Page 14 of What Comes Between Cousins

W HEN MR. COLLINS RENEWED his efforts to distract Elizabeth, it did not take much to discern that something significant had happened. The question, of course, was what. Elizabeth had thought she had put the parson off enough to ensure he would step back for at least some little time. How wrong she was.

“Cousin Elizabeth!” exclaimed he, interrupting an interesting conversation she was having with Captain Carter. “Cousin Elizabeth! I believe I must speak to you concerning a most important matter.”

Though loath to give up her current discussion, Elizabeth was left with no choice when the captain grimaced and shrugged, turning to one of his fellow officers—who was speaking to Mary—and joining their conversation. Elizabeth glared at him for his betrayal, but then Mr. Collins was in front of her.

“I have had an epiphany, Cousin—a notion surely provided from on high. You see, I was thinking of the situation before us, and it occurred to me that you are not truly attempting to steer Mr. Darcy away from his rightful bride.”

“Of course, I am not,” replied Elizabeth, disgusted with the parson for once again bringing this matter up. “I have been telling you all along.”

“Marvelous!” exclaimed he. “I tender my apologies, Cousin, for I had not thought of the matter properly. Moreover, since I have now seen the situation for what it is, and I am certain you do not wish to be misunderstood, I believe it would be best to encourage Mr. Darcy to give me your first dance at the ball. You would not wish for Mr. Darcy to misunderstand, I am sure.”

“And I am sure there is no misunderstanding,” snapped Elizabeth, her patience exhausted with the silly parson. “Mr. Darcy asked me to dance, Mr. Collins—not the reverse. I will not be so rude as to refuse to dance with him now, nor will I be so improper as to insist he pass those dances to another.”

Mr. Collins opened his mouth to retort when he paused, a look of deep thought settling over his face. At length, he said, though grudgingly: “It would be rude, I suppose.”

“Indeed, it would,” said Elizabeth, hoping this would be the end of the matter.”

“I did not consider it in that light, Cousin. No, I would not wish you to be rude to such a great man.”

“I am happy you have seen the light, Mr. Collins.”

“Indeed, I have. Now, since I certainly cannot obtain the first, I believe I would like to ensure that I have your second, Cousin, if you will promise it to me.”

Elizabeth felt the desire to gnash her teeth, and she wondered if she could somehow induce him to sprain his ankle, thereby relegating him to the side of the dance floor. But there was nothing for it, so she agreed to his request. The beaming smile which appeared on his ugly countenance gave Elizabeth the irrational desire to slap him.

“If you will excuse me, Mr. Collins,” said Elizabeth, thinking to escape from him.

“I have seen the light,” said Mr. Collins, and when Elizabeth began to walk away, the parson only followed her. “It is clear to me that you are clever, my dear cousin. When I take you to the parsonage, I do not doubt I will be gaining the most exquisite jewel. I can hardly wait.”

A longsuffering sigh escaped Elizabeth’s breast, but she had not the stamina to withstand his proclamations again. She instead settled for simply ignoring him, hoping he would go away soon enough. But the parson was indefatigable and could not be moved from her side. So Elizabeth resigned herself to his continued presence. But she did not take a seat—she would not allow him to claim the intimacy of sitting together.

It was as they were standing in this attitude, Mr. Collins speaking without cessation and Elizabeth ignoring him, that she noticed another change she had not noticed earlier. Lydia, who had been speaking with Lieutenants Sanderson and Denny in Kitty’s company, was now the recipient of Mr. Wickham’s attention. And from the look of things, the man was flirting outrageously with her. Stupid Lydia, having forgotten her father’s edicts at the first sign of attention from the man, was flirting in return.

“I see you have noticed the lieutenant’s attentions toward your sister,” said the voice of Mr. Collins, piercing Elizabeth’s annoyance. “He is such a respectable man. Do you know he owned his culpability in the matter which lies between himself and Mr. Darcy? Few men possess the courage to accept their portion of the blame, even when deserved, so readily.”

“I am sure he has, Mr. Collins,” said Elizabeth.

She directed a withering glare at Mr. Collins, which caught the parson by surprise, Elizabeth crossed the room to where the housekeeper was speaking with Elizabeth’s mother.

“Mrs. Hill, would you please have my father summoned here at once?”

The housekeeper noted the serious cast of Elizabeth’s countenance and nodded. Mrs. Bennet looked at Elizabeth curiously.

“I believe, Mama, we should have called Father when Mr. Wickham first arrived. Now he is flirting with Lydia.”

Whatever discussion her mother had been having with Mrs. Hill, it was apparent it had distracted her. She turned to look at Lydia, and a frown settled over her face. A moment later the door to the sitting-room opened. Mr. Bennet had come.

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I T WAS NOT OFTEN THAT Bennet was called from his bookroom. His family knew of his disinclination for company, and while he attempted to endure society for their sake, the calls of visitors were not something he enjoyed. Mrs. Hill had brought him word of the officers’ coming, but Bennet, knowing his youngest daughters—and likely his wife—would be in full-throated raptures over their coming, had decided not to make an appearance himself.

A summons from Elizabeth, however, was not a trifling matter. As the most sensible of his daughters, he had a healthy respect for her judgment. If she thought he was needed, he knew he should attend his family as quickly as possible.

As it was, the worry in his daughter’s mien was enough to raise his concern, and he hurried to her to find out what was the matter. His toad of a cousin was hovering about her, but Bennet knew she was more than capable of handling him , so he simply ignored the man.

“What is it, Lizzy?”

In response, Elizabeth nodded to the other side of the room and said: “Your youngest is behaving quite inappropriately, and the subject of her attention is none other than Lieutenant Wickham.”

Following her gesture, Bennet turned and looked at the gentleman. He was partially turned away from where they stood, but Bennet could easily see that he was tall and lean, dark-haired, likely handsome enough to catch the eye of his youngest and silliest daughter. And their flirting was far more than Bennet could tolerate. His mouth tightened when he saw Lydia lean forward and brush her hand against this Wickham’s. The silly girl! And this after he had already warned her against the man!

Filled with determination, Bennet stalked over to the oblivious couple and cleared his throat. Lydia’s eyes found him and must have immediately remembered, for her countenance turned pale. For his part, Wickham only turned lazily with an insouciant and uncaring look of boredom.

“Lydia, I can see you are enjoying the company of our guests. Will you not do me the honor of introducing me to your friend?”

The girl perked up at the request. “Of course, Papa. This is Mr. Wickham, newly of the regiment. Mr. Wickham, my father, Mr. Bennet.”

“Good day to you, Mr. Bennet,” said the militia officer. His tone of voice was all amiability “I am happy to make the acquaintance of the enchanting Miss Lydia’s father.”

Bennet directed a faint smile at the officer, then turned back to his wayward daughter. “Lydia, it seems to me that you have forgotten the matter we discussed only a few days ago. Can I assume this man approached you?”

“Yes, Papa.”

She was chastened; at least that was something. “Have you anything else to tell me?”

Though she appeared to wish otherwise, she sighed and said: “Mr. Wickham asked me for the first dance at Mr. Bingley’s ball.”

“Did he?” asked Bennet, his gaze returning slowly to Mr. Wickham. The man was cool, for he only smiled at Lydia, prompting a wary look in response.

“Lydia, please go to your sister, Elizabeth. I believe I need to speak with Mr. Wickham.”

Lydia curtseyed and fled. It was an unfortunate trial on Bennet’s nerves when her place was taken by his senseless cousin.

“May I be of assistance?”

“No.” Mr. Collins started at the curt response. “I have no need of your assistance, Mr. Collins. I will speak with Mr. Wickham alone.”

It seemed Mr. Collins was thinking of insisting, but he turned away, which was fortunate for Bennet’s peace of mind. Putting the silly man from his thoughts, Bennet turned his sights on Mr. Wickham, noting the man’s look of polite interest. He had clearly played the game for many years, for his expressions were practiced and easy.

“Now, about this matter of your asking my youngest for her first sets at Mr. Bingley’s ball.”

“The first sets!” screeched his wife. Unbeknownst to Bennet, she had also followed him to where he was speaking to Mr. Wickham and was now watching the man with mixed loathing and consternation. “But I was certain she would be asked by Lor—” Mrs. Bennet swallowed thickly. “I mean she already has someone with whom to dance the first.”

“Mrs. Bennet,” said Bennet with exaggerated patience. “Please allow me to handle this matter. You will not be displeased with the outcome.”

His wife regarded him for a moment before she nodded and returned to her chair. Bennet glared about, noting the position of his daughters, along with the visiting officers. While his girls likely knew what he was about, the interruptions had brought the attention of the officers to them.

But there was nothing to be done on the matter, so he turned back to Mr. Wickham. “Well, Mr. Wickham? Am I correct?”

“You are, sir. Is there some problem? Your daughter is out, is she not?”

“She is,” replied Bennet, “though I must own that I am questioning the wisdom of that state of affairs. In answer to your question, however, yes, there is a problem.”

“And what might that be?”

“The fact that it was you who asked her, sir.” Mr. Wickham feigned affront, but Bennet was not about to allow him to claim ill use. “Come, sir, let us be open. I am aware of your history and your offenses in the other neighborhoods in which you have resided. I would advise you not to attempt such behavior in Meryton.”

“It seems another has attempted to besmirch my good name,” said a mournful Mr. Wickham. “I might have thought Darcy would leave me be now that he has reduced me to this state.”

Bennet was amused by the man—not fooled. “Mr. Darcy offered to provide proof of his assertions, including references who would vouch for his trustworthiness. If you would prove his words false, all you must do is provide similar proof.”

“And you would believe me before you believe a rich man?”

“I am not blinded by wealth, sir. I believe I am as objective as the next man and would be forced to give your words the consideration they deserve, should they prove to contradict with what I have already been told. So I ask again: are you prepared to provide proof against those allegations which have been made against you?”

“Spurious documents may be produced which will say anything such a wealthy man wished them to say.”

“In other words: no.” Mr. Bennet fixed Wickham with a sardonic grin, and the other man’s lips tightened in response. “Now that we have that out of the way, let us return to our original discussion. As I said, I know how you have conducted yourself in other neighborhoods, sir. But you will not have the opportunity to do the same here. I require you to leave my girls strictly alone. They have been instructed not to speak to you, not to respond when you speak, and to avoid you at all times. In these prohibitions, I include any dancing at any function. Lydia will not be dancing with you at Mr. Bingley’s ball, sir. Do not ask any of my other daughters to dance either.”

Mr. Wickham’s eyes glittered his hate and fury. “The request has already been submitted and accepted, sir. Would you have your daughter sit out the entire night?”

“As her guardian, I am forbidding it,” snapped Bennet. “As such, there is no requirement for her to sit out. I am certain she will have no trouble finding other young men with whom to dance. She has a talent for dancing—is one of Meryton’s finest dancers, I am sure.”

“I beg you to reconsider, sir. I mean your daughters no harm.”

“I have no notion as to what your intentions tend, sir. But I will not take the chance.”

Quite deliberately, Bennet reached down into his waistcoat pocket and pulled out his watch, noting the time. “Now, if I am not mistaken, I believe the time for your visit has elapsed.”

“I believe it has,” replied Captain Carter, who had approached them at the sight of the tense standoff. “Pardon me, Mr. Bennet, but though I have heard something of Wickham’s character, I hardly think this is required. Can you not tell me what you have against Lieutenant Wickham?”

“Please ask your commanding officer, Captain,” replied Bennet. “He has been provided with all the particulars. The sooner he disseminates the details to you and your colleagues, the better.”

Captain Carter was obviously not happy, but he nodded once, a short, clipped motion. Bennet was not concerned with the captain’s displeasure; his attention was once again focused on Lieutenant Wickham. The lieutenant must have more than his share of luck, for it was clear he had never been challenged in such a manner.

“When you leave Longbourn, Mr. Wickham, do not return. I have tried not to make a scene, but I will not tolerate your presence here. If you attempt to darken my door again, you will be denied entrance.”

Wickham gave a jerky nod, and when a subdued group of officers said their farewells, Mr. Wickham only stood and glared at all and sundry. Bennet stood nearby, ensuring the man’s good behavior. When the officers left the sitting-room, Bennet followed them. Though perhaps it was not necessary, he wished to ensure Wickham was gone and would not return.

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C HARLES BINGLEY WAS a man who despised conflict of every sort, which was why that night at Netherfield was a trial for his sensibilities.

“Darcy,” greeted Bingley when he met the others of his party that evening before dinner. “It has been a lovely day, has it not?”

Bingley had always been able to determine when his friend was amused at his ability to see the best part of any situation, for his countenance assumed an indulgent smile, which he wore at present. It was not patronizing, but an expression of true amusement and pleasure. Bingley relished the fact that he was able to lift his friend’s spirits.

“I suppose the lessening of the rain for a time was welcome,” replied Darcy. “It did, of course, begin to rain again soon after, so I suppose any benefit we derived was fleeting.”

On the other side of Darcy, the viscount snorted. “Trust you, Darcy, to put a damper on any measure of bright spirits.”

“Merely an observation,” replied Darcy, seemingly unruffled by his cousin’s harsh words.

Bingley frowned and looked between them. The viscount was watching Darcy with a certain level of asperity, shaking his head at Darcy’s answer to Bingley’s comment, while Darcy was doing a credible job of ignoring it. Bingley had never so much as seen the cousins exchange anything remotely unfriendly. And yet here was Lord Chesterfield sniping at his cousin as if they were enemies.

“Well, I am assured that the weather will improve tomorrow,” said Bingley. It was best if he just ignored what passed between the two men. “It is only two days until the ball. I would hope it will dry out a little before then.”

“That sounds suspiciously like a wish rather than an expectation,” said Lord Chesterfield.

“Perhaps it is,” replied Bingley, not affronted in the slightest. “But I have often found that if I find reasons to be happy, life is much easier to bear. Would you not agree?”

It was curious when Lord Chesterfield’s gaze shot to Darcy before he answered. “Perhaps it makes life easier to bear, Bingley. But it does nothing to improve the present.”

“No, you are correct there. But then, my attitude is much better, which makes all the difference.”

Into this peculiar mix of ill feelings between the cousins, Bingley’s own family entered, Caroline sweeping in as if she were a duchess, while Louisa followed with Hurst, watching her sister warily. That Bingley could well understand—Caroline needed to be watched at all times, for she was almost always contemplating some intrigue.

“Mr. Darcy, Lord Chesterfield,” said she in greeting, “how do you do today?”

“Miss Bingley,” said Darcy, while Lord Chesterfield only nodded and informed her that he was well. Caroline did not seem to hear them, for she began to speak, regaling them with tales of her day, what she had done to prepare for the ball, all likely designed to show them what a wonderful hostess she was. Darcy was outwardly attentive, while his faraway gaze clearly showed him to be thinking of something else. Nor did Lord Chesterfield even bother to make any pretension toward attending Caroline’s words. It did not matter to Bingley’s sister, however, for she kept speaking as if every word which emerged from her mouth was eagerly anticipated by both gentlemen.

When they were called into dinner, Caroline rose and directed a sly look at the viscount. “Shall we, my lord?”

“Of course, Miss Bingley,” said he, rising and offering his arm.

They entered the dining room, and dinner was served. Through it all, Caroline continued her monologue, albeit neither man appeared to hear one word in ten. But the little undercurrents between Darcy and Lord Chesterfield were still there as the men directed surreptitious glares at each other regularly. Or maybe it was correct to say the glares were mostly on Lord Chesterfield’s side, for Darcy ignored them more often than not.

Though Bingley could not understand it, he decided that it did not signify. Their closeness was such that they would soon move past any disagreement, Bingley was certain. Instead, there were far more pleasant subjects of which to think, particularly the upcoming ball and the dances he would share with Miss Bennet. Now that was a much more agreeable topic to snare a man’s attention.

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I T SEEMED THE ONE PERSON at Longbourn who did not understand that Lydia had been forbidden from dancing with Mr. Wickham was Mr. Collins. Of course, that was not exactly surprising, considering the man’s general inability to understand much of anything. Thus, when he learned the truth of the matter, he made a scene of it, as Elizabeth might have expected.

“I am certain you will enjoy it very much, indeed, Cousin,” said Mr. Collins as they were in the sitting-room before being called to dinner. “Though I have not known Mr. Wickham for long, I flatter myself that I am a good judge of character. He is an exceptional man, one who would be a good match for a young woman of your station.”

Though Elizabeth was wondering if the parson was jesting, Lydia only shrugged and turned back to Kitty. It was clear that she felt a little distressed at being forbidden to dance with such a handsome man, but Elizabeth thought she would recover when she was once again in the company of the officers.

“It seems to me like you have missed an important communication, Mr. Collins,” said Elizabeth.

Mr. Collins turned to Elizabeth and fixed her with that superior smile he always wore. “I assure you, my dear cousin, that I am fully cognizant of everything which is happening in this house. Indeed, though, perhaps, you and your family have attempted to keep certain facts from me and ignored me at other times, I am far more aware than you can imagine.”

“Ah, so you know that Mr. Darcy himself informed us of Mr. Wickham’s untrustworthy, immoral nature.”

“Nothing but a misunderstanding, Cousin,” said Mr. Collins. He waved his hand as if swatting ineffectually at a gnat. “My patroness’s nephews are the best of men, and that includes a spirit of forgiveness which inspires those for whom true nobility is a gift given from God. In fact, I have heard of this matter which lies between them, and I am confident in asserting that it is in the past. Mr. Darcy, perhaps, does not wish to be in company with Mr. Wickham—which is understandable—but you cannot expect so great a man to be anything less than forgiving to a childhood companion.”

“That is interesting, for, as I said, Mr. Darcy told us himself that Mr. Wickham was not to be trusted.”

“You must have mistaken his meaning. I am convinced that Mr. Wickham is sorry for his former conduct and eager to re-establish his character. Cousin Lydia could do little better than an alliance with such a man.”

“Is that so, Cousin?”

Mr. Collins missed the dangerous note in Mr. Bennet’s tone, but Elizabeth did not. Her father was watching the parson, but there was little of joviality or friendliness in his manner. In fact, her father was as displeased as Elizabeth had ever seen.

“Of course, sir. It is a match more of her station than others to which she has aspired. And Mr. Wickham is affable and kind—a true gentleman, in spirit, if not in standing.”

“Let me see if I understand, Mr. Collins,” replied Mr. Bennet. “You think my daughter, who is the scion of a long line of gentlemen, is a ‘good match’ for a young man who is not only a libertine and rake, but naught but the son of a steward. Is that what you are saying?”

Though belatedly, it seemed Mr. Collins had finally realized that Mr. Bennet was not amused. He also seemed to understand that his assertions were not so perfect as he had contended.

“Well . . . You see . . .” Mr. Collins ceased his stammering and looked at Mr. Bennet, then cast his gaze upon the entire family. He obviously did not like what he saw, for he turned away and muttered to himself.

“I am sorry, Mr. Collins, but I did not quite hear what you said. Might I trouble you to repeat it, so we all may hear? I find your observations fascinating.”

“Perhaps I was a little hasty,” replied Mr. Collins. “He is, indeed, a good young man, but I suppose your daughter is in a position to expect more from a marriage.”

“The second part of your speech is the first sensible thing you have said since you arrived. The first does not bear discussion, for I believe Elizabeth has already informed you, and you refused to hear.” Mr. Collins scowled, but Mr. Bennet took no notice. Instead, he regarded his youngest daughters and bestowed a soft smile on them. “My youngest girls are a little trying at times, but they are good girls. I wish them to be happy in marriage, Mr. Collins, and I am assured they will not be so should one of them be so unfortunate as to marry Mr. Wickham. Either way, they are far above him in society’s eyes, and I will not have them make so unequal a marriage.”

“Of course, sir,” replied Mr. Collins, seemingly eager to leave the conversation behind. “Then my dear cousin will simply need to be content with enjoying Mr. Wickham’s company at the ball.”

“Again, Mr. Collins, you are incorrect. It appears you have heard nothing my Lizzy has said.”

“I cannot understand what you mean, Cousin,” replied the parson. “Why would I listen to her, when she is obviously holding some grudge against Mr. Wickham?”

“Because she has been telling you the truth, Mr. Collins. Though I find it difficult to understand, it is clear to me that you are the only person at Longbourn who does not know that I forbid Lydia from dancing with Mr. Wickham.”

“Forbid?” demanded Mr. Collins aghast.

“ All my daughters have been forbidden from dancing with him.”

“But, Mr. Bennet, have you not heard what I have told you?”

“I have heard far too much of what you have to say,” replied Mr. Bennet. “It is unsurprising, I suppose, since your conversation is nothing less than ubiquitous.”

Mr. Collins appeared lost for words, the first time Elizabeth had ever seen him in such straits. He glanced at Lydia and then at Elizabeth herself. She scowled at the man, knowing exactly what he was thinking. Then his countenance changed, and he appeared to brighten.

“In that case, I shall submit my request to partner for your first set, Cousin Lydia, since you are not to dance with Mr. Wickham. I myself am free, as I am to dance the second with your sister, Elizabeth.”

“Ugh,” said Lydia, an expression of utmost disgust coming over her countenance. “I would not wish to dance with you—”

“You may wish to rethink your words, Lydia,” interjected Mr. Bennet. “You are aware that if you refuse a dance, you must sit out for the rest of the evening.”

Elizabeth almost laughed at the utter consternation which came over Lydia, even as Mr. Collins appeared more than a little smug. Elizabeth shook her head—why one would think it a victory to have a woman’s guardian force her to dance with him was beyond Elizabeth’s understanding.

“But, Papa!” exclaimed Lydia. “You did not make me dance with Mr. Wickham!”

“That was a different situation, as you well know. Mr. Wickham has no business being in the company with any young lady. My cousin, though you may not favor him, can at least be trusted with you for a dance. Do you still wish to refuse?”

It was clear Lydia wished for nothing more than to refuse to dance with Mr. Collins, but understanding her father was implacable, she only shook her head and turned back to Kitty. Mr. Collins, for his part, had an expression of satisfaction when he looked at the girl. Elizabeth could not understand him. Therefore, she did not even attempt it.