Chapter One #3
Her eyes widened, and one slender hand moved to cover her mouth. “Oh! Mr. Fitzwilliam!” she exclaimed. “Whatever will he do with the man?”
Mr. Darcy’s face was difficult to read, but his eyes danced. “I do not know, Miss Elizabeth,” he said. “But I greatly anticipate learning.”
It was some time before they left Mr. Bennet to his books.
Miss Bennet and Bingley were entering the house, having taken a walk about the gardens.
Kitty entered behind them and after a brief greeting, flitted off to the stillroom.
As the four of them moved towards the drawing room at the front of the house, there was a commotion outside.
Darcy heard a man’s voice raised in irritation and, he thought, delight.
“Watch your mount, you cow-handed dandyprat!”
“Ah,” he said, flashing Bingley a look, “Richard has arrived.”
Elizabeth’s first impression of her distant cousin, the Reverend Mr. Collins, was not an auspicious one.
Her father had explained that he was a young man only a few years past ordination.
He had matriculated from an august university, already secured a good living when most of his peers were forced to take positions as curates, and stood, at Mr. Bennet’s death, to inherit Longbourn.
Yet before her was clearly a man who, despite all of his accomplishments and good fortune, had managed to remain estranged from all common sense.
She recognized him at once as the man she had seen Mr. Bingley leading away from the carriage earlier in the day.
He was dressed in black though he was now bareheaded, but of more concern to her was his clumsy attempt to dismount.
While one foot hovered a few inches above the ground, the other was still firmly tucked up into a stirrup.
He was trying to steady himself by grasping the saddle but it slipped a bit.
The horse was turning in tight circles protesting this mistreatment, neatly avoiding the stable boy’s increasingly desperate grabs with increasingly harried tosses of his head.
When the horse began skittering to one side, Elizabeth nearly dashed forward to take the reins.
She was not certain whether she was more concerned about the man or the horse, but in any case, her forward movement was stilled by a hand placed lightly on her arm.
“Fitzwilliam knows what he is about, Miss Elizabeth,” Mr. Darcy said gently. “Best let him handle it.”
As if he had heard his cousin, Mr. Fitzwilliam smoothly pulled his own mount astride the harried horse and quickly took control of the reins.
“You are fortunate I am here, Collins,” he declared in a booming voice.
“Another minute, and you and your horse would be parting company.” He shook his head in disgust and gestured at Collins’s foot in the stirrup.
“Though not as soon as you might hope, I daresay.” He barked out a few instructions, and with the stable boy’s assistance, Mr. Collins soon had both feet on the ground.
Once he was assured that the horse would not run off with Mr. Collins still attached to the stirrup, Mr. Fitzwilliam realized he had an audience.
A wicked smile grew upon his face, and, still atop his horse, he pointed directly at Mr. Darcy.
This rude gesture surprised Elizabeth until she recalled they had grown up together and must often take such liberties with one another.
“Dun territory, Darcy,” Mr. Fitzwilliam called as his horse pranced to the side. His expression was playful and yet promised some form of retribution would be forthcoming. “Deep, deep dun.”
Both Mr. Darcy and Mr. Bingley began to laugh.
This also was not proper. It was not a mild break in decorum, a chuckle, brief and stifled.
It was a full, deep, body-shaking laughter that only close friends shared.
Mr. Bingley bent at the waist, hands resting on his thighs to support him as he gasped for breath.
Elizabeth met Jane’s eyes over the man’s back and saw that her sister wore the same bemused smile that she knew graced her own face.
They did not know exactly why the men were in such a state, but their laughter was infectious.
It made her think that there was yet another advantage to marrying Mr. Darcy should their courtship lead to what she was now fully expecting to be its logical conclusion.
He and Mr. Bingley were on such easy terms that she and Jane were sure to spend a good deal of time together, at least when they were both in town.
This made her very cheerful indeed until Mr. Collins scampered over to their small group.
He immediately made a ridiculously deep bow so close to her that she was required to take a step back to avoid being struck by his head.
Mr. Darcy’s hand on the small of her back steadied her; his face was no longer wreathed in humor, and it was this more than the man before her that dampened her pleasant mood.
“Miss Elizabeth,” Mr. Collins said, then repeated the process in Jane’s general direction. “Miss Bennet.” He finally straightened. “I am Mr. Collins, your cousin.”
“Mr. Collins,” Elizabeth replied with a shallow curtsey once he was a safe distance from her.
She intended to take some pity on him. He was family, after all, no matter how distant, and perhaps nobody had taught him the importance or order of a proper introduction.
You cannot be pleased by a lack of propriety in Mr. Darcy and then displeased by it in Mr. Collins, she told herself sternly, though she knew the situations were different.
It would be better for everyone if she could hide her distaste; it was not Mr. Collins’s fault, after all, that Mama had given him expectations.
Then Mr. Collins opened his mouth to speak. In an instant, every charitable thought dissolved.
“My dear cousin,” he began, and there was a smoothness to his speech that made her vaguely ill, “I have been most particularly anxious to meet you. Your excellent mother has explained why you were not here to meet me, and I must say that your dedication to nursing your ill sister back to health has only increased my esteem.” He took her arm to lead her away and was startled to find that she had not moved.
He tugged again, not hard, but as though she was unaware of his intent, and Elizabeth was forced to take a shuffling step forward.
She did not need to see Mr. Darcy’s expression to know that it was darkening.
“Mr. Collins,” she said to him, hoping to avoid a physical response from Mr. Darcy. “You will kindly remove your hand.”
He laughed as though she had told him a very good joke. “But how are we to get to know one another, Cousin Elizabeth, if we do not spend time together?” He addressed Mr. Darcy. “I am certain Mr. Darcy will not mind. He cannot mean to remain here long.”
“Why would that be, Mr. Collins?” Mr. Darcy all but growled, staring at the man.
Mr. Collins was undaunted. “Because as lovely as Longbourn might be, sir, my cousins and I are not of your sphere. Quite beneath it. I assure you, I am not insensible to the requirements of rank and precedence.” He smiled, then, his lips twisting into a pained half-grimace.
“I understand that you are to have Rosings when you marry, an estimable estate indeed.”
Mr. Darcy stepped up next to her and Elizabeth saw that Mr. Fitzwilliam was approaching Mr. Collins silently from behind.
Mr. Fitzwilliam lifted an eyebrow at his cousin.
As she watched with great interest, Mr. Darcy and his cousin held a conversation with nothing more than a few exchanged looks and a smug expression on the part of her suitor.
While grateful for the show of strength, she worried that the situation might get out of hand.
She cleared her throat, and the attention of all three men turned to her while Bingley stepped around them to usher Jane away from the confrontation and into the house.
Jane did not appear pleased to be rushed away, but she allowed it.
Elizabeth returned her gaze to the strange man in black who stood expectantly before her.
“A gentleman does not take the arm of a woman, he requests it.” Elizabeth straightened her shoulders. “You will remove your hand, Mr. Collins.”
But it was clear he had not understood at all. “Oh, of course, Cousin Elizabeth,” he crowed. He let his hand drop and then smirked. “May I take your arm?”
She sighed. “No, Mr. Collins, you may not.”
The pastor tilted his head slightly to one side, confused. “But I have requested it, as is proper.”
“Which is not the same as Miss Elizabeth granting that request,” Mr. Darcy replied. He spoke evenly, and Elizabeth thought he had recovered his equanimity, but after a fleeting glance at the frost in his eyes, it was clear he had not. She offered him a little smile and turned back to her cousin.
“Mr. Collins,” she said, trying to speak softly, “I know my mother has told you I would have no objection to receiving your addresses, but she is not possessed of all the facts. I am not available for marriage to you, sir, and I must ask you to desist in your attentions.”
Mr. Collins waved his hand. “But I am sure you could have no objections to my suit, madam. Not when approved by your excellent mother.”
Despite the insult to her own understanding, Elizabeth could not help feeling a tickle in her throat accompanying the pique.
She had seen that Mr. Collins was rather dim but now he was displaying a tendency for pomposity that was wonderfully absurd.
She could not help but ask, “And why is that, sir? What about you is so entirely splendid that no woman dare say nay?” Mr. Fitzwilliam’s lips quirked upward but he otherwise maintained a straight face.
“Elizabeth,” Mr. Darcy growled, and she was startled enough at his use of her Christian name to press her lips together. “You are not helping matters.”