Chapter Sixteen
Twenty for Dinner
Mrs. Bennet laid on a wonderful dinner. No matter what his other opinions of the lady might be, Darcy could not fault her prowess as hostess.
The dining room and table were as elegant as anything in London, the food excellent, the wine perfectly matched to the course, and the mix of company—he reluctantly admitted—well suited for light and pleasant conversation.
Even the younger Bennet sisters acquitted themselves with decorum and a modicum of grace and charm.
The table was very nearly balanced as well, with eleven ladies to nine men, quite a feat considering the limited company.
With the three youngest Bennet sisters all seated together at the far end of the table, the rest of the arrangement flowed perfectly, each lady flanked by two gentlemen, and vice versa.
Of course, having his friend Hastings present, as well as his cousin Richard, added to the pleasure of the evening, for both men were intelligent and personable, and between them, they were able to keep conversation around the table buoyant and amusing.
So adept and comfortable were they in this regard that Darcy was able to rest from his accustomed exertion in matters social and observe the various interactions from a distance.
Mrs. Bennet had given up on her plans of a formal seating arrangement, there being too many colonels for her to manage, and had decided instead to allow her guests to sit where they wished.
This was, after all, merely a dinner amongst friends in a country setting.
Darcy was, therefore, relieved of the necessity of spending the evening trying to make small talk with Lady Lucas or Mrs. Hurst. Instead, he found himself seated between Charlotte Lucas and Mary Bennet.
Miss Lucas was a sensible and intelligent woman, whose conversation was, if not inspired, then not tedious, and Miss Mary was quiet and reserved, and seemingly disinclined to speak unnecessarily, which suited him well.
Directly across from him sat Jane Bennet, with Bingley at her one side and Hastings at her other.
Miss Elizabeth sat between Bingley and Richard, who had escorted her into the room.
He noted with a breath of relief that Mr. Collins sat almost at the far end of the table, next to Mrs. Bennet.
He would be forced to converse with neither of them, the realisation of which greatly improved his appetite.
It was, of course, Miss Elizabeth whose conversation first captured his attention.
He enjoyed his soup as he listened to her in easy banter with Richard, who had taken an instant shine to the young woman.
“I tell you, Darcy, you could not have chosen better. Father and The Dragon will never approve, of course, but you are the head of your family, not they, and Mother will simply adore her.” This he had whispered before usurping Darcy’s place to take Elizabeth’s hand to lead her into dinner.
“Whatever are you on about?” he had scowled at his cousin, but Richard had given his head an aristocratic shake and issued an aristocratic chortle and had said no more.
Now he listened to Richard regale the charming Miss Elizabeth with humorous tales of training green cadets, the pitfalls of poorly learned Spanish whilst in Spain, and the worse dangers of intruding on one of his mother’s garden parties with two dozen peeresses all gossiping about people he did not know and had no desire of meeting.
He was entertaining and amusing, and Elizabeth laughed at the proper times and offered witty replies as needed, and Darcy found himself more and more charmed by her with each word she uttered.
Further down the table, Mr. Collins was holding forth.
As much as he wished nothing to do with the toad, Darcy found himself drawn to the conversation with a fascinating sense of revulsion.
“This room is most pleasant, Mrs. Bennet,” said he, “with pleasing proportions and colours. It is almost as fine as the small breakfast room at Rosings, where her ladyship allows Miss de Bourgh’s companion to entertain her friends on the days when Miss de Bourgh is otherwise occupied, although on a much smaller scale, of course. ”
“Well!” Mrs. Bennet’s voice resounded down the length of the table, and her tone was not pleased. “To be compared unfavourably to the servant’s quarters is no compliment, Mr. Collins.”
“You misunderstand me, my dear Mrs. Bennet! Please allow me to explain. Lady Catherine’s house is so very grand, so very fine in every respect, that even her daughter’s companion enjoys a level of affluence and comfort not often found even in the best homes in Town.
Recall, the mantelpiece in the second salon at Rosings is carved of a single piece of marble and cost,” he lowered his voice almost to a whisper, “eight hundred pounds!”
“Eight hundred pounds?” Mrs. Bennet’s voice rang clearly. All conversation around the table stopped for a moment and Darcy heard her whisper to Mr. Collins, “That is a very grand sum indeed, sir! Perhaps she ought to put her wealth to better use than purchasing fireplaces!”
Now, in a tone of voice that could be heard by all at the table, Mr. Collins embarked upon a litany in which he both apologised for Lady Catherine’s excesses and extolled the opulence of Rosings, all the while grovelling for Mrs. Bennet’s forgiveness for any unintended slight by the comparison.
Darcy tried to ignore the stream of words by returning his attention to his soup, but he could not shut out the parson’s next words, each of which wounded his sensibilities.
“My reasons for marrying,” Mr. Collins stated, “are, first, that I think it a right thing for every clergyman in easy circumstances (like myself) to set the example of matrimony in his parish; secondly, that I am convinced that it will add very greatly to my happiness; and thirdly—which perhaps I ought to have mentioned earlier, that it is the particular advice and recommendation of the very noble lady whom I have the honour of calling patroness.”
What? Darcy was now riveted once more, and he found his attention focused on this conversation he wished least to attend.
The parson was planning to marry? What poor lady was to be the object of his feigned affections?
He took a sip of wine and turned his ears back to the man’s soliloquy.
“...her portion is unhappily so small,” he heard, “but you may assure yourself that no ungenerous reproach to your daughter shall ever pass my lips when we are married.”
“That is very good of you sir,” was Mrs. Bennet’s reply.
“I shall inform her of the beneficence and honour of your offer.” He wished to wed one of the Bennet sisters?
It did make sense for he would inherit their home upon the demise of their father.
It must be Mary, Darcy supposed, for her temperament and penchant for solemnity and religious matters seemed best suited to a parson’s wife.
He cast his glance sideways to the young lady in question.
Her eyes betrayed no interest in her cousin’s speech, nor did her countenance suggest she had any fond feelings towards him.
He could not wish for Miss Kitty or Miss Lydia, could he?
Darcy returned his attention to the conversation.
“And you are quite positive that Miss Bennet will not hear my petition? She is, of course, the most beautiful of your daughters and my patroness would be best pleased by such a paragon of loveliness to adorn her village chapel.” The scoundrel!
Darcy was incensed that the man would consider marrying merely to decorate the church.
How dare he have so little respect for Miss Bennet?
That lady was, he agreed, particularly lovely, with her classical features and fine figure.
Although her sweet beauty held little substance and therefore no real attraction for him, she was nevertheless deserved more than what Collins intended for her.
He regarded Miss Bennet again as she sat across the table from him.
She smiled her sweet smile at Bingley, who in turn adored her with his puppy-dog gaze, and then with the next glance, she smiled an equally sweet smile at Colonel Hastings.
She said sweet and pleasant things to Bingley, and then equally sweet and pleasant things to Hastings.
Her face and demeanour were everything perfect, her manners gentle and charming, her smiles sweet, but her heart, Darcy considered, was likely to remain untouched.
Whilst he abhorred the notion of Collins marrying her merely to please Aunt Catherine with her beauty, he was certain that for Miss Bennet herself, the exact face and name of her husband would be of lesser importance than her need for security.
Therefore, he was horrified when he heard Mrs. Bennet’s reply, in tones too low to reach past him at the table, but clear enough for his own ears.
“I am sorry, Mr. Collins, but I must caution you once more. Dear Jane is beautiful and would be a wonderful bride, but we expect her very soon to be engaged. Have you not seen how Mr. Bingley looks upon her, and how she smiles upon him? Her marriage will benefit all of her sisters, of course. But perhaps, if you are not so particular...”
Darcy could not see her face or gestures, but the import of her comment was revealed to him in a moment when Collins responded, “Indeed, Miss Elizabeth is nearly as pretty as Jane, but not so pretty as to make a man forget her exceeding small portion. Thank you, Mrs. Bennet. She will do perfectly well for me.”