Chapter VIII
As the days passed and December gave way to January, Mr. Darcy stayed in the neighborhood, though Elizabeth could not fathom his reasons.
As there were no ladies at Netherfield, the Bennets could not visit there, but Colonel Fitzwilliam came to Longbourn almost every day and dined there at least once or twice a week.
Mr. Darcy accompanied him every time he came.
Sometimes he sat without saying much, and if Elizabeth were to guess his state of mind, she thought he was contemplative and perhaps even a little curious.
The gentleman often kept himself aloof in company, sometimes with a steaming cup of tea in hand, usually with an expression of absent attention.
More often, however, Elizabeth found herself the recipient of his attention.
Whether he meant anything by it, she could not determine, but he spoke more to her than to the rest of her family combined, other than Mr. Bennet, with whom he stood frequently.
The matters they discussed were varying—no guiding hand directed them toward any particular subject.
Literature was a common theme between them as they shared their preferences, their dislikes, and their impressions of what they read.
But they often indulged in other matters of substance, such as impressions of their homes, anecdotes of their families, and activities in which they liked to engage.
Elizabeth learned more about his highborn relations than anyone else in the neighborhood, and Mr. Darcy spoke of his sister with all the pride and affection of an elder brother.
“Georgiana is but sixteen, your sister Lydia’s age.”
“Lydia will not be sixteen for several months,” corrected Elizabeth. “Sometimes her behavior gives the impression of being older.”
Mr. Darcy appeared interested. “Please do not think I mean to criticize, but she seems full young to be out much in society.”
At that moment, Lydia was saying something to Mary, her usual target for teasing—Mary, as was her custom, was giving as good as she got, though in her quiet way, which Lydia assumed was capitulation.
Of all the sisters, they were the two who were at odds the most, for Lydia thought Mary was dowdy and prudish—a claim not entirely without merit—and Mary considered Lydia an ill-bred child who should not be out of the nursery—true, in Elizabeth’s opinion.
“Can I assume your sister is not out, Mr. Darcy?” asked Elizabeth.
“She is not,” replied Mr. Darcy. “Next summer, I intend to allow her to attend events near our home in Derbyshire, but she will not be presented in London for another two years.”
“What sort of girl is she?” asked Elizabeth, curious how Mr. Darcy would answer.
Wickham, back when she had still trusted him, had answered a similar question with a comment about her pride being akin to her brother’s.
Mr. Darcy must know his sister better than Mr. Wickham did, but his opinion would also be colored by the affection of a close sibling.
“Georgiana is shy,” replied Mr. Darcy. “She is a good girl, never giving us the least trouble, diligent in her studies, and excessively fond of the pianoforte.”
“Ah, yes,” laughed Elizabeth. “I recall Miss Bingley’s excessive praise of your sister’s performance.”
Mr. Darcy made a face, not unexpected. “Miss Bingley has heard Georgiana play but once. While I believe my sister is as accomplished as her age allows, Miss Bingley exaggerated her talent.”
“Trust me, Mr. Darcy—that much I have apprehended.”
With a nod, the gentleman said: “I love my sister, Miss Elizabeth. Since our father’s untimely passing, I have become, in many respects, a father to her.”
Mr. Darcy’s eyes found Colonel Fitzwilliam, where he was speaking with Jane. “Fitzwilliam is her second guardian by my father’s will. He has always fulfilled the role of a jovial cousin who makes her laugh—because of his position in the army, the greater part of her care falls to me.”
“Such a relationship cannot be desirable as she becomes a woman,” observed Elizabeth.”
“You are correct,” said Mr. Darcy, appreciating her perception. “I am trying to mold our relationship into a more proper sibling connection, but her reticence has proven an obstacle.”
“What she needs,” said Elizabeth, a daring comment, “is a sister to whom she can look up to. If your wife is her sister, she must necessarily see you as a brother.”
Mr. Darcy’s responding look was unreadable. “You may be correct, Miss Elizabeth.”
He surprised her with his next comment. “Do you know of anyone who would be willing to fill the void?”
It was only the twinkling of the gentleman’s eyes that told Elizabeth he was jesting. Feeling warmer toward him than she had ever felt before, Elizabeth was comfortable returning it, though she chose not to seize the obvious retort.
“With your situation in life, I must assume there are many ladies who would be pleased to step in.”
“I shall not say you are incorrect, but I wish for something more.”
The conversation stayed with Elizabeth far longer than she expected. Though she did not know why or what it meant, she suspected Mr. Darcy’s words of deeper meaning than they had seemed on the surface.
Soon, the day of Charlotte’s wedding arrived.
To the Bennets’ relief, Mr. Collins was staying at Lucas Lodge, not Longbourn, for none of them could have withstood him with equanimity.
Elizabeth was to stand up with her close friend, and the family set out from Longbourn for the wedding of a dear friend.
Perhaps it is best to say nothing of the particular feelings of each of the members of the family, for though most were happy for Charlotte, there was one who still held her opinion of her artful machinations, stealing Longbourn away from those who had called it home for centuries.
That Mrs. Bennet made no overt comments was less than Elizabeth suspected, more than she had hoped for.
The ceremony was emotional, as most weddings were; the bride was radiant, and the groom was silly.
Elizabeth stood by her friend’s side, feeling all the emotions customary to such an event, though magnified by her certainty that her dearest friend would find no true happiness with Mr. Collins, determined to support her, nonetheless.
When the ceremony ended, and the couple signed the register, Elizabeth looked on with happiness that her friend would have a home of her own, but sadness for the dreary years she must now endure Mr. Collins.
Given the identity of the bride’s father, it was no surprise that most of the gentle families in the neighborhood turned out for the wedding and the breakfast held thereafter.
From his manner, Elizabeth thought he had used the excuse of his daughter’s wedding to hold another of his infamous parties, though they met all the usual forms necessary on the occasion.
As such, both Colonel Fitzwilliam and Mr. Darcy were also in attendance.
“Mr. Darcy!” exclaimed Mr. Collins the moment they returned to Lucas Lodge for the breakfast, bowing as low as one would to a monarch.
“Please allow me to state my humble gratitude for the singular honor of your presence at my wedding. Words cannot express how fortunate Mrs. Collins and I feel on the occasion.”
The way Mr. Darcy looked at the parson, Elizabeth was certain he was wondering how best to swat the insignificant gnat buzzing around his head.
As Elizabeth recalled, he still did not have the benefit— if such a term could even be applied on the occasion—of an introduction to the unctuous cleric.
Mr. Collins acted as if he had known Mr. Darcy for many years; Mr. Darcy did not.
“Do not concern yourself, Miss Elizabeth,” when she offered an apology on Mr. Collins’s behalf. “I am not unacquainted with the sort of man with whom my aunt prefers to surround herself. Mr. Collins is perhaps an extreme example, but he is not singular.”
“That is curious, Mr. Darcy,” said Elizabeth, regarding him with amused disbelief, “for I have always thought Mr. Collins is singular.”
The gentleman chuckled under his breath. “Yes, I suppose he is. Tell me, Miss Elizabeth—do you regret your refusal now that your friend has accepted the position you declined?”
“The only regret I feel,” replied Elizabeth, “is how my friend tied herself to a man she cannot respect.”
Mr. Darcy nodded. “Pardon me, Miss Bennet, but I feel I must keep my distance from you for the rest of this event.”
At Elizabeth’s curious expression, Mr. Darcy explained. “My aunt has long desired that I marry my cousin, Anne de Bourgh. Anne and I have no affinity for each other and do not mean to oblige her. If Mr. Collins sees us speaking for long and my aunt has informed him of her wishes . . .”
“He will tell her,” said Elizabeth, finishing his thought. She regarded him with no little curiosity. “What do you suppose she would do then?”
“Fly to Longbourn in a rage to make her sentiments known.”
“Then by all means, let us refrain from giving him any notions. I would not wish to provoke your aunt when there is nothing between us.”
The way Mr. Darcy regarded her seemed odd to Elizabeth, but he agreed, and they separated soon after.
Mr. Darcy, she noted, stood by Mr. Bennet in conversation, though he exchanged words with others when appropriate, while Elizabeth stayed near Charlotte as convention dictated.
As Mr. Collins had been watching them while they spoke, she suspected he had already gotten a notion—thus, it was fortunate they separated when they did, easing his concerns.