17. Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Seventeen

E lizabeth stormed out of the house, her mother's protests trailing behind her as she ran down the garden path, her breath coming in sharp bursts of frustration. "Capture his notice indeed!" she muttered. "As if I were a prize to be won." She swatted a hanging branch out of her way. "We have never even met the man!"

The crisp winter air stung her cheeks, but she welcomed the sensation, using it to clear the tangled mess of her thoughts. Her father's indifferent announcement about Mr Collins' arrival had been infuriating enough, but her mother's immediate scheming had sent her over the edge. She could still hear her mother's voice, her absolute surety, as she planned Elizabeth's future without a second thought for her feelings.

"Not even a word of warning," she grumbled, kicking a stray pebble off the path. "And now I am to be paraded like a broodmare for Mr Collins!"

She followed the familiar route, the one she often took when her thoughts were too loud to be silenced indoors. "Style my hair!" she grumbled. "Mend my fichu! And what could be so very wrong with my gown that some strange man would care about it? Balderdash!"

Lost in her mutterings, Elizabeth almost didn't notice the figure approaching on horseback until he was nearly upon her. Startled, she glanced up, her eyes widening in surprise to see Mr Darcy. He seemed equally taken aback, his pale countenance and the slight unsteadiness in his posture betraying an unease that went beyond mere surprise.

"M-Miss Elizabeth," he stammered. "I did not expect to encounter anyone at this early hour."

"Nor I, Mr Darcy." She hesitated, her eyes lingering on his face. His complexion was unusually greenish, the normal healthy glow replaced by a wan, almost sickly hue. Dark shadows underscored his eyes, suggesting many sleepless nights. His jaw was clenched tightly as though he were suppressing discomfort or pain .

Elizabeth's gaze shifted to his hands, which gripped the reins with a white-knuckled intensity. And there was a slight tremor in his fingers—the way they twitched with each movement of the horse. Even his posture seemed off; instead of his usual erect bearing, he sat with a stiffness that hinted at underlying strain.

Her concern deepened. Darcy was not a man to easily show weakness, yet it was clear that something was amiss. She doubted he would welcome her observation, but… well, it was not as if that was anything unusual of late.

"You appear somewhat out of sorts today," she said finally. "Are you quite well?"

Darcy stiffened, then forced a smile that did not reach his eyes. "Merely a lack of rest, I assure you. The fresh air seemed a suitable remedy."

Elizabeth was not convinced. The signs of his discomfort were too glaring to ignore. "Perhaps it would be best if you dismounted and walked for a while. The morning air is indeed refreshing, but it may be more beneficial if taken at a gentler pace. Would you care to join me?"

There was a moment of hesitation before Darcy acquiesced, dismounting with a grace that belied his obvious discomfort. He led his horse alongside as they walked, the rhythmic clopping of hooves on the path a steady counterpoint to their conversation—or lack thereof. He was walking beside her, to be sure, but the looks he kept casting her way were anything but easy. Elizabeth tried smiling tightly, but she could feel the heat of his eyes every time they slid towards her.

"Miss Bennet," he began after a moment, "If you will forgive me, I should say it is you who appear somewhat out of sorts this morning. Might I inquire if anything is amiss?"

Oh, that was simply unfair. She had asked first, had she not? Mr Darcy did not speak by the rules. She ought to simply deflect his question with another question, but upon glancing at him, her defensiveness softened at the genuine concern she saw in his eyes. Well… perhaps there was no harm in sharing… just a little.

"I have just learned we are to have a houseguest."

Darcy raised an eyebrow. "A houseguest? That seems hardly cause for such evident distress."

Elizabeth managed a wry grin. "Ordinarily, it would not be. But this particular guest is... well, let us say from what little I know of him, he is not one I would have chosen."

Darcy remained silent, clearly waiting for her to continue. Elizabeth sighed, glancing at the path ahead as if seeking guidance from its familiar turns .

"It is Mr Collins," she admitted finally. "He is a distant cousin and my father's heir, for the estate is entailed. That alone makes his visit awkward enough, but additionally, his arrival has been sprung upon us with little notice. My father, in his usual manner, mentioned it casually at breakfast as if it were of no consequence."

A flicker of something—understanding, perhaps—crossed Darcy's face. "And… your mother's reaction?"

Elizabeth could not help a laugh. "You are more perceptive than you look, Mr Darcy. She has already begun planning how best to secure his notice for me as if I were a bauble to be displayed. It is all rather tiresome."

"I imagine it must be."

Elizabeth glanced at him. "And you, Mr Darcy? What brings you out so early this morning?"

Darcy's gaze shifted, and for a moment, he seemed to weigh his words carefully. "The need for fresh air, as I mentioned. But also... I think you might understand the desire to escape one's own thoughts for a time."

Elizabeth studied him. The pallor of his skin and the tension in his posture were impossible to ignore. "It appears we both seek refuge in the morning air, then," she said softly.

His only response was a hum… more of a grunt, really. He stared at the ground as they walked, his horse's rein looped over his arm and his right hand clenched strangely.

"Sir, what…" She stopped herself.

"Yes, Miss Elizabeth?"

She tightened her jaw, then forged ahead. "You puzzle me exceedingly, sir. Upon our first meeting, you seemed so good-humoured—clever, even funny, and willing to be pleased."

"And you wonder what became of that genial fellow, Miss Elizabeth?"

She blanched. "Well, I… not in so many words, perhaps. But you do seem… altered."

"Come, now, Miss Elizabeth, you are nothing if not frank. What makes you think I was not simply euphoric from some illicit indulgence? I was, after all, a bachelor on a pleasure outing. It would not be such a shocking thing."

"From you? Indeed, it would be shocking. I believe I have the measure of your character, sir, and I declare, if you were indulging in snuff, I am Queen Charlotte."

A slight tug appeared at the left corner of his mouth. "Then perhaps you misjudged me, or I was putting you on that day."

"Try again."

Mr Darcy lifted his head back in a genuine laugh—the first, in fact, that she had heard from him since their first meeting. "Then what is your judgment, Miss Elizabeth? Why can you not simply presume I was in an exceedingly good mood?"

"Then I would beg to know why you have been so dour ever since." She stopped, forcing him to do the same and turn back toward her. "Or do you simply prefer being in a foul temper, unwilling to speak or make yourself agreeable in any fashion unless you can be the one in command of the situation?"

His eyes narrowed. "You make me sound rather petty, Miss Elizabeth."

She crossed her arms. "I speak as I find. Am I incorrect?"

Mr Darcy opened his mouth, but then there was a crease in his brow, and his words stilled. "You are, but…" He winced and shook his head, his brow pinching sharply as a hiss escaped his lips.

Elizabeth started forward, her hand extended. "Mr Darcy, truly, you look unwell. Forgive me if I gave offence, I—"

He put his fingers to his temple and sucked in a breath, then forced his eyes open. "It was not your words. It…" He shook his head again. "Never mind."

"You are unwell." She arched a brow and waited for his eyes to steady and focus on her face. "How long?"

I ce shot through Darcy's veins at her words. He dropped his hand—curse it, it was shaking again, twitching like a vile thing, even as his left eye felt like it was being stabbed with a hot blade. He tucked his hand behind his coat, and his voice cracked when he demanded, "What can you mean by that?"

Her eyes softened, and she gave him a strange look. "How many things can that question mean? How long have you been unwell? I assume you must have got some fever or something since our first meeting. That would explain— "

"Nothing at all. I have no fever, Miss Elizabeth."

She puckered her mouth. "Well, you look like you have a tremendous headache. That is exactly the face my aunt Gardiner makes when she has one of her megrims."

He blinked. "I…"

"There it is! I have it, for your face just confessed all." Her brow crumpled in sympathy. "These last few days, I thought you were merely unsociable, but you were in horrible pain!"

"Oh, I am entirely unsociable."

"Liar. Your friendships prove otherwise. Mr Bingley and Mr Wickham are perfectly amiable, and they have nothing but generous things to say of you."

There it was again—that stabbing throb, but this time, his stomach joined the rebellion. And he could not be sure that it was only this… malaise, whatever it was. It was hearing Miss Elizabeth speaking in such glowing terms about Wickham.

"I would caution you," he growled, "not to believe everything you hear, Miss Elizabeth."

"So, are you saying they are deceiving me about you? I should disbelieve them, should I? I thank you for the caution, sir."

That certainly blew up in his face. Darcy frowned and slid a long look to her but found her smirking and only waiting for him to meet her gaze. "I did not mean that, specifically, but…"

"But you meant something, sir, so out with it. Are you saying there is someone or something I ought not to trust? And, having given that caution, what proof do you have that I should trust you? "

Darcy's chest filled with air. Good heavens, how could he possibly keep ahead of Elizabeth Bennet when his head was trying to split in two? He would surely say something she would misinterpret or use against him. "I speak in generalities only, Miss Elizabeth," was his lame reply.

"Ah. So, you would caution me against insincerity in its most generic form. How helpful. Why, that is precisely how I shall proceed, Mr Darcy, when my father's cousin arrives in our drawing room and compliments my mother on her daughters and my father on the wonders of Longbourn—you see, I already have some little knowledge of him—then I shall…" She tilted her head, arching her brows in a question. "What? Not take him seriously? I think I have that much in hand. "

"It is not necessary to tolerate insincerity, Miss Bennet. One must maintain their own integrity, even in the face of such... obsequiousness."

"Oh, now there is a fine word. Are you certain you have not met Mr Collins?"

Darcy smiled. "You paint a vivid picture of him."

"And you speak as though you have encountered many such characters, Mr Darcy."

His head panged again. If he only dared tell her… "More than I would care to admit. But it is not their opinions that matter, rather how one holds oneself amidst them."

"What a curious thing to say." Her forehead puckered in thought. "But I cannot disagree."

Darcy tried to nod, but a wave of dizziness washed over him, making it hard to keep his balance. He could not ignore Elizabeth's concerned glances, her unspoken thoughts clear in the crisp air between them. The biting winter breeze seeped through his coat, adding to his discomfort as they moved along the path. What the bloody devil had made him ride out today and subject himself to even more misery?

Oh, that was right. Wickham.

As they reached a small clearing, the sight of the bench nestled among a cluster of evergreen trees was a welcome relief. Darcy's stomach clenched, threatening to betray him. He paused, exhaling a breath that fogged in the cold air.

"Mr Darcy, please," Elizabeth's voice broke through his haze of exhaustion. "Let us rest for a moment."

He hesitated, pride warring with the undeniable need to pause. This had been one of his stupider ideas—riding out in a biting wind when he was barely managing to keep his two feet under him. "Perhaps just for a moment," he conceded, his voice strained.

He hooked his horse's reins over a branch of the evergreen and dropped to the bench. Not an instant too soon, either, for the earth spun around once or twice, taking his stomach with it.

Elizabeth seated herself beside him, her hands knotting in her lap, but her eyes fixed on him. "Mr Darcy, I cannot help but feel that there is more troubling you than just a lack of rest and a bit of a headache. Have you, perchance, tried willow bark tea? My aunt swears by it."

He pinched the bridge of his nose. "With negligible success."

Her eyes narrowed. "You speak as if this has been troubling you for some while."

"Indeed. Miss Elizabeth, if you do not mind, I would rather not discuss the matter. "

She studied him for a moment, then nodded slowly. "Very well." Her lower lip pushed out in thought, and curse him, but if his head had not been about to fracture, he would have been tempted to kiss that plump lip.

No… ear-splitting headache or no, he was tempted, anyway.

Which meant it was a terrible idea for him to stay there, but, just for a moment, he did not possess the equilibrium to leave.

"Perhaps you would be happier discussing something else?" she suggested.

Darcy opened his eyes. "Such as?"

"Why, anything, really. You objected to the last subject, so it is for you to decide what to speak of next. The upcoming ball at Netherfield?"

He winced. "No."

"Your friends, then? Why are you riding alone today?"

"Because I wished to be alone."

"Ask an obvious question…" She cleared her throat, and he was fairly certain her eyes were rolling. "Very well, tell me about your sister. You said you would, sometime."

"I did. What do you wish to know?"

"Oh! What do I not wish to know? Is she in London? You need only nod, for I see that speaking is odious to you. Yes? So, is she staying with family? Is she to be presented at court?"

Darcy sighed. Despite himself, he was smiling. "She is staying with my aunt, Lady Matlock, who means to sponsor her for next Season."

"That is all very well. I am sure my mother would be delighted with such details, but now that I have got you talking again, tell me the important parts." She leaned forward. "She must depend upon you very much, I think."

He swallowed. "I… I expect she does."

"You are an attentive brother, I imagine. It is in all your looks when you speak of her. Tell me, do you write to her often?"

"Every other day, usually."

"And her replies to you? Are they full of the flummery that young ladies sometimes spout, or do they boast more substance?"

He hammered his thumb against a new throb at his temple but managed some approximation of a smile. "She speaks of our cousins and the people to whom my aunt has introduced her, mostly. Not to flaunt her list of acquaintances but rather to ask my advice regarding people I might know. Georgiana suffers from…" he winced again, more from the confession than the pain in his head. "A deal of self-doubt."

"Indeed? Does this stem from a timid personality? Surely not, if she is any sister of yours."

He grimaced. "She has been… misled, I think. But I suppose…" He scanned her expression as if he could pierce through the veil of her face and peer into her thoughts. "I suppose that is where my duty enters—to guide and advise her for as long as I may."

Elizabeth Bennet really did have astonishing eyes. They were fixed on him now, with a curious intensity that he had not seen in them before. She puckered her lips and leaned forward, and he almost thought she had a mind to compromise herself with him then and there… but she did nothing of the sort.

"One would think," she murmured, "that she will forever be your sister, even if she marries. Why would your time be limited?"

He swallowed. "I implied no such thing."

"Hmm." Elizabeth leaned back, smiling tightly. "My mistake. Well, if you are quite recovered from whatever was plaguing your head a moment ago, I think it best if we return home. Little as I like it, Mama will be terribly put out if I am rumpled and muddy from walking when Mr Collins arrives."

Darcy's mouth twitched. "Then the loss is entirely Mr Collins,' for I rather thought you made a memorable first impression that way."

Her laugh… well, it almost made suffering a megrim on a cold, windy hillside worth it.

" M r Collins! How delightful to see you!" Mrs Bennet exclaimed, rushing forward to greet him. "What lovely flowers! You are too kind."

Mr Collins stepped out of the carriage and bowed deeply, handing over the bouquet. "Mrs Bennet, it is my absolute pleasure. These flowers are but a small token of my appreciation for your warm hospitality. "

"Hospitality, nonsense! Now, let me introduce you. This is Jane, my eldest, and Lizzy—I think you will agree that she is nearly as beautiful as Jane, do you not? Next is Mary, then Kitty and finally my dearest Lydia."

Elizabeth stifled a sigh and stepped forward to do her duty when it was her turn. "Welcome to Longbourn, Mr Collins," she said, forcing her voice to steady even as her thoughts ran wild. Wonderful. Another sycophant in the house.

"Ah, Miss Elizabeth, the pleasure is mine. I have heard much of your grace and beauty."

Her grace and beauty? From whom? Certainly not her father's letters. "You are very kind, Mr Collins," she replied, biting back the sort of remark she would have preferred to utter.

Mr Bennet, who had been standing back with his usual air of detached amusement, finally stepped forward. "Mr Collins, welcome. We trust your journey was pleasant?"

"Oh, indeed, Mr Bennet. It was most agreeable, and I cannot express how much I owe to the noble Lady Catherine de Bourgh for her generosity and guidance. Why, had she not recommended the proper bell posts and sent her very own driver, I daresay, my journey would not have been half so comfortable."

Elizabeth glanced at her father, whose eyes twinkled with barely suppressed mirth. "Indeed, Mr Collins, Lady Catherine's influence is unparalleled," he said, his tone dripping with sarcasm that Mr Collins seemed blissfully unaware of.

Mrs Bennet, beaming, ushered them all into the sitting room. "Come, come, Mr Collins. You must be tired after your journey. Let us sit and have some tea."

"Oh, yes, eminently fitting. Lady Catherine herself prefers a fine, stout blend after travelling, particularly in the winter. She always advises the most sensible course of action. I declare, there is no matter so great that she cannot offer her wisdom, nor too small for her notice."

Mr Bennet leaned back in his chair. "Tell me, Mr Collins, does Lady Catherine have strong opinions on… say, the proper care of house plants?"

Mr Collins perked up, nodding enthusiastically. "Oh, absolutely, Mr Bennet. Lady Catherine insists that ferns must always be placed in shaded areas, watered precisely at dawn, for it signifies both care and devotion to one's home."

"Fascinating," Mr Bennet mused. "And what of the ivy? I have had a devilish time with the one in my study. Does she have a preferred method for ensuring its growth? "

"Of course! Ivy must be trimmed regularly to maintain a dignified appearance, and it must never be allowed to climb too high, lest it appear unruly. Lady Catherine believes that such meticulous care reflects the owner's disciplined nature."

Elizabeth glanced at Jane, who leaned forward, eyes wide and attentive. She was too polite to do otherwise. Mary, on the other hand, stared blankly at the wall, clearly retreating into her own thoughts.

Mr Bennet continued to prod. "And I must know, what is Lady Catherine's stance on the correct arrangement of garden beds?"

"Oh, Lady Catherine is most particular about garden beds. She prefers geometric patterns for their sense of order and beauty, insisting that flowers be grouped by colour and height to create a harmonious display."

Elizabeth's feet were itching with impatience, and she squirmed in her seat. If only she could find a way to redirect the conversation, but Mr Collins seemed unstoppable, his words flowing like an unending river. She shot a look at her father, silently reproaching him for goading the man so, but he was enjoying himself far too much.

And, Elizabeth realised, he was keeping Collins from exploring Longbourn like it was his own. But it was only a matter of delay and amusement for her father. The humiliating inspection would take place eventually, so what was the point of listening to the man while they awaited the inevitable?

Just as Elizabeth thought she could bear no more of Mr Collins' inanities, there came a sudden, urgent knock on the front door. Everyone turned as Mr Hill entered the room, looking slightly flustered.

"Mr Bennet, sir," Mr Hill said, his voice steady despite the urgency in his eyes. "A tenant, Mr Harris, requests an audience. It appears to be quite urgent."

Mr Bennet rose from his seat, his amusement giving way to concern. "Show him in, Mr Hill."

A moment later, Mr Harris entered, his face flushed with worry. He bowed quickly to the assembled company before turning to Mr Bennet. "Mr Bennet, sir! Forgive the intrusion, but I need help. The river's rising fast, and my house is nearly washed away!"

Mr Bennet immediately stood, his expression turning serious. "Calm yourself, Mr Harris. We shall see what can be done. Come, let us go at once."

Turning to Mr Collins, Mr Bennet offered a quick, apologetic nod. "Mr Collins, I must attend to this matter immediately. I trust you will excuse me. "

Mr Collins, his words run aground by the sudden interruption, managed a stiff nod. "Of… of course, Mr Bennet. Duty calls, as it must. Lady Catherine would see to the matter with utmost dispatch."

Mr Bennet stopped, looking back at his guest with a quizzical glance, then shook his head with a sigh. "My hat, please, Hill."