Page 45 of Cousin Conundrum

“Bof,” Mrs. Archer snapped. “You permit the specter of this woman to frighten you.”

“She is more than a specter.”

Silence reigned in the wake of Miss Archer’s angry tone, and Elizabeth imagined mother and daughter locking gazes in a battle of wills.

Finally, Mrs. Archer reiterated, “The fate of Collins is for Mabel to decide, and you will ensnare Mr. Darcy.”

“Oui, Mère,” Miss Archer replied stiffly.

A throat cleared and Miss Edith’s voice, a touch over loud, said, “Mr. Darcy will require an elaborate trap. He is not one to be easily captured.”

“Planned à la perfection,” Mrs. Archer said. “And you truly need not worry over Mr. Hurst and Lady Catherine, Jacoline. Once you secure him, we may forget about the shop and putty knives. None will touch us. His relations must see to that, or know shame. Oui, we require the scheme most elaborate.”

“We should begin with a picnic.” Miss Edith’s words jolted Elizabeth back to her dream. A picnic with Mr. Darcy? Heat raced through her.

“With games,” Miss Catherine added eagerly. “A lost shuttlecock. A hunt in the trees. Perhaps a twisted ankle?”

“Or a tumble into a brook.” Cold calculation filled Miss Edith’s voice. “Let him see something to truly attract a man. All this disgustingly pastel muslin ought to be good for something, after all.”

Elizabeth’s jaw hinged open. Did they mean to lure Mr. Darcy to water and fall in, so he might see through their drenched clothing? That was diabolical.

And yet, was that all it truly took to win a man?

“I am certain we can persuade Miss Bingley to hold a picnic,” Miss Archer said. “She is already enthralled by our supposed connection to a baron, and our extravagant gowns. This will provide many opportunities for tripping here and there, and to trap Mr. Darcy.”

Supposed connection?

“Yes. Far less suspicious to plant the notion in her, and let her propose the event to Mr. Bingley and Mr. Darcy.”

“We will need to explore this Netherfield Park, then,” Miss Archer said. “I am not going into the brush simply hoping to happen upon a stream.”

“We will send Mabel,” Miss Edith said. “She enjoys tramping about in the forest. She can—” Miss Edith broke off.

A moment later, two pairs of footfalls sounded.

“Fair cousins, Miss Mabel asked me in for an early tea. I hope I do not disturb. She insisted all must be awake, with which I agreed, as my cousins are not slovenly.” As Mr. Collins’ voice filled the room, Kitty started to move down the side of the house, away from the window, pushing Elizabeth along before her. “Early rising is a sign of intelligence, Lady Catherine always says. She would rise early were she not so dedicated to her health, and to be certain she insists Miss de Bourgh remain abed late for the same reason. Why, when I take a wife, I shall insist she leaves bed with the dawn and…”

Mr. Collins’ voice faded from hearing as they moved down the side of the house. Near the corner, Kitty broke off and scurried back into the garden, pushing through a wall of thin conifers. Elizabeth following, they made a hasty retreat through the garden and out the gate. Nor did Kitty slow once they were on the street, her pace quick enough to test Elizabeth. She’d never seen Kitty exert such effort in walking.

As they rounded the corner that would put them back on Meryton’s main street and within sight of the shop where, presumably, their sisters still browsed, Elizabeth caught Kitty’s arm. “What happened back there?”

Kitty turned wide, vacant eyes on her. “The Archers were plotting.”

Annoyance warred with amusement in Elizabeth. “I realize that, and I also realize you are more astute than you care for people to realize, so you can stop pretending you’ve fewer thoughts in your head than even Lydia.”

“Did you call me a stout? Are you saying I am fat?”

“Kitty.”

Kitty flashed a grin, then shrugged. “Mr. Hurst asked me to spy on them.”

Elizabeth stared at her for a moment, at a loss. “Mr. Hurst, as in Mr. Bingley’s house guest—”

“And brother by marriage,” Kitty cut in.

“—and brother by marriage, asked you to spy on the Archers for him?” Elizabeth shook her head. “That bears explaining.”

“Mr. Hurst is a caricaturist and—”