Chapter 62
Of all of the assembled guests that evening it was Colonel Fitzwilliam who truly had no idea what perils the evening held in store.
All he knew was that they were expecting two more guests for dinner: the mother and the cousin of the young Bennet ladies.
Having no knowledge of their uneasy relationship, he thought that the evening marked an early arrival to the ball, and one that the ladies were sure to enjoy.
They did not look like daughters on the cusp of a reunion.
The real warning sign was that Bingley had a pensive expression.
It was so unlike the man to have anything other than affable buffoonery written upon his face that Fitzwilliam was taken aback.
It was as if the man had come into the room wearing nothing but a legionnaire’s cloak and a laurel crown.
Bingley’s obvious unease made Fitzwilliam sensitive to the dour expressions that the ladies were trying (more successfully) to hide beneath pretty smiles.
Jane joined Bingley as soon as he came into the room, and they stood close together with their heads lowered.
Their mouths moved, but they neither smiled nor became lively at the other’s replies.
Fitzwilliam figured out that whatever sobering fact was making the ladies uneasy had already been confided; Bingley nodded and grasped Jane’s hand like a captain sending his soldiers off to battle.
The colonel glanced at Mary. She would not even confide in him if the house was on fire and she was the only one who knew where to find a bucket of water.
She was so prickly and distant at the best of times that he dreaded to think how closely she would guard something important.
The man had spent many hours with her, however, and out of pure self-preservation had learned how to read her expression. She, too, was worried.
Fitzwilliam sidled over to Mary and cleared his throat.
“If you have a cold, pray do not share it with me.” she snapped at once.
“I have never been one for sharing.” he replied easily, “I was breaking the silence.”
“Phlegmatically!”
“Would you rather I sing a ditty, Miss Mary? I feel that you would prefer my toneless warbling to the real subject I wish to discuss.”
“You want to know what is wrong.” she cut through his teasing preamble flatly. Her shoulders slumped and she sighed heavily, “I do not blame you. It must appear strange to you that all of us are so out of sorts tonight.”
“Will you tell me why?”
“We do not have much time. They are due to arrive at any moment.”
“Then you must speak quickly and begin at once.”
With a grudging smile, Mary lowered her voice and relayed the whole sorry mess.
Her voice remained expressionless throughout as if she found the whole thing tedious.
Fitzwilliam knew that she was simply protecting herself.
Mary had been just as dispassionate every time he had tried to compliment her.
As soon as she was uncomfortable with a topic, she closed herself off.
Still, she told the story concisely and well.
It fascinated Fitzwilliam to hear parts of it, such as the conditions that Darcy had tried to force upon the Bennets to prevent the marriage.
He had no notion that his cousin’s marriage had been made for noble reasons.
When he was told about Mrs. Bennet’s refusal to abide by the contract Fitzwilliam glanced up at Darcy in awe.
He was genuinely surprised that the man had not exploded.
Mary’s explanation was halted abruptly by the click of the door.
The room did not fall silent; Bingley made an immediate effort to raise the mood, launching into a boisterous story and encouraging Kitty and Jane to laugh along.
It was clearly a ploy, as they all glanced towards the door as it opened, but it gave them an excuse to pretend they had not noticed the new arrivals.
The footmen had been directed to be on top form tonight. The one who opened the door excelled, flourishing and announcing with aplomb bordering on sarcasm. The new arrivals did not notice the exaggeration; they walked in with gratified, waxy smiles and confident steps.
Fitzwilliam stared openly at them.
Had he not known that the woman was Mrs. Bennet he would have been able to guess.
She had the same remarkable eyes as her daughters: large, shining and framed by long lashes.
Hers, however, were narrowed in a sly manner as she searched the room.
Her body was plump and she slouched a little, but Fitzwilliam could see that she had once been a beauty.
Now, it seemed, she was trying to cling to her fading youth with lace and ribbons.
The man even detected a hint of rouge bringing an artificial glow to her cheek. He hid a smile. Rouge! How daring!
The man beside Mrs. Bennet was one that Fitzwilliam recognised.
Like Darcy, he had served his time in a number of tedious services in Hunsford Church.
He had no interest in sermons, especially not ones which made unsubtle comparisons between serving God and being loyal tenants.
While his aunt nodded indulgently along, Fitzwilliam studied the rector.
He hadn’t been impressed then; he was even less impressed now.
Mr. Collins was wearing a smart new waistcoat.
Other than that, he was remarkably unaltered.
His manner was the real distinction. He spared no compliments for the room and expressed no gratitude for the dinner invitation.
He bowed once to the room in general and then squirmed across it towards Jane, already murmuring obsequious compliments in a nasal voice.
Fitzwilliam saw Elizabeth roll her eyes. She nodded subtly to the footman, who grinned and hurried away. In a few seconds the dinner gong rang.
She expected it. Fitzwilliam thought, amused, It’s like a game of chess.
Mr. Collins continued his advance only to find that Jane’s attention had been drawn away.
The handsome young man who had claimed it gave the rector an innocent smile even as he offered Miss Bennet his arm.
Before Mr. Collins could draw breath, the couple were peacefully walking away from him and towards the dining room.
“Miss Mary?” Fitzwilliam offered his arm to his own companion. Mary took it, smiled, and murmured:
“Ask Kitty to take your other arm. Then he cannot ask any of us.”
“What of Miss Lydia?”
Mary grinned wickedly, “The last time he tried that she pulled a face, rolled her eyes, and declared that she would prefer to be locked in the stocks. Mr. Collins took offence at that - rather understandably, I must admit. He has not repeated his offer since. I believe that he pretends Lydia does not exist, for I have not even seen him look at her.”
“He did! At first.” Kitty argued, having joined them mid-discussion, “Lyddie pulled faces at him. Once, she blacked her teeth with soot and he yelped when she smiled! He called her a naughty, sinful child. Since then, he has expressed no interest in us younger girls at all.” she looked thoughtfully back at her cousin, who had grudgingly offered his arm to the only woman who could stand him. “Perhaps Jane should pull faces, too.”
“She would never do that, and it would make no difference. It is not her face which Mr. Collins stares at.”
“Mary!” Kitty giggled in shock, “Such a thing to say! How do you dare be so crass in front of a gentleman?”
“Oh, I have heard worse.” Fitzwilliam reassured her.
Kitty’s eyebrows flew up, “From Mary?”
“I cannot possibly say. I speak to many women, Miss Catherine, and am the very spirit of discretion. I would hate to make a lady regret spending time with me.”
“I had no idea you were such a man of the world.” Mary jabbed as they sat down at the dining table, “I dare say that the kind of women who say such things are suitable companions for you, but I cannot imagine sitting down beside one at whist.”
“Such ladies generally let the gentleman win.”
“Ah! Then there is another area where we are unalike. I am neither crude, nor inclined to flatter fools.”
“Not crude! You were the one who began this topic, madam! You are not a flatterer, that much is certain, but as for guarding your tongue…!”
“Guarded or not, my tongue refuses to speak of those women, sir. I am no prude, I simply dislike sounding ignorant, and so it shall not obey. If we see any need to return to the subject I shall bow to your vast experience.”
“I did not say that I…!”
“Oh, that’s right. You said only that you know ‘many women’ who speak crassly, and who require you to be discreet. I am ignorant, sir, but I am not a child. I know to whom you refer.”
“But I only mentioned them because you said…! Oh, dash it.” Fitzwilliam grumbled into his wine glass. The tang of alcohol surprised him out of his sulk, and he took a slow sip. Between that shock and the unfamiliar feeling of being both exposed and ridiculed, he burst out laughing.
It drew the attention of the whole table. Everyone else had been sitting in stilted silence, watching the servants bringing the plates around. Fitzwilliam gave them all a cheerful nod and raised his glass in a toast. He was supposed to be oblivious, was he not? Well then, he would break the ice.
Break, he thought with a thrum of unease, was exactly the right word. It felt as if the world was ready to shatter around them.