Chapter 2

Darcy knew rushing to see Miss Elizabeth was a mistake. He hardly remembered who Mrs Collins was. To be sure, he recalled going to some party or other at Lucas Lodge—it had been the night he had first noticed Miss Elizabeth’s prettiness and fine eyes—but other than Sir William’s loquaciousness, the family was unremarkable. It was knowing she was there that drew Darcy towards the parsonage.

As soon as he saw her, a frisson passed through him. The air felt different suddenly—he felt different, somehow lighter and easier, and he quickly looked around him, relieved to discover that no one had seemed to notice. Mr Collins was introducing Fitzwilliam to the ladies, allowing Darcy a brief period for private reflections, and he attempted to puzzle out why he felt so strange.

“Mr Darcy, please do sit, sir.”

The sound of Mrs Collins’s voice recalled Darcy’s attention. He murmured his thanks and took the chair closest to him. He struggled not to stare at Miss Elizabeth, who wore a blue day gown that was simple but complemented her rich brown hair perfectly. Instead, he considered Mrs Collins and Miss Lucas. It took a moment, but he finally remembered meeting them in Meryton. He could not say that he had spoken to them beyond the usual commonplaces, but the two ladies looked familiar.

“It was very kind of you to call, especially so soon after your arrival,” Mrs Collins said. “Do you not agree, Eliza?”

Darcy felt there was some meaning behind the question that he did not understand, and the slight blush on Miss Elizabeth’s cheeks seemed to confirm it.

“Mr Darcy is all consideration,” she said.

Mr Collins spoke over her. “Indeed, it is a great honour, and I thank you gentlemen very sincerely. To have you come to my humble?—”

“Would you like some tea, Mr Darcy, Colonel Fitzwilliam?” Mrs Collins gently interjected. She gave her husband a look that had his expression alter from disapproving to chagrined.

Miss Elizabeth appeared amused; her brow arched and lips twitched. He continued to observe her as Mrs Collins served refreshments.

“Miss Bennet, how long have you been in the neighbourhood?” Fitzwilliam asked. He was sitting in an enviable position, being beside her on an old-fashioned settee.

“About a fortnight.”

Fitzwilliam offered Miss Lucas a polite smile. “Have you enjoyed your sojourn? How long do you expect to remain?”

The girl’s eyes grew wide, and she gave Miss Elizabeth a pleading look. Mr Collins might have responded in her stead, but his wife subtly shook her head.

“The neighbourhood is very pleasant,” Miss Elizabeth said. “What is most agreeable is seeing my friend so happy in her new home.”

Darcy spoke before he realised he was going to; it had the effect of Miss Elizabeth directing her attention to him not Fitzwilliam, which was exactly what he wanted. After all, he had met her before, and his cousin had not. “The-the house is a comfortable one, and the garden delightful.”

Faintly, Darcy heard Mr and Mrs Collins say something, but he paid them no mind. Miss Elizabeth made an indifferent noise, but did not speak, which was disappointing.

“May I enquire after your family? I hope they are well,” he asked her.

She eyed him speculatively. “They are well, thank you. My sister Jane has been in London since the end of December. Have you happened to see her?”

He just managed to stop himself from displaying his shock. Was she aware that Darcy knew of her sister’s presence in town and had concealed it from his friend?

“No, I-I have not been fortunate enough to encounter her,” he said and averted his gaze. In his head, a malicious voice remarked on his lying. It was ungentlemanly, and worse, he had lied to her.

He said nothing further, and after quickly finishing his tea, indicated to his cousin that they ought to depart.

Two days later, despite his inclination, Darcy returned to the parsonage—but only because keeping company at Rosings was even less agreeable than sitting in Mrs Collins’s parlour. Fitzwilliam was busy with he knew not what, which allowed him to slip out of the house unseen—not that there was any reason to keep his intentions to himself.

Mrs Collins welcomed him politely. After offering him refreshments, which he declined, she occupied her sister in a quiet conversation; she even sat in such a way that if he and Miss Elizabeth kept their voices low, the other ladies would not overhear. His heart beat rapidly, and he was vexed to realise he did not know what to say. Thus, after an awkward reference to the weather, he picked up a newspaper he happened to notice on a nearby table. While pretending to read, he glanced at her repeatedly, the tight band about his chest slowly loosening.

It was very good to see her again! He was loath to admit it even to himself, but he had thought of her often in the months since they had last seen each other. Usually, a little thing brought on a memory of her—hearing a lady laugh and knowing Miss Elizabeth’s was more musical, sitting next to a young woman at dinner and seeing that her eyes were not as fine, her conversation not as witty, her attempts to tease not as charming. There was no denying that the pull he felt to her had not diminished since the autumn.

But it is impossible. She is entirely unsuitable. This…feeling I have means nothing. In Hertfordshire, it was because I was miserable after what happened with Georgiana and Wickham, and now it is because of how uncomfortable my aunt makes me. She proposes Anne as my bride, when all I have to do is traverse the short distance to the parsonage to see a lady I know would make me infinitely happier.

Tossing the newspaper onto the table, he stood. “I have taken up enough of your time. Good day, ladies.” He bowed and was gone before Mrs Collins—or Miss Elizabeth—had an opportunity to speak.

Mr Collins’ sermon that Sunday was as dismal as Darcy had expected it would be. He sat as still as possible, his spine rigid, willing himself not to—yet again—look across the aisle to where a certain lovely young lady sat. Her bonnet and pelisse were a deep, rich blue that reminded him of the summer sky. He wondered if she had spent much time walking since arriving in Kent, concluding that she must have. She would take pleasure in exploring a new region, as well as escaping the confines of the parsonage. She would adore Pemberley.

He was imagining what sort of wife she would be to him, when Fitzwilliam jabbed an elbow into his side. “He must be almost finished, do you not think? I would swear we have been here half the day already.”

At Darcy’s other side, Anne sniffed loudly. Although he believed it was because she had heard Fitzwilliam’s remark rather than a sign of illness, Mrs Jenkinson began to quietly fuss. Fortunately, Lady Catherine’s increasing deafness combined with her close, scowling study of the parson meant she had not noticed what her relations were doing.

A moment later, Fitzwilliam whispered, “Shall we convince our aunt to invite them to dinner? I would not object to more of Miss Bennet’s company.” He tilted his head towards where Miss Elizabeth sat with her friends.

Darcy’s eyes lingered on her. It would be better for my peace of mind if I avoid her. Nevertheless, he gave a single, curt nod.