Chapter One #4
I should stop. I cannot stop. “No, I should truly wish to know, Mr. Collins,” Elizabeth continued. “What could possibly negate my very clear refusal of your attentions?”
He entirely missed the set-down. Instead, Mr. Collins’s chest puffed a little as he began to lay out his accomplishments in a well-rehearsed speech.
He had a fine living and a lovely home. He was a man of the cloth, much respected; his wife would have purpose in life and leadership in her community.
“Not to mention that I enjoy the great condescension of Lady Catherine de Bourgh.” He paused to take a deep breath.
“I thank you for laying out all the advantages of the match so completely, Mr. Collins,” Elizabeth said hurriedly at this juncture, meaning to end the monologue.
You did this to yourself. Mr. Darcy tried to warn you.
“You must speak with my father, sir,” she said, trying to be gentle but not so gentle as to be misunderstood.
“I say again that I am not available as the object of your matrimonial aspirations.”
She turned back to the house and saw that Mr. Bingley had returned, standing a little further away, but observing them carefully.
Mr. Darcy offered his arm and she took it.
Elizabeth felt as she believed a queen might as he led her away and Mr. Fitzwilliam and Mr. Bingley fell in behind them.
She laughed softly. The duke and marquess could not have handled it better.
“What is it precisely that you find humorous, Miss Elizabeth?” Mr. Darcy asked. She could see that while he was somewhat more relaxed now, he had very much wished to have words with Mr. Collins.
“Oh,” she replied lightly, with one shake of her head. “I was just wondering how you would respond to an actual threat. Would you call out the militia, do you think?”
They entered the front hall in a knot, and as Elizabeth watched, Mr. Fitzwilliam bowed to her smartly and gave her a wink. “If necessary, madam.”
She eyed him warily. “I hardly think…”
He shook his head, and her thought trailed off. “We take care of our own, Miss Elizabeth,” he said.
Elizabeth had been prepared to treat the entire ridiculous event with good humor and banish it from her thoughts entirely, but the notion brought her up short. It made her heart leap and ache at the same time. One of our own.
“After he took the stairs, checked every room in the guest wing, the entire first floor, was served tea…” Richard paused to issue a heated glare at his cousin and host. “And I will have you know the man does not stop speaking even when he is eating…”
Darcy and Bingley grimaced.
“Then I had him check the gardens, after which he required a sit-down of half an hour to catch his breath. Unfortunately, that merely restored his voice.”
Bingley’s eyes were twinkling, but Darcy knew they dare not laugh while his cousin was still complaining. He bit the inside of his cheek.
Richard continued outlining his efforts.
“We were then off to the stables where he was nearly kicked in the head more than once.” He tossed back the rest of his brandy.
“I almost drew his cork myself, but the stable hands finally shoved him atop a horse just to ensure he would depart.” He shuddered at the memory.
“It was,” he closed his eyes, “ugly.” His eyes popped open and he fixed them on Darcy. “You owe those boys some coin.”
“Richard,” Darcy said apologetically, “I am in your debt.” More than you know.
“More than one bottle of cognac, no matter how fine,” was his cousin’s sour reply. “I am done to a cow’s thumb. Have not faced so obtuse a man since the army.”
Bingley spoke up then. “I will match Darcy’s offer with a few bottles of my best brandy, Fitzwilliam,” he said. “It was as much in my service as his that we sent Mr. Collins on to Netherfield.”
“You are already hosting me,” Richard replied, and stood to pour himself a drink. “You took me in when I needed refuge from my matchmaking mother. You and I are square.”
Darcy’s head shot up. Oh, dear Lord. “Richard,” he said, drawing his cousin’s name out uncertainly. Richard’s eyes narrowed.
“What?” he almost barked, drink forgotten. “I am not taking that man out again, Darcy. There is not enough cognac in the world that can tempt me to it.”
“I learned something a few days ago, but I did not think…”
“Something you have been surprisingly good at since we have been at Netherfield,” Bingley goaded him.
Darcy rolled his eyes. “No defense is being mounted, Bingley.”
Richard waited silently.
“Miss Bennet…” Darcy began.
“Miss Elizabeth Bennet,” Bingley interrupted, and Darcy frowned at him. “Do not look at me like that, Darce,” Bingley scoffed. “I simply wish to be clear that Miss Bennet is my future bride, not yours.”
“Well, the confusion should not last long, Bingley,” he said stiffly. “For Bennet is not Elizabeth’s only surname.”
“What?” Bingley asked, puzzled.
At least he did not withhold that from me, Darcy thought. Bingley and Richard waited impatiently for him to finish. They saved me from making a huge mistake. Elizabeth would not have remained unattached for long.
“Richard,” he said again, and plowed forward. “Miss Elizabeth Bennet is, in truth, Miss Elizabeth Bennet… Russell.”
“Russell?” Bingley blurted out. “The Miss Russell Fitzwilliam was hiding from?”
Darcy nodded slowly. “The very one.”
Richard was dangerously silent for a long moment. “So she is not Georgie’s age.”
“No,” Darcy confirmed.
“In fact,” Richard said slowly, “she is of an appropriate age and quite handsome.”
Darcy’s face began to grow warm. “Quite.”
“And,” Richard mused aloud, “connected to the Duke of Bedford, which my mother was certain to mention.” He cocked his head to one side. “My mother hand-selected her for me.” Darcy could not decide whether his cousin was indeed upset or whether Richard merely wanted him to squirm. Perhaps both?
“I do not believe she spoke for Miss Russell, cousin,” Darcy warned.
Richard fell back into his chair and said nothing, and Darcy felt guilty, though he knew none of it was his fault. Bingley—Bingley was grinning from ear to ear.
“She told me when I proposed,” Darcy said. “I swear I did not know until then. And then I was so…”
His cousin gave him a sidelong glance. “So?”
Darcy closed his eyes. He might as well be honest. The two men in this room could be trusted, though he knew he would forever be the source of their jests. “Happy. I was so happy, I did not even think about the name, not until later.”
Richard harrumphed, and lapsed again into a brooding silence. He sat and sipped at his brandy. Eventually his eyes closed and he leaned his head against the back of the chair.
“Speaking of not saying anything, Bingley…” Darcy asked, truly interested but also eager to change the subject. “You made me appear a complete fool in front of Mr. Bennet today.”
Bingley’s expression was smug. “It seems things went well enough.”
Darcy pressed his point. “You knew they were comfortable, Charles, that they will require no more than trifling assistance when Mr. Bennet passes. You are my friend. You might have hinted, at least.” I might have proposed earlier.
But would it have helped? He had to admit to himself that it probably would not have.
He had already uttered those stupid words at the assembly.
Bingley settled into a comfortable chair next to Richard, entirely unrepentant. Darcy took the chair opposite.
“There are two reasons I did not, Darcy.” Bingley lifted his feet onto the ottoman and observed Darcy closely. “First, I had promised Mr. Bennet that I would not betray his confidence.” He frowned, deep in thought.
Darcy grudgingly allowed that once having given his word, Bingley could not have broken it. “And the second?” he prompted his friend.
He watched Bingley’s face. Charles was by far the youngest of them and had always been the most easy-going, willing to acquiesce to the other, stronger personalities that surrounded him.
But something had changed in Hertfordshire, although whether it was being the temporary master of Netherfield, finally coming to terms with his sisters, or falling in love with Miss Bennet, Darcy could not say.
He had a sense that Bingley was coming into his own, that he would not be easily guided from here on out.
It made him simultaneously irritated at Bingley for choosing this particular time to grow stubborn and proud of him for becoming his own man.
Darcy’s conflict was confirmed when Bingley raised his head and stared straight into his eyes without flinching.
“The second reason, Darcy,” Bingley said decisively, “was that you did not yet deserve her.”
As that statement hung in the air, Richard pushed himself to a standing position. “An Arabian,” he said, leaning over his cousin, his entire posture daring Darcy to decline. “I want the next Arabian from your stables.”