He bowed deeply and left the room, leaving Elizabeth to watch him go with a mix of resignation and disbelief.
“Lizzy,” Lydia said under her breath, “do you think he can talk and walk at the same time? Or will he stop every few steps to bow to the hedgerows?”
Kitty stifled a laugh, and Elizabeth shook her head, refusing to indulge them. Jane caught her eye and smiled faintly, offering silent encouragement. “I wish I felt well enough to accompany you. I might have been able to offer some sort of help.”
“Oh, I am certain Mr. Collins will prove an engaging companion all on his own,” Elizabeth said dryly, rising from her seat. “I mean to satisfy my curiosity on that point, if only to see how far his admiration for Lady Catherine can stretch.”
“Will you try to count how many times he mentions Lady Catherine before you reach the first turn in the lane?” Lydia asked.
“Do not encourage her, Lydia,” Mary interjected. “Such behavior is unkind.”
“Unkind?” Lydia said, her eyes wide with mock innocence. “I am merely asking for information, Mary. It is entirely scientific.”
Elizabeth shook her head. “If I counted every reference to Lady Catherine, we would never reach the lane at all. I suspect I shall have to endure her praise in uninterrupted measure.”
Lydia laughed, but Mrs. Bennet was already bustling around the table. “Do not be difficult, Lizzy,” she said. “You must see how advantageous Mr. Collins’s attentions are. A man of his standing! And the heir to Longbourn! It is more than you deserve, I might add, with your sharp tongue and willful ways.”
Elizabeth rose from her seat and moved toward the hall for her gloves and bonnet, unwilling to prolong the conversation. “I shall endeavor to represent the family with all the grace I can muster,” she said, slipping past her mother before another admonition could follow.
In the hall, she lingered for a moment to secure her bonnet, letting the familiar motions calm her irritation. Mr. Collins’s attentions were unwelcome enough, but her mother’s insistence that she accept them with gratitude only worsened the ordeal. As she tied the ribbons beneath her chin, she resolved to endure the walk with as much patience as she could manage. Surely even Mr. Collins would run out of words before long.
Darcy closed his bookand set it on the table beside him, its pages unread. The drawing room at Netherfield felt unusually stifling that afternoon, the kind of quiet that invited unwelcome thoughts. He stood and crossed to the window, his hands clasped behind his back as he gazed out at the misty horizon.
No matter how resolutely he tried to banish Elizabeth Bennet from his mind, her unpredictable words and enigmatic smiles returned to taunt him. It had been days since she had left for Longbourn, yet her presence lingered—an aggravatingly persistent specter. She had unsettled him in ways he could neither explain nor dismiss, and the memory of her laughter—most particularly, the stifled chuckles when he had embarrassed himself, gnawed at his composure.
The creak of the door broke his reverie, and he turned to see Bingley entering the room.
“Darcy,” Bingley said as he walked toward the hearth. “I have taken a notion into my head.”
“Dare I ask?”
“Miss Bennet is said to be recovering well,” Bingley said, leaning casually against the mantle. “Her mother has informed Mrs. Philips, who was kind enough to spread the word in Meryton.”
“That is good to hear,” Darcy said evenly, though his grip on the book’s spine eased.
“I thought so as well.” Bingley moved to the hearth, turning to face Darcy with a spark of mischief. “It has set me thinking, actually. With Miss Bennet on the mend, I believe it would now be in decent taste to consider a proper gathering. A ball, perhaps.”
“Oh.” Darcy sighed. Of course, a ball. It was probably the proper thing to do—Netherfield was the largest house in the area, and the idea had been launched about town more than once since their arrival. “I see.”
“Not with much pleasure, I take it. Come, Darcy, the neighborhood is overdue for a bit of cheer, and what better occasion than the season’s first frost? Of course,” Bingley added with a grin, “Caroline is already threatening to take to her bed at the very idea. I believe she dreads the militia being included.”
Darcy scoffed. “Why? You could hardly fail to invite them without causing talk.”
“Oh, she is utterly persuaded that including the militia would ruin the evening entirely. But I cannot imagine excluding Colonel Forster and his men, especially when they have been such a fixture in the neighborhood.”
“Your sister’s feelings aside, it does seem you are determined.”
“I am. After all, what is the point of taking a house like Netherfield if one does not host at least one grand gathering?”
Darcy turned back toward the window, his thoughts flickering to Elizabeth again. A ball would mean her presence. The thought stirred an unwelcome mixture of anticipation and dread. He had been determined to maintain his distance, to let reason prevail over sentiment. Yet every encounter with her seemed to chip away at that resolve.
Bingley’s voice broke into his musings. “Oh, and speaking of Longbourn, they have a guest.”
“A guest?”
“Yes, a Mr. Collins. Their cousin, I was told. Apparently, he is the heir to Longbourn. Mrs. Philips mentioned him this morning when I was in town. Apparently, he has arrived with some rather… specific intentions.”
Darcy frowned. “What sort of intentions?”
