Page 8 of What Comes Between Cousins
I T IS OFTEN SAID THAT every family contains at least one objectionable member, one whose behavior embarrasses the rest or who possesses eccentricities which make his presence a trial. Elizabeth had always assumed that her family’s objectionable member was her mother; even Lydia, with the right guidance, would be more tolerable than she was at present. Unfortunately, Elizabeth was to learn how mistaken she was, for Mrs. Bennet could not hold a candle on a scale of what was objectionable to a man she had never met. Would that such circumstances could continue indefinitely!
The first indication any of them had that this man was to visit was when their father mentioned the matter only days after the eldest sisters’ return from Netherfield. That he did it in a manner seemingly designed to cause his family to react was not missed by Elizabeth, but she did not expect anything different from him.
When Mrs. Bennet learned that the objectionable future master of Longbourn was to attend them, her reaction was entirely predictable. “Mr. Collins is coming here?” Her voice approached a shriek, and Elizabeth was witness to more than one wince in response. “Can he not wait until you are cold in your grave to come and gloat over us?”
“Apparently, he cannot, Mrs. Bennet,” replied her husband. “If you were to read his letter, however, I suspect you may be a little softened toward his coming.”
Mr. Bennet stood and approached around the dinner table, holding a folded sheet of paper in his hand. His wife looked at it as if she expected it to rear up and bite her. Eventually, however, she took it and opened it, albeit gingerly. Her daughters watched her with baited breath as she read through the missive, but at length when she set the paper down on the table beside her, she was calmer than she had been a moment later. For the rest of the meal, she remained silent and contemplative. Elizabeth was not certain whether this was a good sign. But since it silenced her mother’s lamentations on the subject, she found herself content.
When Mr. Collins’s carriage proceeded down Longbourn’s drive the following day, the sisters were afire with curiosity concerning the arrival of the gentlemen. When the man stepped out, he revealed himself to be a tall, heavyset man of perhaps thirty years, his black hair balding in the back, his manners solemn and ponderous, and his conduct a curious mix of servility and pomposity. He had not been in the house for ten minutes before Elizabeth realized he was an abject dullard, who likely had not ever had an original thought during the entire course of his life.
“What a lovely home you have, Mrs. Bennet!” said he when they all gathered in the sitting-room later that evening. Dinner had been a tiresome affair, with Mr. Collins regaling them all with tales of his situation and patroness, proving his love for the sound of his own voice. After dinner would, no doubt, prove to be equally unpleasant.
“Thank you, Mr. Collins,” replied Mrs. Bennet. “It is not much, but Longbourn is our home, and we are prodigiously fond of it.”
“On the contrary, Mrs. Bennet,” said the man expansively, “I have never seen such a happily situated home, and it is clear the décor you have chosen compliments your family very well, indeed.”
Then Mr. Collins paused, and an expression of abject mortification stole over his features. He cast his glance about as if he expected someone to appear out of thin air and chastise him. When no one was in evidence, he turned his gaze back to the Bennet matron and gave her a sickly smile.
“I should say, actually, that Longbourn is one of the happiest homes I have ever seen, for no manor house could ever truly compare with the home of my patroness, Lady Catherine de Bourgh. Rosings Park, her home, is truly without equal in the entire width and breadth of all England.”
“Is that so?” asked Mr. Bennet, his eyes gleaming with amusement. “A home even greater than Chatsworth or Blenheim? It must be a sight to see.”
Mr. Collins’s head nodded so swiftly that it seemed like it was attached to his body with a hinge. “It is ! And her ladyship manages her home with the skill of a master artisan, always knowing exactly what must be done in any situation. I am truly indebted to her ladyship for the affability and condescension which I would never have expected from one of her greatness. My humble home is, you must understand, the result of Lady Catherine’s beneficence and ability to make any location, no matter how humble its circumstances, so much greater by her attention.”
On and on the man went, and if he was not speaking with awe of his patroness, he was commenting on Longbourn’s appointments, the doings of his parish, or his expectations of future felicity with his newly reconciled family. It was his comments concerning this last subject which caused Elizabeth some worry, but she soon found out she need not have bothered.
When the evening had progressed far enough that Mr. Bennet felt the demands of hospitality had been met, he absented himself to his study, leaving the guest in the company of his wife and daughters. As was their wont, the Bennet ladies fractured into various groups dictated by their own interests. Lydia and Kitty occupied themselves by whispering and giggling between themselves concerning subjects about which Elizabeth did not wish to speculate. Jane busied herself with some needlework, while Elizabeth and Mary took up their books—Mary’s a treatise of church doctrine, while Elizabeth contented herself with a book of poetry.
As a proper young woman, Elizabeth knew she should not eavesdrop on the conversations of others, but since her mother and Mr. Collins, who were sitting nearby, were making no effort to modulate their tones, she supposed she could not be blamed.
“What brings you to Hertfordshire, Mr. Collins?” asked Mrs. Bennet almost as soon as they were seated together. Mrs. Bennet was never one to speak in an oblique manner when directness was possible.
It appeared Mr. Collins was not put off by her pointed question. “It is the particular recommendation of my patroness, Lady Catherine de Bourgh, that I attend your excellent family and heal the breach between us. In fact—”
“Yes, yes, Mr. Collins,” said Mrs. Bennet, her impatience betrayed by the cutting motion of her hand. “You have spoken much of this Lady Catherine, and she does sound like a very great lady, indeed. But surely some motive, other than your patroness’s command, has prompted you hither.”
Though Mr. Collins appeared a little affronted at the term “command,” he readily responded. “Yes, well, there was also the matter of Lady Catherine’s advice that I marry as soon as may be. As a parson, I must set the example of matrimony for those in my parish.”
Mrs. Bennet gazed at him for a moment, apparently considering his words before she nodded slowly. “Yes, I can see how that would be beneficial.”
“And your daughters are, indeed, lovely and amiable, Mrs. Bennet,” the parson was eager to say. “I have rarely had such examples of beauty, such a wide display of feminine virtue as I see here before me tonight. You are much to be praised for raising such excellent daughters.”
“They are good girls,” said Mrs. Bennet, her eyes roving across the sisters, a hint of affection displayed in her slight smile. Elizabeth’s heart was warmed; the fact that Mrs. Bennet cared for her daughters was often hidden under her manic need to see them married.
“I believe your eldest daughter is perhaps the most estimable,” said Mr. Collins. “She has such an air of sweetness about her which must render her beauty and other qualities enhanced because of it.”
“Ah, yes, my Jane is a veritable angel, sir,” replied Mrs. Bennet. She turned back to Mr. Collins, a determination in her countenance. “But I must warn you not to fix upon Jane. In recent weeks, she has been the recipient of the attentions of a man of the neighborhood, and I believe will be very soon engaged.”
Though Elizabeth knew her mother was overstating the matter at this juncture, she was glad Jane would not be forced to endure Mr. Collins’s pitiful attempts at wooing. Furthermore, Elizabeth was becoming convinced that outcome was not only likely but increasingly certain.
Mr. Collins, however, frowned at this intelligence. “Is there a courtship in place? Or is she already engaged?”
“Neither, sir.”
“Then I cannot imagine it is an impediment.”
“The man’s prior claim and already existing attentions are not an impediment?” demanded Mrs. Bennet. “I am afraid I do not understand your meaning, sir.”
“Only that my offer is before you, while this other man only may ask for her hand.” Mr. Collins’s manner was stiff as if he had been mortally insulted.
“Perhaps that might be the case, sir,” replied Mrs. Bennet, “if our only concern was to accept the first offer which presented itself. But my daughter’s happiness is not a matter of such indifference, I assure you. Jane’s inclination for Mr. Bingley is clear. I would not ask her to give up that inclination for another.”
Elizabeth could hardly keep her countenance, she was so surprised. Her mother protecting her daughter’s right of choice? It was more than Elizabeth had ever expected from Mrs. Bennet, whom she had always assumed would insist on any of them accepting the first proposal from any eligible gentleman.
“It is surprising, is it not?”
Mary, who had spoken, and who had also, it seemed, been following the conversation, directed a wry smile at Elizabeth, who returned it, albeit hesitantly. “I would not have suspected her of it. It may just be because Mr. Bingley is wealthy, and it is Jane of whom she speaks.”
But the continuation of their conversation put the lie to that supposition.
“I suppose when you put it in such terms,” said Mr. Collins, though he was quite obviously disgruntled. His eyes found the sisters again, and he seemed to consider them one by one.
“Then perhaps Miss Elizabeth, the next to her sister, in both beauty and seniority?”
Chilled by his words, Elizabeth’s eyes desperately sought her mother, but Mrs. Bennet was already responding to the parson. “I am sorry, Mr. Collins, but Elizabeth also has become the favorite of an illustrious gentleman. I should also warn you that my youngest, Lydia, I also believe will be very soon engaged.”
Mr. Collins’s mouth worked, though no sound came out, so great was his shock. Such a state of affairs could never continue long, given the man’s verbosity, and shortly thereafter Mr. Collins’s mouth curled into a scowl of disgust, laced with suspicion.
“I am all astonishment, Mrs. Bennet. How did you ever manage such a coup? Three daughters to be engaged at once—I know not how it can be fathomed!”
Though Mrs. Bennet could not fail to hear the contempt in his tone, her ability to ignore it was admirable. “You have already said yourself what admirable ladies my girls are, sir. Can you be surprised that they have attracted the attention of gentlemen other than yourself?”
His scowl darkened, but Mr. Collins was forced to own his words, and he grunted his agreement. Thereafter, his eyes found first Mary, and then Kitty. It was clear he did not like what he found in them.
“Might I suggest Mary as an alternative?” asked Mrs. Bennet.
Mary stiffened at Elizabeth’s side, but Elizabeth only leaned toward her and whispered: “Do not worry, Mary. Did Mama not just say that her daughters would be allowed the power of choice?”
“I have no wish for that determination to be put to the test by one of them refusing a proposal of marriage; least of all, should I be the one to refuse!”
A giggle escaped Elizabeth’s lips and soon Mary joined in. Together, however, they turned their attention back to Mr. Collins’s response.
“I am not certain your middle daughter possesses the . . . attributes I would expect in a wife,” replied Mr. Collins.
Elizabeth was immediately offended on her sister’s behalf; she knew exactly to what Mr. Collins referred. Mary, however, only breathed a sigh of relief.
“On the contrary, sir, she is pious and knowledgeable and takes prodigious care of Longbourn’s tenants. I am certain she would be a credit to any parson who might have her as his wife.”
Mr. Collins grunted, but he turned his attention to Kitty. “And Miss Catherine . . . Well, I am sorry, Mrs. Bennet, but I am not certain she is ready to be a wife. Or her youngest sister, for that matter.”
“Perhaps,” said Mrs. Bennet noncommittally. “But I think Mary and Kitty might surprise you. Regardless, they are my only daughters whom I believe to be presently unattached. I am happy, of course, if you take some time to think on the matter and determine what you wish to do.”
“Of course,” replied Mr. Collins.
He was largely silent for the rest of the evening. Despite Mrs. Bennet’s words, his gaze often fixed on Jane or Elizabeth as often as it did on either Mary or Kitty. When he retired, as he did early, he seemed in the midst of deep thought on the matter. Elizabeth was not certain what he would ultimately do, but she was at least heartened that she herself was not in the running for the dubious position of the man’s favorite. She was equally relieved that any of her sisters who were not inclined to him—which included them all, by her estimation—would not be forced to marry him.
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E LIZABETH HAD ALWAYS enjoyed studying those persons of intricate personalities. Though she could readily acknowledge they were no more estimable than those of a simpler character, there was always something new to discover, some new understanding to be gained. But while complex characters were always revealing new facets to her interested eyes, simpler people were easy to understand—sometimes painfully so. In the case of Mr. Collins, he fell into the latter category, a fact which could be deemed a blessing or a curse.
When the family members made their way to the breakfast table the morning after Mr. Collins’s arrival, the man himself appeared, and it was immediately evident that he was sulking. His reproachful looks at Mrs. Bennet were punctuated by his equally petulant glances at both Elizabeth and Jane. When he looked at Mary, his expression soured further, a fact which Elizabeth, who had become protective of her younger sister in previous months, found offensive. Then he looked at Kitty and his expression became pinched, as if he was forced to contemplate some distasteful task.
For her part, Mrs. Bennet was ignoring the man, a surprising development, as Elizabeth might have thought her mother would be promoting a match with either Kitty or Mary fervently. Then again, the previous night’s tête-à-tête between them had illustrated a facet to her mother’s character which she would never have expected. Perhaps she truly wished to consider her daughters’ wishes before pushing them into marriage. Or perhaps she felt secure enough in the attention paid to them by the three Netherfield men. Regardless, she spoke with Kitty and Lydia—in their usual loud and laughing manner, and left Mr. Collins to his own devices.
“Denny is to return today, you know,” said Lydia, speaking of the officers, as was usual of late. “He has been in town, but he should be returned by now. Kitty and I will walk to Meryton today to ask after him.”
“Of course, you must, my dear,” replied Mrs. Bennet. “I am certain he finds you enchanting, as all the officers must.”
“And I am an especial favorite of Sanderson,” said Kitty. It was Kitty’s lot in life to be continually attempting to equal Lydia in her mother’s eyes.
“I am sure you are, Kitty, my dear,” said Mrs. Bennet. “But you must own that Sanderson is not nearly so handsome as Denny.”
“I beg your pardon, Mrs. Bennet,” said Mr. Collins, “but am I to understand this Mr. Denny is your daughter’s suitor?”
Mr. Bennet snorted, and Elizabeth and Mary exchanged a grin. Lydia preened, but Mrs. Bennet only turned to Mr. Collins and said in an offhand tone: “Of course not, Mr. Collins. Mr. Denny is, after all, naught but a lieutenant, and as such, he is not able to afford a wife.”
It was clear that Mr. Collins was confused. “Then who—”
“Mama, we wish to go as early as possible! We shall leave directly after breakfast.”
Huffing because he was cut off, Mr. Collins hunched over his meal and stuffed a large forkful of food in his mouth, glaring at Lydia as she continued to prattle on. Then Mrs. Bennet proved that she was not completely relieved of the instinct to scheme for her daughters’ supposed benefit.
“Mr. Collins,” said she, pulling the man’s unwilling eyes to her, “perhaps you would enjoy a bit of exercise? Meryton is only a mile distant, and it would give you the opportunity to come to know my daughters better.”
As one, the Bennet daughters looked at their mother, appalled at her betrayal. Mr. Collins, however, blinked once, and then a slow smile settled over his face.
“Yes, indeed, Mrs. Bennet. I would find that agreeable, indeed.” He paused and looked once between Mary and Kitty. In a weighty tone, he addressed Kitty: “Miss Catherine, would you do me the honor of walking into town with me?”
Astonished, Kitty looked at Mr. Collins as if he had sprouted a second head. At her side, Lydia giggled with glee, prompting Kitty to shoot her an injured glance. This, of course, only made Lydia giggle harder. In the end, Kitty muttered something which Mr. Collins took as agreement, and she and Lydia retreated from the room as if the very hosts of the underworld were on their heels.
When the sisters had gathered together with Mr. Collins to walk to Meryton, the man expected to command Kitty’s attention. Unfortunately, he had not counted on her commitment to avoiding him. He soon learned.
“Miss Kitty!” exclaimed he when they stepped from the house. “I believe I asked you to accompany me to the town.”
Though Kitty seemed to wish for anything else, she assented and set out with the rest of them. It was unfortunate that her good behavior lasted for about two minutes into the walk. The man insisted she take his arm for support, which she did, though reluctantly. When they set off, Mr. Collins’s mouth kept pace, for he seemed to think they could not take two steps without him filling the air with his commentary. Unfortunately for the parson, he could not have designed his words to be less interesting to the fourth Bennet sister had he tried.
“What a charming land this is!” said he when they had left Longbourn’s drive. “Of course, it is not the equal of Kent, especially not the locale in which sits my patroness’s great estate, Rosings Park. Indeed, that land seems to be have been designed with all the best parts of beauty, waiting for the eventual adornment to make it perfect, which is, of course, the great house her ladyship calls home.
“You shall see it someday, of course,” continued he, blithely unaware of Kitty’s growing horror. “In fact, if I may be so bold, I believe I may state that there is nothing there which shall not be to your taste. The parsonage, though small, is a handsome building, perfectly situated in a beautiful garden, and you will have the patronage of the great Lady Catherine de Bourgh, which must certainly be the most beneficent boon for any young bride.”
Finally, Kitty could take no more. “Excuse me, Mr. Collins!” squeaked she, and she disengaged her arm from the parson’s and scurried forward to where Lydia was walking in front of the rest of the group. Mr. Collins stopped and gaped at her.
Lydia, who had been enjoying Kitty’s misfortune, welcomed Kitty with a giggle and a few whispered words, which turned into a conversation. Even Mr. Collins, dullard though he was, could not miss the gist of it, for even if he was so witless as to misunderstand the meaning of her hasty retreat, the looks Kitty shot him, which were not flattering in nature, could not be misunderstood.
Still, it could not be said the parson was not determined, for he hurried forward and attempted to put himself near Kitty to continue his wooing. When he came close, however, Kitty only turned and scowled at him. “I am speaking with my sister, sir.”
That pointed dismissal still was not enough, for Mr. Collins hovered for several more moments, making several ineffectual comments, none of which were heeded. This lasted until about halfway to Meryton, when the man huffed in annoyance and gave up, casting his glance about at the other sisters. At this moment, Elizabeth’s understanding of the man’s character was proven, for she witnessed his calculating gaze and was certain he was pondering how he could steal one of them away from their supposed suitors. It was Elizabeth who was the fortunate sister to whom he spoke next.
“Your sister is . . .” Mr. Collins paused, searching for the words which would not reveal him to be completely unkind. “She is seventeen, is she not?”
“Kitty recently turned seventeen,” replied Elizabeth.
Mr. Collins glared at Kitty’s back. “If I may be so uncharitable, I wonder that she is already out. She still seems to lack maturity.”
As it was, Elizabeth did not disagree with the parson in this instance. “She is still full young,” said Elizabeth. “And Lydia is the same. We expect that with age and experience she will grow into an estimable young lady. But as you say, she is yet immature.”
Mr. Collins grunted, but it was clear he did not wish to speak of Kitty. Instead, he turned to Elizabeth and pondered her for several moments, his thoughts so distracted he almost tripped on a tree root as they walked. Elizabeth stifled a laugh, and she imagined Mr. Collins’s thoughts as a slow-moving river, one which was particularly shallow and lacking any complexity.
“I understand from your mother that you and your eldest sister have been courted recently by a pair of gentlemen in the neighborhood. In addition, your words of your youngest sister confuse me, for she intimated that Miss Lydia was also being courted.”
Elizabeth had a dilemma. If she revealed her mother’s words for the wishes she knew them to be, she risked turning Mr. Collins’s ardor in her direction. But she did not wish to lie either. In the end, she decided that the viscount had paid her enough attention that she could prevaricate a little and not be telling Mr. Collins a falsehood.
“First, I should warn you that my mother’s thinking with regard to Lydia is perhaps a little wishful. Lydia is, as you noted yourself, still too young to be married. Regardless, I do not think my father would give consent, even if someone did offer for her.”
“And as for yourself?” asked Mr. Collins, his tone too eager. “And Miss Bennet?”
“I expect that Jane will soon be engaged, indeed,” replied Elizabeth. “Mr. Bingley shows every sign of possessing ardent feelings for her, and Jane’s are no less deep. As for myself—let us simply say that I am enjoying the society of a young gentleman. For anything more . . . Well, I am eager to learn what my future will be.”
It was clear from Mr. Collins’s gaze that he was not satisfied by her response, but as they strode into the outskirts of Meryton at that moment, he seemed content to ponder what he had heard for the present. Knowing he would almost certainly come to the wrong conclusion and thinking to echo what Mrs. Bennet had told him the previous night, Elizabeth made one more comment.
“But even if I am ultimately not pursued by the man who is currently paying attention to me, please remember that I will not marry unless I esteem the man who offers for me. My sisters are all of like mind with me, Mr. Collins. Our esteem is not easily bought, nor is it likely to be gained in a few days, with nothing more than a superficial acquaintance.”
Mr. Collins frowned. “You would refuse a proposal from a man who has the power to give you a good home for nothing more than a whim?”
“I did not say that, Mr. Collins,” replied Elizabeth, eager to be finished with this conversation. “All I said is that I require more than such things in a marriage partner. I wish for true esteem, as well as the means to keep myself in comfort. I certainly shall not know a man’s character until I have known him for some weeks at the very least.”
With these words, Elizabeth stepped forward and caught Jane’s arm, smiling at Mary as she rolled her eyes. The three sisters stepped forward, following their younger sisters and keeping them close by. Mr. Collins seemed content to follow them at a short distance, and though Elizabeth could feel his eyes upon her, she ignored him. Let him puzzle out what she meant. Regardless, she was certain the man would not obtain a wife at Longbourn after only a week’s stay.
As was always the case when the Bennet sisters—the youngest sisters, anyway—went to town, they flitted from one shop to the next, exclaiming about this ribbon or that bonnet, visited the sweet shop for sugar sticks, and stopped by their Aunt Phillips’s house for a word with their aunt. Mrs. Phillips, unfortunately, was beset with a cold that day, and they could not stay with her long. Mr. Collins was not introduced.
The one thing missing from the early part of their time in town was the man for whom the youngest Bennets had been searching, and Elizabeth steadfastly refused to allow them to call at the officers’ barracks to ask after him.
“No, Lydia. That is not done. You would appear to be nothing but a flirt if you were to go looking for Lieutenant Denny in such a manner.”
“But, Lizzy!” exclaimed Lydia, exasperated by Elizabeth’s intransigence.
“I agree with Lizzy,” said Jane. “We shall not go to the barracks.”
Lydia huffed, and Elizabeth happened to catch sight of Mr. Collins. The man was watching the youngest Bennets, a frown upon his features. If Elizabeth had not been annoyed with her sisters, she might have taken umbrage at what she saw in his countenance.
“Oh, look, Lydia!” exclaimed Kitty. “Is that not Denny there?”
Forgetting about the confrontation with her elder sisters, Lydia spun and looked where Kitty was pointing. “It is!” squealed she.
“Put your arm down, Kitty,” said Elizabeth. “It is not at all polite to point.”
“And you should not draw attention to us,” added Jane.
Lieutenant Denny, however, spied the Bennet sisters, and he turned toward them, pulling along with him another man who was dressed in the usual suit of a gentleman. As soon as they caught sight of the newcomer, the attention of the youngest Bennets was caught by him, and poor Denny found himself quite ignored. For her part, Elizabeth could understand why, for the man was one of the handsomest men Elizabeth had ever seen. He was tall, erect of bearing, his shock of curly brown hair fell over his forehead, and his eyes were the bluest Elizabeth had ever seen in a man. He was almost as handsome as Mr. Darcy, Elizabeth thought to herself.
Of course, such a thought could not occur to Elizabeth without causing her embarrassment, and she was suddenly grateful that no one could read her mind. From where had that thought originated? She did not know, but thinking critically for a few moments, she was forced to acknowledge that it was true.
“Ladies,” said Mr. Denny, bowing low when he stepped up to them. “You are all looking very well today.”
At that moment, Elizabeth happened to be looking at the man with Mr. Denny, and she saw a look of overt interest on his face. Furthermore, she was also able to just make out his softly murmured: “ Very well, indeed.”
Confused, she almost stepped back a pace, wondering what this man had meant by his words. But Denny was continuing to speak, and Elizabeth was forced to attend his words. He exchanged a few pleasantries with Kitty and Lydia, followed by a few jovial words with the elder sisters, then turned to his friend, begging leave to introduce him.
“Ladies, I have the distinct pleasure of introducing you to my good friend, Mr. George Wickham. Wickham, these ladies are the Bennet sisters: Miss Jane Bennet, Miss Elizabeth, Miss Mary, Miss Catherine, and Miss Lydia.”
The clearing of a throat behind her reminded Elizabeth that they were accompanied by another that morning, and she rose to the occasion, introducing her cousin to them. Mr. Collins’s bow, however, was so shallow and stiff, that Elizabeth was certain that he considered himself to be quite above a militia officer and his friend.
“Are you to stay here long, Mr. Wickham?” asked Lydia as soon as she could, impatient for details about their new acquaintance.
“All winter, actually,” said Mr. Wickham. They were the first words he spoke, revealing a higher tone than Elizabeth might have expected, though not at all unpleasant. “You see, I have taken a commission in Colonel Forster’s regiment. I have only just arrived now.”
“And we are happy to have you, sir,” said Elizabeth, though she was not at all certain that was the truth. “I am certain you will lend the regiment much distinction.”
Mr. Denny laughed. “Please, do not inflate Wickham’s opinion of himself, Miss Elizabeth. He already possesses enough swagger for any two other officers.”
“You misrepresent me, Denny,” said Mr. Wickham. But his tone was all confidence, and Elizabeth could immediately sense that he was pleased by the attention. What this meant about his character she was not certain, but she felt it prudent to be on her guard.
“It is unfortunate that our aunt has caught a cold,” said Lydia, “else we could become acquainted with you immediately. But she has canceled her card party, and we are left without amusement this evening.”
“I am certain we shall become acquainted before long, Miss Lydia,” said Mr. Wickham. “There is plenty of time before the regiment moves on in the spring.”
“I certainly hope so, Mr. Wickham,” replied Lydia.
For Elizabeth’s part, she did not like the way the conversation was progressing, but before she could speak up, the sound of voices hailing them caught their attention. They turned to see Lord Chesterfield, Mr. Darcy, and Mr. Bingley approaching them. They were leading their horses, having just dismounted, and Elizabeth, whose eyes sought out Mr. Darcy, noted that he was looking past her. His gaze was fixed upon Mr. Wickham, and his expression was not friendly. For that matter, Lord Chesterfield’s eyes appeared to have been chiseled from diamond, so hard were they.
“How fortunate we are!” said Mr. Bingley, the only man not affected. “We were to go to Longbourn to call on you. How do you do, Miss Bennet?”
Jane replied that she was quite well, but Elizabeth had no time at present for the amiable Mr. Bingley. She turned instead and focused on Mr. Wickham, noting the man’s pale countenance, the way he regarded Lord Chesterfield and Mr. Darcy with something akin to dread.
“Ladies,” said Lord Chesterfield, his eyes never leaving Mr. Wickham’s countenance. “How do you do this fine morning?”
“We are quite well, my lord,” replied Elizabeth. Then a sudden thought came to her mind, and she blurted it out before she could think on the matter. “We were just making a new acquaintance when you arrived.”
“Ah, yes, Mr. George Wickham. Darcy and I are quite familiar with Mr. Wickham, you see.
“Darcy, Fitzwilliam,” said Mr. Wickham, finally finding his tongue. “It has been some months, has it not?”
“It has,” said Mr. Darcy, his tone implying it had not been nearly long enough.
“Indeed,” said Lord Chesterfield. He turned back to Elizabeth and addressed her, though she had the distinct impression that he was aware of everyone else in the party and making certain they could all hear him. “You see, Wickham is the son of the Darcy family’s former steward, so the connection goes back many years. Wickham played with Darcy—and myself when I was at Pemberley—when we were all young.” He turned back to Mr. Wickham. “I do not think we have seen you since your father and Darcy’s passed away.” The viscount snorted. “Of course, I am well aware of the fact that Darcy has heard from you.”
Mr. Wickham swallowed. “Of course. I try to keep in contact with the dear companions of my youth.”
“As do we all, Wickham,” replied Lord Chesterfield.
Then he turned and began to speak with Elizabeth directly. Mr. Bingley was speaking with Jane, while Kitty and Lydia were conversing with Mr. Denny, Mary keeping a close eye on them. Mr. Darcy, however, had not taken his eyes from Mr. Wickham, and his gaze was distinctly unfriendly. After a moment of this, he stepped close to Mr. Wickham and said something to him in a low tone, and while Mr. Wickham did not respond, he watched Mr. Darcy as if he expected him to turn feral and attack at any moment.
A moment later, anger seemed to come over him, and he glared back at Mr. Darcy. But Mr. Darcy did not give an inch.
“Denny,” said Mr. Wickham, his tone clipped, “I believe the colonel is waiting for us.”
It seemed that Mr. Denny had seen nothing amiss, for he only agreed and made his farewells. The two men left soon after, leaving the Bennet girls in the company of the three gentlemen from Netherfield and the unwanted presence of Mr. Collins. Elizabeth wondered what had happened. It was not in her nature to not wish to know all, little though she thought it likely her curiosity would be gratified.