Chapter Seven #2
She was by now accustomed to Mr. Darcy’s smiles, more rarely bestowed than Mr. Bingley’s, but less precious for that; no amount of familiarity could negate the effect it had on her, however.
His face grew light and more handsome than before, and his eyes crinkled at the corners, as if he and his audience shared a very special and private joke.
And thus, when he smiled in response to her concern, she would have been happy to accept any answer he might give.
“I returned only two days ago from London, where Dr. Yarrow has pronounced me fit and as capable as before. I need only wait until I feel able, and I have been doing strengthening exercises as directed. Do you ride, Miss Elizabeth?”
This was not a question she had anticipated. “Yes sir, but not well.”
“Perhaps you will agree to accompany me on some of my first forays out on horseback. I shan’t be attempting any great speeds, or any challenging manoeuvres. A gentle ride across an open and flat field will most likely be enough to tire me at first. I would appreciate the company.”
Stated so plainly, she had little choice but to accept his offer, and thus found herself engaged for the morning two days hence, should the weather prove suitable. As Mr. Darcy took his leave, she felt once more the contradictory tugs of joyful anticipation and cautious alarm.
Events, however, did not conspire to facilitate their plans.
That very afternoon, Papa announced a visitor arriving the following day.
He was the unknown cousin who would inherit Longbourn when Papa eventually passed from this life, hoping to make amends for the rift between the families and—so Mama exclaimed with glee—hoping to unite the two branches of the family tree by marrying one of the Bennet girls.
Lizzy scoured her father’s face as he read the letter and explained its contents. A strange man, coming openly to the house! Could this be another spy, or another agent of a foreign power, seeking a legitimate reason to remain in Meryton?
She discarded this notion almost as quickly as she leapt upon it.
This cousin, a Mr. Collins, could not be an imposter, for at some point, hopefully in the far distant future, he would take possession of Longbourn, and all legal details must be attended to.
He would have to provide evidence of his legitimacy in order to inherit; further, if he did intend to marry one of Lizzy’s sisters, he could not do that under an assumed identity.
Elizabeth’s eyes flew open as a horrid thought came to her.
She assumed he would wish to marry one of her sisters, but what would she do if his affections settled upon her?
Knowing nothing of the man, other than hearing his rather self-important and silly letter, she did not understand why the idea of marrying him was so alarming to her.
He might be charming and handsome in person, merely unable to write a good letter.
She must not take the entire measure of a man based on one incidence.
And then, recalling her reluctance to befriend Mr. Darcy based on one overheard comment and a few words from a carriage in an indistinct voice, she felt guilt and shame wash over her.
Her unexpected abhorrence at the thought of wedding Mr. Collins was intensified upon meeting him.
He was large and heavy, and whilst not ugly of feature, his face betrayed a simplicity of thought and vacancy of expression that rendered his pleasant features repulsive to her.
His mind was little better formed, for despite having the advantage of a clergyman’s education, he had little understanding and seemed fit only to utter meaningless flatteries or thoughtless recitations of matters he had read but not comprehended.
He could not by any means, therefore, be one of the cabal of French agents, for he had not the subtlety of mind nor the complexity of thought to perpetrate any manner of subterfuge.
Unless—and this was a rather alarming notion—he was so skilled and so adept at his task that this mockery of a parson was a mere persona, an attempt to convince the village that he was simple and harmless, when in fact he was a master at espionage.
With a snort, Lizzy brushed the thought from her mind.
Such vacancy of expression could not be manufactured, she was certain, and even when she glanced at him when he was unaware he was being studied, she detected no alteration in his countenance.
Do not look for trouble where there is none, she chided herself once and again, and then grimaced as her cousin uttered yet another triviality that had little bearing on the topic at hand or relevance to the original thoughts from which he had excerpted the quotation he used.
Even had he the handsome visage of Mr. Darcy, Lizzy decided, she could never like the man enough to even befriend him, let alone wed him.
With that, she resolved to be as little in the house with him as she might arrange.
That she was now comparing every man she met to Mr. Darcy also did not escape her notice, but she determined not to dwell too deeply on that matter.
Neither of these resolutions, however, was fully under her control.
The morning after Mr. Collins arrived, the day she had arranged to ride with Mr. Darcy, Mama insisted she walk with her sisters and cousin into the village.
The day was clear, and Lydia needed rosettes for her slippers, and every plea about a previous engagement fell upon deaf ears.
At last, she sent a note to Netherfield excusing herself from accompanying Mr. Darcy on his ride.
Mr. Collins was no less of a bore whilst walking than whilst sitting in the parlour.
Mary had opted to remain at home to read, which Mama had permitted to Lizzy’s disapproval, and Lydia and Kitty very soon seemed to tire of their cousin’s conversation and ran ahead to the shops in a cloud of childish giggles, leaving Lizzy and Jane to suffer Mr. Collins’ company.
It was, she discovered, remarkably easy to talk to him, for she could allow her mind to wander at will whilst he spoke on and on, hardly pausing to draw breath, and she needed only mumble a “yes” or nod her head in response to whatever he had said.
He needed little encouragement, and she was therefore able to allow her mind to wander until they arrived on the High Street.
The sounds of familiar giggles drew Lizzy’s attention from her thoughts to the side of the road near the chandlers, where her younger sisters were conversing in a most animated manner with two young men, one dressed in the smart red coat of an officer, the other in civilian dress.
“Lizzy, Jane, do come and meet our new friends!” Lydia’s voice rang clearly across the wide street and through the square beyond, whilst Kitty’s giggles were only slightly less audible.
“Bring Mr. Collins too, if you must, but do hurry!”
Meeting two smart officers was more tempting a thought than entertaining more of Mr. Collins’ drivel, and Lizzy was pleased to obey her sister.
Lydia introduced the man in regimentals as “my friend Denny, whom I had hoped go ask after today following his journey to London.” Lizzy had seen him around the village, but had not made his acquaintance and wondered how her younger sister had managed not only to meet him but to call him a friend.
Somehow Papa was able to arrange secret accommodations for a regiment of French spies, but was unable to check his youngest daughter’s poor display of manners and propriety.
Lizzy sighed, for this was part of her father’s nature and there was, she feared, little she could do to check him.
The gentleman with Denny was a stranger to them all, until Denny was prevailed upon, with a great amount of snickering and teasing and giggles, to introduce him.
The newcomer was named Mr. Wickham, who had returned with Denny the day before from town.
He bowed low before the ladies and announced with a smile that he had accepted a commission in the same corps as his friend.
This was exactly as it should be, for the young man wanted only regimentals to make him completely charming.
His appearance was greatly in his favour; he had all the best part of beauty, a fine countenance, a good figure, and very pleasing address. Lizzy liked him immediately.
Mr. Wickham spoke with such charm and such eloquence that the ladies were all soon quite enthralled by him, and even Mr. Collins ceased in his own monologue to allow the new officer to speak.
The ensuing conversation was perfectly correct and unassuming, and the whole party were still standing and talking together very agreeably, when the sound of horses drew their notice.
Elizabeth beamed as she glanced up, for the riders were none other than Mr. Bingley and Mr. Darcy, the latter sitting tall upon his horse and looking strong and confident with no sign of pain or distress upon his face.
Her smile met its mate in his, and he doffed his hat and turned to greet the entire party until, all at once, his face stilled and drained of all colour.
That easy smile that Elizabeth had grown to admire disappeared of an instant, to be replaced by the stiff jaw and cold eyes that she had encountered upon her very first meeting with him all those weeks before.
Turning her head slightly, she was able to discern the cause of his displeasure, for where he had grown white and stiff, Mr. Wickham’s face was red and his eyes nervous.
Now what under heaven could this all be about?
Could Mr. Wickham have somehow incited Mr. Darcy’s anger in the short time he had been in town?
It hardly seemed creditable. Or did the two know each other from earlier times?
At the sight of Mr. Wickham, and without a further word, Mr. Darcy pulled at the reins and turned his horse before galloping off towards the fields behind the village.
Mr. Bingley mumbled a word or two of apology and hurried after his friend, leaving the entire party, with the possible exception of Mr. Wickham, more than slightly confused and vexed.
Silence ensued for an uncomfortable length of time, until Mr. Collins asked, his voice unconcerned, “I say, have you met that chap before? It seemed he knew you.”
Mr. Wickham forced a smile onto his charming and handsome face.
“Indeed, we are old acquaintances, and we did not part ways under the best of circumstances. I am not one to spread tales, but I have suffered greatly at Darcy’s hand, and cannot wish to be in his company.
Darcy is a grand one for being charming where he wishes, but mark my words, dear ladies, his concern is only for himself, and he is not a man to be trusted. ”