Chaos Comes To Kent Read online

  “Oh, Papa,” said Mary. Bennet was oddly pleased that his daughter had become so comfortable with him so quickly that she was willing to voice her disapproval, much like Elizabeth often did.

  “Either way, I do not doubt we shall be much more comfortable at Rosings than we are here. Let us go with your mother. Perhaps we can do something to keep her from ruining your elder sisters’ courtships.”

  And so, they were decided to go. Mrs. Bennet wrote a note to Lady Catherine, stating their intention to remove to Rosings, and true to her prediction, the lady returned her letter immediately, confirming the invitation. Their trunks were packed and they readied to depart. The only issue was the opinion of Mr. Collins, who was not at all pleased that his captive audience was about to depart, though he truly had not been paying Mary much attention of late.

  “But, Miss Mary,” said he when he was told of their intentions, “were you not happy to be here and so readily available to accept my continued overtures?”

  “It was, indeed, convenient, Mr. Collins,” replied Mary. “But I cannot allow it to continue in this manner. It is not proper for a man to be courting a woman in his own home, so I must respectfully restate my wish to depart for your patroness’s house to remove the temptation from us both.”

  Bennet was so amused that he almost laughed aloud, both at the sight of Mary stating her case with nary a hint of a smile—he was convinced that Mary had decided against Mr. Collins and now only wished to get away from him—but also because Collins appeared to be a child denied a jam tart.

  “Well, I suppose if you put it that way, that is how it must be,” said Mr. Collins.

  “I do put it that way,” was Mary’s crisp reply. “Considering how often you visit Rosings, I dare say it shall be as if we were never parted. These coming days will feel no different from the previous.”

  Again, Bennet bit his tongue to keep from laughing. Mary was showing a predilection for, if not quite Elizabeth’s brand of saucy comments, then at least her own. It was a side of his daughter he had never seen before. It almost made the prospect of losing Lizzy to Mr. Darcy bearable.

  Though Darcy was certain that Mr. Bennet and Miss Mary, at the very least, were eager to see the last of the parsonage, he lamented the coming of Mrs. Bennet. Though her attempts had been ineffectual at best, her desire to separate him from Elizabeth was irksome, and restraining his temper had become much more difficult in recent days.

  “Breathe, Mr. Darcy,” said Elizabeth to the man sitting by her side.

  Chagrinned that she could see through him so easily, Darcy turned his gaze on her, only to find her smiling at him. “I am sorry, Miss Elizabeth. I should be more tolerant of your mother.”

  “So should I, Mr. Darcy. But you are not displaying any frustration the rest of us have not displayed on occasion.”

  “Perhaps not.” Darcy paused and looked around. Most of the rest of those in the sitting-room were engaged in their own conversations, though Anne was watching them, much as she always did. Mrs. Bennet was looking back and forth between Darcy and Miss Elizabeth, and Fitzwilliam and Miss Bennet, as if trying to solve some particularly tricky puzzle. “You do not suppose anyone else saw my displeasure?”

  “I am certain my mother, at the very least, did. But you may rest assured that she will assume that I said something to annoy you, so there is nothing to fear.”

  “Lizzy!” cried Mrs. Bennet right on queue. “What are you saying? I hope you are not rattling on, offending Mr. Darcy with your constant clever comments.”

  “Of course not, Mrs. Bennet,” said Darcy. “I could never find Miss Elizabeth anything other than charming.”

  “That is very good of you to say so, sir. But my daughter is sometimes intent upon speaking when she would best be silent, and I would not wish for you to be offended.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Bennet, though I assure you that your daughter cannot offend me. I am quite sure speaking when one should remain silent is an affliction which besets us all, at times. It is no more particular to Miss Elizabeth than to anyone else.”

  Both Miss Elizabeth and her father smiled and looked away, and Darcy was keenly aware they knew what he had not said, but as neither seemed affronted, he could not repine his words. For her part, Mrs. Bennet watched him as if wondering if he was mad.

  “Lizzy, I think it would be better if you came and sat beside Mary. Your sister may take your place.”

  “Leave your daughters be, Mrs. Bennet,” said her husband. “I am certain Lizzy is quite well where she is, and if you do not wish to provoke an impromptu session of musical chairs, perhaps in the future you should be clearer about which of your daughters to whom you refer.”

  “I do not understand you, Mr. Bennet.”

  “Only that if you mean for one of your daughters to take Lizzy’s place, you should specify which you mean. You do have four other daughters, after all.”

  “Oh, Mr. Bennet! You know precisely to which daughter I refer.”

  “I thank you for the compliment, Mrs. Bennet, but I am afraid you have quite mistaken the matter. I possess no ability to read your mind.”

  As the Bennets kept bickering back and forth, Darcy watched them with more than a little disapproval. Mrs. Bennet was ungovernable and unintelligent, and he had no doubt that living with the woman would be a punishment, but Mr. Bennet’s continued propensity to make sport of his wife was not admirable by any means.

  “I fear your expression, Mr. Darcy.”

  The sound of Miss Elizabeth’s voice broke through his thoughts, and he turned to her askance.

  “The expression with which you were regarding my parents suggested disgust, sir.”

  Darcy carefully schooled his features and cursed himself for his tendency to display his revulsion. A quick look at Miss Elizabeth showed that she was uncertain of him, which he thought was because of uncertainty of his ability to tolerate her family rather than any concern over his feelings for her. Darcy sighed and leaned forward, speaking softly so that only she could hear.

  “I will own that there are times when I do not approve of your family’s behavior.”

  “There are times when I do not agree with it,” was her wry reply.

  With a nod, Darcy decided that not only was this not the best time to have this conversation, but, in the end, it truly did not matter.

  “It seems that I sometimes possess a tendency to . . . for my facial expressions to be taken as disapproval, Miss Bennet. I tend to be of a serious disposition, and though I often appear to be disapproving, that is not always the case. With your assistance, perhaps I can overcome this deficiency.

  “Regardless, whatever meets with my endorsement or not, there is nothing that will induce me to change my mind about you. A thousand silly relations would not affect me.”

  Miss Elizabeth watched him carefully, her eyes searching his for the truth of his words. Darcy, sensing that she required this reassurance, opted against speaking again—she required more than his verbal assurances. She needed to see into his heart.

  “Then perhaps we shall assist each other,” said Miss Elizabeth at length, an impish smile spreading over her face. “After all, I do not believe that I am the only one who possesses a ridiculous relation.”

  Her eyes darted to where Anne sat watching them both like a hawk, and Darcy’s composure was sorely tested. “Touché, Miss Elizabeth. Touché, indeed.”

  When they rose to go to dinner, inanity once again ruled, for when the announcement was made, Mrs. Bennet rose to her feet and crossed to her two daughters. “Come, Jane, Elizabeth, let us go into dinner together.”

  Though reluctant, both girls rose together to attend their mother, and they proceeded to the dining room, Mrs. Bennet directing them and whispering urgent instructions in their ears. Darcy’s eyes caught those of both Fitzwilliam and Mr. Bennet, and while Fitzwilliam smirked at him, Mr. Bennet only shook his head and chuckled to himself. Darcy still was not pleased with the man’s
behavior at times, but he wondered what he might do if he was in Mr. Bennet’s position—had he married Anne, for example. Anne was more cognizant of proper behavior than Mrs. Bennet was, but she was more wilful and assured of her position above such considerations. Would Darcy have reacted in the same way?

  He could not imagine that he would have, but the thought gave him a little more insight and tolerance toward the behavior of his beloved’s father. There were many paths one could take in dealing with an unhappy marriage, and perhaps Mr. Bennet had chosen one which was not so bad as some—he was not seeking comfort in the arms of other women, for example. Darcy decided that he would avoid judging the man. He had his own faults to worry about and no time to concern himself with others’.

  In this unconventional manner, they proceeded to the dining room, but when Darcy was looking for a means to avoid having his cousin as a dinner partner, Lady Catherine intervened.

  “You may sit here, Lizzy,” said Mrs. Bennet, pointing to a chair near the foot of the table where her ladyship had been escorted by Mr. Bennet. “And if he will . . .” continued the Bennet matron, casting about for Colonel Fitzwilliam, Darcy thought.

  But then her words died on her tongue, for she noted Lady Catherine’s expression of clear disapproval, and she faltered. The sight provoked Darcy to action. He approached swiftly and bowed to Mrs. Bennet.

  “I thank you for thinking of me, Mrs. Bennet.”

  Then he pulled out the chair beside the one he was about to take and motioned her to take her seat. With a grin, Fitzwilliam also approached and took Miss Bennet’s hand.

  “And if you will follow me, Miss Bennet, I have a pair of seats waiting for us.”

  With nothing left to do but accede, Mrs. Bennet allowed Darcy to seat her, after which he took his own between the woman and her daughter. Miss Elizabeth’s beaming smile spoke volumes.

  “Very smooth, Mr. Darcy,” said she in a soft voice once the soup had been served.

  “I rather thought so myself,” replied Darcy.

  Dinner proceeded without further incident, and though Darcy was often distracted by Mrs. Bennet’s chatter, he nevertheless responded with equanimity, for Miss Elizabeth was on his other side and commanded much of his attention. When they retired back to the music room after dinner, Darcy and Fitzwilliam both simply stayed by their chosen partners, not allowing Mrs. Bennet to scheme to separate them. Miss Elizabeth and Miss Mary both played for the company, and Darcy turned pages for both. When he was finished assisting Miss Mary, receiving shy thanks for his attention, he returned to Miss Elizabeth without hesitation, again denying Mrs. Bennet the ability to interfere.

  Throughout the course of the evening, Mrs. Bennet watched the two couples, frowning, her brow furrowed in thought. Enlightenment never came, and though Darcy thought it was because the woman could not conceive of him preferring Miss Elizabeth to her elder sister, he was content to allow her to discover the matter in her own time. At present, he was too engaged in paying attention to Miss Elizabeth to worry about her mother.

  Chapter XIII

  With all the players of the comedic farce now present at Rosings—except for Mr. Collins, who inserted himself into their notice at every opportunity—Elizabeth was certain that it was only a matter of time before the tensions erupted into a conflagration of prodigious proportions. Not much changed in the few days after her parents decided to come to Rosings, but as Mrs. Bennet, Mr. Collins, and Miss de Bourgh continued to attempt to obstruct Elizabeth’s courtship with Mr. Darcy, and Lady Catherine often pushed back against the three, tensions seemed to be rising. She could not think these tensions would not eventually be released.

  Mr. Darcy, dear man that he was, controlled his temper admirably, though it was obvious at times that he was displeased with them all. His attentions were ever more ardent as time wore on, and Elizabeth found her breath quite taken away whenever he turned those dark eyes on her or when they managed to steal a few kisses.

  On a day in early May, Elizabeth had finally had enough of those meddling influences in her life. Mr. Collins’s coming had been delayed by some matter of the parish, and as Mrs. Bennet was focused on Jane, Elizabeth took the opportunity to slip from the room. A significant look at Mr. Darcy informed him that she expected him to find some way to escape as well.

  A swift walk through the house led her out the east door, confident that she would not be observed, as it was the least used part of the house. She walked quickly east, and then turned to the south toward the woods, soon escaping into the haven of the trees. And there, comforted by the peaceful surroundings of nothing more judgmental and inhibiting than trees, she allowed herself to slow and glory in the scenes she so loved.

  It was not long before she heard footsteps approaching, and she turned toward them, seeing Mr. Darcy appearing from in between the trees. He did not hesitate in the slightest, walking toward her, his long gait eating up the distance between them, and when he had drawn near, he swept her up into his embrace, kissing her with abandon. Elizabeth gasped with the pleasure of his lips upon hers—she thought she might die if he stopped. Then again, she might die if he did not!

  This pleasurable activity continued for some time, until Mr. Darcy drew away, but only a little, continuing to bestow light, nipping kisses on every inch of her face. For her part, Elizabeth pressed closer to him, burrowing her hands under his coat and waistcoat, and caressing his broad back with her hands. Mr. Darcy moaned and stepped up his assault of kisses on her face.

  “Do you suppose all this interference has made us all the more obstinate, Mr. Darcy?”

  Chuckling, Mr. Darcy pulled away and looked into her eyes. “In what way?”

  “Just that we were more determined to have each other than we might have been had so many others not been doing their best to deny us.”

  A rumbling laugh built up in Mr. Darcy’s breast, and he lifted his head and allowed his mirth release. “Are we truly so obstinate?”

  “I cannot speak for you, but I am known to be as immovable as a mountain when my mind is made up.”

  “I have often said that my good opinion once lost is lost forever,” replied Mr. Darcy. “So perhaps I am a match for you in this regard.

  “But I believe that we could have found our way to each other without all this drama.” Then Mr. Darcy smirked at her. “There have been some interesting benefits to the situation. Had we not been so frustrated, I doubt we would be this . . . ah . . . free in showing our affections.”

  “Hmm . . . Perhaps you are right.” Elizabeth paused and a sudden thought came to her, prompting a giggle. “I believe my mother would be mortified to see us like this, sir. And perhaps even your aunt.”

  Mr. Darcy shook his head. “I doubt Lady Catherine would feel anything other than triumph were our tryst made known to her. You have not missed her efforts at matchmaking, I am sure.”

  “I have not,” replied Elizabeth. She leaned forward and rested her head on his chest, feeling like she might purr like a cat should he continue to kiss her hair and caress her back. “I will state, in your aunt’s favor, that she has managed to merge her matchmaking and desire for our union with a laudable ability to let us come to our own conclusions. She made some comments in the beginning of our acquaintance, but she has been most circumspect since.”

  “Unlike your mother?” asked Mr. Darcy.

  Elizabeth could not help but roll her eyes. “Completely unlike my mother. I am positive that they colluded in the beginning, but I cannot understand how they managed to misunderstand each other so thoroughly.”

  “I would have thought Lady Catherine would take her aside and explain the situation.”

  “I believe she likely has. But I am not the only person in my family who possesses a predilection for obduracy. My mother could outwait the tide, if she so chose.”

  They laughed together again, but when Mr. Darcy quieted, she noticed that he was looking at her with a tender expression such as she had rarely se
en on his face.

  “You have made me so happy, you know,” said he. “I had not realized how lonely my existence was until I met you.”

  “How could you be lonely?” teased Elizabeth. “You have Lady Catherine, your sister, Colonel Fitzwilliam, your other Fitzwilliam relations, and, most importantly, Miss de Bourgh to keep you company.”

  “Ah, but I had not the companionship of a lover. Had I recognized your worth when I was in Hertfordshire last year, we would already be married and would not have had to endure these past weeks. I believe it is time to rectify that oversight.”

  But rather than propose, which she was certain he had been on the verge of doing, he reached down and claimed her mouth again.

  A yell rang out from the woods around them.

  In a similar piece of derring-do, Jane and Colonel Fitzwilliam had managed to escape from the confines of Rosings for their own assignation in the woods. They walked the path together, hand in hand, unaware of the presence of her sister and his cousin nearby.

  Jane was different from her sister. Elizabeth burned bright with passion unfettered, the rush of a swiftly flowing river over the rocks in the middle of a stream. She would then, necessarily, be more fervent in all her doings, and that would spill over into her courtship with Mr. Darcy, who, Jane was certain, was of an equally passionate, but quieter, nature.

  For Jane herself, she was of a much milder character, steady, calm, and dependable, a slow-moving river flowing placidly to the sea. Colonel Fitzwilliam, her beloved, was for all his outer joviality and playfulness, much the same as she was. His time in the army had taught him to be prudent and rational, and Jane was certain that he would prove to be a conscientious father, one who was involved with his wife and children, teaching, loving, providing protection and support. And that was what she wished for, though she did not think a little passion would go amiss.

  They had taken liberties themselves, though Jane did not think they gone as far as Elizabeth and her lover had. He had kissed her, gentle kisses which satisfied and even thrilled her, and she had leaned against him whenever she had the chance. These things were enough for Jane, and she reveled in the feeling of being loved and cherished by a good man.