The Angel of Longbourn Read online

  “I was certain we had performed the introductions, but perhaps your hearing is defective. You have the pleasure—indeed, I declare the honor—to be addressing Colonel Fitzwilliam, the younger son of the Earl of Matlock and Mr. Darcy’s cousin.”

  Mr. Collins eyes widened to the size of saucers. “Is it true? You are Lady Catherine’s nephew?”

  “Indeed, I am, Mr. Collins,” replied Colonel Fitzwilliam, as he leaned back in his chair. His voice, though congenial, bore a dangerous undertone that even a dullard such as Mr. Collins could not have missed.

  “A thousand apologies, sir,” cried Mr. Collins. He bowed low—a curious affectation, as he was seated at the table at the time—and his countenance assumed an expression of the utmost servility. “But do you not think—”

  “No, Mr. Collins, I do not,” said Colonel Fitzwilliam. His voice cracked like a whip, obviously a skill learned on the battlefield, or perhaps the parade ground. “I will ask you now to be silent. I do not appreciate your inferences, and I know that Darcy would not either.”

  It was clear that Mr. Collins was not quite certain how to behave. He seemed to have some sense that his patroness would not agree with the colonel’s assessment, and though Elizabeth had heard little of the woman, she expected that in this instance, he was correct. However, he was incapable of contradicting anyone he knew to be a member of his patroness’s family, and while his veneration for Lady Catherine controlled his behavior, the very real presence of Colonel Fitzwilliam ensured he held his tongue.

  The conversation was much more balanced for a time, as Mr. Collins was silent. No one, it appeared, repined the loss of the man’s abundant words, and Elizabeth had the pleasure of seeing Mary glare at the man as if she thought he was diseased. Even should her mother persuade Mr. Collins of Mary’s qualifications to be his wife, Mary would not accept. Given her father’s words on the subject, Elizabeth knew he would not force her; Mary would not become Mrs. Collins, it appeared.

  After dinner, however, Mr. Collins seemed to find his voice, and he spoke once again. This time, however, most of his words were directed at Colonel Fitzwilliam, and if the man’s demeanor was any indication—though Mr. Collins managed to miss the signs entirely—he was not amused with the parson. Finally, though it was much earlier than they had stayed in the past, Colonel Fitzwilliam dragged Mr. Bingley away from Jane, indicating a need to depart for the evening. But that did not stop the torrent of words which still issued from Mr. Collins’s mouth—he just directed his words back at the family and changed the subject.

  “What amiable daughters you have, Mrs. Bennet,” exclaimed he. “I had heard rumors of their beauty and elegance, but I must own that the truth is far beyond anything I had ever expected.”

  “I find it interesting that you have heard of them, sir,” said Elizabeth’s father. “We have not corresponded until recently, and as far as I know, we have no mutual acquaintances. How can you possibly have obtained intelligence concerning them?”

  The question did not fit Mr. Collins’s narrative of expansive and silly compliments toward his cousins, so he ignored it.

  “As I have said, I came to Longbourn at my patroness’s specific recommendation, and I have not been disappointed. Quite the contrary, in fact.”

  Mr. Collins paused and looked about the room at Elizabeth and all her sisters, inspecting them, if Elizabeth could describe the man’s actions using so gauche a term. He did not seem to think much of Kitty and Lydia, Elizabeth thought, as he glowered at them a little when the sound of their giggling reached his ears. Mary, his eyes seemed to slide right past, and unless Elizabeth misheard, she thought that Mary sighed in relief. But Elizabeth herself he lingered on for a few moments, and when his eyes found Jane’s form, they seemed to take on a lascivious glint. Elizabeth sighed; apparently either Jane or Elizabeth herself had been selected to receive his attentions.

  “Perhaps there is an assembly during the course of my stay?” asked Mr. Collins, turning to Mrs. Bennet. “It would help me come to know my cousins better.”

  “There is not, Mr. Collins,” said Mrs. Bennet, her tone short and clipped. “There was an assembly earlier this month, and I do not expect one again until January.”

  “Ah, that is unfortunate,” replied Mr. Collins. “Perhaps when next I visit.”

  The man’s eyes settled on Jane, and he stared at her for some moments. Jane was quite obviously uncomfortable under the man’s scrutiny, as she fidgeted, something not at all typical for the calm and rational Jane.

  Mr. Bennet was watching Mr. Collins, and though he had obviously found a great deal of enjoyment in Mr. Collins’s absurdity, he clearly did not appreciate what he was seeing. That, more than anything else, must have been the reason why he spoke up.

  “You have more than amply indicated your reasons for visiting us, Mr. Collins,” said he, drawing Mr. Collins’s eyes to himself. “But perhaps we should make a few things clear before we go any further.”

  “Of course, sir,” said Mr. Collins. “Do you have anything in particular you wish to say?”

  “Indeed, I do. First, Mr. Collins, you should understand that our Jane has been the subject of Mr. Bingley’s attentions these past weeks, and I do not doubt that her affections have been engaged. Furthermore, our Lizzy has also been similarly favored.”

  “But Mr. Bennet,” interrupted Mr. Collins, “I believe my cousin Jane would be eminently suitable to be my wife. Surely you would not deny her the pleasure of one day being mistress of this house.”

  “I would not deny her anything, Mr. Collins.” Mr. Bennet’s voice was firm, and for once he appeared to eschew any hint of his usual sardonic amusement. “But I will not force any of my daughters to the altar against their wills. With Jane and Lizzy already spoken for, you will need to turn your attention from them. It should not be difficult to find one that will suit—I have three other daughters, after all.”

  Protests rose, not only from Mr. Collins, but from Kitty and Lydia especially, though Mary just looked on through narrowed eyes. Mr. Bennet, however, put up his hand.

  “I will not force any of them to the altar, sir. If you can persuade one of them to accept your suit, then I will give my consent. If they will not have you, then you will not have a daughter of this house for your wife. Am I quite clear, Mr. Collins?”

  The look Mr. Collins directed at his host contained a searching quality. He was no doubt wondering how firm Mr. Bennet would be on the subject. He apparently did not like what he found.

  “Perfectly so, sir.”

  “Excellent!” said Mr. Bennet. “Now, let us enjoy the evening together.”

  As was his custom, it was not long before Mr. Bennet sought his book room, leaving his wife and daughters in the company of the parson. Mr. Collins, however, did not stay much longer. He was offended by his host’s stricture, and it was quite clear to Elizabeth that he considered the Bennet sister he preferred to be his for the taking. Thus, he removed himself to Lydia’s room, his injured and reproachful feelings drawn about him like a cloak.

  None of those left behind repined the loss of his company.

  It was unfortunate for Darcy, but the next day he once again felt well enough to join the family in the sitting-room for a time. He was forewarned, however, of the newest guest at Longbourn, and he appreciated that fact afterwards, given the manner of man he was to meet.

  “He is the most ridiculous man I have ever met,” growled Fitzwilliam. Darcy was surprised at his cousin’s behavior; Fitzwilliam was the kind of man to laugh at the ridiculous in others, though perhaps he was not so well entertained as was Bennet, but this open hostility toward this Mr. Collins was confusing.

  “Do you know that he actually attempted to tell me that he was more qualified to determine how and where you should receive care for your illness?” The disgusted sound in the back of Fitzwilliam’s throat was evidence of his anger.

  “Given what you said, I am surprised he possessed the courage
to disagree with one of Lady Catherine’s relations.”

  Fitzwilliam’s grin was savage. “He did not know at the time—after Mr. Bennet informed him, he fell all over himself trying to fawn all over me. But that did not stop him from attempting once more to persuade me.”

  “Lady Catherine has always surrounded herself with such men,” replied Darcy, shaking his head. “He cannot be much different from any of them.”

  “You might think so, but William Collins is a special breed all unto himself. Comparing him to them is akin to comparing a great oak to a rose bush.”

  Darcy looked at him with some skepticism, but Fitzwilliam only shook his head. “Just remember what I have said when you meet him. I do wish to discuss one more thing with you. Now that Collins is here, I doubt it will be long before he informs Lady Catherine of your presence, especially when he sees the attention you have been paying to Miss Elizabeth.”

  “I suppose we shall simply have to deal with that eventuality when necessary.”

  Thus, while Darcy had been prepared for the reality which was Mr. Collins, he had not thought the man could possibly be so bad as his cousin had told him. However, for perhaps the first time, Darcy found that Fitzwilliam had understated the reality, rather than overstated.

  “Mr. Darcy!” exclaimed Mr. Collins when Darcy entered the room with his cousin accompanying him. “How fortunate it is that I have come at this time, only to find you already in residence. How do you do, sir?”

  Then Mr. Collins bowed so low that Darcy thought his knuckles would have brushed the floor had he extended his arms. It was clear the man had been lying in wait to approach him the exact moment he entered the room.

  Out of the side of his eye, Darcy caught sight of Miss Elizabeth as she watched the man with annoyance. He smiled and winked at her.

  “And who might you be, sir?” asked Darcy, directing his attention back to Mr. Collins.

  A confused Mr. Collins looked askance at Colonel Fitzwilliam. “I had assumed that your cousin would have informed you of my presence here.”

  “Perhaps he did,” replied Darcy, “but it is the custom to be introduced, sir, regardless of whether one knows of another. Furthermore, it is the custom of the higher ranked to request an introduction to the lower, is it not?”

  “Well . . . That is to say . . . I suppose—”

  “There is no reason to suppose. The rules by which polite society are governed are well established and understood. Surely you should have learned this at your seminary?”

  It was clear that Mr. Collins did not know what to say or how to act. It was fortunate for him that Darcy did not allow him to suffer long.

  “Fitzwilliam, would you do me the honor of introducing us?”

  “Certainly.”

  When the introductions had been completed, Darcy nodded his head. “There, Mr. Collins. You have learned something today.”

  Then Darcy made his way—keeping his body as steady as his weakened condition would allow—to the sofa on which sat Miss Elizabeth, leaving Mr. Collins staring at him with dumbfounded surprise. It would not be beneficial should Mr. Collins understand the true extent of his continued weakness.

  “How are you this morning, Miss Elizabeth?” said Darcy once he had reached his seat.

  “Very well, thank you,” replied she. She leaned a little closer and in a soft voice, said: “I apologize for my cousin, Mr. Darcy. We had no notion of his coming, and he appears to have a . . . less than optimal understanding of how he should act in polite company.”

  “While I will own that I have never met someone quite so . . . unique as Mr. Collins,” replied Darcy in that same low voice, “it does not follow that I have never met with impertinence and a lack of understanding. If you should ever meet my aunt—Mr. Collins’s patroness—you will surely understand that they are a well-matched pair.”

  Miss Elizabeth covered her mouth with her hand to stifle her giggle. All was still right between them. They continued to converse in low voices, much as they ever had, and Darcy found that a few days in which he was prevented from being in her company had rendered her charms even more irresistible.

  While they were thus engaged, Mr. Collins chose a seat quite close to them, and though Darcy gave every appearance of focusing on Miss Elizabeth, in reality, he was closely monitoring Mr. Collins. At first, he had clearly been puzzled by Darcy’s lack of interest in conversing with him, but the longer Darcy spoke with Miss Elizabeth, the more forbidding his countenance became. He brushed off several other comments by others in the room—though there was clearly no one who truly wished for his society or conversation—and confined his attentions to where Darcy was sitting with Miss Elizabeth. Darcy judged that he would make his opinion known before long and was rather pleased with himself that he guessed quite near the mark.

  “Mr. Darcy,” said Mr. Collins, his voice high-pitched and agitated, “as you know, I arrived from Kent just yesterday.”

  “So I understand, Mr. Collins,” said Darcy. Then he turned back to Miss Elizabeth.

  It was a few more moments before Mr. Collins worked himself up to speaking again.

  “Then it is my great pleasure to be in the position to inform you that your aunt was in the best of health, though, as she often states herself, illness is an affliction of the lower classes. I doubt she has been ill even a single day during the entire course of her life.”

  “Lady Catherine’s perception and reality have ever been at odds, Mr. Collins,” replied Darcy.

  Darcy was able to speak with Miss Elizabeth for several more moments while Mr. Collins attempted to work his way through Darcy’s statement. In the end, he seemed content to ignore what he did not like.

  “And your cousin, Miss Anne de Bourgh, was in very good health herself, with no trace of the illness which has kept the most beautiful flower in Kent from St. James’s Court.”

  “Thank you for that intelligence, Mr. Collins,” said Darcy, wondering how the man could not see how he continued to contradict himself.

  Mr. Collins was silent for a few moments, before he assayed to speak again. “Please allow me to wish you joy, sir. I dare say that it shall be a great day when you unite two great estates and marry the fair Miss de Bourgh.”

  The gasp which escaped Miss Elizabeth’s lips filled Darcy with fury. He had thought he could continue to put the man off with statements designed to induce him to silence; it had never crossed his mind that Mr. Collins would break propriety in such a manner. He was ready to wring the greasy man’s throat for distressing her in such a way.

  The look Darcy bestowed on Mr. Collins would have sent a more intelligent man to flight, but Mr. Collins only looked on him with an expression utterly lacking in sense. Its lack provoked Darcy to ever greater heights of fury.

  “I thank you for the sentiment, Mr. Collins, but I am not engaged to my cousin.”

  The smile ran away from Mr. Collins’s face. “But . . . but . . . Mr. Darcy!” sputtered he. “Lady Catherine has assured me—”

  “As I told you before,” said Darcy, speaking over Collins’s ineffectual blathering, “Lady Catherine’s perception and reality are not acquainted with one another. Yes, I have heard her spout that tired old story of a cradle agreement between my mother and herself, but my mother never informed me of it. I am not bound to my cousin. I will not marry my cousin.

  “And,” said Darcy in a loud voice, drowning out whatever the man was about to say, “I will not be accountable for my actions should you continue to speak of it. It is none of your concern. You will be silent.”

  Darcy stared at the stupid man for some time, until Mr. Collins’s eyes sought out the floor beneath his feet. Though he appeared cowed, the firm set to his lips suggested that he was not finished protesting. But Darcy did not care—providing he kept silent for the moment, Darcy was content.

  Unfortunately, the moment of silence did not last long enough. Mr. Collins had apparently understood that Darcy would not be move
d, so he moved to what he obviously thought was the easier target.

  “My dear cousin,” said he, speaking in his flowery manner to Miss Elizabeth, “I am certain you remember my words from yesterday about my reasons for coming to Longbourn?”

  “I do, Mr. Collins,” said Miss Elizabeth. She had quickly regained her composure, particularly, Darcy thought, because of his quick defense and disavowal of his supposed betrothal to Anne. Her gaze, however, was hard, and Mr. Collins was the recipient. She seemed to think him some repulsive rodent, befouling the air in the sitting-room. Darcy agreed with her.

  “Then you will be pleased to note that I have found the companion of my future life.”

  “I am happy for you, Mr. Collins. Should you not be about the business of wooing her?”

  Confusion fell over Mr. Collins’s face, then it changed to a sort of unctuous leer.

  “I believe you have mistaken my intentions, my dear cousin. I was speaking of you.”

  “I thank you for the sentiment, but I believe I will decline.”

  “You cannot decline!” gasped Mr. Collins.

  “I believe I just did, sir.”

  “Miss Elizabeth, this is unseemly—”

  “What is unseemly, Mr. Collins,” said Darcy, his voice so low and dangerous, that Mr. Collins actually started in surprise, “is a man entering a house as a guest, claiming he will marry a woman without her consent—or her father’s—and insisting upon it despite her repeated denials. Are you completely without sense?”

  Mr. Collins’s expression was shocked, which quickly changed to annoyance, and then fury. He opened his mouth to speak when Bennet interrupted him.

  “Remember what I told you yesterday, Collins. I will certainly not approve an offer on this visit, and not at all unless one of my daughters wishes to marry you.”

  “But—”

  “Or you may return home early.”