How To Get Caught Under the Mistletoe A Lady’s Guide #2
It was only a pity that for nearly every amusement to be had in the neighborhood for the foreseeable future, Mr. Darcy’s glowering face would be my company instead.
For surely, he would be invited everywhere, and Mr. Wickham nowhere.
Such a disappointment! For a lady likes to think that as the season approaches for stealing kisses under the mistletoe, she might look forward to an agreeable partner.
Mr. Darcy was not so ungentlemanly as to neglect to escort me from the floor, but it was not with a happy countenance that he did so.
I matched his curt bow with an equally impudent curtsey, and finally let go a breath as he turned away.
There! That unpleasantness was done for the evening.
I spun round to find Charlotte before Mr. Collins could make his way across the room to ask for my hand once more.
“Did you enjoy yourself, Lizzy?” she asked from her chair.
“If I did, you ought to see it in my face. There, what do you think?” I turned my cheek from one side to the other, framing my chin with my hands and fluttering my lashes. “Do I look like a girl who just relished her dance with the most valuable bachelor in the room?”
“Not a bit of it. I hope you did not tease him, Lizzy.”
I sank into the chair beside her with a sigh. “No, we argued instead.”
“Oh, Lizzy!” Charlotte shook her head and rested a hand on her stomach. “You would do better to keep quiet altogether than to provoke such a man as Mr. Darcy.”
“Come, Charlotte, you know I might as well try to stop the sun in its tracks as my mouth. But do not worry—I said nothing he did not deserve, and richly.”
She sighed and brushed her forehead with the back of her hand. “Just be careful not to make an enemy of Mr. Darcy. I should think his regard to be something worth having.”
I snorted rudely into my glass.
Twenty-Seven November
Ihave always admired the notion of love.
Romance to sigh over, devotion to curl a girl’s toes, and passion enough to shatter a heart in two.
The sort that is not even spoken about in polite company because it might cause a lady to sweat inconveniently.
Perhaps I had read too many novels, but a gallant sir knight to sweep away the princess and promise to spend the rest of his days making all her dreams come true—that was my idea of a romantic proposal.
This, however… no.
“My fairest cousin, allow me to protest the sincerity of my feelings, the ardency of my devotion, the depth of my affection—”
I pressed my fingers into my temples. “Mr. Collins, you are simply repeating yourself. I have declined your offer as many times as you have tendered it, and I mean to continue doing so, as long as you keep drawing breath. There is no possible scenario where we would suit one another. In fact, I am quite certain that your esteemed Lady Catherine would be appalled by me.”
He clasped his hand over his chest. “Oh, not so, cousin! Why, she is eminently gracious and welcoming. Her condescension is everything magnanimous and splendid, and the advantages of her friendship are too numerous to be counted. I flatter myself, any young lady would—”
“Any young lady but this one. I am sorry, Mr. Collins, but my answer remains unchanged.”
I pushed up from the sofa, nearly knocking him backward as I did so—for keeping a polite distance was not something he seemed to understand—and marched out of the room.
It was no mystery what would happen next. He would apply to Mama to try to make me see reason. Mama would weep and mourn about what a foolish, headstrong girl I was, and she would batter the door of Papa’s study until he grew tired of the hullabaloo and heard her out.
I would be forced to stand by while Mama sobbed she would never speak to me again unless Papa made me marry Mr. Collins, while Mr. Collins continued with his delusions about his passionate romance and how insensitive I was to the delicacy of my own position.
Papa would roll his eyes and declare he would have nothing to do with the matter. And…
That was why I was already on my way out the door toward Lucas Lodge, still buttoning my pelisse and tying my bonnet as I scampered away from the house.
“Why, Lizzy! What brings you so early?”
Maria Lucas was the only one in the drawing room, and I looked round as I let her take my hat and gloves. “Oh, nothing, I… I wanted to ask how Charlotte was this morning. She seemed rather worn last night.”
Maria frowned. “Why, I suppose she is well enough. But now that you mention it, she has been rather late to rise. Shall I call for her?”
“No, no, that will not be necessary. I will call again later.” I turned back for my gloves once more, but the memory of what no doubt awaited me at home gave me pause. “You don’t suppose I could look in on her myself, do you?”
“Oh, I don’t… why, she probably would not mind. Shall I…?” She gestured up the stairs, offering to lead me.
“Thank you. No, that is not necessary. I will show myself up.”
Charlotte was slow to answer my knock. Perhaps she had a little too much punch last night. I waited for a moment, then tried again. “Charlotte? It’s Lizzy.”
Her voice sounded rather thin when she called, “Come in, Lizzy.” Odd.
I pushed the door open and nearly gasped. Charlotte, usually so robust and cheerful, reclined on her bed, her nightgown rumpled and her face unnaturally pale. The sunlight filtering through the windows cast a warm glow on her, but it couldn’t mask the weary shadows beneath her eyes.
“Charlotte?” I moved to her bedside and brushed her forehead. “Are you ill? Was it something you ate last night?”
She managed a feeble smile, her hand gesturing for me to sit beside her. “I am just… not feeling well, Lizzy.”
I sat on the edge of the bed and took her hand into mine, feeling the coolness of her skin. “You are more than ‘not well,’ Charlotte. You look… positively ill.”
Charlotte sighed, her eyes drifting towards the window. “I’ve not been strong for some time now. I’ve tried to hide it, but I fear after last night, it’s caught up with me.”
“Some time now?” I repeated. “Why did you not say anything?”
She shrugged weakly. “What would it have done but worry my family? Besides, I did see Mr. Jones.”
“And?”
Her eyes met mine, and there was a depth of sadness there that I’d never seen before. “He was concerned. Very concerned.”
“Charlotte, no…” My voice was barely above a whisper.
“Headaches, stomachaches, dizziness,” she listed off, her voice oddly detached. “I often feel as though I can’t catch my breath. And there are some other things I’d… rather not mention.”
“But you’ll get better,” I insisted. “Surely, you only want rest. You must take care to eat properly and not overtax yourself.”
She shook her head and looked away. “It’s more than that. Mr. Jones thinks I have a wasting disease, Lizzy. There’s nothing he can do.”
The world seemed to tilt beneath me, and blood pounded in my ears. “No,” I whispered. “That can’t be right.”
Charlotte rested a hand on my arm. “I’m not afraid, Lizzy. Well, perhaps a little. It’s not as if I had grand prospects awaiting me.”
I couldn’t hold back the tears. “Charlotte!”
“I know it’s hard, Lizzy. I didn’t want to say anything. Please don’t tell Mama!”
“But she ought to know! And Jane and Maria… they should all know.”
“Oh, yes, do tell Jane. She could keep it to herself, but please, don’t tell my family. They don’t need that sort of burden.” She sighed, her eyes wistful. “Truly, Lizzy, it will be all right. I did wish for a bit of romance, though. Just a taste.”
My throat tightened. “Charlotte, you deserve so much more than just a ‘taste’.”
She chuckled. “I always said I did not care about such a thing, but after watching Jane with Mr. Bingley, I think it would be very fine indeed just to sample a little. That would be enough for me.”
I shook my head. “No, it isn’t. It’s not right, Charlotte.”
She thinned her lips and sighed. “Well, I suppose it’s not up to us to decide that, is it? Now, why did you rush over here so early the morning after a ball? Don’t tell me Mr. Darcy presented himself on your doorstep this morning with an offer of marriage.”
I sniffed and blubbered a laugh, then wiped my nose. “Mr. Collins, actually.”
“And what did you say?”
I scoffed. “Well… I refused him! What else could I do?”
Charlotte shrugged. “I suppose that is a matter of opinion.”
“And I made mine known.” I laced my hand in hers. “What can I do for you, Charlotte? Shall I bring a book up and read to you?”
She smiled and shook her head on the pillow. “I will be well enough later, Lizzy. These bad spells come and go. I just need a little rest, and I will be downstairs by the time Mama begins to look for me. Go on—I am sure your mother is searching for you, too.”
I huffed and shook my head. “That is precisely why I came here. Are you sure you will be well?”
Charlotte tightened her grip on my hand. “Well enough.”
The moment I entered Longbourn, Mama’s familiar wails echoed from the drawing room, louder and more harrowing than any I’d heard before.
She was inside Papa’s study with the door open, but I managed to slip past without either of them seeing me.
What had become of Mr. Collins? I knew not, nor did I mean to stop and ask.
It all felt distant, secondary to the fears turning in my stomach after my visit with Charlotte.
“Lizzy!” Lydia’s voice called out as I passed the drawing room, but I had no patience for her now. I clutched my skirts and ran up the stairs to Jane’s door, and pushed it open without pause. “Jane, I’ve just come from Charlotte. You’ll never believe what I…”
I stopped. Jane sat on her bed, a letter in hand, her face a study of distress. And when she looked up at me, she was blinking away tears.
“Jane?” Could this day take more frustrations or grief? I glanced at the letter, then examined her face. “What is it?”
“Lizzy,” she choked. “It’s from Miss Bingley.
They…” She stopped, closed her eyes, and blew out a slow, shaky breath.
“Oh, I am sure it is nothing, truly, but she says that by the time I receive this letter, they will already be on their way to London. Mr. Bingley departed at first light, but the rest of them have decided to follow.”
“What?” I took it from her and scanned Miss Bingley’s fine script. “For how long?”
Jane sniffed. “She does not say. Only that she is most eager to see Mr. Darcy’s sister in London, and that she was pleased to make my acquaintance while they remained in the neighborhood. That does not sound like a farewell to you, does it?”
My lip curled as I read. “It sounds to me like Miss Bingley did not like her brother’s fondness for you, and she meant to whisk him away.”
“Oh, Lizzy, you do not know that. I am sure he only left on business, but it does seem odd that the rest of the party went after him. London must be so much more diverting at this time of year, but he will come back.”
I handed the letter to her. “Yes, with a bride, no doubt. I understand Miss Darcy is a perfect peacock.”
Jane’s eyes widened. “How did you hear that?”
“Mr. Wickham.”
She shook her head and folded her letter, then opened it again to re-read Miss Bingley’s words.
“No, I am sure you are wrong. The way I read this, she says only that she and Mr. Darcy are eager to see Miss Darcy again. She says nothing about…” She sagged, and her breath left her. “Oh, dear. Lizzy, can it be true?”
“You can count on it. And I think she is doing her brother a tremendous disservice, taking him from a lady he loves and forcing another upon him.”
“Oh, Lizzy. Mr. Bingley was never… well, he was friendly. Kind.” She looked up to the ceiling, her shoulders slumping and the letter falling to her lap.
“I did fancy one or two times there that he might kiss me—you know, when he would escort me for a walk or when Mama would leave us alone in the drawing room. Is that not silly? He never did, of course. He is too much the gentleman for that.”
“He is still a man, and a man in violent love, if I ever saw it. Would you truly let Miss Bingley take that away from you?”
“But what am I to do about it?” She tossed her hands, then swiped at a tear. “He is gone, and I cannot know when he will come back.”
I frowned and sank onto the bed beside her. “It is not fair, you know. I mean, not fair to him. To have to leave behind a lady he clearly loves, and be forced to make himself amiable to a snobbish bore of a girl just to please his sister and Mr. Darcy.”
Jane bit her lip and looked at me, her brow crumpled with hurt. “What do you mean?”
I just lifted my shoulders. “Only that Mr. Bingley seemed quite happy as he was. What a shame to have his hopes stolen, because they did not please someone else.”
She dashed another tear from her face. “Oh, Lizzy, to hear you talk, one would think you want me to chase after him. Go to London and seek him out!”
“I suppose that it is very much what I am saying.”
Jane shook her head. “No. It seems likely that I was simply misled. If he cares for me, he will come back. I am sure of it.”
I thinned my lips and sighed. “Let us hope. Does Mama know about this yet?”
“Oh.” Jane clapped a hand over her face. “Did you not hear all the crying downstairs?”
“Yes, but I thought I occasioned that by refusing Mr. Collins. Poor Mama! She truly is having a day of it.”
“Indeed.”
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