One Thread Pulled: The Dance With Mr. Darcy (30 page)

Mr. Darcy's eyes hardened and his jaw clenched. “Mr. Collins.” Darcy's voice was no longer warm. “Your interference in my personal affairs is insupportable. Regardless of anything she may say to the contrary, my aunt has no claim upon me. Your letter disclosing my whereabouts is a breach of my privacy that I shall not soon forget. You would do well not to cross me again, for next time I may not be so forgiving of your trespass.” He bowed stiffly and added, “Excuse me.”

Mr. Darcy crossed the room and stood before Mr. Bennet to beg a moment of his time in the study. This was readily agreed to since Mr. Bennet had tired of the company and appreciated the excuse to leave. The two men removed themselves from the sitting room, whereupon the three officers indicated that they must return to their camp straightway. They thanked their hostess for a lovely time and were escorted out the door by Lydia, Kitty and Mrs. Bennet, where they stood together outside, delaying their departure with idle conversation.

Mr. Collins took advantage of the exodus and quit the room as well, saying nothing as he left. Jane and Mr. Bingley remained, still speaking softly between themselves. Mary remained at the table reading a book, and Elizabeth and the colonel resumed their conversation.

“I say, my cousin certainly knows how to inspire a rapid conclusion to an otherwise pleasant tea-time,” Colonel Fitzwilliam commented as they watched the door close behind Mr. Collins. “But that is all right with me. I like it better this way.”

“How so?” Elizabeth smiled. “Did you not enjoy yourself?”

“Too much I think.” Fitzwilliam replied with a mischievous grin. “How could I not when much of the conversation featured you and me and a cup of tea? It was a great pleasure, to be sure, and I daresay that I enjoyed it far more than Darcy did. I have never seen him so unsociable as he was today.”

“Really?” Elizabeth was surprised. “Mr. Darcy's manner seemed to me as it has ever been in company.”

“If that is true,” Fitzwilliam reflected, “there must be something very different in the company in Hertfordshire.
 
He seemed most peculiar to me.”

“I suppose it is our 'country manners' that offend him,” Elizabeth said with a shrug, “Mr. Bingley has told Jane that Mr. Darcy does not like the society in the country, and I believe he spends far too much time comparing.”

“By what calculation do you arrive at this conclusion, Miss Bennet?” Fitzwilliam seemed intrigued.

“It is no calculation.” Elizabeth laughed. “Rather than make conversation, Mr. Darcy would far rather lord over any assembly and glare at anyone whose behavior displeases him. I know this because he glares at me a great deal when in company.”

“I had thought you were friends,” Fitzwilliam replied. “I believe you mistake my cousin.”

“That may be true. I confess that he puzzles me exceedingly.” Elizabeth confided. “He is an enigmatic man, Colonel. Tell me, as one who knows him well, why did he stand about for the entire visit and say nothing except to insult Mr. Collins?”

“I cannot answer that,” Fitzwilliam smiled, “without revealing a confidence.”

At that moment, Mr. Darcy re-entered the room but only to summon the colonel and Mr. Bingley to take their leave and return to Netherfield.

After their guests had all left, Elizabeth returned to the sitting room to set it to rights. She moved the furnishings back to their regular places and tidied up the various artifacts in the room. She was nearly finished when she thought to retrieve her completed handkerchief and discovered, in horror, that her beautiful whitework treasure with the Lambton lace trim had vanished from the table.

She searched on the floor and in other places around the room, but the little kerchief she had made for the Netherfield ball was gone.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Where Reputations Collide

T
he call to the evening meal at Longbourn came in the same way and at the same time as it ever did. The food was much the same as always, and the seating arrangements were regular, yet it would long be remembered as the most unusual dinner conversation ever held in that house. Mr. Bennet, whose presence at the table was typically one of good cheer, was sullen and brooding in his demeanor.

Mrs. Bennet opened the dinner conversation in her usual way, having not yet noticed the change in her husband's manner. She effused liberally on the great delights of having had the officers for tea and repeatedly declared how well her daughters had looked and how much admired the girls were by the officers. Mr. Bennet frowned at his wife with such a look of disapprobation that when she finally looked at him, her voice faded away before she finished her sentence, and she nervously returned to her bowl of soup, suddenly out of tongue.

Lydia quickly took up the raptures her mother had relinquished, and for a full minute all that was to be heard around the table was a rapid babbling of the officers names and repetition of the fine compliments they had paid to her. Mr. Bennet cleared his throat, and seeing a heretofore unknown fury in his gaze, Lydia was struck with silence as well, although she was not beyond pouting over it.

Elizabeth looked with curiosity and concern at her father, for she had never seen him like this before in all her life. Her father had remained in his study after his meeting with Mr. Darcy, and Elizabeth suspected that her father's foul temper was attributable to the same. She tried to catch her father's eye, convinced that he would direct some signal of reassurance her way, but when she did meet his eye, the same glower that had silenced her mother and sister was bestowed upon her, and she looked away, disquieted by the knowledge that her father was certainly unhappy.

Mary, who up to that point had seemed quite intent on her meal, abruptly spoke to Mr. Collins across the table. “How pleased you must be, Mr. Collins, at the great favor Mr. Darcy showed you this day at tea.”

Mr. Collins, whose expression reflected pleasure in the beginning of her phrase, fell markedly in the end of it. He frowned and blinked, unprepared to respond. “Cousin Mary,” he began, “I have not the slightest idea of the favor of which you speak, for, indeed, Mr. Darcy showed me none.”

Mr. Bennet raised his eyebrows, his furrowed look tempered by his expectations of Mary’s producing a response. He had to wait for it, however, due to Elizabeth's interjection into the conversation.

“Upon my word, Mary, how could you speak so? Mr. Darcy's manner toward Mr. Collins was cold and unfeeling!” Elizabeth cried, “All who heard it felt the judgment in his words.”

Mr. Collins turned to look at Elizabeth, his face filled with gratitude at her defense of him. “Thank you, Cousin Elizabeth.” He wagged his head as he spoke, in a strange bobbing motion that was intended to convey appreciation but emphasized his ridiculousness instead. Seeing this, Elizabeth fell silent.

“Mr. Collins.” Mary waited to continue until he reluctantly turned back to her. Then she smiled graciously at him, evoking a small smile in return. “Mr. Collins, you are an astute man, and I am certain that upon reflection, you will come to see what transpired in a more prudential light.”

Mary had now gained Mr. Collins' rapt attention, his curiosity over some alternative meaning momentarily overcoming him. His attention was not isolated, for her sisters and parents were riveted as well, waiting skeptically to see if Mary could magically turn insults into compliments.

“One has first to acknowledge that Mr. Darcy is entitled to an expectation of privacy, which you must agree we would all desire for ourselves.” Mary began, with silent nods around the table acknowledging that this was a fair wish. “His unease at discovering that his privacy had been compromised, however unwittingly, is some excuse for his being uncivil. Are we all not prone to a moment of temper when unhappy news is relayed to us?”

Mr. Collins frowned at the implication that he had done wrong, but he was uncharacteristically silent, allowing Mary to continue. “Had this same event occurred with a less even-tempered man than Mr. Darcy, you may have been subjected to far harsher treatment, but Mr. Darcy was indeed gracious, for once he had expressed his displeasure at your indiscretion, he rightly put you on your guard against a repeat offense, and said that he forgave you. This he did despite your lack of apparent remorse or apology.” Mary smiled with understanding and compassion at Mr. Collins. “You have received, at the hand of one of the most illustrious men in the land, a kind and valuable lesson, Mr. Collins, one that will serve you well in your ministerial capacity and was delivered with very little pain to you under the circumstances. Do you not call that favor?”

Mr. Collins reddened slightly and then smiled weakly. “Indeed, Cousin Mary, I believe you are correct; he has shown me favor indeed. I confess, dear cousin, that I had not considered his words in this way, but you have helped me to see that the occurrence may prove beneficial and instructive if I take it as such. Nay, it cannot fail to be so upon introspection and reflection. I shall call it favor, indeed! Yes, Mr. Darcy's generosity, although not equal to that of his aunt, is nonetheless not to be dismissed as less than a grand gesture, the magnitude of which I am only now beginning to appreciate more fully.”

“You are a godly man, Mr. Collins.” Mary smiled once more at him. “Perhaps you have unquestioningly given too much weight to the words of your noble patroness. There was a hint in Mr. Darcy's address that perhaps there is more than one view that can be taken of his affairs with his aunt. This is often the case in family matters, I believe, which may prove to be complex. Wisdom dictates that future dealings involving Mr. Darcy will not assume full comprehension of his situation. I have great faith in you, good sir. I am most certain that as you are a cautious and prudent man, further reproach from him will not be necessary.”

“Mary, of what do you speak?” Mrs. Bennet asked curiously.

“Mama,” Mary replied solemnly, “we have just spoken of Mr. Darcy's insistence on discretion in his private affairs. It would be insupportable to discuss them further.”

Mrs. Bennet looked at Mr. Bennet, who nodded his head in agreement with his daughter. “Mary, you may just demonstrate some sense yet. I will be glad for it, as I have something to relate to all of my daughters which will require a great deal
 
more
 
sense than has been shown of late.”

“What is it, Papa?” Elizabeth asked with some relief, for the suspense of not knowing the cause of his attitude had been difficult to bear.

“They are not glad tidings, of that you may be sure. It is a matter of some delicacy, and I would normally approach it only within the bounds of immediate family. However, it is rather urgent, and so, I will speak frankly and rely on Mr. Collins' discretion.” Mr. Bennet looked meaningfully at Mr. Collins.

Mr. Collins nodded his assent and eagerly tuned his ears to hear what delicate and urgent matter Mr. Bennet was about to relate.

Mr. Bennet looked with great seriousness at his five daughters sitting around the table. His eyes lingered on Elizabeth and again on Lydia before he spoke. “I had, until today, thought that an officer in the service of king and country could be esteemed to be of highest moral character. Indeed, the general expectation is that regardless of whether they are of noble or gentle birth or arrived at their rank by exception, as officers, they behave as gentlemen. I have sadly learned that this is not always the case. There are some in the ranks who are debtors and gamblers, and worse yet, there are seducers to be found among them as well.”

Mrs. Bennet gasped at the last word. Elizabeth, Jane and Mary all looked to their father with alarm. Kitty looked nervously at Lydia, and Lydia looked bored. Mr. Collins dropped his spoon into his soup, which made a loud clattering sound and flung droplets of the liquid on his person. He immediately attempted, in a somewhat comical fashion, to remove them with his napkin, which activity to some extent, although not entirely, mitigated the tension that had been wrought by Mr. Bennet's declaration.

Mr. Bennet continued. “It has been brought to my attention that one such man has been in our very midst today.” He paused for effect. “This will not do. From this day forward, none of my daughters will speak to, keep company with, or in any other way associate with Mr. Wickham.”

Silence reigned at the Bennet table for a full minute, if not two. Mrs. Bennet's eyes looked as if they were to vacate their sockets so far did they bulge outward, and Jane looked worriedly at Elizabeth. Elizabeth was suddenly attentive to eating her soup, to hide her shock at what her father had said. Mr. Wickham a seducer? The sweet and charming things Mr. Wickham had said to her that very day were ringing in her ears and tormenting her with the thought that perhaps she had been the target of his next seduction. While she did not believe he would have been successful, she had to admit to herself that his manners were most engaging, and had he persisted, she may have naively been tempted to succumb. She was grateful that she would never know.