisson of unease worked its way up Elizabeth’s spine, for she had heard such language before, and the implications were not at all pleasant. As Elizabeth was not about to endure his promises of retribution, she stood and glared at him.

“Unless you have forgotten—which I suppose is possible given how little you pay attention to what anyone else says—I will never be under your authority and will never so much as lay eyes on your patroness. Thus, I shall do as I like.”

With that, Elizabeth left the room, unwilling to endure the man any longer.

The desire to absent herself from the house settled in Elizabeth’s breast, and she gathered her bonnet, gloves, and spenser from Mrs. Hill and took herself out of doors to a path she often walked when unsettled.

William was to come that day, but Elizabeth judged she had enough time to work off some anger before he arrived.

For the first part of her walk, all went according to plan, though she had not yet walked far.

As her anger against Mr. Collins simmered, Elizabeth set a quick pace, skirting Longbourn village to the north and striking out on a path that would lead in a loop back to Longbourn.

How it might have gone had she continued to walk, she could not say, but after a few moments, she came to a break in the trees and stopped for a few moments to close her eyes and take in the sounds of nature, feel the sun on her face, and perhaps gain a little composure.

That was when she heard approaching footsteps.

“What do you mean by following me?” demanded Elizabeth, the white-hot furnace of her anger returning at the sight of the parson on the path behind her. “Are you witless?”

Though Mr. Collins’s glare darkened at such language, he paid no attention to it. “There is more to be done to reform your character than I thought.” The man sniffed his disdain. “If the need were not so great, I would wash my hands of you.”

The suspicion that entered her heart in the house now returned to Elizabeth. “What do you mean? My father has already told you of my engagement—there is nothing you can do, even if this need of which you speak is so urgent.”

“Urgent it is, for my patroness has required it of me, and I can do nothing but obey.”

“Your patroness is as bacon-brained as are you, Mr. Collins,” said Elizabeth, injecting every hint of insolence in her voice she could muster. “How can a woman I do not know have any interest at all in my doings?”

Fury settled, descending like a red haze over Mr. Collins, for Elizabeth’s insults did the trick. “Lady Catherine de Bourgh is the wisest, most intelligent woman in all the land! Take care to say nothing to malign her, for you will pay the price of it when we are married.”

Elizabeth watched the witless man, the truth now in the open. Lady Catherine de Bourgh was this man’s patroness? The past days of his insistence now made sense.

“We shall never be married!” spat Elizabeth. “Have you heard nothing my father has said to you?”

“Oh, we shall be married,” said the parson. Though he glared at her and tried to appear resolved, his authority was that of a constipated goat. “My patroness has required it of me.”

“You already said as much,” said Elizabeth. “What I do not understand is why she concerns herself with my doings.”

“Because you have set your sights too high. Lady Catherine intends her daughter for Mr. Darcy— she will be the mistress of his estate as has always been her destiny.”

“You speak of destiny, but you reveal yourself to be a fool! Lady Catherine intended her daughter to marry the previous Mr. Darcy, and whether he would have obliged her, I cannot say. My engagement to Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy is a longstanding connection over which Lady Catherine has no influence.”

“You will discover that she has all the influence she requires.”

“Lady Catherine is an odious woman, and you are a loathsome worm! Never shall I surrender before such madness as this.”

Mr. Collins offered a malevolent smile. “All I need to do is compromise you, then Mr. Darcy will have nothing further to do with you, leaving him free for Miss de Bourgh.”

On the heels of this pronouncement, Mr. Collins darted forward as much as his bulk would allow. As a nimble young woman, Elizabeth was far quicker, darting to the side and evading his grasping hands, though she managed to kick his shins as he went by. Mr. Collins howled in pain and rage.

Elizabeth turned to sprint down the path back toward Longbourn when a tall man appeared. The only thought she could summon was that William had come before he surged past her, grasped Mr. Collins by his lapels, and thrust him down onto the path.