Page 15 of What Comes Between Cousins
T HE CURSE OF HAVING a voluble, fatuous man in one’s company was the requirement to listen to him speak without ceasing. This Elizabeth knew to be the truth, for the example of Mr. Collins proved it beyond any hint of doubt.
While the day after the officers’ visit had continued without any deviation from the three wet days preceding it, Elizabeth found herself considering ignoring the rain and going outside, if only to avoid the odious man. While he had considered himself quite clever and fortunate to have secured the youngest sister’s hand for the first dances at the ball, his imposition on Elizabeth herself never ceased. When the day of the ball arrived, she was on the point of strangling him with his own long-winded soliloquies.
The short carriage ride to Netherfield was no exception. Elizabeth, who was situated on one side, sitting with Mary, Kitty, and Lydia on one seat, looked out the window at the passing darkness, seeing the ghostly figures of trees, rocks, and signposts slip by the moving coach. In the background, Mr. Collins kept droning on about whatever crossed his mind at any given moment, most of his comments made to Elizabeth herself. Her father rode on the box with the driver, as even seven in their carriage had been a tight fit. Besides, though it was cold outside, even that must be preferable to riding with Mr. Collins. Elizabeth almost wished she could herself.
At length, when the manor at Netherfield came into view, Elizabeth felt a momentary pang for one of her absent friends. Her time with Charlotte would have been characterized by witty remarks and intelligent conversation, with no little light teasing at the expense of the silliest of the company. Elizabeth had no doubt Charlotte would find Mr. Collins silly, indeed. And Elizabeth and Penelope would have been thick as thieves on a night such as tonight, dancing, talking, laughing, and breaking hearts without regard for the gentlemen they were spurning. It was, of course, nonsense, for Penelope had always been very well behaved. But thinking of such things, even if they were childish, was much preferable to listening to Mr. Collins.
The house was bedecked with lanterns at regular intervals along the long drive, providing light and a sense of festive welcome for those invited to the ball. Along the entrance was a line of carriages waiting to debark their passengers, and as Elizabeth gazed up toward the front of the line, she noted gentlemen and ladies making their way from the drive up the stairs and into the house, their finery fairly shining in the light of the lanterns and of the candles inside the house spilling out through the open doors.
“I must compliment Miss Bingley on her arrangements,” said Mr. Collins, as he looked out the window to the approaching house. “For a small society such as this, it is clear she could not have done much better.
“Of course, that which would adorn my patroness’s home on such an occasion would far outshine that which I see before me. Perhaps I should see if Lady Catherine would agree to provide Miss Bingley with advice. The assistance of so great a personage could only assist her as she makes her way through society.”
Elizabeth did not even bother to shake her head or roll her eyes or respond with any other indication of exasperation. The parson had not halted speaking the entire distance between the estates.
Mrs. Bennet, however, showing more discernment than Elizabeth would ever have guessed, turned to the parson. “Oh? Does her ladyship entertain often? Does she give balls which are anticipated by the majority of Kent society?”
Mr. Collins blinked. “She has not given one in the time that I have been her parson.”
“And how long has that been, Mr. Collins?”
“Nearly eight months, Mrs. Bennet.” He was attempting to make it sound impressive, but no one gave him the awed response for which he had hoped.
“I see,” replied Mrs. Bennet. “And what of the years before you became her parson? I dare say that if her ladyship is so generous and free with her advice, that she would have hosted many such events. Surely because she informs you of her nearest concerns, she would not have stinted to regale you with tales of her exploits.”
Elizabeth fairly gawked at her mother, an action which was mirrored by Mr. Collins.
“I have not heard of any.”
A raised eyebrow met his admission. “Not a one?”
“No, madam.”
“Then perhaps you would refrain from delighting us with tales of events which are, it seems, nothing more than your fancy speaking.”
Mr. Collins sputtered, obviously offended. “Lady Catherine de Bourgh is a lady of high society and one who possesses all the best virtues and capabilities. I would ask you not to denigrate her, Mrs. Bennet.”
“I do no such thing,” said Mrs. Bennet. “But the entire journey from Longbourn, we have been forced to listen to you jabber on about this and that. You will forgive me if I receive your words as idle boasts and so much drivel. Your patroness may be from a prominent family, but I am afraid I do not see in her that height of nobility which fuels your imagination.”
“How—”
“Be silent, Mr. Collins!” commanded Mrs. Bennet. “And allow us a little peace from your continual monologues.”
The parson’s mouth snapped closed, and he glared at Mrs. Bennet. The rest of the girls only watched him, their own countenances unfriendly, and when confronted by their unity, Mr. Collins did the only sensible thing Elizabeth had ever seen from him: he was not silent—his muttering prevented that blessed state of affairs—but at least he was not speaking in a voice loud enough to be heard in Meryton.
When the carriage finally stopped in front of Netherfield’s stairs, Mr. Bennet alighted from the box and opened the door himself, handing out his wife and daughters one by one. The way he smiled at his wife and his softly spoken “Well done, my dear” informed Elizabeth that he had likely heard his wife’s set down. Mr. Collins’s scowl was ignored, and after they alighted from the conveyance, the man himself was as well. Eager to escape from him, the family hurried up the stairs and into the house.
There was a lull in the receiving line, and the Bennets, after they shed their coats, went in directly and were greeted by the family. Jane was welcomed by Mr. Bingley, who clearly had eyes for no one else, and Elizabeth and her sisters received the welcome of Mrs. Hurst, who appeared truly delighted to see them. It was at this moment that Mr. Collins approached.
“Come, let me escort you into the ballroom, Cousin,” said Mr. Collins, attempting to catch Elizabeth’s arm.
“I am quite capable of walking on my own,” said Elizabeth with more asperity than good manners. Unfortunately, their exchange caught the attention of another, who shot a knowing smirk at Elizabeth.
“Is this your cousin, of whom I have heard, Eliza?” simpered Miss Bingley. “What an excellent catch for you! When am I to wish you joy?”
“On the contrary, Miss Bingley,” replied Elizabeth, “Mr. Collins is not pursuing me. But if you are interested, I will be happy to provide an introduction.”
A fierce scowl settled over the woman’s face, but Elizabeth had already turned away toward the ballroom, denying her the opportunity to respond. Jane shot her a disapproving look, and Elizabeth was forced to acknowledge that she had been less than kind to both the parson and the hostess. She could not bring herself to repine her action, however, for both had been deserving of it.
Near the entrance of the ballroom, Elizabeth caught sight of Mr. Darcy approaching her. He wore a smile, which he bestowed liberally upon her before he caught her hand and bowed over it.
“Miss Elizabeth,” said he in his deep, vibrant voice. “How enchanting you look tonight. Would you allow me to accompany you into the ballroom?”
“Of course, Mr. Darcy,” said Elizabeth. As she tucked her hand into the crook of his arm, she was struck by just how handsome he appeared in his suit and marveled at the exquisite attention he paid to her.
Then Lord Chesterfield also approached, bowing when he reached her. As he rose, he shot a look at Mr. Darcy which Elizabeth could not quite understand. Mr. Darcy looked back at his cousin, and to Elizabeth, it seemed like his expression was carefully blank. There was nothing of the camaraderie or playful jests between the cousins that she had become so accustomed to.
“Miss Elizabeth,” said Lord Chesterfield. “I have been most remiss in securing a dance this evening. Would you be so good as to allow me the second set tonight?” His eyes flicked to his cousin, and when he spoke again, his tone was harder, almost accusatory. “I understand that my cousin has already secured your first.”
“Yes, he has,” replied Elizabeth. “But unfortunately, while your cousin has secured my first, my cousin has secured my second, and as such, I cannot cede that dance to you.”
“Mr. Collins?” asked Lord Chesterfield with a frown.
When Elizabeth confirmed that it was so, he cast his eyes around. Mr. Collins had just stepped away from the receiving line where Elizabeth suspected he had been regaling Miss Bingley with anecdotes of his patroness and imagined finery at her balls, for Miss Bingley stood behind him, glaring at him with contempt. He appeared to be looking for them. Elizabeth turned her attention back to the viscount and noted his narrowed gaze in Mr. Collins’s direction. She thought for a moment that he would go to Mr. Collins and ask him to give up the set he had already asked for. While Elizabeth thought it would be somewhat officious, in the end, she decided it would be a relief, for she suspected she would not enjoy a dance with the parson.
“Then I would like your third, if I may be so bold,” said Lord Chesterfield at length, when he turned back to her.
“Of course, Lord Chesterfield,” replied Elizabeth. “It is yours.”
“Then let us enter the ballroom,” said Mr. Darcy.
He guided her into the room, his cousin falling into step with them on Elizabeth’s other side. She did not miss the exasperated glance he threw in Mr. Darcy’s direction, though when Elizabeth turned to the man escorting her, he did not give any indication that he noticed anything amiss. Elizabeth was confused. What had happened to provoke the two cousins to behave in such a manner?
They entered and stood on the side, speaking among themselves while the musicians tuned their instruments. The ballroom, which Elizabeth had not seen in some years, was decked out with finery and candles, thoughtfully placed in out of the way locations to spare the guests from dripping wax. Elizabeth was forced to own that whatever else she was, Miss Bingley seemed a competent hostess.
They had only just begun to speak when the parson hurried into the room and, espying them, shot Elizabeth a nasty look and rushed to join them. When he came within a few strides, Mr. Darcy turned, bringing him to a halt with a single imperious glance. Elizabeth was grateful—she knew the parson would not have done anything in a crowded ballroom, but he seemed like an angry father about to take a young lady to task.
“Mr. Darcy,” said the groveling minister, “it is very good of you to escort my poor cousin into the ballroom. But it was completely unnecessary, for I would have done it myself. Do not, I implore you, allow her to impose herself upon you, for a great man such as yourself has no need to put himself out in such a way.”
“Mr. Collins,” said Mr. Darcy, mimicking the parson’s mode of address, “Miss Elizabeth did not ‘impose upon me,’ nor did I consider it any trouble to escort her into the room. In fact, as I have the first dance with her tonight, I felt it my privilege to have the good fortune to enter the ballroom with her on my arm.”
Elizabeth colored at his obvious words of approbation, but Mr. Collins, as was his custom, missed the dangerous note in Mr. Darcy’s voice.
“Ah, yes, I wished to speak to you of that. You are very good to favor my poor cousin. It speaks to your noble upbringing and character, I am sure. But it is also not necessary. If you feel you have made an error in judgment by offering to partner Miss Elizabeth for the first sets, I would be happy to step in for you.”
“Are you not to dance the first with Lydia, Mr. Collins?” asked Elizabeth.
“Perhaps I am,” replied Mr. Collins. “But I am certain Cousin Lydia would be happy to dance with Mr. W—” Mr. Collins checked himself at the last moment. “With one of the officers instead.”
“Yes, Darcy,” said Lord Chesterfield, a note of sardonic amusement in his tone. “Give up your sets to the inestimable Mr. Collins.”
Mr. Darcy did not even bother to glance at his cousin. “No, I will not give them up. A gentleman, Mr. Collins, does not renege on an offer to dance by giving his sets up to another.” When the parson attempted to speak again, Mr. Darcy cut him off. “Do not ask me again, sir. Miss Elizabeth has agreed to dance with me, and I will not disappoint her by withdrawing.”
The thought crossed Elizabeth’s mind that she would be disappointed if Mr. Darcy had decided against dancing with her. She was not able to pursue that thought, however, as the music for the first sets began, and before the parson could say anything further, Mr. Darcy escorted her to the floor. Elizabeth left to the sight of two men, both glaring after them—Mr. Collins at her and Lord Chesterfield at Mr. Darcy. Mr. Collins, however, suddenly seemed to recall that he was to dance with Lydia and hurried off in search of her. Lord Chesterfield only continued to watch them.
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I T SHOULD NOT BE SUPPOSED that Louisa Hurst would be able to escape her sister’s ill humors, even at such an event as a ball hosted by their brother. No, in fact, Caroline was in fine form that evening, and as Hurst was generally not inclined to dance much—and to own the truth, Louisa was not very fond of the activity herself—she found herself standing by the side of the dance floor with her sister for company. In fact, Louisa had been behaving more like the mistress of the estate than her sister, as Caroline was too busy watching the cousins, annoyed that she had not been asked to dance by either.
“Look at her!” sneered Caroline, gesturing vaguely at Elizabeth. “Looking about her with smugness because she somehow managed to trick Mr. Darcy into dancing the first set with her.”
Louisa knew Caroline was upset because she had never managed the same feat with Mr. Darcy. The man had stubbornly refused to even look her way, and only danced with her, Louisa suspected, because he felt it his duty to pay respect to his friend’s sister, whether she deserved it or not.
“Why should it bother you if she dances with Mr. Darcy? Have you not set your sights on the viscount?”
Her eyes shifted to Lord Chesterfield, and her expression soured further. “Perhaps I have not given him enough of an opportunity,” mused Caroline.
Privately, Louisa suspected that Lord Chesterfield simply did not consider her to be a potential bride. Oh, he engaged her much more than Mr. Darcy ever did, but it was all superficial, with no true depth or meaning.
“And all these officers,” said Caroline with a disgusted wave at the crowd dotted with red coats. “Why would Charles invite all this riffraff to our ball?”
“Army service is a respectable occupation, Caroline.”
Caroline grunted but changed the subject. “Look at that man over there.”
Following her sister’s motion, Louisa saw a single officer standing by the side of the room, watching the proceedings. He was tall and handsome, Louisa supposed, though not truly the type of man she would consider especially attractive. Furthermore, he seemed to exist in a kind of a bubble, with no one standing nearby. Several times as they watched, officers would either walk past him or glance at him before looking away in disgust. And he was alternately looking between Mr. Darcy, dancing with Miss Elizabeth, and Lord Chesterfield, standing alone, watching the couple, his expression showing clear revulsion.
“I wonder if he would be a useful acquaintance,” mused Caroline, only moments after referring to the officers as “riffraff.”
“I think you would do well to leave him be,” said Louisa.
But Caroline did not listen. She wandered away, ostensibly to mingle with the crowd of local gentry when in reality she was making her way toward the lone officer in a manner which could only be called open stealth. Louisa shook her head—she did not know what the man was about, but if the other officers shunned him, it would be best to leave him be. But Caroline would be Caroline, and Louisa could do nothing about her sister. Indeed, she was long past the point of even trying.
Instead, Louisa began mingling among the crowd herself, asking after the comfort of their guests, speaking, listening, and generally being a good hostess. It was what Caroline should have been doing.
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W HEN THE MUSIC STARTED , Elizabeth began moving the steps of the dance with Mr. Darcy, gliding through the motions so well known to her. While she noted that Mr. Darcy was a skilled dancer, indeed, her thoughts were fixed upon other matters, and his prowess was nothing more than a minor thought in the back of her mind. She was much more interested in considering what she had seen, particularly between the cousins, that evening, wondering at their behavior. It was so out of character from what she had seen of them previously that she could hardly make any sense of it.
But one did not simply ask such questions of one’s partner. Mr. Darcy, Elizabeth had come to realize, was a good man, but his patience would be tested by an overly curious dance partner. So she stayed quiet and danced with the man, noting his own quietude, the way he regarded her with his calm interest. Was there admiration in that gaze? Elizabeth could not be certain. But she thought she saw a glimmer of interest. Perhaps that was enough for the present.
“I must say, Miss Elizabeth,” said Mr. Darcy when they had been dancing for some minutes, “I am quite surprised and perhaps a little worried.”
“Oh?” asked Elizabeth, his sudden comment surprising her. “Why would that be, sir?”
“Only that I witnessed you dancing at the assembly the night we first met, and I cannot remember you remaining silent for this long.”
Elizabeth could not help but laugh. “Perhaps you are correct. But why are you worried?”
“There are only three things which I can think of to which to attribute your inability to speak, and two of them could be construed as an indictment on your partner.”
Though she protested, Mr. Darcy only smiled and winked at her. Elizabeth was in awe—Mr. Darcy appeared to be flirting with her!
“I shall tell you my conjectures, and you may inform me if I am correct.” Elizabeth grinned and nodded. “The first possibility is that you simply do not know me well enough and do not know what to say. That is likely, as those men with whom you danced at the assembly must be known to you. The second is that you find me either a bore or not worth expending the effort to converse. The third is that you actively dislike me, and do not wish to speak. If it is the second or third, then I must apologize for imposing my presence upon you.”
Again, Elizabeth laughed. “Perhaps it is simply that my mind wandered to some other subject, Mr. Darcy.”
“Is that not also a mark against me?” asked Mr. Darcy. “Am I so dull that you cannot even talk to me about the weather?”
“No, indeed!” cried Elizabeth. “It is none of those things. Perhaps there are those who talk without cessation about nothing at all, but I hope that I am not one of those. I think we have spoken enough to know that I do not find you one I cannot esteem. I believe we have simply not hit on a subject about which we may converse with any degree of skill.”
“Hmm, then perhaps it is incumbent upon me to provide us with the appropriate material.”
Elizabeth opened her mouth to respond, but at that moment there was a sharp cry down the line and confusion reigned for a moment. Still continuing in the steps, Elizabeth looked down to the other end and noticed that a young woman was being helped off the floor, the black crow-like form of her cousin hovering over her. It was Lydia and Mr. Collins.
“Did you see what happened?” asked Elizabeth, turning back to her partner. With the departure of the couple, the line had once again settled into the rhythm of the dance.
“I am afraid I did not, Miss Elizabeth. I found myself rather busy, contemplating a young lady nearby, one who makes even the most mundane subjects the most interesting I have ever heard.”
“And who is this young lady?” asked Elizabeth with an arch of her eyebrow.
Mr. Darcy showed her a mysterious smile. “Ask me another time, Miss Elizabeth. It is possible I have underestimated her appeal. I would not wish to do her anything other than the justice she deserves.
“Now, I understand you are a great reader. May I ask after what you have read recently?”
“Books in a ballroom, Mr. Darcy?” asked Elizabeth. “Do you not find your mind too full to consider such subjects?”
“My mind is full, Miss Elizabeth. But I believe I can carry on such a conversation credibly, as long as it is with you.”
The inference in his words set Elizabeth to blushing. But she would not be overawed—thus, she answered his question, and they began to speak. And what a conversation it was! They were largely inattentive to anything else happening in the room as they spoke of their likes and dislikes, gave their opinions of what they had read, and informed each other of some works they had not read.
Elizabeth had been a member of society since she was fifteen, and now that she was twenty, she had attained a reputation for cleverness and wit. Even so, she still noticed that many men listened to her with the indulgent smiles of an adult for a child, or used patronizing words, complimenting her for her wit. At times it almost seemed to her like the praise of a boy for his dog.
Mr. Darcy did none of those things. They often agreed, and when they did, each shared insights that perhaps the other had not considered. Elizabeth came away feeling like she had learned something new and thought Mr. Darcy experienced the same. And when they disagreed, they each stated their opinion rationally, the other listening carefully. Once, Elizabeth was even able to elicit the comment that her reasoning had caused Mr. Darcy to reconsider his position. She had never had such an experience before, even from those who claimed to be the most impressed with her intellect! By the time the strains of music fell silent, Elizabeth was surprised the time had passed so quickly and was not eager to lose the company of this man.
“Thank you for an enlightening time, Miss Elizabeth,” replied Mr. Darcy. “I believe I shall go back and read that passage in Paradise Lost , for I suspect your interpretation might be the superior.”
“At least you own it,” said Elizabeth, shooting him an arch grin.
Mr. Darcy only laughed. “I have the feeling, Miss Elizabeth, that life could never be dull when in company with you.” They halted at the side of the room. “I believe there are a few moments before the next dance begins. Shall I fetch us both cups of punch?”
Elizabeth gave him a shy smile. “I believe I would like that, Mr. Darcy.”
He bowed and turned away, moving toward the refreshment table, Elizabeth watching him go, wondering what his manners tonight could mean. For the first time, she felt the fluttering in her heart and wondered if it was being touched by this man. And his feelings? Did his manners show anything other than polite interest? Did she dare even hope?
The confused muddle set her head to spinning, and she turned her attention to other matters, deliberately deciding to leave such ruminations behind. Not far from where she stood, she noticed that Lydia had taken a seat on a nearby chair, her foot propped up on another chair with Mrs. Bennet in attendance. Not far away, Mr. Bennet stood speaking with Mr. Collins, and from what Elizabeth could see of their conversation, her father was not happy about something.
“Oh, Lizzy!” cried Lydia when she saw Elizabeth approaching. “It is in every way horrible!”
“What happened, Lydia?” asked Elizabeth.
“Mr. Collins is a truly ghastly man; that is what happened!”
Elizabeth looked at her mother, but Mrs. Bennet only grimaced and turned her attention back to Lydia. She massaged Lydia’s ankle through the girl’s stockings. Lydia winced a little, but she was far too incensed to give much thought to her mother’s ministrations.
“Perhaps you would clarify your meaning, Lydia. What happened?”
“Mr. Collins is what happened,” hissed Lydia. The girl was so angry that tears began to leak out of the corners of her eyes. “He is the worst dancer one could possibly imagine! He moved wrong and seemed to think it was necessary to stop and apologize every time he did so, which meant he never did truly dance. Then when I tried to correct his movements, he berated me for presuming to instruct him. Then he stepped on my toes and caused me to fall.”
“She seems to have a bit of a sprain,” said Mrs. Bennet.
Lydia keened her frustration. “Now I shall be forced to miss the fun of the dancing.”
“There, there, my dear,” said Mrs. Bennet, patting Lydia’s knee. “I dare say it will improve quickly, though you will need to take care when you move.”
Elizabeth looked at her mother gravely, and when Mrs. Bennet shook her head, Elizabeth sighed. She knew there likely would not be any more dancing for Lydia that night, and the girl would be almost unbearable for the next several days because of it.
“Well, what do we have here?” asked Mr. Jones the apothecary, as he approached from the other side of the ballroom, trailing Kitty who had obviously been sent to fetch him.
When directed, Mr. Jones knelt beside Lydia and asked her a few questions. Mr. Bennet approached, an obviously chastened Mr. Collins hanging back looking anywhere but at Lydia, and said a few words to Mr. Bennet, after which Mr. Bennet signaled for a nearby footman to bear Lydia to another room so her foot could be examined properly. Elizabeth watched them go, but her mind was on another matter altogether. Mr. Collins had been so insistent about Lydia and Elizabeth reaching above themselves. Had he somehow contrived to injure Lydia to prevent her from dancing with either man?