“Only out of pity.”
I stuck out my chin. “Not at all. You bringing Georgiana had nothing to do with me hearing you out.”
“I assure you, it did.”
“Did not.”
He grinned confidently. “Suit yourself.”
“I will, for I had a reason of my own for agreeing to meet with you.”
“You could not stay away?”
I snorted and put up a hand, pretending to walk off. “If that is what you have persuaded yourself.”
“Come, Elizabeth, let me hear it! We have traded enough insults and are still on speaking terms. Surely, I may tease you as you do me.”
I tipped him a saucy glance over my shoulder. “Very well. I thought it would be difficult for Jane to catch your eye if you were not about to be caught. After all, I still have a wager to win before the end of the Christmas season.”
Eight
Ihave written verylittle of the Bennet family since my first impressions of them. It would, therefore, be easy to assume that I had little exposure to them, but that is far from the case. Mrs. Bennet seemed to think of Netherfield as nearly her own home, as her daughter was in residence as its hostess. She called nearly every day, and never without at least two more daughters—one for Bingley and one for me, I imagine.
Mr. Bennet frequently came as well, but he confined his visits to the library. Sometimes he only wished to borrow a book, but once he discovered that his shelves at Longbourn were better stocked, he would bring his own book and lapse into a near-comatose state in a sunny corner. Occasionally, I would flee the drawing-room and its occupants by challenging him to a chess game, but no matter his occupation, he seldom left the library when he came.
Mrs. Bennet was less discrete. No room in the house was safe from her purview, and at first, I wondered at Elizabeth permitting her mother so much freedom in what was rightly her domain. She would allow her mother to take her and her sistersall through the kitchens, the washroom, still room, even the hen coop, while Mrs. Bennet surveyed and admonished her daughter on the proper keeping of the house.
It made no sense to me because Elizabeth usually had no trouble holding her own when someone got high-handed with her (usually me). Moreover, she was an exemplary mistress, despite her less than stellar pedigree and minimal early training. (She will make me pay for that remark, but I will enjoy making it up to her.) However, I never saw anything amiss, and the help all obeyed her without question. I think they were privately thanking their stars that Miss Bingley was not their mistress. Whatever her magic, Elizabeth certainly needed no advice from her mother. Then, one day by sheer luck, I discovered her design.
There was yet another person who now came from Longbourn when they called. He was a distant cousin of Mr. Bennet, and it was him to whom the estate would fall upon the latter’s decease. Collins was his name, and Elizabeth could not abide him. Neither could I, particularly when he took care to remind me almost daily that he had been awarded his curacy by my least agreeable aunt, Lady Catherine de Bourgh.
It seemed the rest of the family thought little of him as well, but they had not the luxury of sending him away at night as we at Netherfield could. The ladies usually abandoned him as soon as they arrived, and he always found some other way of making himself a nuisance. I was at my leisure one afternoon, unaware that the Bennets were calling, and I happened to walk by the music room, looking for Georgiana.
Oh, very well, I was looking for Elizabeth. But she was most often found with my sister, having sworn me a vow to be a friend to her and then faithfully upholding it. Even Caroline was beginning to see the futility of wedging between them, for theyhad become nearly inseparable. But that detail matters little, for it was neither of them I found.
Jane Bennet had made the mistake of straying from her family party, wherever they had gone. And, for whatever reason, I later learned that Mr. Collins had left off harassing Bingley in the billiards room. When I looked in, Miss Bennet was seated on a divan, her scarlet face averted, and Collins was half-kneeling before her. Both started in surprise at my entry.
“Oh. Excuse me,” I said, slowly backing away.
“No, Mr. Darcy, there is no need for you to go!” the lady cried. “Is there, Cousin?”
Collins stood, straightening his lapels and offering me a simpering bow. “Far be it from me to deny my fair lady’s wishes.”
I shot Miss Bennet a curious look and learned all I required. Elizabeth had confided to me that the man desired to marry one of the Bennet girls. The only person in favor of the scheme was her mother, who declared Mary Bennet a proper choice for him. Apparently, he had his sights set somewhere higher, and a careful inspection of the eldest sister’s countenance informed my next actions. I could do no less for my friend Elizabeth than to protect her sister as she had mine.
“Ah, Collins, I was hoping to find you,” I lied. I never lied, but for this one, I meant to extract payment from a grateful lady someday.
He flushed with pride. “Indeed, sir! Naturally, Mr. Darcy, I am ever at your disposal.” In truth, he said a good deal more than that, but my stomach cannot withstand the retelling of it all in my own journal, so I shall leave the rest to the reader’s imagination.
I invented some tale about seeking spiritual guidance and escorted him from the room. We passed by Bingley as we walked out, and I made a gesture that only he saw, asking him to look in on Miss Bennet after our departure. His eyes brightened likea dratted puppy, but I suppose he had his reasons for it. He had all the pleasure that afternoon, for I suffered over an hour for my gallant deed.
However, the last laugh was to be mine.
It was later that evening, after dinner and music and port. The Bennet party were long gone, and the ladies had retired upstairs. Bingley was poking the fire, his face glowing from more than the warmth of the flames. “She is an angel,” he sighed at last.
I did not need to ask whom he meant.
“You would do better not to marry so soon,” I advised him.
