Chapter 7
SEVEN
Darcy ought to have known Miss Elizabeth would broach the subject directly. She was not, as she had said, the type to dither. He tried to compose his thoughts.
“It is true,” he began, “that at the outset, when I first contemplated the subject of marriage, it was not ideal to learn that my cousins had few prospects and almost no settlement?—”
She halted in the middle of the path and turned to face him, her eyes stormy, her chin lifted in defiance.
“You need not offer for the sake of charity, sir. In a matter so important as marriage, to select a spouse based upon forfeit is a travesty. As it happens, I can furnish a solution which will create choices for you, and at least some protection for us.”
Of all the things Miss Elizabeth might have said, Darcy had not been expecting this one.
After all, from what he knew of her expectations, she could not be hoping for a line of suitors.
In fact, when he had first considered this course of action, it had been with the idea that his cousins had no prospects at all, unless he gave them one.
Even after seeing that they were uncommonly pretty girls, it had not counted for much in his mind—in their circles, to be handsome was nothing if one had no fortune.
Now, it turned out, his eldest cousin had ‘hopes’ from somebody—he could not ask who—and Miss Elizabeth was intent upon providing him other ‘choices’.
What was worse, with her facing him, hands upon her hips, eyes flashing, all he really wanted to do was to kiss her—not to quiet her opinions, but to take her passion for them into himself.
Thus, he was far too slow to counter her words with anything sensible.
“What choices?” he asked stupidly, instead of refuting her idea that she represented a ‘forfeit’.
Her chin stayed high. “There are females in the neighbourhood with whom we are quite friendly. Were you to wed my good friend Miss Charlotte Lucas, for example, she would always be kind and welcoming to me and my sisters. Of course, she brings almost nothing in the way of a settlement, either, but she is not my only friend. Miss Myra Harrington comes with seven thousand, and Miss Mary King has ten.”
“Ample fortunes indeed,” he said, still flummoxed.
“Truthfully, I would assume that within your own parish, there are doubtless charitable women who might meet your ideas of accomplishment, and still feel kindly towards your ‘impoverished’ Bennet relations,” she continued.
Her tone was even, but he saw her fury. “Or were you taken with the idea of charging in upon a white horse and rescuing us? Your father and mine had no correspondence, I understand, for many years. How did you know of our particular situation?”
She had managed to annoy him at last. “Rescue had nothing to do with it. Your friend Mr Collins informed his aunt, Lady Catherine, when she apprised him that her vicar held the entail on Longbourn.”
“He is not my ‘friend’—although I daresay he could be, if I gave him the slightest encouragement. He is yet another man who has enlightened me as to his ability to ‘marry where he pleases’.”
The very notion of the ridiculous Collins anywhere near Miss Elizabeth caused his annoyance to acquire shades of antagonism. “Very well, then. Introduce me to these females who would enjoy adding the trouble and expense of several additional women to their future household.”
He had poured pitch into a fire, and he saw the flames in her expressive eyes. It was probably wrong that he felt only satisfaction.
“I shall be most happy to do so,” she snapped, turning on her heel, ignoring his proffered arm as he matched her quick stride.
After a few minutes, however, her pace slowed; it was almost mesmerising, watching her drag her temper under control, donning her dignity and manners like a cloak, and then, in tones of the utmost civility, begin asking him regarding his parish duties and parishioners.
She held admirable self-control, and was in every sense a lady.
It was yet another flaw in his character, he knew, that at the moment he preferred her honest wrath.
Their quicker pace caught them up to her younger sisters.
“Lydia, Kitty, let us first stop in at Lucas Lodge. Charlotte has a pattern I wish to borrow.” Quite easily, they were diverted from visiting their relations, and soon were at a fine house not terribly far from Longbourn.
Sir William Lucas was an avuncular, gregarious man, who, with his wife, greeted them all with great hospitality.
When he introduced his daughter, Miss Charlotte Lucas, it was evident that she and Elizabeth—he found he could no longer think of her formally, as Miss Elizabeth—were truly great friends.
It also became clear, from the number of parish charity projects they discussed, that Miss Lucas was an excellent manager and would make some man an excellent wife.
She seemed very mature, very seasoned, and was probably several years older than Elizabeth.
I would never love her.
It was not that she was ugly, although compared to Elizabeth, he feared he would find the absence of wild curls, satiny-smooth skin, and a light, pleasing figure forever unappealing.
Neither was she stupid, although, compared to Elizabeth, the lack of sparkle in her eyes and in her wit would make her seem forever dull.
Compared to Elizabeth…ah, yes, compared to Elizabeth. That was the problem. No one else likely could.
After a brief visit, Miss Lydia and Miss Catherine collected Miss Lucas’s younger sister, and they all departed.
The three young women immediately headed for the home of their uncle, but he and Elizabeth continued to stroll along the main thoroughfare, as he tried to think of a way to undo his former blunders.
The presence of the militia made what was probably a sleepy little town seem a bustling city. Scarlet coats abounded on every corner, adding an excitement likely unusual to the place. As they walked along the main street, they came face to face with the person he least wished to see.
Mr Collins was a tall, heavy man with a pronounced peak of hair and interminable conversation.
The delight upon his face as he greeted Elizabeth revealed to him that she had not been exaggerating the other man’s interest. When he did not seem to recall Darcy—even though they had met for the third time but a few weeks ago—Elizabeth introduced him as her visiting cousin, naming his residence as Hunsford.
This appeared to recollect him to their acquaintance.
“It has been, what, two or three months since I last saw you, has it not, Mr Darcy? But I will have to write my adored aunt and mention that we have met again. A small world, is it not?” He turned his attention immediately back to Elizabeth.
“But the world is too wide, indeed, when you do not daily appear within it. How wonderful it is to see you, my dear Miss Elizabeth! How do you fare? You are looking as bright and flourishing as yonder meadows, anticipating impatiently their cowslips to bloom.”
Darcy could not help himself, and looked at Elizabeth to see how she received this absurd flattery—only to see her glancing at him in the same moment.
He raised his brows at her, hoping she could see his humour; she quickly glanced away, plainly hiding a smile.
Something within him felt as if a heavy weight had been lifted, to see her answering amusement.
“I, um, thank you for the compliment,” she managed to say.
“How you are able to compose such poetic praise is beyond me,” Darcy said in his most sombre tones. Collins took it as admiration, and he had the pleasure of seeing Elizabeth’s eyes glint again with humour.
“Now, now, Darcy, a vicar must keep his feet upon the ground and his mind upon more serious affairs than I,” he said with overt humility.
“While you study Scripture, I study the art of the encomiast. It is a matter of pride that I should have such laudations as I deem appropriate always at the tip of my tongue.”
Collins’s friend, a Mr Bingley, approached at that moment, and after introductions had been made, raised the subject of Miss Bennet’s health.
Upon learning that she had remained at Longbourn, he stated his intention to call upon her there, to make his enquiry in person.
Suddenly, Darcy realised just who Miss Bennet’s hopes rested upon, and he looked at the man with renewed interest. He seemed a decent fellow, but Darcy was surprised by just how concerned he felt towards his cousin’s future, and he determined to learn what he could about him—especially as he was so intimate with the ridiculous Collins.
But that man was determined to turn the conversation back to himself, and to recall Elizabeth’s attention.
“My dear aunt, Lady Catherine de Bourgh—sister to Lord Matlock, Earl of Matlock, you know—is your cousin’s patroness.
I am certain it is difficult for him to be away from her and his many responsibilities to her and her people.
Doubtless he will return to a host of unmet obligations!
I am fortunate, myself, in that I have a steward to manage my great estate, Pemberley, and all who are in my care need not suffer in my many absences.
Mr Wickham takes care of simply everything for me, just as did his father before him, so that I am free to enjoy life and all its many pleasures. ”
Darcy was pleased to see that Mr Bingley appeared embarrassed by Collins’s crude attempt to point out the differences between them, and was relieved and cheered when Elizabeth murmured an excuse so that they could be on their way.