Love and Laughter Page 2

  The way his gaze flickered away slightly seemed to indicate his awareness of what had escaped his lips, but he made no indication that he meant to deny any of the implications of his words. Instead, he said in a low voice: “It is beautiful.”

  She opened her mouth to respond, only for her breath to catch in her throat. Her blood pulsed wildly through her veins as he stared intently at her. “Mr. Darcy . . .”

  He stepped closer to her, and she tried to tell herself to back away. But she was drowning in his brown eyes, which were turning into dark liquid pools even as she gazed at him, and she found herself leaning toward him.

  “Miss Bennet,” murmured he as he brought a hand up to her face. His fingertips gently caressed the edge of her jaw, leaving behind a jagged line of heat, and he moved his thumb across her lips so lightly that it was like the flutter of a butterfly’s wings.

  She gasped, and he withdrew his hand, but his gaze remained upon her. “Miss Bennet, I would like to court you and prove to you that I am a man who would be worthy of your hand. Would that . . . be acceptable?”

  Whatever she had expected to hear, it was certainly not such an earnest request. Before speaking with his sister that evening, she would have laughed had he posed such a question. Now, however, she knew about the fire that this man was capable of producing with his touch, and she knew she wanted to learn more about him.

  “Yes, Mr. Darcy,” said she in the merest whisper of a voice. “It would.”

  His eyes moved to her lips once more, but he merely offered her his arm and asked: “Are you ready to return inside, Miss Bennet?”

  He was ever the consummate gentleman. But Elizabeth had been afflicted by an insurmountable impertinence, and as she glanced at the doorway, her tongue quickly ran away from her: “I shall be ready to return after my agreement to a courtship is sealed with a kiss.”

  If she had thought his eyes were dark before, they were now akin to the blackest night. “Miss Bennet,” growled he, “I swear you shall be the death of me.”

  She could not help it; she began to laugh. There was something so utterly absurd in the situation; for her to go from thinking of Mr. Darcy as a nemesis of sorts to agreeing to let him court her in such a short time period was utterly inconceivable! And yet there it was.

  And then, to her astonishment, Mr. Darcy began laughing, too. She had almost wondered whether he was capable of such a thing, but the evidence was now before her, and she thought it to be a glorious sound. She resolved to find ways to make him produce the noise more often.

  When their mirth had spent itself, Mr. Darcy reached for her hand, and she gave it to him.

  He brought her hand up to his lips and pressed a kiss onto her knuckles. Despite the glove that covered her skin, she felt almost as if she had been burned, as if he had somehow seared himself upon her soul with the action. It was a branding, a promise of things to come. And she could not wait to see what the future would bring.

  “There, Miss Bennet,” said the gentleman. “We have sealed this courtship with a kiss. Would you like to return to the others now?”

  Elizabeth laughed as she took his arm. “Oh, Mr. Darcy, I can sense that we shall suit one another quite well indeed. You must remind me to thank your sister when I see her next.”

  “And why is that?”

  “She told me that you admired me, and though I was prepared to disbelieve her, I fear all she did was open my eyes to the truth of your admiration . . . and, to my surprise, my own admiration for you.”

  Mr. Darcy raised an eyebrow. “She said such a thing to you? I apparently need to bring her aside for a serious discussion. I had not thought my sister could be so brazen.”

  “Oh, leave the dear girl alone, Mr. Darcy. I think you could use a little more impertinence in your life.”

  He chuckled. “Miss Bennet, to my supreme surprise, I find I am inclined to agree with you.”

  The End

  A Profitable Venture

  by

  Jann Rowland

  Many authors have speculated on what Elizabeth was like as a child, and like many, I have always thought that she was likely a bit of a mischievous imp. When you add a young Mr. Collins to the mix, one who is just as senseless as his older self we see in Jane Austen’s book, then you have the potential for a playful Elizabeth to wreak some havoc! This is a challenge story which will bear some similarities to Lelia’s “A Mawkish Proposal.”

  William Collins! William!”

  As much as she enjoyed wandering through the woods and hills surrounding her home, doing so while searching for the detested person of her dull and dreary cousin was not precisely the way in which Elizabeth would normally wish to spend her afternoon. Still, it was nearing time for the family to gather for dinner, and as her mother had commanded her to find her cousin, she had no choice but to search for him.

  Silently chanting words no lady should use (words which would have caused her mother to faint if she even suspected Elizabeth knew them, let alone used them), she continued her search through the heavy undergrowth of the wilderness behind her family home, ruing the day a certain William Collins had ever come to live with the Bennets of Longbourn.

  “Mrs. Bennet, I have some news to impart to you, my dear,” Mr. Bennet had said one night at the family dining table.

  When his wife, surprisingly, made no response, Mr. Bennet continued. “I have just received a letter which I believe will interest you greatly.”

  The pandemonium which greeted this statement was, perhaps, not surprising—it was well-known that Mr. Bennet was married to a woman who was not possessed of the highest of intelligence and who, furthermore, was most definitely possessed of a fanciful nervous condition which her husband loved to exploit in the most shameless manner. It did not help that his two youngest children, aged a mere eight and ten, were like their mother—and most apt to join in the tumult.

  Once the noise had died down, Mr. Bennet spoke again into the expectant quiet. “No, Mrs. Bennet, I am not dying—at least, not to the best of my knowledge. You shall not be rid of me yet, my dear. No, my letter was from my cousin, Mr. Collins.”

  “Not that odious man, Mr. Bennet,” his wife’s shrill voice rent the air. “You have not had contact with him in many years. Why should he contact you now, of all times? Can he not leave us in peace? He is the one who will be the means of forcing your poor girls out into the hedgerows!” All of this was said as if the man was the devil incarnate.

  “Mrs. Bennet, I am afraid Mr. Collins will not have the pleasure of throwing anyone into the hedgerows. He is dying.”

  A blink of surprise was the only response from his now chagrined wife.

  “He writes to beg me to take his young son William into our family until he comes of age, as he has no other relatives with whom the poor lad can stay.”

  “It is the height of hubris, Mr. Bennet!” shrieked his wife in response. “How dare he saddle us with his loathsome spawn? Can they not leave us in peace until they eject us from our home?”

  “Mrs. Bennet, I have never heard more unchristian words issue forth from your mouth. He is a young man as of yet, and he has no other relatives with whom to live. Though my disagreements with his father are varied and unpleasant, can we, as good Christians, live with ourselves if we do not give succor to those less fortunate?”

  “So you mean to accept him, Papa?” interjected Elizabeth, preempting another torrent of words which threatened to issue forth from her mother’s lips.

  “Indeed, I do, Lizzy,” confirmed her father. “Although I have nothing good to say regarding my cousin, I have nothing to hold against the son. He is my heir, after all, and if I would like for Longbourn prosper after my death—that event to which your mother so often kindly refers—then it behooves me to train my successor to the best of my ability. Besides, Mrs. Bennet, it would seem to me you had best convince young Master Collins to favor you if you wish to avoid the hedgerows of which you seem so afraid.”

  That statement, more than
any other, pierced the fog of Mrs. Bennet’s understanding, causing her to be silent for the rest of the meal. Elizabeth could only conjecture that her mother had begun planning for one of them to marry the young man . . . in spite of the fact that none of them had as of yet formed an acquaintance with him. After all, from her mother’s prospective, it was the marriage which was important, not the groom.

  Stalking down the pathway in high dudgeon, Elizabeth remembered the conversation which had turned the lives of every member of the Bennet family upside-down. As predicted, no more than two months after the arrival of the fateful letter, word arrived that Mr. Collins had passed from this mortal plane, leaving his only son parentless and alone. Mr. Bennet father had left to attend the funeral and had returned with the future master of Longbourn in tow.

  The old Mr. Collins had been a miserly, mean, and ham-fisted man, and he been particularly cruel toward his son. Although Mr. Bennet had never illuminated Elizabeth regarding the true nature of the disagreement between him and his cousin, he had made it clear that he expected little of worth from his cousin’s son due to the atmosphere in which the boy had been raised—a situation which was confirmed by the sharp young woman within a half hour of her actually becoming acquainted with her cousin. To say young Elizabeth Bennet was impressed with said future master was equivalent to stating Buckingham Palace was the meanest hovel in the kingdom—in other words, an utter fabrication. The boy was dull and stupid and possessed of a highly sycophantic nature, likely as an unconscious protection against his father’s abuses.

  At first, Elizabeth had felt sorry for the young man. Acquainted as she was with her own mother’s sometimes strident disapproval of her, Elizabeth felt she could commiserate in some small measure with William’s pathetic situation. As for her sisters, Jane, as someone who was incapable of truly thinking ill of another, was polite to the young man but avoided his irksome presence as much as possible, while Lydia and Kitty found him tiresome and avoided him as well. Only Mary seemed to find his society at all welcome, as she was possessed of a similar turn of mind. Of course, two moralizing snobbish persons in the house did nothing to endear either of them to the other occupants.

  Mr. Bennet had gamely tried to make something of the unfortunate young man, taking him under his wing and attempting to educate him in the proper management of Longbourn. Not known for his own adherence to the strict running of his estate, Mr. Bennet, a confirmed lover of books, was much more comfortable in his own bookroom than out supervising the planting of the fields or managing the mending of a fence, so his own skills were somewhat suspect to begin with.

  Still, Mr. Bennet exerted himself for a change to instruct his young charge so that the estate, which had been in the family for generations, should not suffer once he was gone. Unfortunately, Mr. Bennet could not have predicted that his cousin, although raised by a man who would belittle as soon as praise, had nevertheless been regaled with tales from his infamous sire of how exactly Mr. Bennet was going about his duties in a wrong manner. Of course, though he had been beaten down by his father, Mr. Collins was convinced that his father had always been right and that once he inherited Longbourn, if he were only to do the exact opposite of his cousin, he could surely do no wrong. It never occurred to the small-minded young man that his father, a man who had never performed any such responsibilities, could not be expected to understand the operation of even a modest estate such as Longbourn. Nothing Mr. Bennet said could convince William he did not know better than Mr. Bennet, a man who, for all his faults, had successfully run the estate for the past twenty years. Needless to say, it did not take Mr. Bennet long before he cut his cousin adrift to spend his days as he chose, reading the Bible and his moralistic sermons in preparation for his enrollment into the seminary, which he planned to attend once he came of age, using the small inheritance left by his father. That Mr. Bennet had offered to provide a supplement if that inheritance proved to be insufficient was testament to his desire to wash his hands of the young man.

  For Mrs. Bennet, the young Master Collins’s heavyset, ill-favored features and vacuous platitudes notwithstanding, his position as future lord of the manor outweighed all other considerations. She believed he was clearly meant to be her future son-in-law, thus saving the entire family and allowing them to continue to live in their home. Jane, of course, was too beautiful and sweet and clearly destined for a lord; otherwise, no doubt she would have been pushed in her cousin’s way.

  Elizabeth herself was much too improper and impertinent, what with her insistence on traipsing all over the countryside ruining her eligibility on the marriage market—after all, who would want to marry a girl who was outspoken, wild, and clearly not the equal of Jane in beauty?

  This left Mary, and Mrs. Bennet truly believed that if Mary and Mr. Collins enjoyed one’s another’s company, then it was a perfect match. After all, many young people could not hope for equal felicity in marriage. So, it was settled, in her own mind at least, that Mary would be the one who would save the family and do her duty by marrying Mr. William Collins. The fact that Mary was only eleven years of age did nothing to hinder Mrs. Bennet’s fantasies.

  Of course, what escaped the obtuse gaze of the Bennet matriarch was the fact that William Collins seemed to have his eye on a much greater prize . . . .

  Through the bushes, Elizabeth saw movement, and stopping, she peered through the branches and saw the young man for whom she had been searching. Young Master Collins sat on a small bench with his back to her in one of the thickest parts of the wilderness. In his hand, he clenched a small white handkerchief with red hearts embroidered about the edge and trimmed in lace. He was currently holding it to his face to inhale the sweet fragrance of scented water which was no doubt sprinkled onto its surface. The sight made Elizabeth grin in triumph, as she recalled a time previously when her cousin had importuned her.

  “My dear cousin Elizabeth, may I have a moment of your time?”

  Elizabeth looked up from her embroidery, slightly annoyed at her cousin for interrupting her concentration. Then again, the flowers which she had been painstakingly sewing into her sampler were looking decidedly lopsided—as usual—and she decided the interruption was not as unwelcome as it could have been. Of course, such unusual contentment could not remain for long, as there was no one whose company she found as tiresome as that of her cousin.

  “I suspect I shall regret this . . .” murmured Elizabeth as she motioned for him to continue.

  Her cousin, of course, was completely oblivious to her softly spoken words and her complete aversion to his company.

  “I . . . I mean to ask you . . . that is to say . . .” began he, stammering, mangling the English language in his attempt to speak whatever concern occupied the whole of his vacuous mind.

  Elizabeth gazed up at him, quite amused. It was not often a young man of seventeen found himself tongue-tied in the presence of a girl of twelve.

  “Yes, William?” replied she, waiting patiently for him to arrive at his point. “May I help you?”

  With those words, he seemed to gain his confidence. “Yes, you may, Miss Elizabeth. You are indeed to be commended for your gracious condescension in assisting my humble endeavors. If I, in my chosen profession, were to ever have a patron or patroness as gracious and wise as yourself, I should consider myself quite fortunate indeed.”

  By this time, whatever goodwill Elizabeth had held for the bumbling young man had all been used up by his nonsensical and long-winded speech, none of which made much sense to her. It seemed the height of foolishness to endow her with the wisdom which he had just attributed to her.

  But she attempted to be patient and prompted him: “I am sorry, but you were saying?”

  “Ah, yes, indeed,” replied he after blinking momentarily in confusion. “Right to the point, as my esteemed late father would say.”

  Privately, Elizabeth doubted that his father could come up with anything to say that was half so intelligent, given the stories she had heard from he
r father coupled with the specimen which was currently facing her. Rather than test her cousin’s limited intellect, however, she inclined her head, urging him to continue, praying this interminable interview would end.

  “I was hoping . . . you could offer your . . . advice . . . on a matter of some importance. Indeed, it is a matter dear to my heart, about which I was hoping—praying, actually, I might say—that you would condescend to . . . offer your opinion. If it pleases you.”

  Convoluted as his rambling discourse was, Elizabeth felt she had been able to catch its meaning—if any such existed. It was clear he wanted her advice on something, although why he would come to a girl of twelve summers, she could not say.

  “There is something you wished to talk with me about?”

  “Yes, indeed, there is. Considering our connection and my position as heir to this property—and given the fact that the matter is one of some importance—I have the strong desire to speak with you particularly. As it were, it appears I have the very great fortune of finding myself in the position of being of some use to your family. As such, I wondered if you could tell me . . . that is, perhaps you could give me some advice . . . as to how to approach your sister to request that she become my future companion in life.”

  Elizabeth’s jaw fell open. This clod of a man was actually asking her for instructions on how to woo her own sister! Suppressing the laughter which threatened to bubble up and escape her throat, Elizabeth smiled at her cousin.

  “Well, I believe it is appropriate to wait until the subject of your affections is at least out in society. As my sister is only eleven, that cannot happen for several more years. Besides, you spend much of your time with Mary—surely you have come to know her sufficiently well enough that you do not need to ask me about her.”