Chapter 9

CHAPTER NINE

D arcy glanced up again from his book, mostly to reassure himself that Elizabeth—who was wholly engrossed in two letters received from home—was still here in the library with him. There had been a dangerous moment when he thought she might have departed Netherfield altogether, Miss Bingley having coyly suggested that their carriage could be made available to the sisters to remove them after the Sunday service. Miss Bennet had seemed so agreeable to the idea that he believed his cause was lost. Fortunately, Bingley’s protests—which he, naturally, supported—came to the rescue. Elizabeth had remained frustratingly silent upon the matter, nevertheless allowing Bingley’s wishes to prevail.

It reminded him, again, that Bingley’s feelings were much stronger than Miss Bennet’s, and he felt a flash of guilt for choosing his own preferences over what was best for his friend. Every moment Bingley was in company with the young lady seemed to increase his affections, if not hers. However, he needed more time to convince Elizabeth, and having her close at hand was ideal to his purpose—for time, it seemed, was not his ally.

The letter he had received yesterday from Mrs Annesley, who acted as Georgiana’s companion, had delivered mixed news. At times, she explained, she worried deeply—Georgiana’s appetite was off, and she was prone to indulge in weeping fits. Mrs Annesley had apparently almost written to beg his immediate return, but the last few days had been much better, with Georgiana participating willingly in Lady Matlock’s planning for forthcoming Festive Season parties. Still, the companion was not completely satisfied with her charge’s progress and wished to know whether she could dare hope that Darcy might be returning to town within a week or two.

It seemed more important than ever that he marry, and soon; his ideal spouse sat on the other side of the library’s fireplace, a mere few feet away, a slight smile upon her lips.

“An amusing letter?” he asked.

Elizabeth’s dark eyes were mirthful as she turned to him. “One I was surprised to receive, for my father is a dilatory correspondent, to say the least. However, my cousin arrived yesterday, and he missed having anyone about who could appreciate his observations on Mr Collins’s character.”

“Collins is the cousin?”

“Yes. There is an entail upon our estate and thus he is my father’s heir, but currently he holds the living for a grand property in Kent—Rosings Park. Apparently, it acts as his calling card, so to speak. He drags out his position and the magnificence of his patroness at the slightest provocation. Listen to what he tells Papa of her: ‘I have been so fortunate as to be distinguished by the patronage of the Right Honourable Lady Catherine de Bourgh…whose bounty and beneficence has preferred me to the valuable rectory,’ et cetera, et cetera, ‘where I shall happily spend the rest of my days demeaning myself with grateful genuflection towards her ladyship,’ et cetera, ‘that is, until you die and hand over your home to my humble personage’.”

“That is a coincidence. Rosings is in my family—it belongs to my aunt. His ‘magnificent patroness’, I suppose.”

Her smile faded as she studied him, as if trying to determine whether he had been offended by her teasing words.

“My aunt must very much enjoy his opinion of her ‘magnificence’,” he added with a reassuring smile, happy to quickly pass over the subject of her family’s future loss of home and position. “Lady Catherine has an equivalent idea of her own virtues. In fact, she admires obsequiousness above all else—he sounds exactly the sort of person she would appoint. You need not worry—should you decide in my favour—that we would spend a great deal of time with her. My patience is not unlimited.”

Her smile reappeared. “This must be the aunt whose curiosity invokes her interference. It is an uncommon advantage, to have near relations so droll, and so determined to give amusement, if only one remains determined to laugh. You need not worry that—should I decide in your favour—I would be easily put off by her.” The smile faltered. “I hope you do not believe I take lightly the compliment of your affection. I do truly wish for your happiness, as much as my own. ”

If ever he had needed put into words his reasons for offering for a woman so patently unsuitable, she had just done so. “I would always do my best to increase your happiness,” he promised in a low voice. “Doing so would increase mine.”

They looked at each other, just looked, for some moments; he could not tell what she thought, but as for himself, he simply absorbed her beauty, his passion close to overwhelming him. A light pink touched the softness of her cheeks, and he longed to kiss them, and then…to see where else she might blush. It was the arrival of a servant to stoke the fire which brought him back to a sudden awareness of his surroundings, and drew her back to her letters. Once the servant departed, however, he discreetly continued to watch. She soon set her father’s note aside and opened the second. He saw the look of surprise appear upon her face as she read it.

“Interesting news?” he asked, longing to be privy to her thoughts.

It was a long moment before she replied. “My father’s note indicates that my cousin Collins is a toady chucklehead. My mother’s commands that I should come home at once, to marry him.”

“What?” Darcy had to restrain himself from launching out of his seat, wanting to grab the letter and toss it into the fire. “How could she consider such a thing?”

Rather than appalled, Elizabeth appeared annoyingly contemplative, as if she were only half-listening to him. “Oh, ’tis not at all surprising. After all, he will inherit Longbourn one day.”

“Why does she not cast her appeals upon your elder sister? ”

She gave him a wry look. “She has other hopes for Jane.”

He did not need to ask what those were. It was perhaps unremarkable for Mrs Bennet to wish for a match with Bingley, but she had very little evidence upon which to base those hopes; she had not been here to witness the sheep’s eyes Bingley made over the young lady. By the same token, it made perfect sense for her to desire one of her daughters to marry the foolish vicar. Still, he resented beyond reason which daughter she had appointed to the duty.

“Then the next youngest sister will have to take him,” he said, trying to speak matter-of-factly.

Elizabeth continued to abstractedly study the sheet before her. “Oh, Papa would never make any of us marry him, I am certain.”

This was unusual. Did not Mr Bennet worry what would become of them all, once he was gone? “Perhaps he ought to consider it,” Darcy suggested.

She glanced up at him, finally displaying a hint of annoyance. “Would you consider such a man as I have described as husband for your sister?”

Of course not , he just stopped himself from saying aloud. But the fact remained: his sister was not in the same situation as hers.

“I am certain that no one would wish an unhappy match for anyone,” he said, in what he hoped were reasonable tones. “However, initial impressions might be deceiving. He may not be as bad as all that, if your mother sees some good in him.”

“Oh, well then, perhaps I ought to hurry home,” she said brightly. “I shall soon discover which of my parents is correct. ”

He understood sarcasm when he heard it, but jealousy twisted inside regardless. He forced himself to stare back at the page of his book, with no idea of where in the aimless masses of words he had been reading, nor with any ability to translate the hieroglyphics on paper into actual syllables. After a moment, he turned the page, still fuming.

How dare she, even jokingly, imply she might favour another man?

She abruptly stood, striding to one of the alcove windows overlooking the park. He immediately gave up his pretence of reading, setting the book aside with a sigh.

I am preposterous , he decided. His feelings had nothing to do with her tease, and everything to do with the facts: her cousin was, by birth, by familial expectation, and by convenience, her perfect match. The entire world might call it better for her, even—stories abounded of the unhappiness of those who married outside their sphere. Her own parents were, as she had said, a personal cautionary tale. Darcy might resent it, but he ought not to resent her for it. All he had achieved was to remind her of their differences, and she was already well enough aware of those.

The library door stood open, a nod to propriety—although the Bingley sisters had gone upstairs to nap, as had presumably Miss Bennet, and Bingley and Hurst were visiting a neighbour. Leaving his chair, he walked over and quietly shut it.