Chapter Seventeen #2
“Colonel Fitzwilliam,” she greeted warmly as she dipped a curtsy.
Miss Lucas did the same, though without what Darcy cared to view as the particular joy evidenced by Elizabeth.
“May I present my cousin, Mr. Collins?” Elizabeth asked. “He is visiting us from Kent.”
Collins? Kent? A memory tickled Darcy’s brain. Something from one of his aunt’s recent letters. Alarm shot through him.
“Colonel Fitzwilliam?” Collins crowded forward, his expression eager. “Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam? Second son of the Earl of Matlock? Nephew to Lady Catherine de Bourgh?”
Elizabeth’s eyes widened in surprise.
Darcy bowed to cover his grimace.
“I am so eager to meet you, sir,” Collins said as Darcy straightened. “My patroness, your aunt, Lady Catherine de Bourgh, will be astonished to learn of your presence here. How fortuitous. How marvelous. She is certain to be pleased that I have made your acquaintance.”
“His cousin, Mr. Darcy, is here as well.” A dry note filled Elizabeth’s voice. “I assume I do mean Mister Darcy. He is not secretly a member of the peerage?”
“Mr. Darcy is here as well?” Mr. Collins looked about, then halted his scanning, his gaze on where Richard and Miss Bingley stood to one side of the room, speaking. “That gentleman who entered with you? I must introduce myself.” He strode away…
…leaving Darcy staring at Elizabeth, who eyed him sardonically.
Miss Lucas studied Elizabeth’s face for a moment, then said, “That lovely painting your sister Kitty gifted us is over there, behind that potted palm.” She pointed to a dark, empty corner of the room. “I am certain Colonel Fitzwilliam would enjoy seeing it, Lizzy.”
“Would you, Colonel?” Elizabeth asked.
Aware of the edge to her voice, Darcy could only nod.
Adopting a mild expression, Elizabeth glided away across the room. Darcy followed.
They skirted a large potted palm to the sight of a shadowy corner and a rather large watercolor. Quite possibly the painting depicted a pond with swans, or perhaps a bowl of half-rotten fruit. It was impossible to tell.
Her low voice sharp, Elizabeth said, “I did not realize that I was addressing the Honorable Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam with such familiarity when we met on my walks.”
Darcy winced, reading underlying hurt in her tone.
In the dimness behind the palm, Elizabeth regarded him levelly. “I believe you owe me an explanation, sir.”
What could he say that was both true and revealed little? “I did not wish the attention such a revelation would bring.”
“And you felt that I could not be trusted to keep your secret?”
How skillfully she turned his words back into an insult. “To tell you would have seemed boastful. As if…” He trailed off, seeing danger down that line of thought.
“As if you were trying to entice me?” she finished for him, her quick mind already a step ahead. “So I am to understand that you have no desire to do so.”
Yes. Very dangerous. “I would not claim that.” Would she press for more?
He did not know how much more he had to offer.
He enjoyed her company. He would admit to being a certain amount of beguiled, but their acquaintance was new.
More than that, the whole of it stood upon a lie.
One that Richard’s courtesy title only grew.
Dark eyes studied Darcy for a long moment.
Finally, Elizabeth shifted her gaze to her sister’s painting.
She grimaced at the…perhaps it was two cats asleep in a basket…
rendition before returning her attention to him.
“I imagine I can forgive you for not wishing to flaunt your connections in our small community. Especially with men about who are bent on abduction. You would speedily become a fresh target.”
Her logic was impeccable, and her conclusion entirely incorrect, but through no fault of her own. Darcy swallowed against the guilt clogging his throat. “Thank you.”
“My mother, the whole community, will be learning the truth as we speak. I am afraid you will receive the attention you so wished to avoid.” She smiled slightly. “I will own to a mild inclination to think you deserve what is to come.”
He nodded. “I am certain I do.”
The corners of her mouth turned up in a true smile, and the tightness that had bloomed in Darcy’s chest eased. How readily Elizabeth forgave him. If only he could count on such acceptance once she finally learned the truth.
“Will you ride tomorrow morning?” she asked quietly.
“I have every intention, yes.”
“Good. There is something about which I must seek your advice. It is important, and somewhat urgent.”
“Can you not ask me now?”
She shook her head. “Better I show you. Tomorrow. I will be at our usual—”
“Admiring my mother’s palm, Mr. Collins?” Miss Lucas’s voice said loudly.
His head snapping up, Darcy stepped around the plant.
Mr. Collins stood on the other side, his shoulders back and his face twisted into righteousness. “Sir, relation to an earl or not, how dare you plan an assignation with my cousin.”
A quick glance showed no one near enough to overhear those low words, to Darcy’s relief. In fact, the room at large seemed inclined to give Mr. Collins a wide berth.
“We were not planning an assignation,” Elizabeth’s tart voice said as she stepped up beside Darcy. “I simply seek the colonel’s advice.”
“On what matter?” Mr. Collins demanded.
Elizabeth eyed him. “That is none of your concern.”
“You are my cousin, and I am in more ways than one responsible for the purity of your body and your soul.” Mr. Collins puffed out his chest. “It is my concern, and I can tell you that my patroness, Lady Catherine de Bourgh, will not be pleased. Not at all. With any of this.”
“Any of what?” Elizabeth asked, though out of a desire to know or in an attempt to divert Collins, Darcy couldn’t guess.
“Any of the clear fraternizing taking place between that Miss Bingley and Mr. Darcy, and between you and Colonel Fitzwilliam.” Mr. Collins’ lip curled.
“I have already informed Miss Bingley that Mr. Darcy is engaged to Miss Anne de Bourgh.” He gestured across the room to where Miss Bingley and Richard still stood talking.
Miss Bingley laughed, reaching out to lightly touch Richard’s forearm, which he did not draw away.
“Now I see I must inform you, my own cousin, that a gentleman of Colonel Fitzwilliam’s standing would never be permitted to marry a woman of yours. ”
“Now you have us married?” Elizabeth laughed, an edge to the sound. “It is quite the future you have planned for me and the colonel.”
“But he will not be permitted such a future, which is why I must protect you. I cannot bring a stained woman back to Hunsford to be mistress of my flock.”
Miss Lucas gasped.
Though her eyes blazed, Elizabeth kept her voice low as she said, “You need not worry about bringing me anywhere, sir.”
“But I must. Your mother informed me that Cousin Jane will any day now become engaged to Mr. Bingley…”
Darcy started. Did Bingley know that?
“…making you the next logical choice as the recipient of my proposal, assuming you have not sullied yourself beyond redemption.”
Anger sparked in Darcy, scattering concern for Bingley, and he growled, “Desist in insulting both Miss Elizabeth’s honor and mine.”
Mr. Collins turned his haughty glare from Elizabeth to meet Darcy’s gaze…and blanched. His mouth dropped open. Sounds came out, not forming into words.
“Mr. Collins, you require punch,” Miss Lucas said firmly. “Elizabeth, help me escort Mr. Collins to the punch. I do believe everyone can see that you have occupied enough of Colonel Fitzwilliam’s time this evening.”
Sure enough, a fresh glance showed that while no one had yet drawn near, their conversation was now garnering eyes. Miss Lucas wrapped an arm through that of the stuttering clergyman.
Darcy bowed, whispering, “Perhaps we should not meet tomorrow.”
Elizabeth dipped a curtsy and replied, her voice equally low. “It is urgent.”
“My patroness, Lady Catherine de Bourgh, will hear of this,” Mr. Collins squawked, the words fractured by fear.
“Lizzy,” Miss Lucas hissed.
Turning from Darcy, Elizabeth moved to take her cousin’s other arm. Together, the two dragged Mr. Collins away. Try as he might, Darcy found no other opportunity to speak with Elizabeth that evening.