Page 24 of Mr Darcy’s Inconvenient Wife

“Who thought I did not care for Charles, and told him so, and would have kept him in London.” She did not sound bitter. She only sounded puzzled. “He had no reason in the world to take my part. If even he says it was Caroline, then it must have been.”

Her colour was coming back. She looked down at their joined hands and gave a small, shaky laugh.

“After everything. I do not think many gentlemen would have come forward, when once they had been so against the match.”

“No,” said Elizabeth. “I do not think many would.”

She got up to light the candle. By the time it was burning, Jane was already reaching for her hairbrush. Elizabeth left her to it and went to stand at the window. The glass was cold under her fingers.

She thought of Rosings. She had been in Mr Darcy's company, and she had not minded it at all. He had come to stand by the pianoforte while she played, and she had accused him of trying to frighten her. He had refused to be frightened of her in return, and she had liked him for it more than she ought. They had argued about books. They had argued about music. She had met him so often in the park that she began to suspect it was not by chance, and she had not objected. She could admit that now, alone in the dusk. Perhaps she had not liked him, exactly. But nobody in Kent had made her think so hard or laugh so often. She had gone down to dinner each evening wondering what he would say next.

Then Colonel Fitzwilliam had told her what he had done to Jane. That same evening Mr Darcy had come to the parsonage with something to say to her, and she had not let him finish a single sentence.

Of all people, Miss Elizabeth, you owe me none.

On the road she had taken it for modesty. Now, going over it again by candlelight, she was not at all certain that was what he had meant. The thought unsettled her, and she did not like being unsettled by Mr Darcy.

***

Jane had eaten nothing since breakfast. Elizabeth went down to fetch her a tray. She had only just reached the bottom stair when the drawing-room door opened and Mr Collins stepped into the hall.

He had changed his coat. His hair was freshly combed and smelled strongly of pomade.

“Cousin Elizabeth. I have been waiting for your return above an hour.” He bowed very low. “Might I beg the favour of a few minutes' private conversation? I flatter myself the subject will not come as a surprise.”

“Mr Collins, my sister is unwell, and I must —”

“I shall not keep you long. I have prepared my remarks with the greatest care, so that your delicacy may be spared any —”

“Collins!” The library door swung open. Mr Bennet stood in the doorway with his spectacles pushed up on his forehead and a sheaf of papers in his hand. “There you are. I have found a clause in this deed that defeats me entirely. You will know what Lady Catherine's man of business would make of it. Come and give me your opinion.”

Mr Collins hesitated. His eyes went from Elizabeth to the papers and back again.

“The entail, sir?”

“The very same. Unless you would rather not be troubled with it tonight.”

Nothing could have been further from Mr Collins's wishes. He bowed to Elizabeth, begged her to consider their conversation merely put off, and hurried into the library. Over his guest's shoulder, Mr Bennet met her eye. He did not smile. He only raised one brow before he shut the door.

Elizabeth did not go to the kitchen. She went to find her mother.

Mrs Bennet was in the dining room, with lists covering every inch of the table. There were lists for the wedding breakfast and lists for the church. One was headed “Chairs” and had been crossed out three times.

“Not now, Lizzy. Hill says the ham will never feed thirty, and I cannot have anyone go hungry.”

“Mama, Mr Collins has just tried again. Papa drew him off, but he cannot do it for ever. I do not think I can put him off much longer.”

Mrs Bennet laid down her pen. “I said you need not have him, Lizzy. I never said you might turn up your nose at him. A gentleman has asked for you. There are girls in this county who would be very glad of such an offer. You might at least be grateful to be asked, instead of running from him through every room in the house.”

Elizabeth stared at her. “You sound exactly like Charlotte Lucas.”

“Like Charlotte Lucas?”

“She said the very same thing to me not an hour ago. That I was ungrateful, and that if I waited too long I should end up as she has, with no husband at all.”

Mrs Bennet did not answer at once. She looked at her daughter, and then at the curtains, and then she took up her quill, dipped it, and wrote a line at the bottom of her list. Elizabeth could not read it. Her mother's sleeve lay across the paper.

“Did Charlotte Lucas say so, indeed? Well, well.”