Chapter 15

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

D arcy glanced at the clock. Near an hour gone of their stay at Rosings, and the hands on the green-japanned floor clock could not move more slowly. Perhaps it needed winding. It was the newest piece in the room—a wedding gift to Sir Lewis and Lady Catherine from some long-forgot de Bourgh relation. It ticked loudly enough to remind them of time passing, but it was not loud enough to drown out the sounds of Mr Collins and Lady Catherine.

He shifted in his chair; likely it had been just as uncomfortable two hundred years ago when first stuffed with horsehair. His movements, gratefully, did not catch his aunt's eye due to the gloom that permeated the rooms at Rosings. Lady Catherine insisted curtains be drawn on sunny days to protect her rugs, tapestries and upholsteries and would not allow candles to be lit until sundown. Stale air redolent of heavy perfumes and medicinal salves permeated the place, doing as much damage to the precious fabrics as any sunlight, he thought. A good airing out, as done twice a year at Pemberley, would likely reduce the heaviness and stench. In their own rooms and in the study and library where their aunt would not tread, he and Richard would have the curtains thrown open and windows flung wide to bring in fresh air.

If only they could get to those rooms. His aunt allowed them only a brief moment to refresh themselves, followed by a pot of weak, tepid tea, before besieging them in a tumult of questions followed by declarations refuting their answers. Darcy's mood was little helped by the presence of the odious cleric whom he had last seen in November, wet and mud-splattered, after his attempt to force marriage on Elizabeth Bennet.

Richard's quiet snore came at the exact moment Collins said something of real interest.

"Sir William Lucas, my dear Charlotte's father, has happily returned to his home in Meryton, situated not two miles from Longbourn Village, the estate where Charlotte and I shall one day make our home. It is nothing to Rosings's glories, of course, and its gardens pale even to the plantings at Hunsford Parsonage, which I have modelled on those designed by Lady Catherine herself, and which Sir William compared to those he saw when he visited St James's Palace some eight—or was it eleven years—ago? I trust that you, Mr Darcy, have an equal appreciation for?—"

"Sir William has visited here recently?"

Collins looked startled to be so addressed. They had greeted one another politely, seeming oddly united in wishing not to provoke any suspicion from Lady Catherine. He is fortunate I am acknowledging him, let alone doing it politely .

"Yes, um, he came some two weeks ago to deliver Maria, younger sister to my dear Charlotte, for a visit that shall last through much of April."

The younger sister was friend to Elizabeth's younger sisters, all of them lacking sense but fond of gossip and therefore in possession of news. Quickly Darcy determined he would pay a call on the parsonage as soon as possible.

Collins continued to natter away until interrupted by Lady Catherine. "Your other visitor, Mrs Collins's friend, is an odd sort of girl, rather proud and eager to share opinions yet deficient in the education and arts which are the foundation of any estimable young lady, as with my dear Anne, who would—had her health allowed—be proficient in all the capacities which a country girl such as your cousin and her many, many sisters, is lacking."

‘Your cousin and her many, many sisters...'

For perhaps the first time in her life, Lady Catherine had Darcy's full attention. She saw it, and misunderstanding the reasons for it, carried on.

"Indeed, Darcy, much as Georgiana must regret not accompanying you to Rosings, where she provides happy company for Anne and heeds my advice on her playing, you should be glad not to have your sister meet Miss Elizabeth Bennet."

She is here? Half a mile from where I sit?

"Miss Elizabeth Bennet," he said slowly, and rather stupidly, to Mr Collins, "is a guest at your parsonage?" Dear lord, she is staying in the home of her petulant, rejected suitor?

The man shuffled his feet, looking from the floor to Lady Catherine and back to the floor before replying. " Yes, my cousin Elizabeth accompanied Sir William and my sister Maria. Miss Elizabeth, as Lady Catherine said, has proved herself in need of a greater understanding of her present situation in life and the station to which she can aspire?—"

"Mr Collins." Darcy struggled not to leap from his chair and thrash the man. "Your cousin, Mr Bennet, is a gentleman. In that, he and I are equal, and thus his daughters' present situation is one that permits them, nay, expects them, to aspire to the highest station in society."

Richard's sharp inhale showed him to be awake. "Good work, old man," he said quietly.

"Darcy," cried his aunt. "You cannot compare yourself, one who carries the ancient bloodlines of Fitzwilliams and Darcys, to that of a common landowner whose estate is entailed away!"

He could, actually. Having heard quite enough and anticipating an unfortunate number of similar experiences in the days to come, he was altogether too eager to lay eyes on Elizabeth. He stood. "I should like to pay my respects to Mrs. Collins."

Lady Catherine was indignant. "You have not been to your rooms, nor seen Anne, who must surely be stirring from her nap."

Darcy gave her the smile he kept in reserve for moments such as these: the smile of her favourite nephew, the smile he had inherited from his mother. "There will be time, Aunt. I truly wish to stretch my legs a bit after the journey here."

As expected, Lady Catherine softened and gave him an indulgent nod before narrowing her eyes and demanding they not stay away long. "Do not dawdle. Anne is all expectation for your visit."

Collins, seemingly overcome with gratitude by such a tribute to his wife, disregarded any antipathy or insults between them and clearly misunderstood the obvious reason for Darcy's wish to visit Hunsford. He bumbled his way through several bows before they could extract themselves from the room.

Richard stifled his laughter, and turning away to avoid Lady Catherine's scrutiny, murmured, "Darcy, what a fire you have lit and left untended."

He shrugged. Elizabeth was here, in Kent. She had likely stood on the very carpet on which he walked.

He steadied himself, realising he had never once given thought—or paid a visit—to the parsonage. He felt Richard's bemusement as they walked across the park, but he was intent on ignoring both men—most particularly the one breathing heavily as he continued delivering an endless deluge of words lauding Lady Catherine and the position of the house, the trees, and the sky above.

Although the gardens were large and plentiful, the parsonage itself was small. Far smaller than even the dower house at Pemberley. Certainly not suitable for Elizabeth Bennet.

Her stupid, erstwhile suitor finally ceased his oration and gesticulations and, rushing ahead through the gate, called out to his beleaguered wife. Collins stopped on the stair, quaking with anticipation, and then, with every form of grandiosity disguised as modesty, led them into the house and into a small parlour, where he announced them to the three ladies within.

Darcy spotted Elizabeth immediately, seated by one of the room's narrow windows, a letter in her hands. She looked up, startled, and rose. He nodded quickly, forcing himself to remain expressionless, and then turned to Mrs Collins, paying her his compliments on her marriage and new home. A younger lady, obviously Miss Lucas, a prettier version of her elder sister, sat wide-eyed staring at him. Introductions were made and finally he was free to look at Elizabeth and greet her.

She looked extraordinary. No—she looked as she had in his memories, but those memories were nothing to the actual sight of her sitting feet away from him, her eyes bright and expectant, her cheeks flushed as though she were as pleased to see him as he to see her. The memory of his last glimpse of her, gazing at him from her seat in the pony cart, mirthful and suppressing laughter at the odd sounds made by her cousin, rose in his memory.

Eager to hear her speak of the past few months they had not been in company, and concerned for her welfare under Collins's roof, Darcy strove to be more composed than he had when he first heard of her presence. "Miss Bennet, I am pleased to see you again. I hope you are well and your family is in good health."

She smiled but her reply was overrun by his loutish cousin.

"Ah, the redoubtable Miss Elizabeth Bennet. I have heard much of you and your exploits?—"

Darcy shot Richard a warning glance—could the man not recall in whose house he sat?—and quickly addressed Mrs Collins. "Your house appears to be most conveniently situated and the garden is very pleasant."

"Thank you, Mr Darcy. It is kind of you and Colonel Fitzwilliam to visit us. "

He could think of little else to carry the conversation and pondered what he should say to Elizabeth without betraying his eagerness. Groping for a topic, he once again addressed her. "And is your family in good health?"

She laughed lightly, teasing him for his awkward manners. "They are, thank you, as of the last time I saw them before departing Longbourn in February."

February? Was she forced to flee from Nugent?

She clearly saw the question in his eyes. "After Jane became engaged to Mr Bingley, I joined my aunt and uncle in town. Happy as I am for their betrothal, my mother's enjoyment of wedding planning was rather overwhelming."

Mr Collins cleared his throat loudly and moved to stand by his wife's chair. "My own wedding was quite wonderful, as I chose a bride of great modesty and thrift who saw no purpose in such grand expense."

"Mama made Charlotte's dress," whispered Miss Lucas, "for there was no time to have one made in town."

"Hear, hear," said Richard, sprawled in a chair far too small for him. "Enough talk of frippery, Miss Lucas. You and Miss Bennet must tell us your thoughts on Kent. Have you yet laid eyes on the great haunted oak?"

The girl gasped, her sister served tea, and as Richard told a wildly embellished tale of the giant oak tree struck by lightning back when they were boys, and the burnt scarring on the trunk that resembled a giant wolf, Darcy studied Elizabeth. The unease she had clearly felt upon their arrival was gone and her eyes filled with mirth at Richard's story of three boys terrified of, and then fascinated by the gnarled, half-dead oak. He imagined taking her there, showing her round Rosings—mocking its dated grandeur and faded aspirations of Versailles.

"Oh, I should like to see this tree," cried Miss Lucas.

Richard chuckled. "And you, Miss Bennet? Are you prepared for the sight of this majestic monstrosity?"

"I would be delighted to take its measure," she said. "There is a stubbornness about me that never can bear to be frightened."

Darcy's lips twitched. Mindful of Collins's presence, he remained silent.

"Then we shall plan an expedition for next week, perhaps? Poor Darcy here has much work to do with my aunt's new steward in the coming days. Does he not already appear beset by it all?"

Darcy frowned. His cousin's charming garrulousness was irritating and loud in the small room, particularly as it was directed at Elizabeth. Moreover, the mention of his aunt only re-lit the reverence Collins held for her, and once again, he began a series of platitudes towards her care of Rosings.

Much as he pitied Mrs Collins for the choice she had made, his thoughts were only of Elizabeth and what she must endure while at the parsonage. He was wild to speak to her, to hear how she had fared these past months, to tell her that he had remained concerned for her welfare. He met her eyes only once more, fearing what he might see in her expression, or she in his.