Chapter 17
Jane Bennet sat on her bed wrapped in a woolen paisley shawl, her knees drawn up close to her body.
It was chilly in her bedchamber as the fire had died down to coals, but she was not inclined to join her mother and younger sisters in the drawing room, where a fine blaze was pushing out fabulous quantities of heat.
Outside, the sky was cloudy, and the wind whistled through the bare branches.
A tall oak tree swayed and creaked outside her bedroom window.
It was a comforting sound, one that she had fallen asleep to many a night.
It was odd to think that soon she would be married and living at Netherfield.
She would say goodbye to this bedchamber forever; if she ever spent the night again, her mother would put her eldest daughter and her husband in the finest guest chamber.
There was a soft sigh to her left, and Jane shifted her attention to her favorite sister, who was lying asleep next to her.
Jane reached out and put a hand on her sister’s arm, hoping that the gentle touch was a comfort.
It was unusual for Elizabeth to take a nap during the day, but her sister had admitted to not sleeping well of late due to bad dreams.
Jane knew it had been painful for Elizabeth to describe what had truly happened on Longbourn’s northern trail less than a week ago.
As for her own response – well, she had been distressed when Wickham had died but today found herself on the verge of vomiting when she learned what had really occurred, that the handsome lieutenant had actually attacked her dear Lizzy and attempted to . .. to...
Jane lifted her hand and pressed her right hand against her mouth so that she did not sob aloud.
She could see Mr. Wickham in her mind’s eye, charming, well built, his address and manners perfect.
And behind that facade had lurked the soul and spirit and mind of a devil, the sort of man who drank to excess and attacked innocent girls like her sister.
The sort of man who vilified a noble man, who gambled and caroused and used women for his own disgusting pleasures.
It was repulsive. It was also terrifying.
Jane had always tried to think the best of other people, and even after George Wickham’s death, she had comforted herself that it was largely a tragic accident due to the presence of the stallion Phoenix.
Yes, Wickham had held a knife, but perhaps, in his alcohol induced haze, he had intended it as more of a joke than an actual attempt at Mr. Darcy’s life?
Men were, she knew vaguely, prone to stupid acts of folly.
Now there was no doubt in her mind at all – George Wickham had been a thoroughly evil man, and he would have defiled Elizabeth if Mr. Darcy had not come to her sister’s rescue. Furthermore, he could have killed Mr. Darcy if Elizabeth had not intervened.
Tears slipped from her eyes, tears of horror and fear. Because if a man of such apparent goodness could be a monster, was her father also wicked? Sir William Lucas? Mr. Bingley?
Reason asserted itself. Elizabeth had admitted that the signs were evident that Wickham was not the fine man he pretended to be.
He had slandered Mr. Darcy upon his first meeting with the Bennet ladies; that was not the act of an honorable man.
No, Elizabeth openly confessed that she had been angry at Darcy and taken Wickham’s side foolishly.
As for her fiancé, Charles was a kind man.
He never gossiped about other people. He treated the servants well.
He and Mr. Darcy were the best of friends and Jane, while she found the master of Pemberley a little intimidating, was quite certain that he was the second best of men, with her own Charles being the best of all.
No, Charles was a wonderful man, they were well suited, and they would be happy together.
Jane looked pensively at Elizabeth who continued to sleep, though there was a tiny pucker between her eyebrows. It was likely that her sister’s dreams were not pleasant ones.
There had been a certain tone in Lizzy’s voice when she spoke of Mr. Darcy.
Dislike had given away to gratitude, but Jane wondered if there was more than gratitude involved.
Elizabeth was very intelligent, and there were few men who could keep up with her quickness.
Jane thought that Darcy might be such a man, and that perhaps her sister was growing attached to the tall gentleman from Derbyshire.
Was a marriage between the two even a possibility? According to Mr. Collins, Mr. Darcy was engaged to his cousin, Miss de Bourgh of Rosings.
Chimes, emanating from the grandfather clock downstairs broke into her ruminations. She counted the tones and realized dinner would be ready soon, and both girls needed to change their dresses.
With a reluctant sigh, she leaned forward and planted a kiss on her sister’s forehead. “It is time to wake up, Lizzy.”
***
Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam cast an amused look around the table as he took a sip of Madeira from his glass.
To his right, Charles Bingley was eating steadily through a pile of roast beef and new potatoes, his eyes vague, his expression cheerful.
No doubt the man was thinking fondly of Miss Bennet, his fiancée.
To Richard’s left was Georgiana, who had entered the dining room looking anxious, but was now chatting softly with Mrs. Annesley on her other side.
Richard had been prepared to protect Georgiana from Lady Catherine’s bombastic questions and advice, but that had proven unnecessary thus far.
This was due to the last individual at the table, Mr. Collins, the rector at Hunsford near Rosings and the heir to the estate of Longbourn.
The man was a new appointment to the Hunsford living, and Richard had never met him before, but he could have easily predicted the subservience, the obsequiousness, the cringing devotion of the man toward Lady Catherine.
His aunt gathered sycophants as bees gathered pollen.
It was inevitable that Mr. Collins would be a tiresome fool.
Lady Catherine spent the first fifteen minutes of dinner discussing the glories of Rosings, both the mansion itself and the surrounding estate, with Mr. Collins squeaking and murmuring in agreement.
Richard was content to listen carefully.
He was not a landowner like his cousin Darcy, but he had read enough to know that Lady Catherine was not the best overseer of the tenants of Rosings.
Her steward pleased her by his meekness and uncomplaining obedience to her commands, but the man was trapped in the previous century, and the farmers under his direction did not have access to the latest agricultural developments.
It was a great pity, and Richard hoped that when Anne assumed her role as mistress of Rosings, she would be more open to scientific progress.
“Mr. Collins,” Lady Catherine said, breaking into the colonel’s musings, “I plan to leave for Rosings on Monday morning, and thus we must speak of your upcoming marriage. Now I believe there are four Bennet daughters?”
“Five, Lady Catherine,” the rector answered, straightening with importance. “The eldest is two and twenty, and the youngest but fifteen years of age.”
“Well, the eldest daughter should be your wife, Mr. Collins, by virtue of her position in the family.”
Bingley, who had been silent thus far, took this opportunity to say indignantly, “Miss Bennet is engaged to me, Lady Catherine.”
“Oh! Well, Mr. Collins, you should have told me that!”
“My apologies, my lady.”
“Tell me about the second Bennet daughter, Mr. Collins.”
The rector smiled happily and said, “Miss Elizabeth is a fine young lady. She is handsome and energetic. I have no doubt she will make a good wife and mistress of the parsonage at Hunsford.”
Colonel Fitzwilliam observed Bingley grimace and was not surprised when the man said, “I am not entirely certain about that.”
Both Lady Catherine and Mr. Collins turned on Bingley, the former disapproving and the latter confused.
“Why do you say that, Mr. Bingley?” Catherine de Bourgh demanded. “Mr. Collins is a most eligible suitor.”
Bingley leaned back in his chair and said diplomatically, “Yes, of course you are, Mr. Collins. However, Elizabeth is very close to Jane, my fiancée, and I doubt she would wish to move away to Kent in the near future. Nor am I quite certain she would be a good parson’s wife.
She is a charming young woman but rather high spirited, with a penchant for reading novels and dressing in finery.
I am not certain she would make you happy, sir. ”
Mr. Collins blinked in amazement at this remark, and Lady Catherine frowned. “She would be a fool to throw away a good marriage offer, Mr. Bingley. Longbourn is entailed away to Mr. Collins and I understand that the Bennet ladies will be quite without monetary support when their father dies.”
“That is not true now,” Bingley replied with a sweet smile, “as I will gladly support them all and am financially able to do so.”
The mistress of Rosings considered this for a minute and then turned back to her rector. “Tell me about the other Bennet daughters, Mr. Collins.”
***
Elizabeth Bennet looked up at him, her brown curls peeping out from under her sun bonnet, her fine eyes glowing with pleasure.
She was always pretty, but here, standing amongst the blossoms of Lady Anne’s rose garden at Pemberley, she was utterly exquisite.
His heart beat faster and his mouth opened to say, “I love you, Elizabeth.”
She smiled adoringly. “I love you too, Fitzwilliam.”
He tried to take a step forward but his feet seemed stuck on the path. He looked down in confusion, and when he looked up, Elizabeth had changed to Anne de Bourgh, her thin face pale, her faded blue eyes piteous.
“What about me, Darcy?” his cousin asked. “What about me?”
Darcy woke up and sat up with a start, then groaned as his jostled arm protested. He glanced toward the window and wrinkled his brow in confusion. The sun was already below the horizon, and the western sky glowed dark red. What time was it?
The door to his sitting room opened, and his valet stepped in cautiously. “Mr. Darcy, do you require my assistance?”
Darcy carefully swung his legs over the bed and asked in a thickened voice, “What time is dinner, Percy?”
“Dinner is over, sir. Colonel Fitzwilliam was most insistent that you be allowed to sleep. I will have a maid bring a meal into your sitting room in thirty minutes, if that sounds agreeable.”
Darcy felt a stab of guilt at forcing Bingley, Richard, and Georgiana to cope with Lady Catherine alone, but mostly he felt relief. His altercation with his annoying aunt, combined with pain from his wound, had left him very tired. He felt much better now.
“That sounds marvelous, Percy.”
“Colonel Fitzwilliam has asked that you set time aside to speak to him in private sometime tonight.”
“Certainly.”