Chapter Twenty-One #2
Darcy bowed again, murmuring his thanks, but Mrs. Bennet, carried away by the occasion, pressed on.
“And I must say, gentlemen, your visit could not come at a better, or worse, time. We are soon to be inundated again. Mr. Collins arrives on Wednesday to stay until his wedding. My poor nerves can scarcely endure it. Why Mr. Bennet insists on receiving the man who will one day cast us into the hedgerows, I cannot fathom!”
Bingley shifted uneasily, not quite certain how to respond to so lamentable a speech. Jane’s cheeks reddened, and Elizabeth saw her sister draw a steadying breath.
Ever their mother’s gentle guide, she interjected quickly, “Mama, shall I ask Hill to bring tea for our guests?”
Mrs. Bennet brightened. “Yes, yes—what a lovely idea. I shall go and speak to her myself.” She bustled from the room, calling over her shoulder for Lydia to come and assist.
Elizabeth exhaled, grateful for the moment’s reprieve.
She turned just as Darcy stepped beside her. “Miss Elizabeth,” he said in that low, melodious voice she never mistook for another's, “might I sit with you?”
“Of course,” she replied, drawing her gown close to allow space for him beside her on the settee.
The embroidery lay forgotten in her lap as she regarded him.
How handsome he appeared! His cravat was expertly tied, his coat admirably cut, and his waistcoat, dark green rather than his familiar black, became him exceedingly.
As he seated himself, warmth rose in her cheeks. His look was intent—steady, not bold, but she felt it as though it touched her. When his eyes fell to her neckline, she caught her breath, for he had fixed upon on the silver chain, visible just above the edge of her gown.
He sees it. He knows.
Her fingers moved instinctively to the spot, conscious of his notice. But he spoke not of the necklace, and she dared not mention it first.
Instead, he leaned nearer. “Mr. Collins is returning, then?” Curiosity…perhaps even amusement colored his words.
She folded her hands tightly in her lap. “Yes. He arrives on the seventh and marries Charlotte two days later.” Daft! I am repeating what Mama just said. She wanted to sink into the settee, such was her embarrassment.
“Yes, I had heard. Miss Lucas spoke of it in December.”
“Charlotte accepted quickly.”
“She is a prudent woman. You would have been wasted on such a man.”
He knows! He knows Mr. Collins proposed to me first. She could not fathom his design—he seemed to wait, intent upon her answer.
The words echoed in her mind. Wasted? He thinks me fit for more.
From him, it could not be idle civility; Darcy was not a man to speak without meaning.
If not Mr. Collins, then whom did he consider worthy?
Could he be suggesting…himself? The idea trembled at the edge of belief, both thrilling and bewildering.
“My mother would disagree. She has spoken her sentiments often enough.” Elizabeth shifted, turning more fully toward him. “I take it you have heard of my refusal?”
A shadow crossed his features. “Indeed. Miss Lucas revealed it. Tell me you are not angry.” His beseeching look was so genuine that she smiled despite herself.
“You must think me rather foolish to refuse so suitable a proposal.”
“Not at all.” His protest warmed her heart. “The match might appear suitable from one perspective, but I believe I know you well enough to be certain you would have been wretched in such a union.”
A thrill coursed through her at his words; he understood her so well. “Mr. Collins has his merits. He is...consistent in his absurdity. Charlotte is a sensible creature; she is content with her practical decision.”
He let out a restrained chuckle, then grew more serious. “Collins is devoted to my aunt, Lady Catherine. That alone would deter most. I ought not to speak ill of my elders, but she is a formidable woman, determined to have her own way.”
“I have only heard his account, and in his telling, she is a veritable goddess—wisdom, virtue, and elegance personified.”
Darcy laughed outright. “Lady Catherine is imperious, commanding, and certain of her own infallibility. She assumes the air of discernment, but I fear little of it is genuine. Nothing escapes her notice—not the placing of forks upon a table, nor the manner in which a guest stirs their tea. My sister avoids her company whenever possible. Such is her perceived authority that she will even direct the butcher’s orders on her parson’s behalf. ”
Elizabeth began to laugh, but the sound faltered, her smile fading as an unwelcome recollection intruded.
Wickham once said something of Anne de Bourgh and Darcy…a betrothal. And had not Mr. Collins intimated the same? The first could not be trusted, yet the second?
She checked her spirits, touched with a desperation she prayed he would not perceive, and inclined away from him. “You surprise me, Mr. Darcy, that a man of your fortune and consequence is not yet married. Is it because you are already spoken for? What of Miss de Bourgh?”
His composure now shifted, just enough to betray surprise. “Anne?”
“I have heard from two sources that there is an attachment between you.” Please let it be false. I could not bear to lose him now.
She noted his bearing scarcely altered; he was too disciplined for that. But something affected him—surprise, perhaps even hurt.
“An attachment?”
“Yes,” she managed, forcing the words past the sudden tightness in her throat.
“That you are to marry. Mr. Collins implied as much. And Mr. Wickham…” She pressed forward, fearful of being misunderstood.
“He claimed it certain. I know that man’s words are suspect, but my cousin? I do not know what to think."
Darcy drew a breath sharply, and for an instant, she feared she had overstepped.
He leaned a fraction closer, his words low yet resolute. “Miss Elizabeth, I give you my word: there is no attachment between myself and my cousin. Nor have I ever wished there to be one.”
“I see.” Relief broke from her in a breath she could not wholly conceal.
Folly, to have let their falsehoods prey upon me. How near I came to believing him lost, to thinking he belonged elsewhere. And now he is free. Free, and I am foolishly glad of it.
“My aunt would wish it so. She insists my mother desired it, and that the arrangement is of a peculiar kind, long intended since our infancy. Anne and I have never shared such inclination. She is a sickly girl, and quite shy; she is not at ease in large gatherings. We are simply cousins, nothing more.”
She schooled her manner, though the impulse to reach for him was strong, so great was her relief. “I am sorry. I ought not to have credited them.”
Darcy’s reply was gentler still. “No, I am only sorry that you were given cause to doubt. As for him, suffice it to say that he will spread falsehoods no longer.”
He reached for her hand, clasping it briefly before letting go. Their eyes met, and for a long, suspended moment, silence held. Her fingers sought the chain at her throat, but she dared not draw it forth. She wondered if he would speak, if he would declare himself at last.
No, he will wait until Twelfth Night.
The sounds of returning footsteps were heard, and the company’s reprieve at an end. Mrs. Bennet bustled in, with Hill behind her bearing a tray of tea and cakes. At once came the chatter, Kitty and Lydia rushing headlong down the stairs in pursuit of sweets.
Darcy withdrew, his manner unreadable.
But Elizabeth’s heart beat all the faster.