Mrs Collins' Lover Read online

  When the card-tables were placed, Elizabeth was pleased to see Mr. Collins taking a seat at her aunt’s whist table while Mr. Wickham took a place between Elizabeth and Lydia. As the youngest Bennet became engrossed in the game, Elizabeth and Mr. Wickham were able to talk leisurely. Surprisingly, the gentleman asked her how long Mr. Darcy had been staying in the area.

  “About a month,” she replied. “I understand he is a man of very large property in Derbyshire,” she said, hoping he might divulge something of his knowledge of the man.

  “Yes,” the soldier replied forlornly. “Pemberley is a noble estate. I once considered it home.” He smiled, though his eyes remained sad. “I see your surprise, Miss Bennet. I suppose you noticed the very cold manner of our meeting yesterday. Are you much acquainted with Mr. Darcy?”

  “As much as I ever wish to be,” she said with some warmth. “I think him very disagreeable.”

  “Truly? I cannot say many would agree with you.” His expression was now more surprised than depressed.

  “I cannot speak for those of your acquaintance, sir, but I assure you he is not at all liked in Hertfordshire. Everybody is disgusted with his pride.”

  They fell silent as they attended the game, but Mr. Wickham soon picked up the topic again. “I cannot pretend to be sorry that he or that any man should not be estimated beyond their deserts; but with him I believe it does not often happen. The world is blinded by his fortune and consequence, or frightened by his high and imposing manners, and sees him only as he chooses to be seen.” He played a card and casually stated, “I wonder if he is likely to be in this country much longer.”

  “I do not at all know; but I heard nothing of his going away when I was at Netherfield.” Feeling once more like herself for the first time since her cousin’s arrival, Elizabeth smiled. “I hope your plans in favour of the ----shire will not be affected by his being in the neighbourhood.”

  Surprise covered his features. “Oh! No—it is not for me to be driven away by Mr. Darcy. If he wishes to avoid seeing me, he must go.” He sighed. “We are no longer on friendly terms, though we were once quite close, and it always gives me pain to meet him.” He tipped his head nearer hers. “His father, the late Mr. Darcy, was one of the best men that ever breathed, and the truest friend I ever had. He would be greatly grieved by what has occurred between us since his passing.”

  Play came around to them once more, halting their conversation and leaving Elizabeth curious beyond measure of what Mr. Wickham might say next. Certainly, it was not a normal topic for such new acquaintances, but Elizabeth was enjoying the attentions of an intelligent and handsome man following days of aversion to her cousin’s regard. She turned the officer’s direction eagerly once they had met the expectations of the game.

  “The late Mr. Darcy was my godfather.” Mr. Wickham smiled at a memory. “He meant to provide for me amply with a position in the church, the best living in his gift, but his son thought otherwise. When the living fell, it was given elsewhere.” He shook his head as his gaze fell to his cards.

  Elizabeth was shocked; even she could not have suspected such from Mr. Darcy. To date, her only complaints had been his prideful haughtiness in slighting the population of Meryton, and a most insulting comment he made the evening they first met regarding her being tolerable but not handsome enough to tempt him. Though it had coloured her perspective of the man from that moment forward, she would not have actually called him cruel, merely pompous. Mr. Wickham’s tale could only show how truly hateful Mr. Darcy could be.

  “And you did not seek legal redress? He was able to disregard his father’s wishes?” Elizabeth’s hands fell to her lap, her card’s mostly forgotten.

  “There was just such an informality in the terms of the bequest as to give me no hope from law. Oh, a man of honour could not have doubted the intention, but Mr. Darcy chose to do so.” He shook his head. “He asserted I had forfeited all claim to it by extravagance, imprudence—in short anything or nothing. But I cannot accuse myself of having really done anything to deserve to lose it. The fact is, we are very different sort of men, and he hates me.”

  Elizabeth was incensed for him. “He deserves to be publicly disgraced.”

  “Some time or other he will be—but it shall not be by me. Till I can forget his father, I can never defy or expose him.”

  Elizabeth honoured him for such feelings and thought him handsomer than ever as he expressed them. “But what can have been his motive? What can have induced him to behave so cruelly?”

  “A thorough, determined dislike of me—a dislike which I cannot but attribute in some measure to jealousy. Perhaps, had his father liked me less, Mr. Darcy might have borne me better. Unfortunately, the majority of our acquaintances favoured me, and I believe the preference which was often given me irritated him.”

  “I had not thought Mr. Darcy so bad as this—though I never liked him.” Elizabeth shook her head as she studied her cards once more. “To descend to such malicious revenge, such injustice, such inhumanity as this? It is more than I anticipated.” She thought back over her acquaintance with the gentleman until she remembered an odd conversation between them.

  “I do remember his boasting one day, at Netherfield, of the implacability of his resentments, of having an unforgiving temper.”

  “Indeed, it was always so.” Mr. Wickham leaned closer to her as he played a card and appeared to have more to say.

  “Cousin Elizabeth!”

  The nearness of Mr. Collins’ voice chased away any pleasure she had derived from Mr. Wickham’s presence and renewed her previous discomfort. “Mr. Collins, has your game ended?” She cast a glance toward her aunt who appeared annoyed.

  “Oh yes, I fear I have not improved upon the little I knew of the game and was unable to win a point.”

  Elizabeth’s eyes widened as she expressed her concern, but he quickly assured her that it was not of the least importance.

  “You will find I am not frivolous, Madam. I know that when persons sit down to a card-table, they must take their chances of these things, and happily I am not in such circumstances as to make five shillings any object. There are undoubtedly many who could not say the same,” his eyes drifted toward Mr. Wickham before returning to Elizabeth, “but thanks to Lady Catherine de Bourgh, I am removed far beyond the necessity of regarding little matters.”

  Jane approached just then and graciously conversed with their cousin, allowing Elizabeth a few more moments of peace.

  “Is your relation very intimately acquainted with the family of de Bourgh?” Mr. Wickham asked in a quiet voice.

  “I cannot say for certain. Lady Catherine de Bourgh has lately given him a living, but I know nothing of their prior interactions.”

  His brow quirked upward, and the corner of his mouth followed suit. “You know of course that Lady Catherine de Bourgh and Lady Anne Darcy were sisters; consequently, that she is aunt to the present Mr. Darcy.”

  “Indeed, I did not. I never heard of Lady Catherine’s existence until the day before yesterday.” She placed a hand to her throat. Had it truly been such a short time since her cousin had entered her life and turned it on its head?

  Mr. Wickham continued speaking as he leaned toward her once more. “Miss de Bourgh will have a very large fortune, and it is believed that she and her cousin will unite the two estates.”

  Though it appeared Mr. Wickham might have been prepared to share more, Mr. Collins returned and took hold of Elizabeth’s arm as he mentioned that dinner was about to be served. She looked longingly toward the officer but rose and allowed her cousin to lead her away. The remainder of the evening was spent in his company leaving Elizabeth dull and downcast as visions of years spent in this manner seemed to yawn before her.

  *CHAPTER THREE*

  The following day brought joy to Longbourn in the form of Mr. Bingley. He and his sisters delivered their personal invitation to a ball at Netherfield. During Jane’s stay at that place, the idea had been thrust upon the
gentleman by Lydia Bennet, and he declared he would only hold such an event after Miss Bennet was fully recovered. The date was now set for the 26 of November, the following Tuesday. Though Mr. Bingley obviously wished to remain, his sisters quickly reminded him of a pressing engagement and the trio was gone again.

  The prospect of a ball at Netherfield was extremely agreeable to the Longbourn party. Elizabeth was pleased by the contented expression upon Jane’s countenance as she gazed out the window. No doubt, her sister was deep in thought of time spent with the Bingleys, preferably the brother more than the sisters. Elizabeth allowed her spirits to rise somewhat in hopes that the answer to her prayers might come in an understanding between Jane and Mr. Bingley sooner than anticipated.

  Mr. Collins’ voice broke through her musings. “I am by no means of the opinion that a ball of this kind, given by a young man of character, to respectable people, can have any evil tendency. Therefore, I hope to be honoured with the hands of all my fair cousins in the course of the evening.” He turned abruptly toward Elizabeth. “And I take this opportunity of soliciting yours, Miss Elizabeth, for the first two dances especially, a preference which I trust my cousin Jane will attribute to the right cause, and not to any disrespect to her.”

  Jane nodded demurely as she cast an apologetic glance in Elizabeth’s direction. Being unable to refuse without relinquishing the ability to dance the remainder of the night, Elizabeth accepted. Mrs. Bennet clapped her hands in delight while the other Bennet sisters avoided their cousin’s gaze for fear of being asked for the next set. Elizabeth determined her only hope for entertainment that night must now come from a dance with Mr. Wickham.

  As was common at that time of year, the weather conspired against any social plans when the clouds opened and released a succession of rain from then until the day of the ball. No one was able to venture out. Only their preparation kept spirits high that Friday, Saturday, Sunday, and Monday. By Tuesday morning, everyone was anxious for the entertainment that evening.

  Till Elizabeth entered the drawing-room at Netherfield and looked in vain for Mr. Wickham among the cluster of red coats there assembled, a doubt of his being present never occurred to her. The absence of the handsome, amiable man and the presence of her grave cousin and the disagreeable Mr. Darcy, gave Elizabeth the suspicion that the evening could only be salvaged should Mr. Bingley fall to one knee and propose to Jane in the middle of the ballroom floor. Her spirits were severely depressed as she wandered the outer edge of the room, avoiding Mr. Collins while searching for her dearest friend, yet distracted by Kitty and Lydia’s laughter which could be heard clearly over the murmurs of the crowd.

  “Eliza!” Charlotte Lucas cried as she laid a hand upon Elizabeth’s arm. “You are deep in thought. You did not hear me call.”

  “Forgive me, Charlotte.” Elizabeth squeezed her friend’s hand. “I have not been myself this last week.”

  “Since your cousin arrived?” Charlotte’s teasing smile fell away when a grimace crossed her friend’s countenance. “Is it as bad as that?”

  “Oh, Charlotte, I fear …”

  A note was struck, notifying the guests the dancing would begin in a few minutes. As though by magic, Mr. Collins appeared at Elizabeth’s elbow.

  “My dear cousin, this is our dance.” He bowed over her hand, grasping it possessively, before turning toward Miss Lucas. “May I request an introduction to your friend?”

  “Of course, Charlotte, this is my cousin, Mr. Collins of Hunsford in Kent. Mr. Collins, I present Miss Charlotte Lucas. Her father is Sir William Lucas of Lucas Lodge.”

  “Ah, I have had the honour of meeting your father, Miss Lucas. A most affable man.” He turned pretentiously toward Elizabeth and his lips turned upward in that strange, forced manner that she had come to know as his smile. “If my lovely cousin will allow,” he turned back toward her friend, “may I have the second set of dances, Miss Lucas?”

  “I would be honoured, Mr. Collins.” Charlotte curtseyed while her eyes danced merrily between Elizabeth and the gentleman.

  Mr. Collins bowed abruptly and, grasping Elizabeth’s elbow, led her toward the dance floor. Whatever she had previously imagined regarding their dance did not approach the reality of her mortification. Mr. Collins, awkward and solemn, apologising instead of attending, and often moving wrong without being aware of it, gave her all the shame and misery which a disagreeable partner for a couple of dances can give. Though sympathetic toward her friend, she could not help feeling relieved when he left her side to lead Charlotte to the dance floor.

  She was pleased to dance the next set with an officer who was light on his feet and able to speak well of Mr. Wickham. Though the gentleman himself was not present, the conversation surrounding him lifted her spirits for a time.

  The dance ended, and Elizabeth was searching for a place to sit, out of sight of her cousin, when she found herself suddenly addressed by Mr. Darcy who took her so much by surprise in his application for her hand, that, without knowing what she did, she accepted him. While she was fretting over her own want of presence of mind, Mr. Collins approached with a pronounced frown.

  “Cousin Elizabeth, was not that the discourteous man we encountered in Meryton? What business had he with you?”

  Surprised by his officious tone, as though he had the right to know the content of her every conversation, she could do little more than stare at first. Finally, she found her tongue. “As can be supposed at such an event, he requested a dance.”

  Her cousin’s frown deepened further. “I cannot be in favour of such a thing.”

  “Forgive me, sir,” Elizabeth said as she stood taller. “I was unaware you had a say in my partners.”

  Mr. Collins’ eyes narrowed as he stepped closer to her. “Though I have, at times, found your spirit intriguing, I will not tolerate disrespect, Cousin. Your father should have taught you proper appreciation for those who are your superior.”

  Surprised by his lordliness, Elizabeth was unable to bite her tongue. “He did, and I am never disrespectful toward those who are more knowledgeable or worldly than myself.”

  He appeared as though she had struck him, then his face turned a horrid red and he leaned menacingly toward her.

  “Forgive me, Miss Bennet, I believe this is our dance.” Mr. Darcy’s voice was low and his expression daunting as he looked disapprovingly at Mr. Collins. Before more could be said, he placed her hand upon his arm and turned away from the sputtering rector.

  Elizabeth was unaware she was shaking until Mr. Darcy laid his hand over hers.

  “Are you well? Would you prefer not to dance at this time?”

  She glanced over her shoulder and saw Mr. Collins glowering at them from the edge of the crowd. “I will be fine. I believe it best that we take our places on the dance floor.”

  With a barely noticeable nod, he led her to the head of the line. She had forgotten that, given his rank, they were due such an honour. Though she had only ever seen him dance with Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst, she did not remember him claiming this privilege in the past. A glance at her cousin showed his displeasure had increased. He was gesticulating in her direction as he spoke to Mr. Bennet. Her father, in turn, had an odd expression on his countenance that she was unable to interpret.

  The music began, and Mr. Darcy led her confidently through the steps. He was, by far, the most talented partner she had ever experienced. Her trembling dissipated as she studied the intent expression in his eyes whenever he looked at her. In an attempt to ease the unspoken discomfort between them, she made some slight observation on the dance. He replied and was again silent. After a pause of some minutes, she addressed him a second time.

  “It is your turn to say something now, Mr. Darcy. I talked about the dance, and you ought to make some sort of remark on the size of the room, or the number of couples.”

  He smiled and whatever he said was lost as Elizabeth stared at him in shock. When he first appeared at the Meryton assembly the previous month, every
one had acknowledged him to be a fine figure of a man, much handsomer than Mr. Bingley. It was his manners which turned the tide of his popularity when he was discovered to be proud. Thinking of him as such, Elizabeth had quite forgotten how handsome he was until his features were rendered such again by his friendly expression.

  “Do you talk by rule, then, while you are dancing?” he asked.

  “Sometimes,” she responded as she turned away from him. Taking the opportunity to compose herself, she was prepared when they were once more face to face. “One must speak a little, you know. It would look odd to be entirely silent for half an hour together; and yet for the advantage of some, conversation ought to be arranged, as that they may have the trouble of saying as little as possible.”

  “Are you consulting your own feelings in the present case, or do you imagine that you are gratifying mine?”

  “Both,” replied Elizabeth archly; “for I have always seen a great similarity in the turn of our minds.”

  The dance brought Mr. Darcy near and his brow rose in surprise. “Have you?”

  Uncertain what he might mean by it, Elizabeth was grateful when her steps turned her away from him. She was most alarmed when she saw Mr. Collins once more staring at her with unveiled displeasure. Startled by his irritation, she stumbled as she turned again toward her partner. Mr. Darcy took her hand, steadying her once more. Though he glanced over her head toward her cousin, he did not comment on the man. Instead he asked her if she and her sisters did not very often walk to Meryton.

  Reminded of Mr. Wickham, she answered in the affirmative, and, unable to resist the temptation, added, “When you met us there the other day, we had just been forming a new acquaintance.”