Chaos Comes To Kent Page 13

  “A thousand apologies, my dear Cousin,” came the tones of Mr. Collins. He reached across again, to turn the page back, and almost knocked her from the bench.

  Mary glared at him. “Thank you, Mr. Collins, I believe I will handle the pages myself. You may return to the sofa.”

  Though he made some attempt to protest, Mr. Collins’s words died on his tongue, and he stood, bowed, and returned to where the rest of them were sitting. Mary continued playing, and her efforts were much more creditable without Mr. Collins upsetting her balance. The man’s distraction was soon revealed, for as soon as he took his seat, his gaze fell upon Elizabeth and lingered on her. It was clear he was not happy. It was also clear that his attention had been fixed on her while he sat beside Mary, and that was at least part of the reason why he had bumbled so.

  “I see you practice much more diligently than your sister, Miss Mary,” said Lady Catherine, ignoring the parson.

  “Thank you, Lady Catherine,” replied Mary. “I do enjoy practicing, though I think I would benefit from the instruction of a master.”

  “Perhaps you would, though I will say your playing is quite pleasing. Maybe in the future you will be afforded the opportunity.” Then Lady Catherine turned her attention to Mr. Darcy. “How does Georgiana get on, Darcy?”

  “She practices constantly, Aunt, so in that at least she is superior to Miss Elizabeth.” Mr. Darcy turned a tender smile on Elizabeth which quite took her breath away. “I believe she could do with some of Miss Elizabeth’s feel for the music. She is improving in that respect, but I believe she would do better with an example.”

  “Surely your sister, who has had the advantage of masters and practices diligently, cannot be compared to my poor efforts!” exclaimed Elizabeth.

  “Of course!” cried Mr. Collins. The sneer he directed at Elizabeth was followed by his spoken: “My poor cousin cannot hope to compete with a young woman of the superior breeding of Miss Darcy.”

  Mr. Darcy glared at the parson, and he subsided, though his dark look at Elizabeth never wavered. “No, in sheer execution, her abilities are superior to yours, Miss Elizabeth. But I believe your love of the music shines through in the way you express it. Your love of the music is evident every time you play. My sister, though she loves the music, has not quite learned how to express it yet. But she makes great strides, and I am certain she will become a wonderful performer as she matures.”

  “I am certain she will, Mr. Darcy,” replied Elizabeth quietly.

  “Write to her again and invite her,” said Lady Catherine. “I would love to have her here with us, and I am certain she would benefit by an introduction to the Bennet sisters.”

  Miss de Bourgh snorted softly and Mr. Collins appeared as if he might almost contradict his patroness, but as both chose the benefits of discretion, Lady Catherine did not reprimand either. For her part, Elizabeth was touched at Mr. Darcy’s praise. To declare her in some small way superior to his beloved little sister was a compliment Elizabeth could not ignore. There was something happening between them—something profound, and yet simple at the same time. It was still possible that nothing would come of it, but Elizabeth was rapidly coming to the conclusion that it would. And she could not wait to discover the fullness of whatever it was.

  Chapter IX

  As matters between Darcy and Miss Elizabeth were becoming much more serious far more quickly than Darcy could ever have imagined, he determined to have an earnest conversation with her, one which he felt was long overdue. There were a certain number of items which might stand between them, and he wished to have them settled so he could continue with his courting without worry.

  Miss Elizabeth was, as he had always known, an avid walker, and rare was the day she could not be found on the grounds of Rosings, skipping through the fields or running the paths, walking and twirling under the canopy of trees which towered over the hills of Rosings. With the patchwork of shade and sun Darcy could almost confess that Rosings was the equal of Pemberley in beauty, at least in certain locations. Almost. Pemberley was his home, and without equal, after all.

  It was in the last attitude that he found her, two days after Easter. He watched, leaning against a tree trunk as she approached, and saw her turn and twirl twice, her arms extended out as she spun around, joy evident in her every motion. Never had Darcy felt so affected by the sight of her.

  And suddenly he knew it: he was in love with her. She had stolen his heart without trying, without realizing she had done it. There were still impediments within his own mind to any sort of union with her, but the fact that he loved her opened up so many possibilities that simply had not existed before. Darcy felt almost drunk with the headiness of the feeling of utter love and devotion.

  When Miss Elizabeth stopped spinning and turned toward the path again, she caught sight of him. Her eyes widened, and her cheeks turned the color of ripe strawberries.

  “Oh!” exclaimed she. “I did not know you were here, sir.”

  “That much is evident,” replied he. He stepped away from his tree and approached her, noting with pleasure that her eyes never left his. “I am very glad you did not notice me.”

  The skin between her perfect eyebrows creased, and she looked at him, the question written upon her brow.

  “Why, if you had seen me, you would not have danced with such abandon. I was treated to a sight that I will not soon forget—the dance of a wood sprite.”

  “Is a wood sprite not a mischievous creature?” asked she, an impudent challenge in her tone.

  “I believe I have prior knowledge of that,” replied Darcy dryly. “As mischievous as can be, I would say. If you are amenable, this humble man would dearly love to walk with the wood sprite. Do you think she can endure his poor mortal person for a time?”

  “Mortals are the bane of all faery creatures, Mr. Darcy,” replied Miss Elizabeth. “I should fly away, lest you capture me, turn me into a novelty for all to see.”

  “Never, Miss Elizabeth. You are far too precious.”

  She flushed again, but she shyly nodded and took the arm he extended to her. They walked some distance down the path she had been traveling, Darcy too moved to speak, while Miss Elizabeth, he thought, was deep in her own thoughts. For a time, the silence was soothing, a calmness after a storm, or perhaps a quiet pause from the hectic pace of life. Her presence more than admirably filled any silence, rendering words unnecessary.

  At length, however, Darcy, knew he needed to set such whimsies aside, and when they arrived in a small clearing where the path skirted the edge, he stopped and turned to face her.

  “Miss Elizabeth, I believe I owe you an apology.”

  “Oh?” asked she. Her position at the edge of the clearing was such that the morning sun shone through branches of the trees above, painting her in dappled rays of sunlight and shade. She looked uncommonly pretty there, surrounded by nature where she belonged. If creatures such as sprites and nymphs existed, Darcy was certain she would be their queen, a veritable Titiana, to draw the love of mortal and immortal alike.

  “Yes,” replied Darcy, reminding himself of what he meant to say with difficulty. “For you see, when I reflect upon those few weeks I spent in Hertfordshire, I am convinced that my behavior was not the best. In particular, I recall a night soon after our arrival in which we attended a local assembly. I was not in the best humor that evening, and I did not put myself forward to dance with the ladies there. In particular, I remember grievously insulting a young woman who was in the unfortunate position of being the one singled out by Bingley’s nagging.”

  Miss Elizabeth giggled. “He was nagging, was he not?”

  “Always,” replied Darcy with a grin. “I have no defense. I apologize unreservedly for those words and beg your forgiveness.”

  “It is forgotten, Mr. Darcy. It was forgotten long ago.”

  “That is a testament of your generosity, Miss Elizabeth, not my behavior.”

  Once again the woman
enthralled him with her enchanting laugh. “Perhaps not quite so generous, sir. I related the event with great relish to my friend, Miss Lucas, and I will own that I was quite offended for some time. Hindsight, however, informed me that there was nothing to resent. Even if a man espoused such an opinion, what was it to me?”

  “Again, evidence of your charity, Miss Elizabeth. Furthermore, you have my apology for my subsequent behavior. I was determined to be displeased by all and I was. But further reflection has informed me of the inadequacy of my displeasure. Have I not often decried London as a den of vipers, preferred country society to the debauchery found in those of so-called high society? Meryton is not so different from the society near my own home. I had simply forgotten it; wilfully forgotten it.”

  “As I said, sir, I have no injuries to resent. For my part, you are forgiven wholeheartedly, if you feel you require absolution. Let us think of it no longer.”

  “Thank you.”

  They turned and began to meander along the path around the clearing, and for a few moments, neither spoke. Darcy was contemplating the immense pleasure a pair of beautiful dark eyes instilled in him. He could not guess as to Miss Elizabeth’s thoughts, but a moment’s scrutiny told him that her recollections were more serious than his own. Thus, when she finally spoke again, he was forewarned and knew she had something of import to discuss.

  “I wished to ask you, Mr. Darcy. You see, I . . .” She paused, struggling to find the words.

  “You may ask anything you wish, Miss Elizabeth. It seems to me that you have something important in mind.”

  Miss Elizabeth shook her head with more than a hint of annoyance, he thought. “Jane would be vexed with me, I am certain. But her temperament is so calm and accepting, and she always sees the best in others. I, on the other hand, are more apt to remember transgressions, particularly those against my dearest sister. I should learn to forgive as she does, but though I try, I still wish to have an explanation.”

  Though her manner of speaking was halting, Darcy quickly understood what she wished to ask. “You would like to know of Bingley?”

  She turned to him with a rueful shake of her head. “I should have known you would see through me so quickly, Mr. Darcy. You are correct. Mr. Bingley stayed in Hertfordshire almost to the end of November, paid my sister exclusive attention, and then one day after a ball he hosted, where he danced with her three times, he left Netherfield without visiting anyone and taking leave. To Jane his sister dispatched a letter, indicating that they would not return, and suggesting that it was the wish of everyone in both families that he marry your younger sister. These are not the actions of a gentleman.”

  Darcy shook his head; he had known something of Bingley’s departure from the neighborhood and had heard a few crowing statements from the man’s vulture of a sister, but he had not heard the full account of what had happened, as Bingley had been taciturn about it when asked, a trait unusual in him.

  “I wish I could take back your sister’s pain, Miss Elizabeth. Given what you have told me, how Bingley and his family acted was wrong. I have no knowledge of the exact sequence of events, and I have seen Bingley since I left Netherfield but rarely. But I can tell you a little of his character.”

  Darcy guided Miss Elizabeth to a nearby log. After inspecting it to make certain it was sound, he seated her on it while he paced and thought of what he should tell her. Miss Elizabeth watched him, her earlier mirth forgotten in favor of the solemnity of their current subject. He was grateful that she waited patiently for him to begin to speak, as he did not wish to blurt something out which would make her opinion of Bingley even worse.

  “I would not have you think that Bingley is a man who would toy with a woman’s feelings lightly, Miss Elizabeth. He is not, though sometimes he may give the appearance of it.”

  “Then how would you describe his behavior?”

  “He is yet full young,” said Darcy, running a hand through his hair. “His eye is easily caught by a handsome woman, and he confuses feelings of infatuation for that of love. I cannot say to what extent his infatuation with your sister progressed, but I do not think he intended to lead your sister on. He is not callous.”

  “So, by your reckoning, Mr. Bingley is thoughtless rather than cruel.”

  Darcy winced. Unfortunately, Miss Elizabeth’s assessment of his friend was far more accurate than he wished to confess. But the sight of her sitting there, her eyes intent upon him, her brow furrowed in thought, meant that Darcy could not, in any way, prevaricate. With this woman, he must always be entirely open. His chances with her depended on it.

  “Though it pains me to own to it, I believe you are correct in this instance, Miss Elizabeth. I will say, however, that I do not think any of his previous paramours were injured by his defection. This instance with your sister was unfortunate, but he does not set out to deliberately injure the feelings of young gentlewomen.”

  Miss Elizabeth sighed and her countenance softened. “I would not have suspected him of it, Mr. Darcy, unless he is the finest actor ever seen. For my part, though I do not absolve Mr. Bingley of his actions which led to my sister’s heartbreak, I do understand what you are telling me.” Miss Elizabeth paused for a moment, then she looked again into his eyes. “His sisters, on the other hand . . .”

  She left the question hanging, and Darcy had no trouble filling in what she had left blank. “They are an entirely different matter. Miss Bingley, as I am certain you understand, was no friend of your sister, though she may have deigned to show her some favor. She undoubtedly discerned her brother’s interest quickly, and befriended her in order to learn something of her to keep her brother from making, in her mind, a disastrous proposal. Mrs. Hurst, while not so vicious as her sister, is cut from a similar cloth. I tolerate them for Bingley’s sake, but I have little desire to be in their company.”

  “I was aware of their characters the first night we met,” said Miss Elizabeth. “It is one of life’s ironies, for though Miss Bingley may have twenty thousand pounds to her name, Jane is the daughter of a gentleman. In terms of nothing more than standing, a marriage to Jane would be a step up for Mr. Bingley.”

  “It is even more ironic that Miss Bingley prefers town and disdains the country,” replied Darcy. “She has visited Pemberley—my estate—once, and she was full of praise for it from morning to night. But she decries the country as savage and longs for the sophistication of town.”

  Miss Elizabeth shook her head and Darcy agreed with her—what an absurd woman! “I suppose she does not realize that most estate owners spend the summer months at their estates. I would be equally unsurprised to know that she has not the least idea of the work the wife of an estate owner must do with the servants, tenants, and all others who depend on the estate.”

  “The estate, and the monies it generates, are nothing more than a means for her to hold extravagant parties,” said Darcy with a snort.

  “I do not wish to further tear down Miss Bingley’s character,” said Miss Elizabeth. “But I feel you should know that Miss Bingley, in her final letter to Jane, intimated that there was an expectation of marriage between her brother and your sister.”

  Darcy frowned. “I will own that I have considered such a possibility, but even if it could come to pass, it would not be for several years now. Georgiana is only sixteen and very shy. If she loved him and he, her, I would give my blessing to such a marriage, but it would be on the condition that Miss Bingley not live with them if she is unmarried. Georgiana is not possessed of a forceful personality, and you are aware of Bingley’s character. Miss Bingley would rule them should she live with them.

  “Regardless, I have certainly never spoken with Miss Bingley about such a thing, nor would I, knowing how she would publish it far and wide. I believe I will need to speak with her and let her know in no uncertain terms that she is to hold her tongue.” Darcy smiled tightly. “The Bingleys’ status in London is due, in a large part, to my friendship with him. Thou
gh she does not like to acknowledge it, the withdrawal of my support would be devastating to her social ambitions. If I word it correctly, she would agree with any strictures I set out without hesitation.”

  “Especially since she wishes to be mistress of your estate,” said Miss Elizabeth, a laughing undertone in her voice.

  “Exactly,” said Darcy, though with rolled eyes.

  “But enough talk of Miss Bingley. Shall we?” Darcy gestured back toward the path, and when Miss Elizabeth nodded, he helped her up from the log on which she sat, and they began to walk again.

  “Thank you for being so open, Mr. Darcy,” said she. “I know it could be construed as none of my business. I appreciate your willingness to inform me of all these things.”

  “As it pertains to your sister, I do not think I could reasonably make the case it does not concern you.” Darcy paused, thinking, before he once again said: “I hope you do not think ill of Bingley based on what I have said. He is an amiable man, and I count him among the best of my friends. But he is not perfect. I believe with maturity will come a more stable character.”

  “I have long suspected this of Mr. Bingley, so your recitation does not change my opinion. I will endeavor to consider him the amiable man we knew in Hertfordshire.”

  “Thank you,” relied Darcy.

  They continued their walk for some time, meandering through the woods, speaking of nothing of consequence. Darcy spoke to her of some of his movements since his departure from Hertfordshire in the autumn, mentioning his time with his sister, his Christmas visit with his uncle and aunt, and his subsequent return to London for the season. Her laughter, when he told her of some of the events he had attended, soothed his soul, and he soon understood that this woman, though she was comfortable in any kind of society, did not crave it. She was perfect for a man such as he, who did struggle in society. She could not be any more perfect for him than she was now.