Chapter 2
No Green Beans
“Mr. Collins, you know how I despise green beans!”
Lady Catherine’s brows drew down with annoyance as she looked over the tiny list Charlotte had handed her a few moments ago. It was about the gift baskets the Collinses were tasked with distributing for Easter; one of the yearly tasks of the parsonage.
“You shall not present that vegetable to the congregation,” she emphasized, mouth twisting into a moue of distaste.
Mr. Collins nodded his head vigorously. “Indeed, your ladyship.”
“Potatoes will do very well. Very well, indeed…”
More head nodding from her cousin.
Elizabeth held back a chuckle as the spectacle unfolded before her.
She had been somewhat right in her estimation of Lady Catherine from Mr. Collins’ extensive effusions.
But once the introductions were made, she was pleasantly surprised to find that the great lady was even more ridiculous than she had imagined.
Her father would be dearly entertained by such human folly once she wrote to him.
“Potatoes are vegetables for the hard-working,” Lady Catherine continued sagely. Then she picked up a cream tart from the platter before her and bit into it.
“You are quite right, your ladyship, as always,” Mr. Collins said. “I merely wished to place the beans in the baskets for the sick—”
“You should speak on the virtues of potatoes in your sermon, Mr. Collins,” the lady said, dusting off the crumbs from her fingers before fixing a glare on her parson. “Remind them of their good fortune and the evils of laziness.”
Elizabeth discreetly watched as a stray crumb held on to dear life against the whiskered mole to the side of Lady Catherine’s mouth. The one to the left of her beaked nose.
“Mrs. Collins, you may ask Mrs. Stone to give you some of the dried orange peels she is making with Jenkinson. A little bit of colour will not be unpious in an Easter basket. Mr. Collins, you must remind the congregation to keep their homes clean and take baths regularly…”
Yes, Elizabeth would have to write to her father soon.
But there was one thing that surprised her greatly that evening.
Mr. Darcy never appeared.
Not once.
Nor did his aunt mention him outside of one lengthy diatribe on how he and Miss Anne de Bourgh, Lady Catherine’s daughter, were made for each other. And that he needed to hurry up and do his duty by his family by marrying her.
It confused and perturbed Elizabeth.
Did the man consider himself so above them that he could not be bothered to join them for tea?
Or… was she mistaken about who she had seen earlier that day?
The next morning, when Elizabeth neared her favourite walking path, she was startled to see Mr. Darcy under the cherry trees once more.
The blossoms were gently floating around him, falling out of the white- and pink-hued boughs. There was a crisp breeze blowing through the trees. It was a vision of peace and tranquility.
Elizabeth stood there for a moment, and simply gazed at him.
No one could deny that Mr. Darcy was an exceedingly handsome man. And standing where she was, she could almost feel her heart softening at the sight.
That was… until she remembered his odious behavior in Meryton and what he had said about her on their very first meeting. A familiar grimace replaced the smile she had not realized had appeared on her lips. Elizabeth straightened her shoulders and approached him.
“Hello, Mr. Darcy!” she called, as she neared. “How are you doing on this fine day?”
The man seemed to jolt into awareness at her voice.
He turned, fixing her with a gaze of such intensity that she took an unconscious step back.
“Miss Elizabeth,” he said. Then he peered at her in confusion.
“I am visiting Mr. Collins and his wife at the parsonage,” she offered helpfully. “You may know the new Mrs. Collins as Charlotte Lucas from when you were last in Meryton.”
Mr. Darcy did not reply.
When the silence became awkward and he continued to stare at her oddly, Elizabeth asked, “Did you only just arrive at Rosings?”
The confused look on Mr. Darcy’s face intensified.
“Rosings?”
Elizabeth tipped her head to one side. She did not believe she had ever been in an interaction as strange as the one she was in right then.
“Yes. We had tea there yesterday.” A frown touched her brows.
“Perhaps you heard about it from your aunt?”
Mr. Darcy’s unceasing stare was beginning to disconcert her. Elizabeth felt a strange coldness tip-tap down her spine. She took another step back.
“Right, well… I shall leave you to it,” she said. She gestured at the blooming cherry trees around them. “Good day, Mr. Darcy!”
She practically fled the scene.