Chapter 17
Parsonage
“Lizzy, your Mr Darcy has arrived at Rosings with his cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam. They will call in a quarter of an hour,” William Collins said with an almost straight face.
Elizabeth laughed gaily. “William, for the rest of my life I will rue the day Mary and I decided to teach you to tease. He is most assuredly not my Mr Darcy—unless, of course, you mean something more like my nemesis, or possibly the bane of my existence, my handsomeness evaluator, or perhaps the source of my frustrations. If he calls today, it is from basic politeness, curiosity, or because Lady Catherine has driven him mad with boredom already—a not unnatural surmise.”
“That would explain it,” Mary said, “for we all know that Mr Darcy is all politeness!”
Elizabeth sighed. “I always wondered whether you heard that. Sir William was truly more insufferable than usual that night.”
“You missed the best part. Before you arrived, Sir William spoke of the refinement of dancing or some such nonsense. Mr Darcy said, if I quote him rightly, ‘Certainly, sir; and it has the advantage also of being in vogue amongst the less polished societies of the world. Every savage can dance.’”
Elizabeth smiled. “That sounds like something he would say. It is difficult to tell sometimes whether he is being condescending or just has a subtle and sarcastic sense of humour like our father. I suppose he must have been quite annoyed when, but a minute or two later, Sir William presented him with Meryton’s principal savage and tried to force him into the detested activity.
I am amazed he kept his response to his usual scowl.
I think I would have had words with Sir William. ”
“Yes, indeed! He did however ask you to dance… twice, by my count.”
“Well, he is a perplexing man. He might even have asked me thrice, though the second was decidedly odd—well, in truth, they were all odd.”
“Odd indeed. Who would think a man like that would dance?”
William chuckled at his new sister and the way she teased her way through life.
Elizabeth had little doubt he liked all his sisters exceedingly, even Kitty and Lydia, who had visited for a fortnight in early March. Of course, his Mary was the best, but Elizabeth was and would always be his second favourite.
Elizabeth marvelled at her brother-in-law!
Who would ever have guessed that a mere 4 months of marriage to her sister Mary—just the time from Christmas to Easter—would turn the bumbling, stumbling, awkward man who had arrived at Longbourn exactly 8 days 4 hours before the Netherfield Ball into the nicest and sweetest man she had the pleasure of knowing?
Some changes were obvious; others subtle.
Mr Collins now stood straight instead of hunched over.
He was a tall man, and Mary encouraged him to look and act like one.
He was still on the heavy side, but not as heavy as he had been.
Most importantly, though, he had recovered from the debilitating nervousness that made a boy who had grown up under an illiterate, miserly, and cruel father sound like a bumbling fool.
In fact, his natural intelligence had been allowed to flower, and living with an intelligent wife who was not afraid to speak her mind had done no harm.
Regular grooming and tailored clothing completed the effect until he was hardly recognisable. Elizabeth reckoned love was a very powerful thing.
Collins replied, “Ah, but your nemesis and his cousin started asserting that they would call in a day or two, as one might expect, but when I mentioned you were visiting, they decided politeness required them to call immediately.”
Elizabeth laughed again and shook her finger at her naughty brother.
“Come, come, William. I spent 4 days cooped up with Mr Darcy in Netherfield. I doubt he could distinguish Mary from Charlotte on a bet, but that degree of acquaintance suggests he should call sooner out of politeness. That is all it is.”
William rubbed his chin sagely. “Ah, manners! Why did I not think of that, what with Mr Darcy being so well renowned for decorum? Why, when he left Hertfordshire, his politeness was plain for all to see. None of that awkward leave-taking or that sort of thing.”
Elizabeth glared at him, but giggled despite herself. “You win, William. I have not the slightest idea why he is coming to visit. I will receive him with my usual civility.”
“Shall I call for the apothecary or undertaker?”
They had scarcely settled when the doorbell rang, and the maid announced the expected guests.
Colonel Fitzwilliam, who led the way, was about thirty: not handsome, but in person and address most truly the gentleman.
Mr Darcy looked just as he had been used to look in Hertfordshire, paid his compliments, with his usual reserve, to Mrs Collins, and, whatever might be his feelings towards her sister, met her with every appearance of composure.
Elizabeth merely curtseyed to him, without saying a word.
Colonel Fitzwilliam entered into conversation directly, with the readiness and ease of a well-bred man and talked very pleasantly. He was amiable and agreeable—as long as she disregarded how much he reminded her of Mr Bingley, which made it hard to take him seriously.
Fortunately, she expected to spend very little time with either gentleman, so taking them seriously was neither necessary nor desirable. They might spend a few more or less pleasant afternoons at Rosings during the gentlemen’s visit, a dinner or two, and that would be the end of the matter.
Mr Darcy, on the other hand, after having addressed a slight observation on the house and garden to Mrs Collins, sat for some time without speaking to anybody. At length, however, his civility was so far awakened as to enquire of Elizabeth after the health of her family.
She answered in the usual way, refraining from asking whether he knew Jane was in London; there was almost no chance since their circles did not overlap.
Instead of asking any such thing, Elizabeth plied him with the most banal chatter she could devise, and at last, after some effort, learnt that the ride from London had been without mishap, and that the weather was agreeable.
After a proper interval for such a call, the gentlemen departed. Mr Darcy gave her a long, disconcerting stare before he bowed and took his leave.
“What was that all about, Lizzy?”
“I have no idea, Mary. I suppose he is angry that I know he cannot manage ordinary conversation well, and annoyed that I forced him into one. On the other hand, he could perfectly well have avoided it by staying at Rosings.”
Mary laughed. “With the scintillating conversation of Lady Catherine.”
Elizabeth smiled. “He is a bit of a conundrum. He dislikes ordinary conversation, but makes little effort to engage in anything livelier. He occasionally showed intelligence and spirit when Jane was convalescing at Netherfield—in the few instances when we escaped the mistress of the house’s cloying chatter—so why not say something intelligent now? ”
“Naturally. Why would he not bring up Hypatia or Shakespeare in response to your question about the state of the road, which you travelled yourself less than a fortnight ago.”
“Naturally.”
Mary grew serious. “Truly, Lizzy, what was that look he gave you when he left?”
“I have no idea! Not the slightest hint. I should think he has a complete and accurate list of my faults, and he seems intelligent enough to keep them in his head. I frankly have no theory at all as to what he was thinking.”
“Perhaps he was not thinking at all.”
Elizabeth laughed, and debated the merits of tickling her sister versus finding a cushion to throw at her, but the moment passed.