Chapter Sixteen #2
Darcy shrugged. “If he did not want them to be angry with him, he should not have lied.”
Richard’s smile was brittle. “I will remind you of that.”
“I have not lied except when forced to do so,” Darcy said stiffly.
“What do you believe Bingley has done?”
With a frown for a cousin who seemed to have no qualms about causing so much strife, Darcy went to find Georgiana.
Elizabeth slipped back into the scullery to find the kitchen in an uproar, and said a silent prayer that no one would miss the teacup and pot she’d left with Mr. Fox.
She’d meant for him to have his tea and then take back the cup and pot, but had found him soundly asleep.
So much so that he hadn’t awakened when she’d covered him with a blanket from the stable and left the tea and food within easy reach.
She quickly shucked her cloak, hat, gloves, and boots, then gathered them up. In stocking feet, she raced down the central hall, then scurried up the staircase. She stowed her outerwear and donned slippers.
If she could find Jane and join in whatever chore her sister undertook to ready for their cousin’s arrival, she might be able to make it seem as if she’d been in the house for far longer than she had.
Hopefully, Jane did something near the kitchen.
Elizabeth hadn’t taken the time to eat any of the food.
She’d simply left it all. She was starved.
The light patter of her slippers nearly as quiet as her stocking feet had been, she started down the staircase.
With both hands, she chafed cheeks that still felt cold and were likely red, for the wind had picked up a great deal since sunrise.
Reaching the base of the staircase, she whirled in the direction of the kitchen.
“Elizabeth,” her mother’s voice cracked out.
Wincing, Elizabeth turned to the front parlor. “Yes, Mama?”
“Come here.” Mrs. Bennet’s usually jovial tone brooked no argument.
Elizabeth plastered on a bland smile, drew her shoulders back, and strode into the parlor. Surprisingly, her father and all four of her sisters also occupied the room. All of the chores must be done. They now awaited Mr. Collins’ arrival. Elizabeth truly had shirked.
“Explain yourself,” Mrs. Bennet stated.
Elizabeth opened her mouth, her mind racing for words.
“You have been out of this house the entirety of the morning,” Mrs. Bennet declared.
“You left your sisters to do the work required to ready for the arrival of your odious cousin on their own. And for what? A fox. A fox, of all things. One likely shot stealing from our hens. You are a dreadful, ungrateful daughter who thinks only of herself.”
“Yes, Mama,” Elizabeth murmured, acutely aware that the sisters she had not helped regarded her now.
“Elizabeth should not be permitted to stay for tea with Cousin Collins,” Lydia said.
“No, she should not,” Kitty promptly agreed.
Elizabeth’s stomach growled at that threat, the sound far more pathetic than menacing.
Beside their mother, Mary smirked.
Jane and Mr. Bennet, however, both appeared thoughtful, far more worrying than Mama’s anger or the sniping of Elizabeth’s younger sisters.
“A fox, then, Elizabeth?” Papa asked, his eyes narrow. “Mr. F., Mary reported.”
Oh no. Had Mary told them of the fox, or related their entire conversation, to show how smart she was in guessing that Elizabeth spoke of a fox? Elizabeth’s astute father and older sister would not be so easily led into a deception of their own making as Mary had been.
As her father still regarded her with suspicion, Elizabeth swallowed and nodded. “Mr. F.”
“Who has been shot?” Mr. Bennet pressed from where he sat to one side of the room, a paper held loosely in one hand.
“Yes, he has been shot. In the leg.”
“Front or back?” Jane asked, her regard at least as suspicious as their father’s.
“Front or back?” Elizabeth repeated, her mind racing. She did not wish to lie if she need not.
“Foxes have front legs and hind legs,” Jane clarified.
“None of us cares where the vile creature was shot,” Mrs. Bennet snapped.
“Only that Elizabeth has been missing all morning, tending vermin that should have been shot and should be again. And feeding it from our larder. Heaven knows it does not need to steal our chickens if you are going to bring them to it, cooked and seasoned and all.”
“I am sorry, Mama,” Elizabeth offered, for she was. She had not meant to avoid her share of the work, but Mr. Fox needed food and a blanket more than their cousin needed Elizabeth to polish the silver. Or whatever chore Mama would have given her.
Mr. Bennet set aside his paper. “I believe Elizabeth and I should discuss this in my—”
“A carriage,” Lydia squealed.
She and Kitty scurried to the window, Mary following more slowly.
“Oh, what a fine carriage,” Kitty breathed. “Do you think it is our cousin’s? With such a fine carriage, he must be terribly handsome.”
Elizabeth struggled to contain what she thought of such inanity, for her father had turned to the window as well and she didn’t want to recapture his attention. Only Jane still watched her, her eyes worried. Hoping to reassure her sister, Elizabeth crossed to join her on the sofa.
“The crest on the door has nothing to do with the Bennet family,” Mary observed. “I doubt the carriage is our cousin’s. If he is inside, it is likely loaned to him.”
“Still, it is very fine,” Kitty breathed. “Maybe even finer than Mr. Darcy’s that the colonel arrived in. Certainly finer than Mr. Bingley’s.”
“Or your father’s,” Mrs. Bennet muttered.
“He’s getting out,” Lydia cried, pressing her nose to the glass alongside Kitty. Mary, on Kitty’s other side, showed more decorum.
“Were you truly tending an injured fox?” Jane whispered.
Elizabeth shook her head, whispering back, “A gentleman. He was kidnapped and escaped, and they shot him. He is very unwell.”
Jane turned round eyes on her.
“Oh, he is very tall,” Kitty exclaimed.
“But not handsome.” Lydia gave a huff, straightening from the window.
Elizabeth slanted a look to find that, despite the commotion her younger sisters were making, Mr. Bennet now watched her and Jane, and so she mustered a cheerful expression.
Through her smile, Elizabeth murmured, “He requires a doctor, but I could not convince him it is safe to call one. I am not certain if he is cautious or delirious.”
“Oh dear. The poor man. Something must be done for him.”
“He is not that unfortunate in appearance,” Kitty said from her place at the window. “And he will have Longbourn someday.”
Lydia shook her curls. “That makes him no more handsome to me.”
“I left him food,” Elizabeth reassured Jane quietly. “And covered him with a blanket.”
Jane pursed her lips. “Where is he?”
“In the old shed on Mr. Grason’s land.”
A knock sounded on the front door.
“Whatever were you doing there?” Jane asked as the door creaked open under the auspice of a maid.
Elizabeth’s mind raced. Should she admit to encountering Colonel Fitzwilliam while out walking?
“A Mr. Collins is here to see you, sir,” the maid said, stepping into the room.
Elizabeth cast Jane an apologetic look, though in truth she was relieved by the reprieve.
She had no good answer, especially with their father watching.
She didn’t believe he could guess people’s words by the shape of their lips as she’d learned to do, but he was astute and would decipher much simply from the shifts in Jane’s expression.
Elizabeth stood along with her relations as a tall, broad-shouldered gentleman entered.
He wore black, save for a white lawn shirt and cravat, and neither coat nor waistcoat boasted a hint of embroidery, but what buttons she could see gleamed silver.
He would, as Kitty had said, not be unfortunate looking, were his expression not an almost impossible seeming mix of servility and hauteur that left his wide mouth and equally wide-set eyes almost slack with indecision.
He bowed to them all, and introductions were made, Mr. Bennet moving from Mrs. Bennet, to Jane, to Elizabeth, who did not miss how Mr. Collins’ attention remained fixed on her older sister as their father moved on. Nor did he shift his focus while angling a bow at Mary.
“And this is our fourth daughter, Catherine,” Mr. Bennet continued. “And our fifth, Lydia.”
“Everyone calls me Kitty,” Kitty said loudly, finally snapping Mr. Collins’ attention away from Jane.
“A lovely name, Catherine. It is the name of my esteemed patroness, Lady Catherine de Bourgh, who so wisely encouraged me to visit your, well someday to be my, lovely home.” His mouth stretched into a smile.
“Lady Catherine always knows what is best, Miss Catherine, and she does not hold with the use of Kitty. Kitty, she says, and rightly to be certain, diminishes a person.”
“Do you hear that, Kitty?” Lydia said, wide eyes full of laughter. “You are diminished.”
“I am not.” Kitty cocked her chin into the air.
“Maybe that is why you sneeze all the time,” Lydia added.
“It is not, and I do not.” Kitty, who had not done so in days, sneezed.
Lydia cast her a smug look.
“I cannot see how such a thing can be possible,” Mr. Collins stated with utter seriousness. “That a name should make a person sneeze does not seem correct. I will, however, bring the matter before Lady Catherine for her opinion, fair cousins, and report to you her answer.”
“She is quite the oracle then?” Mr. Bennet asked blandly.
Mr. Collins’ head bobbed. “Lady Catherine has made the study of her fellows her life’s work and is wise in all things.”
“How fortunate you are to have her as your patroness,” Mrs. Bennet said brightly.
“I am.” Mr. Collins scanned them all. “And if I may be so bold, at Lady Catherine’s urging, one of your lovely daughters will be equally fortunate.”
Dismay filled Elizabeth. He could not mean—
“Then you mean to marry one of my girls?” Mrs. Bennet cried with sudden warmth.
“That is my primary purpose in coming to Hertfordshire, madam.” Mr. Collins’ confirmation fueled Elizabeth’s apprehension. “Lady Catherine, in her wisdom, has deemed marriage to one of my fair cousins the proper way to proceed.”
Mrs. Bennet clasped her hands before her, prayer like. “She sounds wondrously wise.”
Mr. Collins nodded, his attention traversing them again before returning to Jane. Assessing her sisters in turn, Elizabeth imagined he would have more hope of winning over Mary or Kitty. One thing, however, seemed quite certain. It would be entertaining to have Mr. Collins in their home.