Chapter 14 #2
Had Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst been aware that visiting the Bennets was the actual plan for the day, they would have joined the party with alacrity, for both had fully changed their minds on the desirability of intimate acquaintance with that family.
Serena was not much impressed by this newfound charity of opinion, coinciding as it did with the discovery that the Bennets were nearly related to the nobility.
Darcy and Bingley and Serena had not hesitated to prevaricate when they left the house to mount their horses.
They had not lied, of course, but also had chosen to hide their planned destination.
The visit to the Bennets’ home would be far more pleasant without Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst employing their arts of cloying flattery towards a family which they had previously treated with barely veiled disgust.
Serena hoped that Georgiana was finding herself adequately entertained back at Netherfield, but for her own part, she was glad to be out riding with her brother and his friend.
It was a glorious day, the sun strong on her bonnet and gloved hands and wool-clad shoulders, a king enthroned in the arch of azure sky overhead.
No wind whispered along to chill the riders, and between the thick warmth of her pelisse and her heavy wool riding habit and gloves, Serena was entirely comfortable.
Another passing matron curtseyed, and Mr. Bingley lifted his hat, and Serena smiled mechanically and glanced ahead.
A cluster of ladies stood on the side of the road talking; the cut and quality of their pelisses marking them as gentlewomen, and their red hair confirming them as Bennets.
Miss Bennet stood among her sisters, a celestial blonde in a sea of red.
They were too far away for Serena to call out to them, though she sat straighter in her eagerness to greet them.
The Bennet sisters had not yet observed the riders, intent as they were on their current conversation.
They stood speaking with several of the militia officers, conspicuous by their distinctive red coats.
Serena did not know any of them, of course, not having been introduced, and she glanced at them with idle disinterest. Disinterest swiftly became shock, for she did know one of the men, his features familiar as he turned a laughing face in her general direction.
The mare pranced, startled, as her mistress reined in abruptly, but Serena scarcely noticed, rocked back on her heels as she was.
Whatever in the world could Mr. Wickham be doing here in Meryton?
She was even more surprised to see that Mr. Wickham appeared horrified at their arrival, and when she turned her gaze on her brother, she was bewildered to observe that Fitzwilliam looked absolutely furious.
“Ladies,” Mr. Bingley said, apparently oblivious to the crosscurrents, “it is so good to see you all this morning. Indeed, we were on our way to Longbourn to call on you!”
Miss Bennet, whose beauty was only enhanced by the flush of her cheeks in the chill, smiled and said, “It is good to see you as well, Miss Darcy, Mr. Darcy, Mr. Bingley. We have an appointment with our dressmaker this morning. I am sorry that you rode all this way for nothing.”
“A ride on a fine day in autumn is beneficial on its own account,” Mr. Bingley said cheerfully. “But come, will you not introduce us to your companion?”
Serena wondered if Miss Bennet was planning to also introduce them to Mr. Wickham, whom she knew well, but a moment later, she noticed the tall, heavyset young man, dressed in drab attire, standing a few feet away from the Bennet ladies.
Moreover, the militia officers had retreated, including Mr. Wickham, toward a local establishment called The Pig in the Poke, which looked like an eatery.
“Of course,” Miss Bennet said, “Miss Darcy, Mr. Darcy, Mr. Bingley, may I introduce you to Mr. Collins, our cousin, who is a clergyman serving in Kent. Mr. Collins, Miss Darcy, Mr. Darcy, and Mr. Bingley.”
Mr. Collins turned an astonished look on Mr. Darcy and said, “Sir, is it possible that you are Mr. Darcy of Pemberley?”
Serena cast a nervous glance at her brother. He already looked thunderous, and now she feared that they were to be harassed by a sycophant.
“I am,” Fitzwilliam said in his most forbidding tone, but it did not seem to discourage the plump young man in the least.
“Oh, Mr. Darcy,” he gushed, “you must know that I have the profound honor of serving as rector in Hunsford under the auspices of your most esteemed aunt, Lady Catherine de Bourgh! I am pleased to inform you that I saw Lady Catherine and her distinguished daughter only three days ago, and they were in excellent health.”
Darcy’s expression shifted from irritation to studious blankness, and Serena suppressed a sigh.
She avoided Lady Catherine as much as possible, but she knew her well enough to understand Mr. Collins’s temperament instantly.
Lady Catherine always, always, always chose underlings who accepted her word as if it came from God Himself, and were usually tiresome in the extreme.
“I am pleased to hear that,” Darcy said blandly, and then looked at Serena. “We ought not to let the horses stand for too long. Do you wish to continue riding, or should we go back to Netherfield?”
“I think I am ready to return home,” she said and bestowed a smile on the elder Misses Bennet, as the younger three had all disappeared into the bookstore. “I expect we will see one another soon. In fact, will you perchance be at Lucas Lodge for dinner tomorrow night?”
“We will, and I hope to see you there,” Elizabeth said cheerfully.
Fitzwilliam pulled on Phoenix’s right rein and pulled the stallion around, and a moment later, Serena and Mr. Bingley had likewise pointed their mounts back towards Netherfield Hall.
Mr. Bingley was not, Serena thought, a particularly perceptive man, and he had apparently not noticed his friend’s reaction to the arrival of George Wickham.
She was bewildered by the entire affair.
She had not seen Mr. Wickham, the son of a former steward of Pemberley, in a decade, but she had very fond memories of the young man, who had played spillikins with both Serena and Georgiana, and who had grown up to be a most charming young man. It was entirely perplexing.