FIFTEEN #2
“How did you phrase it earlier, sir? Observing is a dangerous tendency?”
Darcy’s brow altered faintly as he recognised the reference to their conversation upon the grounds.
“Well,” he said, “as you observed yourself, it is also occasionally a useful one.”
Elizabeth nodded and moved her rook in answer to his pawn.
The conversation faded for several moments whilst the game continued steadily between them, pieces disappearing one by one from the board.
At length, unwilling for the silence to settle completely, Darcy said, “Your cousin, Mr. Collins, what exactly did he say about me?”
“Very little, honestly. I believe your aunt told him only of the accident, and Mr. Collins appears far too cautious to embellish Lady Catherine’s information.”
“Lady Catherine has held the living at Hunsford these several years,” said Darcy.
“I had originally intended to assist in selecting a new rector. But after the accident, and with my altered views regarding faith, I neglected the matter entirely. I imagine my aunt selected Mr. Collins soon afterward.”
“Just over a year, I believe,” said Elizabeth. “He speaks of your aunt with extraordinary admiration. He rarely permits any conversation to continue long without reminding us of his connection to her.”
“I imagine he does.”
Darcy moved his knight.
“How long has he been in Meryton?”
“Approximately a week.”
“Then I suppose he has made himself very comfortable.”
“Well, this is his first visit to Longbourn. We had never met him before now,” said Elizabeth. “As he is to inherit my father’s estate, his comfort has suddenly become an object of considerable importance.”
Darcy regarded her for a moment.
“I imagine such circumstances influence a great many decisions at Longbourn.”
“Not so much as they appear to influence Mr. Collins’s audacity.”
Elizabeth moved her rook.
“He proposed to me the day before I came here.”
Darcy’s hand, already resting upon his bishop, stilled visibly at the declaration.
He looked directly at her.
“I was not aware,” he said only above a whisper, “that you were engaged to marry.”
“I am not,” said Elizabeth. “I refused him.”
Only then did Darcy become aware of the tension which had settled gradually across his shoulders. It eased so abruptly that he found himself momentarily unable to attend properly to the board.
For several moments he could think of nothing beyond the fact itself.
Mr. Collins of Hunsford. Lady Catherine’s rector. The future heir to Longbourn had proposed to Miss Elizabeth Bennet, and she had refused him with no visible trace of regret.
“Forgive my forwardness,” said Darcy at last, “but may I ask why?”
Elizabeth lifted her eyes from the board with an expression suggesting she was determining precisely how candid she wished to be.
“If you should ever meet Mr. Collins,” she said at last, “you will find the question answers itself.”
A brief smile touched Darcy’s mouth.
“My sister is seldom severe in her judgements of near strangers,” he said. “Mr. Collins proved an exception.”
Elizabeth’s expression sharpened immediately with interest.
“What did she say of him?”
Darcy paused briefly.
“Let us merely say that Georgiana came away persuaded Mr. Collins had determined his opinions very early in life and spent the years since admiring them.”
Elizabeth laughed outright.
“That,” she said, “is remarkably accurate.”
“Georgiana is perceptive,” said Darcy. “She does not often express herself with such plainness. Mr. Collins appears to inspire unusual responses.”
“He certainly inspired one in me,” said Elizabeth. She moved her queen. “I could not marry a man I did not respect. Mr. Collins is not such a man.”
“That appears a perfectly reasonable position.”
“My mother does not entirely agree.”
“No,” said Darcy dryly. “Given the entail, I imagine she would consider Mr. Collins an opportunity not easily dismissed.”
Elizabeth glanced toward him then with an expression suggesting she had not expected him to understand the matter quite so readily.
“And your father?” said Darcy after a moment.
“Papa trusts my judgement in most matters.”
“Speaking of your father,” said Darcy, “I observed he did not attend the assembly, though he called at Netherfield shortly after our arrival. Does he manage Longbourn personally?”
“My father does not care for assemblies, sir.”
“Ah. Then in that respect we are very much alike.”
Elizabeth declined to comment upon the comparison.
“As for Longbourn itself,” she said, “he manages it after a fashion.”
“After a fashion?” Darcy repeated.
Elizabeth moved her bishop before replying.
“My father is an exceedingly intelligent man. He reads widely, judges clearly, and understands the circumstances of Longbourn better than anyone. He simply prefers his library to his tenants, and his tenants have gradually learned to accommodate the preference.”
Darcy absorbed this in thoughtful silence.
“An estate does not manage itself,” he said at last, though without criticism.
“No,” said Elizabeth. “It does not. My father knows this perfectly well. He has merely arrived at a private understanding with the knowledge.” She paused briefly. “He is not a man who easily embraces obligations he did not choose for himself.”
“And the estate suffers for it?”
“I believe it could be managed considerably better.”
She looked again toward the board.
“You manage Pemberley yourself; I think.”
“I do.”
“Directly? Not solely through a steward?”
“I possess a steward. A very capable one. But the decisions remain mine.” Darcy moved his rook. “An estate is as much a responsibility to those who depend upon it as to the family which possesses it. I do not think such responsibility can be honourably discharged from a distance.”
Elizabeth considered him quietly.
“My father would find such a view both admirable and deeply inconvenient.”
“Most worthwhile views are.”
Some of the amusement left her expression then. She looked at him with a quieter consideration which Darcy found considerably more difficult to disregard.
Perceiving the conversation beginning to slow, Darcy said,
“Do you have other relations besides those at Longbourn?”
“My aunt Phillips resides in Meryton,” said Elizabeth, studying the board. “Her husband is an attorney there. And my uncle Gardiner lives in London with his wife and children. He is in trade.”
“A respectable profession,” said Darcy.
Elizabeth appeared faintly surprised, as though his response had not been the one she anticipated.
Darcy offered no further explanation.
“And your own family, sir?” she asked. “Beyond Lady Catherine?”
“My mother’s relations are largely gone now aside from my aunt. My father had one brother. My uncle, Lord Matlock, has two sons. The elder will inherit the earldom. The younger is Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam.”
“You are close to your cousin?”
“Richard and I were raised almost as brothers.” Something in Darcy’s voice altered faintly. “He is considerably more agreeable in company than I am, which has always rendered him the more popular Fitzwilliam at any gathering.”
“That,” said Elizabeth, “cannot be a particularly difficult distinction to achieve.”
Darcy looked directly at her.
Her expression remained perfectly composed. Only her eyes betrayed the jest.
“No,” he said at last. “I suppose it cannot.”
“Lady Catherine,” said Elizabeth. “Mr. Collins mentioned she had a daughter.”
“Anne.” Darcy moved his bishop. “She has been in delicate health most of her life and seldom ventures into society.”
“I am sorry to hear it.”
“Lady Catherine manages the matter with characteristic thoroughness,” said Darcy, with sufficient dryness to communicate the remainder plainly enough.
A flicker of amusement crossed Elizabeth’s expression before she concealed it.
“She sounds a woman of very decided opinions,” said Elizabeth carefully.
“She is the most decided woman I have ever encountered,” said Darcy. “In this she is admirably consistent.”
“Mr. Collins admires the quality enormously.”
“Of course he does.”
Elizabeth laughed again, and Darcy discovered his attention had drifted entirely from the board.
He looked down at the position between them. Several unnoticed moves had accumulated during the conversation and the game had arrived at a point requiring honest evaluation.
Darcy studied it for some time.
“I believe,” he said at last, “we have reached an impasse.”
Elizabeth examined the board with the same calm attentiveness she applied to nearly everything. Darcy watched the movement of her eyes across the pieces as she traced the remaining possibilities.
“Yes,” she said at last. “I believe we have.”
Neither moved to disturb the arrangement.
“A draw then.”
“A draw.”
Darcy watched amusement spread gradually across Elizabeth’s expression. She appeared far less dissatisfied by the outcome than most players would have been.
Caroline Bingley’s voice interrupted the moment.
Whether she had grown louder over the previous quarter hour, or whether Darcy had gradually ceased attending to anything beyond his conversation with Elizabeth, he could not have said. Her voice, however, was impossible to ignore now.
“I think Jane ought to retire for the evening,” said Caroline. “She appears rather fatigued.”
Darcy and Elizabeth turned at once toward Jane.
Jane looked from Caroline toward Elizabeth before inclining her head slightly in agreement.
Bingley was upon his feet immediately.
Elizabeth rose from the chess table without hesitation, her full attention already returned to her sister. She retrieved the book beside her and tucked it once more beneath her arm.
Then she turned briefly toward Darcy.
“Good evening, Mr. Darcy.”
“Good evening, Miss Elizabeth.”
She crossed immediately toward Jane. Bingley hovered nearby, his countenance suggesting he would gladly have escorted Miss Bennet upstairs himself had propriety permitted it, and was visibly attempting to reconcile himself to the fact that it did not.
Elizabeth said something quietly to him which produced an immediate smile despite his concern.
The ladies offered their good evenings to the room before Elizabeth took Jane’s arm and guided her gently toward the door.