The Angel of Longbourn Read online

  “What a quaint gathering this is.” Miss Bingley’s tone was all insolent contempt.

  Elizabeth decided there was no reason to respond.

  “You appear to be a popular partner, Miss Elizabeth,” continued she, apparently unaffected by Elizabeth’s silence. “I declare you have rarely sat out the entire evening.”

  Determined not to give the woman any opportunity to vent her vitriol, Elizabeth remained stubbornly silent. It appeared Miss Bingley’s ire was finally roused at this point.

  “It is difficult to have a conversation with a woman who will not open her mouth.” Her tone was perhaps even more scathing than it had been previously. “Have you nothing to say, or shall you continue your imitation of a church mouse?”

  “You have my apologies, Miss Bingley,” said Elizabeth, still refusing to look at the woman who would torment her. “I was not aware that your words invited response.”

  “Is that not what conversation is?” demanded Miss Bingley. “If I had not wished for a response, I would not have spoken at all.”

  By this time, Elizabeth had experienced as much of Miss Bingley’s bile as she wished, and though confrontation was not how she usually preferred to respond, she had no desire to continue to exchange words with her.

  “Perhaps it would, Miss Bingley,” said Elizabeth, turning to direct her displeasure on the woman, “if there was any intention toward true conversation. As I sensed nothing more than an intent to belittle and cause argument, I felt little was to be gained by responding.”

  Contrary to Elizabeth’s expectation, Miss Bingley looked at her with amusement. “I believe you fancy yourself a wit, Miss Elizabeth. I should inform you that impertinence is not a quality which is prized in our society.”

  “Then it is well that I am not part of your society, Miss Bingley,” said Elizabeth in a pointed fashion. “You will forgive me if I do not repine the loss of society which seems to be predicated on thinly veiled attacks and hurtful innuendo. Now, if you will excuse me.”

  Elizabeth turned and walked away. She knew that Miss Bingley watched her with disgust, and though she was not quite certain why Miss Bingley had taken such a decided dislike to her in particular, Elizabeth decided it did not matter. Of course, though Elizabeth was not ready to consider the matter more deeply than she already had, a little voice in her head whispered that she did know what prompted the woman to behave as she did.

  But Elizabeth firmly suppressed such thoughts. The pain which would be occasioned should the voice be wrong would be quite severe, indeed.

  Chapter VI

  The arrival of the expected company of militia soon dominated the discussion in the neighborhood, though Darcy was gratified that those who he found most tolerable—Miss Bennet, Miss Elizabeth, and their father—found little interest in them. Whenever they were in company with the youngest Bennets, they were treated to a long discourse of the officers, which ones were handsome and amiable, and a myriad of other details which Darcy could not help but wonder how they had ever discovered. Whenever they started in on their exclamations, Darcy and Miss Elizabeth would laugh together, roll their eyes, and return to their previous conversation.

  As the days rolled by, Darcy found himself confronted with a dilemma. Miss Elizabeth Bennet had been growing on his mind to the point where he found himself considering her in a manner in which he was not certain he should. The thought that he was merely grateful for her care of him, both in finding his unconscious body and in caring for him after he had been brought to her father’s estate, had crossed his mind. Subsequent consideration, however, had confirmed that whatever the reason, he had begun to feel an attachment to her, which was only growing the longer he was in her company.

  “You seem to be less voluble than usual today, Cousin.”

  Darcy turned to regard Fitzwilliam. After their time in the sitting-room with the Bennet family, they had retreated to Darcy’s room with nothing more than conversation, and perhaps a game of chess in mind. Darcy, however, had clearly not upheld his end of the discourse.

  “Is something—or perhaps someone—distracting your thoughts today?”

  Considering his cousin, Darcy attempted to determine whether he should trust him with the contents of his musings. Fitzwilliam was Darcy’s dearest relation, one on whom he could count to support him without hesitation. What he could not rely on Fitzwilliam for was to take the matter with complete seriousness. He had a flippant streak about him which showed itself at the most inopportune times, not to mention a propensity to turn almost everything into a jest.

  Darcy shifted slightly, attempting to ease the ache in his belly—though he had felt himself to be on the mend, that day he had been ill again, almost to the point of wanting to cast up his accounts. Only his iron will had kept his poorer situation away from his hosts and his cousin.

  “I am considering matters of great import,” replied Darcy, deciding to feel Fitzwilliam out before committing to inform him of exactly what bothered him. Of course, since Fitzwilliam knew him better than any other, it was entirely possible that he had already divined Darcy’s thoughts.

  “Perhaps someone of great import instead?” asked Fitzwilliam, a hint of a laugh in his voice, confirming Darcy’s suspicions.

  “Perhaps,” agreed Darcy. He paused, wishing to phrase his question properly, before giving up. It was often best to simply come out and state what he was thinking with Fitzwilliam—it allowed him less opportunity to formulate a clever response. “What do you think the rest of the family would say if I was to consider marrying a woman who was not . . . precisely of our sphere?”

  “Do you care what the rest of the family thinks should you court Miss Elizabeth?” asked Fitzwilliam.

  “Let us keep the conversation hypothetical for the present, Fitzwilliam,” said Darcy, looking at the door.

  “Very well,” agreed Fitzwilliam easily. “I will ask again: do you care?”

  “I am man enough to make my own decision,” replied Darcy. “But some consideration must be given to keeping the peace in the family.”

  “I suppose you are correct.”

  Fitzwilliam fell silent, and Darcy looked at him with expectation, noting that his cousin’s mouth was curved as if he was entertained by the subject.

  “Well?” prompted Darcy, already beginning to feel cross at his cousin’s predictable levity.

  “I believe that you know them as well as I do.” Fitzwilliam paused long enough to put his feet up on the bed while he leaned back in his chair. “Mother will be happy that you are marrying at all. Of course, if you do marry, that will leave me as the target for her schemes, so perhaps it is best if I dissuade you.”

  “You are not already the target of her schemes?” asked Darcy.

  But Fitzwilliam only waved him off. “Of course I am. But with you unmarried, she must divert some of her attention to you.

  “Now, Father might be disappointed for a time—you know how he is always looking for potential allies in the House of Lords, and cementing such an alliance with a marriage would be desirable, as I am certain you know. In the end, however, I do not doubt he would approve. My brother and sisters would welcome her with open arms, Charity more than the others. Georgiana, of course, would love anyone you put forward on your word alone. As long as she was amiable, I believe they would get on famously. And as for the Darcy side of the family, I do not believe you are close enough to your distant cousins to care for their opinions.”

  “That is true,” murmured Darcy.

  “The true opposition, as you already know, would come from Lady Catherine and, to a lesser extent, Anne. I am certain I do not need to inform you what our aunt’s reaction will be if even a hint of such a rumor reaches her ears.”

  “And that is one of the reasons I would prefer that she remain blissfully unaware.”

  “A prudent plan.” Fitzwilliam paused, and for the first time during their conversation, he appeared completely serious. “Make your own de
cision, Darcy, without reference to any of us. You can afford to marry as you please. Do yourself a favor and choose a woman you prefer to be the mistress of your estate. Do not make the same mistake many of our acquaintance have made—‘til death do us part can be a very long time, and you would not wish to pay for a wrong choice for the rest of your life.”

  “Sage advice, indeed.”

  The subject exhausted, the cousins sat in companionable silence for some time. Darcy grew lethargic in those moments, and he settled back into the bed, sleep falling over him. But as he dropped off, the sudden thought of whom he would like to see when he awoke, whom he would like to see every time he awoke, came to him. Perhaps it was premature, but it was a very pleasant thought, indeed.

  The unofficial courtships—as Mr. Bennet liked to call them—proceeded apace, both the all but acknowledged and the less visible. Jane and Mr. Bingley were in each other’s company from the time he came each day to the time he left. Elizabeth watched them and noted their obvious preference for the other’s company with satisfaction. It would not be long, she decided, before her sister would achieve her heart’s desire, and Mr. Bingley appeared to be the man who would make all her dreams come true.

  As for Elizabeth’s situation, it was much less noticeable than Jane’s. Her father, she suspected, knew what was happening between them, and she knew that Colonel Fitzwilliam was aware also. Mrs. Bennet seemed to watch them with suspicion often, but Elizabeth was not certain what her mother had decided, and as she did not raise the subject, Elizabeth was content to allow it to remain unspoken. As for the sisters, Jane was far too focused on Mr. Bingley to notice anything else, and the younger girls, though they often teased Elizabeth for spending so much time in the company of boring Mr. Darcy, still seemed to have no true idea of the depth of affection Elizabeth was beginning to develop for the man.

  What was less certain was the state of Mr. Darcy’s feelings. Elizabeth felt secure in her impression that the man enjoyed her company, as he sought her out whenever possible, bestowing his attention on her, often to the exclusion of all others. But whether that presaged a deeper communion between two souls or simply a friendship between two who were of similar opinions, she could not say.

  There were many times in those days when Elizabeth attempted to take herself firmly in hand, reminding herself to temper her feelings. Mr. Darcy was, by all accounts, a wealthy and important man, and men of his consequence did not fall for young misses of Elizabeth’s level of society.

  But the heart is a fickle organ. Elizabeth could not say that she loved Mr. Darcy, but she understood the danger this man posed for her. Loving him would be all too easy.

  “You appear to have something weighty on your mind, Miss Elizabeth.”

  A smile settled over Elizabeth’s face, and she turned back to the man who was seated beside her. She had been considering those things which had besieged her thoughts since he had so suddenly appeared in her life and had lost track of the subject of their conversation.

  “There are always important things to consider, Mr. Darcy,” replied she. “Life is full of a myriad of small decisions which, taken together, equal life changing events. Do you not agree?”

  “I do,” said Mr. Darcy. “The trick, I believe, is to manage all of those small decisions in a consistent manner and, in so doing, render the important decisions moot. At least, by being consistent, you may have a guide for how you should act when you are faced by a more important matter.”

  “You seem to be a man who lives a controlled life, Mr. Darcy—one in which spontaneity is an anathema.”

  Mr. Darcy laughed. “I do not believe I am quite so dull, Miss Bennet. I have found that in certain things a little control is not amiss. But I hope that does not prevent me from enjoying what I can of life.”

  “No, Mr. Darcy,” replied Elizabeth quietly. “I cannot imagine that you would allow that.”

  The look he gave her was more than a little queer. “Were you considering some particular aspect of life, Miss Elizabeth?”

  The exact subject of her contemplations could not be spoken of, so Elizabeth obfuscated. “No. But I was considering how very unexpected are the twists and turns we must navigate. No one ever knows what the morrow will bring.”

  Mr. Darcy did not respond immediately. He seemed to consider his answer for some few moments, and the sense that he was about to say something important built in Elizabeth’s mind while he was silent. She began to feel an almost unbearable suspense as she waited for him to respond.

  “You are correct, of course,” said he at length. “I, for example, could never have imagined I would fall ill and be forced to intrude upon the hospitality of you and your family for so long.”

  “It is no intrusion, sir,” replied Elizabeth, her emotion robbing the power of her voice. “We are quite happy to have you with us, and we all hope you will recover quickly and completely.”

  “And I thank you for your sentiment. It is true that we can never know what the morrow will bring,” said he, speaking slowly, not so much because he was thinking over his words, she thought, but rather because he wished to be clearly understood. “But it is because the future is unknown to us that we must always be aware of where we are, not to mention knowing what we strive for in our lives. Sometimes these surprising events bring opportunities, and when they are missed, they do not often present themselves again. Missing an opportunity to bring happiness and contentment into our lives would be a tragedy, indeed.”

  Of all the times in her life that Elizabeth thought she had a good reason to be embarrassed, or to flush with pleasure, that moment, with Mr. Darcy looking on her, saying such words which seemed to speak to her heart, would be the time. It was strange, therefore, that Elizabeth felt no reason whatsoever to blush. Pleasure she felt, for certain, a sense of acceptance and rightness, and no little measure of relief. But instead of blushing, she instead held his eyes for a moment which might have lasted all of eternity, for all she knew.

  “That would be a tragedy, indeed, if such an opportunity were missed, Mr. Darcy,” replied she in a soft voice.

  Their conversation wound on to other subjects, but as they continued to enjoy each other’s company, Elizabeth felt all the tension drain from her. Matters would proceed as they should, she knew, and she did not doubt that she would be very happy in the end.

  Unfortunately, Mr. Darcy grew ill again that day, and for the next two, Elizabeth did not see him, as he was confined to his bed with a fever again. Elizabeth fretted, praying that the malady would leave him and he would regain his health, but every report from Mr. Bennet or Colonel Fitzwilliam was that his condition was essentially unchanged from the last time she asked. The fever was not high, she was assured, but it was stubborn and would not relent. Even Mr. Jones’s assessment, which matched that of those who were caring for him, was not enough to calm Elizabeth’s fears.

  “It is a mild fever,” said the apothecary when he had been called the day the fever had once again appeared. “Though a high fever can be a cause for concern, this one does not pose a danger to his life. I imagine he will be able to return to visiting once it has run its course.”

  “We are happy to hear it,” said Mrs. Bennet.

  Elizabeth was a little surprised at her mother’s behavior. She seemed to be truly concerned for Mr. Darcy’s health, and though Elizabeth might have been accused of being harsh where her mother was concerned, the fact of the matter was that Elizabeth would have thought Mrs. Bennet would be more concerned with the health of a suitor than the health of the man himself.

  The day after the fever made its appearance, Elizabeth sat in the sitting-room with her mother and sisters, with a needle and her sampler in hand, desperately trying to put her worries for Mr. Darcy out of her head. The sound of a carriage pulling into the driveway and up to the door served as a distraction, and Kitty and Lydia rushed to the window to see who it was.

  “Faugh!” cried Lydia with disgust. “It is nothing
more than a small gig. There is a tall man in black descending from it. He is a clergyman!”

  Elizabeth looked at her mother, noting that she was confused—clearly she had not expected to receive a visitor of any kind that day.

  “Kitty, go call your father,” said Mrs. Bennet.

  The girl let herself from the room, and those remaining awaited the arrival of their still unknown visitor. It was only a few more moments before the man was shown into the room by Mrs. Hill.

  “Mr. Collins, Mum,” said she.

  Elizabeth saw her mother’s eyes almost bulging out upon learning the identity of the man standing in her sitting-room.

  “Mr. Collins!” cried she, distressed. “Whatever are you doing here?”

  It was a most ungracious greeting, though if Elizabeth was to be honest with herself, she was surprised that Mrs. Bennet had greeted the man with anything other than shrieks and cries as to how ill-used she was. Over the years of Elizabeth’s youth, she had often heard the man’s name pass her mother’s mouth, and it was never with any pleasure. The unknown beneficiary of all Longbourn had to offer had prompted nothing more than complaints and vitriol.

  The man himself seemed to miss the distinct lack of enthusiasm in Mrs. Bennet’s tone. Instead of taking affront, he bowed low, far lower than any bow Elizabeth had ever before seen, and said:

  “Mrs. Bennet. I discussed the matter of my visit with your excellent husband, and have come to pay my respects as I have promised to do. As the branches of our family have grown apart in recent years due to my father and your husband’s unfortunate falling out, I have taken it upon myself to heal this breach. Now that one of the principals of the disagreement has, sadly, passed from life on this earth, I believe this a propitious time to once again become a family, close in felicity and common interest. In that, I flatter myself in the belief that my good intentions are commendable. My coming here today is a testament that your husband did not reject this offered olive branch.”