Chapter 6
“Longbourn is entailed away from the female line,” Miss Bingley explained as she stirred a sugar lump into her teacup. “I doubt the estate has an income of more than two thousand pounds a year, and thus there will be little in the way of dowries for all those sisters. I daresay the Bennet women will be quite poor once their father dies now that their only brother is gone.”
“How dreadfully sad that they lost their brother,” Charles mused, his gaze fixed blankly on the darkness beyond the sitting room windows.
“It is,” Louisa Hurst agreed. “Do you remember when our brother Harold passed away, Charles? Mother wept for months.”
“I believe we all did,” Charles said mournfully, “except perhaps Caroline, who was too young to understand. Was the death of the Bennet heir unexpected?”
“I believe not,” Louisa declared, taking a sip of her tea. “Miss Bennet says that he was sickly his entire life. He was the twin of the youngest Miss Bennet.”
“I do not believe I have met the youngest Miss Bennet,” Bingley mused.
“She is still but a child of fifteen and not yet out,” Caroline said with a sniff. “It is really quite regrettable that Mrs. Bennet had five daughters and only one sickly son. It was poorly managed on her part.”
Darcy, who was seated in a quiet corner of the room with a book in his hand, listened to this conversation with growing disquiet and guilt. He too had lost a brother, and two sisters as well, though all his frail siblings had died as infants. Georgiana, born strong and hearty, had been a miracle as Lady Anne Darcy was not a healthy woman and had struggled mightily with her pregnancies.
The Bennet women were nothing to him, of course, but to lose both their brother and their security was a terrible blow. He ought not to have insulted Miss Catherine Bennet as he had; he must make it up to her. The problem was how to do it without giving her, or any of the Bennet sisters, hope that one of them might ensnare him as a husband. Bingley meant well, but he did not know what it was like to be the Master of Pemberley, hunted across the land for his wealth, connections, and status.
/
“Father?”
“Yes, Lizzy?” Mr. Bennet inquired. He was on his third glass of wine for the morning and the grief and guilt over life in general, and over Matthew’s death in particular, had faded somewhat. He hated waking up completely sober but was always quick to rectify that unpleasant state.
“How are you today, Father?”
He gazed at her fondly, his Lizzy. He had always known his second daughter was special; from a very early age, she had been incredibly quick to talk, to walk, to learn. Her considerable beauty came from her mother, but all that intelligence was from him. He could take pride in that, anyway. He knew he was a coward and a weakling to deposit all the responsibility of Longbourn and her inhabitants on Elizabeth’s slender shoulders, but he could not find it in himself to care. Well, he did care, but not enough to give up the alcohol which allowed him to survive each day without his precious son.
“I am well enough, my dear,” Mr. Bennet said with a welcoming wave. “Come in, Elizabeth. Do you have papers for me to sign today, perhaps?”
Elizabeth took her seat across from her father’s desk and looked around with a mixture of sorrow and pleasure. She had spent hundreds of hours in the library, usually with her father and often with Matthew, whose frail body had not permitted him to run and play like most children. Like Lizzy, Matthew had been a voracious reader, and she would never forget their discussions of Robinson Crusoe , of the poems of Sir Walter Scott, of Shakespeare and the Bible.
“You have a letter from our cousin, Mr. Collins,” Elizabeth said finally, gazing directly into her father’s brown eyes.
Mr. Bennet’s face darkened at these words and he took a quick gulp of his glass of wine.
“And what does my esteemed cousin have to say for himself?” he demanded harshly.
“He wishes to visit Longbourn, Father.”
“Does he indeed? Why?”
“He is a clergyman and says that the poor relationship between you and his family is a source of sorrow. He wishes to heal the breach.”
The man’s gray eyebrows rose in surprise, “I confess I am startled, Elizabeth. His father was an illiterate, unpleasant fool. Perhaps the son is more noble than the father?”
“Perhaps,” his daughter declared dryly. “He is at least literate, though I found his letter both tedious and preposterous.”
“In what way, my dear?”
“He seems an absurdity to me, Father. For one thing, he apologizes for being your heir. While there is truth that we suffer because of the entailment, it is not as though he would ever willingly give up his position as heir.”
Mr. Bennet snorted and reached for his wine glass again. If only Matthew had lived! For the thousandth time he wondered if there was something else he could have done to save his boy. Perhaps he should have taken Matthew to Ramsgate one more time...
“Well, what do you think?” Elizabeth inquired, breaking into his painful thoughts. “Should we allow Mr. Collins to visit?”
The man sighed, “On the one hand, he will probably be a wearisome guest. On the other hand, it would be sensible to mend matters with the man who will inherit Longbourn. My sense is that he should be permitted to come, but I defer to your judgment, Elizabeth.”
“I agree,” his daughter said with a nod. “Perhaps Mr. Collins is a more sensible man than is apparent in the letter, and he is a family connection. Yes, I think we should allow him to come.”
/
Darcy reluctantly detached himself from the wall and followed his friend Bingley toward the opposite side of the room. Bingley had insisted that they attend this evening gathering at Lucas Lodge, the home of Sir William Lucas and his large family. Sir William was a simple soul – friendly, obliging, and not at all sophisticated. The numerous guests included a number of militia officers from a regiment stationed in Meryton along with those who passed for the gentry in this backward region of England.
Now it was time for him to do his penance, to dance with Miss Catherine Bennet. The hour was growing late and the party would break up soon, sparing him the necessity of dancing with other ladies.
“Miss Elizabeth, Miss Catherine, might I claim a moment of your time?”
Both Bennet ladies turned toward Mr. Bingley, who looked uneasy.
“Mr. Bingley,” Elizabeth replied, curtsying along with her sister.
“May I please introduce my friend, Mr. Darcy, to your sister, Miss Catherine?”
Elizabeth and Kitty turned in surprise toward the tall form of Mr. Darcy. The gentleman had been occupying a corner of the room for the last hour, and Elizabeth had wondered why the man had bothered to come to this dinner party if he was merely going to lurk in the corners of the room. Elizabeth sighed inwardly, but good manners dictated that they respond appropriately.
“Of course. Kitty, Mr. Darcy. Mr. Darcy, my sister, Miss Kitty Bennet.”
The tall man bowed, his expression remote, before turning toward Kitty.
“Miss Catherine, might I have the honor of this dance?”
Elizabeth felt her breathing grow rapid as she struggled to calm herself. How dare he approach her sister as if his insult to Kitty had never occurred? The nerve!
A quick glance at her younger sister showed Elizabeth that Kitty was completely overwhelmed at the thought of dancing with the haughty master of Pemberley. Her blue eyes were wide, her pupils dilated, and she was slightly paler than usual.
“I apologize, Mr. Darcy,” Elizabeth interposed, her tone courteous, her eyes flashing, “but my sister and I were just about to play and sing a duet together. Perhaps another time?”
The man blinked in surprise but inclined his head, “Another time, yes, Miss Catherine. Thank you.”
Elizabeth grasped Kitty’s arm with her hand and pulled her toward the pianoforte, where Mary was playing a Scottish air. A minute later, the third Miss Bennet finished her piece and vacated the seat without a word.
Kitty, shaking slightly, sat down and rummaged through the music as Elizabeth ran a comforting hand down her back. The girl settled and a minute later, she began playing “The Bonny Bunch of Roses” as Elizabeth lifted her voice in song. She was not a capital singer and did not practice as much as she wished, but she knew she had a fine soprano voice, and her audience, except for the Netherfield party, would be accepting enough. Kitty too, while not exemplary on the pianoforte, was doing an entirely adequate job of playing. Elizabeth was proud of her; it was cruel of Mr. Darcy to tease her by asking her to dance after insulting her so.
Elizabeth cast a quick glance to the edge of the room and was surprised to see that Mr. Darcy’s eyes were fixed on her. She lifted her chin and turned slightly toward him, her gaze meeting his boldly. For a moment, the two glared at one another before Elizabeth deliberately turned away toward her sister, who was now playing easily.
Darcy, for his part, found himself gazing with startled fascination at the vibrant face of Miss Elizabeth. What had just happened?