“I am sure it is nothing of the kind,” Mr Darcy pronounced, with yet another covert grin for Elizabeth. “Mrs Fitzwilliam seems to enjoy perfectly regular health, but the same cannot be said for her pastimes. I have heard rumours of her secretively playing at billiards and throwing a stick for my hounds. Anne, my dear, you would not begrudge our guest her amusement, would you?”
The lady blinked slowly, almost as if she had been taught that mannerism by the same finishing school as Miss Darcy. “Far be it from me. But you must take the most particular care for your health, my dear. Perhaps less strenuous pursuits might be in order. One in your position can never be too cautious, of course.”
Elizabeth caught the direction of Miss de Bourgh’s gaze, and her hand went unconsciously to her middle. The woman could not have meant… could she? The very nerve!
Mr Darcy’s expression had gone blank and even somewhat pale, but he collected himself admirably and turned to his fiancée with a tight smile. “I am sure Mrs Fitzwilliam appreciates your concern, my dear. Shall we all go in to dinner?”
“MayIpresumethehonour?” Billy stood from his seat beside Elizabeth as the soup course was carried away. He raised his glass, and she cringed in apprehension.
“A toast,” he announced, “to the happy couple. I hope I do not overstep when I say that this evening has seen the commencement of a long-anticipated joy. We who are honoured to be in company with the blessed pair join in wishing them both the happiest and most fruitful years ahead.”
“You are very kind, Mr Collins.” Miss de Bourgh’s chin was high, and she was observing Billy with what appeared to be hearty approval.
Mr Darcy, however, was staring at his plate, and if Elizabeth were not mistaken, his ears were faintly red. He made no statement of gratitude for the benediction spoken over him and his intended—rather, he issued what amounted to little more than a grunt and a nod of acknowledgement as everyone drank.
“And may I further state—” Billy went on, blind to Jane’s imploring look—“my profound admiration for both bride and groom. Never have I been so privileged, to be welcomed so warmly and by such distinguished—oh, Cousin Elizabeth! Are you quite well?”
Elizabeth put a napkin to her mouth as she sputtered and coughed, gasping for air. Pemberley’s stock of champagne must be exceedingly strong, and she had not been prepared for it. But truthfully, what she had not been prepared for was the deep flush of mortification and the unwarranted cramping in her stomach when Billy had toasted Mr Darcy and Miss de Bourgh. Her throat had simply closed up, and then that inopportune gasp… Billy hovered uselessly above her, mercifully not talking anymore, but she had to wave him off when he started to pound helpfully on her back.
“Here, here, Mr Collins!” Lady Matlock interrupted. “Let her drink something. You will break the poor girl’s ribs carrying on so.”
Elizabeth gratefully accepted the glass of water Jane procured for her, and when she could breathe easily again, she blinked the tears from her eyes and looked round in embarrassment. The expressions of all were full of mild concern, save for Mr Darcy, who was half on his feet with a look of steel determination. His countenance relaxed at once, and he eased himself back into his chair.
“Are you well, Mrs Fitzwilliam?” he asked.
“Yes, pray forgive me. I am terribly sorry for being so disruptive.” She looked quickly down, fumbling with her napkin.
“No harm done, Elizabeth,” Lady Matlock decreed. “Now then, let us do away with this toasting business before someone else has a mishap. Ah!” she cried in pleasure when the butler opened the door, leading in a string of footmen with the main course. Everyone set to, and the conversation fell quiet for some while.
At length, the countess turned to Miss de Bourgh. “Anne, my dear, have you two lovebirds set a date yet?”
“Mr Darcy has demurred on the topic,” the lady answered, “and so I have taken it upon myself to determine the date. I desire to wed in late spring, so I have settled on the twentieth of May. Do you object, Mr Darcy?”
He pursed his lips and shook his head. “As you please.”
“And your wedding trip?” Lady Matlock enquired. “Pray tell me you have something delightful in mind, for I intend to take my own pleasure in hearing of your travels.”
“Indeed, that is the reason for having the wedding in May. We must wait on the weather to warm, of course. It has been years since I last saw Balmoral, and naturally, we could not miss Hillsborough in Ireland. We shall spend the summer thus, and then on to Paris in September. We shall winter in Italy, of course, and perhaps if I can persuade Mr Darcy to it, we will tour a bit of India before spring.”
Mr Darcy was staring at his fiancée in mild bemusement, but he looked pointedly back to his plate without making a reply. Elizabeth watched as he carefully sliced his meat, then sliced it again, and again, until nothing but tiny cutlets littered his plate. He prodded them meditatively with his knife but did not seem inclined to eat any.
Billy, however, was nearly swooning. His eyes shone, and his voice was tight as he addressed Miss de Bourgh. “I hope my humble praise of your intent is not unwelcome. Such a broad scope, and yet, how very minute! I can see that you know each place intimately, and I cannot fathom the wonders your eyes must have seen! And to know that you, who have already cultivated such fine tastes and sampled the majesties of the globe, would choose these destinations as deserving of mention on your wedding tour—why, Miss de Bourgh, I shall know where I will be bound first, if ever I have the opportunity.”
He might well have gone on, but Elizabeth kicked his foot under the table. Billy flinched noticeably enough to distract Mr Darcy’s attention from his plate, but Miss de Bourgh, at whom Billy’s adoration had been directed, only inclined her head with a pleased smile.
“You are exceedingly kind, Mr Collins. Your generous words shall not be wasted, for I had not yet informed Mr Darcy of my desires. Perhaps he will be moved by your praise, for you see, my betrothed does not share my passion for travel.”
“I do not,” he agreed. “Therefore, I suggest we speak of any such plans without an audience to the discussion.”
“Very wise, Darcy,” Lady Matlock said. “For we all know who will truly prevail in the end, and no man wishes to lose face in public.”
A ripple of laughter arose from the table, but Elizabeth did not join in. Neither, she noted, did Mr Darcy.
Anidea,onceplanted,often extends roots and takes on life, and a worry, once conceived, frequently gnaws away at the heart. Darcy watched Mrs Fitzwilliam that evening with grave concern. Anne was, indeed, correct, for his young guest’s countenance bore a rosy hue that had not been nearly so noticeable a month ago. He began ticking the calendar off on his fingers under the table at dinner.
She had married Richard in April, that much he knew. And Richard had shipped off not long after, so she would be five months gone by now. She had never shown any signs, and her figure had not changed appreciably… No! It was impossible. A silly notion, really.
Ah, but then, he recalled Lady Matlock’s first indisposition, and how the woman had merely laced her stays tighter to preserve her rather impressive vanity. Her maidenly figure had been slow to alter, and none but her own household had an inkling for six months. But Mrs Fitzwilliam, she possessed none of Lady Matlock’s affectations.
