Chapter Three
“Where is your mother, girls?” their father asked from the doorway of the drawing room.
Jane stood. “I believe she is in conference with Mrs. Hill, Papa.” She cast a concerned glance at Elizabeth, who lifted her shoulders minutely.
“Thank you.” He turned to leave, but suddenly stopped and turned back. “Elizabeth,” he said cautiously.
“Yes, Papa?”
“You were not home when my cousin arrived, and I am sorry to say I have not been paying him much mind.” He cleared his throat. “Where has your mother put Mr. Collins?”
Elizabeth looked up at him. “Across the hall from my chamber.”
A muscle twitched in her father’s cheek. “You will remove to one of your sister’s rooms while he is with us, Lizzy.”
She nodded, and then he was gone.
Mr. Collins did not appear for dinner that evening.
Elizabeth ate enthusiastically while her mother complained.
He did appear for breakfast the following morning, albeit briefly, sitting next to Kitty and not making any conversation at all.
When he rose and took his leave, no one was sorry to see him go.
“You shared with Jane last night, Lizzy,” Lydia said immediately. “Share with me tonight, please?”
Elizabeth smiled. “You snore, Lydia. I should have no sleep at all.”
“I do not!” Lydia exclaimed indignantly, looking around the table for support. “I do not!”
“Yes,” Kitty said firmly, “you do. You practically make the paint peel.”
Mr. Bennet lifted his paper higher, though it did shake a little. Mrs. Bennet seemed not to hear the conversation at all, and wandered out to the hall, presumably to watch Mr. Collins leaving.
Jane, Elizabeth, and Mary stifled their laughter, but Jane finally cracked, setting her elbow on the table and leaning her forehead against her hand. “Oh,” she said between laughs. “Oh dear.” Then she drew in a breath—and snorted.
The girls all stopped. The edge of the newspaper turned down to revel one brown eye. There was complete silence as Jane’s hand flew over her mouth and she flushed a deep pink, which only had the effect of making her lovelier than ever.
And then there was laughter enough to rattle the windowpanes.
It was not long after the noise died down that the mistress of the house could be seen through the breakfast room’s open door.
She was pacing the hall, complaining of ill use on the part of her husband and second daughter to the long-suffering Mrs. Hill.
When the front door closed behind Mr. Collins, she began to wring her hands as she walked.
One by one, the girls excused themselves, cast a glance at their mother, and fled upstairs.
At last, only Elizabeth was left in the dining room, as she intended to show her father the same support he had offered her the day before.
“Mrs. Bennet,” Mr. Bennet said harshly, rubbing his forehead. “Come inside.”
She did, still in a flutter.
Mr. Bennet sighed, folding his newspaper neatly and placing it next to his plate. He folded his hands together and laid them on the table. “Sit down, Mrs. Bennet.”
Elizabeth’s mother took a seat at the table.
“I will not say this again. Mr. Collins will not receive my permission to court Lizzy. He will not receive my permission to court any of my girls, and I have told him so. Mr. Darcy is courting Lizzy, and he is disinclined to give her up.” He watched her pulling at her sleeves.
“I would have thought you would see the very great advantages of such a match.”
“It is only…” Mrs. Bennet said in a small voice, glancing over at Elizabeth. “It is only that Derbyshire is so far away, Thomas. Hunsford is much closer. And then, Lizzy would be mistress here one day.”
“Mama,” Elizabeth said, her patience fraying, “please try to understand. I will not marry for the sole purpose of maintaining a tie to Longbourn.” Nor will I ever marry an idiot.
“But,” her mother began.
Elizabeth moved to the chair next to her mother.
Be patient, she told herself. She is vexing, but she does love me.
And I love her, too. She took Mrs. Bennet’s hands and held them still.
“Mama,” she said quietly, “It is not the house to which I am attached. You will always have me, whether I am in town or elsewhere.”
Her mother was silent. Elizabeth thought she might be holding her breath, though she could not say why. At last, she patted Elizabeth’s cheek and nodded before exiting the room.
Elizabeth and her father exchanged glances; Mr. Bennet shrugged his shoulders and was about to return to his paper and his coffee when they both heard a sob coming from outside the door.
Mr. Bennet gave his breakfast a wistful glance and, with a half-hearted smile at Elizabeth, left the room to tend to his wife.
Mrs. Bennet was still in her room upstairs when Mr. Bingley, Mr. Fitzwilliam, and Mr. Darcy came to call.
“We wished to come here first,” Mr. Bingley said, “to issue a personal invitation to you all. To a ball, at Netherfield, on November the twenty-sixth.”
Elizabeth let out a breath before meeting Darcy’s gaze. If the ball was going forward, that could only mean one thing.
“My sister Caroline will be returning tomorrow,” Mr. Bingley announced, before smiling at Jane. “She is bringing my Aunt Cleopatra Bingley with her.”
Cleopatra? Elizabeth’s lips formed the name silently as she observed Darcy’s somber mien. Except it was not truly somber. She could see his good humor in the slight press of his lips and barely discernable squint of his eyes. He gave her a small nod and closed the space between them.
“I would ask something terribly impertinent about whether Aunt Bingley lived up to her Christian name,” Elizabeth said, “but every possibility turns dangerous.”
A small burst of air escaped Mr. Darcy’s nose. “Indeed. From liaisons with powerful men to retain her kingdom to committing suicide by asp, it is difficult to find a jest suitable for mixed company.”
“An opportunity lost, then,” Elizabeth conceded, and changed the subject. “How are you this morning, Mr. Darcy?”
“Wishing for an answer about the first set at Bingley’s ball, Miss Elizabeth. I realize it is not the done thing to ask before the event, but as we are courting, I believe an exception might be made.”
“Oh,” she said, frowning. “I would enjoy that, Mr. Darcy, very much. But I do not dance the first.”
His eyebrows lowered. “Why is that, if I may ask?”
Elizabeth gazed around the room and moved to a relatively isolated corner, indicating he should follow her. Then she fidgeted with her fingers until Mr. Darcy laid a single warm hand over them.
“Just tell me, Elizabeth,” he said, in a repeat of his words in her father’s study. “You will feel better when you do.”
“I missed dancing the first dance of my first season with Uncle Phillip,” she said in a rush, nearly before he had finished speaking. “And I just… until I dance the first with Cousin John in town, I…” She peeked up at him. “I know it is silly.”
His disappointment was clear, but he only nodded. “It is perfectly understandable,” Mr. Darcy assured her. “You feel it would dishonor your uncle, whom you loved very much.”
She nodded. “Cousin John was his best friend. I feel that once we have our dance…” She caught her bottom lip between her teeth.
“That you will then have paid your respects to your uncle.” His expression had not changed, and she hoped he was not upset.
“Yes.” She turned her palm up to capture his hand and smiled weakly. “How can you make this sound so reasonable? It does not sound rational even in my own mind.”
“Miss Elizabeth,” he replied, something close to mirth in his tone, “I have made a study of you almost from the first moment of our acquaintance.”
Elizabeth stared at him askance.
“I said almost from the beginning,” he said in response to her unasked question. With a quiet chuckle and a shake of his head, he asked, “May I finish?”
She nodded regally.
“I mean this in the best sense, you understand,” he stopped until she nodded again, more like herself this time, and he continued with a small grin. “You are not that complicated.”
“I see.” She lifted an eyebrow. “Very well then, sir, is our business completed?” she asked, enjoying being teased by this serious man.
He was unperturbed by her flippant response. “Not at all. I have yet to secure a set. Let us say I shall keep you company during the first, dance the second, and…” he pretended to think, “I should like the supper dance as payment for my trouble.”
“Trouble?” she asked, feigning pique. “I think you are trouble, sir, tying up my sets.”
“Trouble,” he confirmed. “A great deal of rather wonderful trouble.” He ran his thumb up and down her forefinger and it was all she could do not to shiver.
“Please, accept my hand for these dances, Miss Elizabeth,” he said, “or I shall have to insist on having the last as well.
He leaned in just a bit and said emphatically.
“Which might cause a great deal of talk.”
“Very well, sir,” she responded, pretending his proximity did not affect her. “The second and the supper dance are yours, as you have forced me to it.”
“Forced you?” he exclaimed, keeping his volume low but casting his eyes swiftly about the room anyway. His attention returned to her. “I have charmed you, and you know it.”
He was so very sure of himself that she wished to deny it merely to provoke him. Then she recalled how easily he had understood her desire to honor Uncle Phillip. It is far from the first such consideration he has shown me.
The pretense fell away, and Elizabeth softened. “Indeed,” she said. Her eyes met Mr. Darcy’s, and she saw he was surprised at her capitulation. “There is no charm equal to tenderness of heart.”
In the end, Longbourn was the only home the men visited to issue an invitation in person. Bingley was sure his sister would wish to make the rounds with them to the other principal families and so they awaited her arrival.