Page 9 of Love Drunk for Mr Darcy

Elizabeth drew in another measured breath. "One tea at a time."

A footman opened the carriage door, and Mr Collins descended with his usual peculiar gait, taking quick little steps while keeping his upper body pitched forwards as though he were already halfway through a bow. Without looking back, he made directly for the house, leaving the footman to assist Charlotte and Elizabeth from the carriage.

There was still time to run. The drive curved back through the park, and the woods beyond it appeared thick enough to conceal her. She looked towards them with longing.

Charlotte slipped her arm through Elizabeth’s. "Do not even think of it."

"I have no notion what you mean," Elizabeth said with a wry smile as she allowed herself to be led inside.

The entrance hall was cool and dim after the brightness outside. Mr Collins had already reached the far end and was bowing deeply to a footman who looked alarmed to be receiving such an honour. They were shown into the drawing room, and Elizabeth’s gaze swept across it so quickly that she barely noticed the excess of gilding and heavy dark furniture. Lady Catherine sat beside the fire, while Miss de Bourgh occupied the sofa opposite.

There was no sign of Mr Darcy. It was a strange day indeed when the sight of Lady Catherine de Bourgh could improve one’s spirits, but relief rushed through Elizabeth with such force that she almost laughed. She had prepared herself to find him standing before the mantel, tall and forbidding, his expression carefully arranged to remind her how far beneath him she was and how greatly he regretted the temporary lapse in judgement which had led him to propose.

Mr Collins hurried forwards. "My dear Lady Catherine, how deeply honoured we are to attend you upon this most agreeable afternoon." He dropped into something between a curtsey and a sweeping bow and for one horrible moment Elizabeth thought he might prostrate himself on the floor before his patroness.

Lady Catherine looked at him as she might a dog who had deposited something unpleasant on the rug. "Yes, well, sit down all of you." She swept her hand vaguely around the selection of chairs that, while all very fine and expensive-looking, clashed with one another in a bewildering collection of garish colours and patterns.

The party arranged themselves in various states of discomfort as Lady Catherine demanded tea from a maid who stood against the wall as if hoping to disappear into the wallpaper. She turned an assessing eye over her guests. "You look tired, Miss Bennet. Do not tell me you are unwell. Anne is particularly susceptible to every sort of illness, and I cannot have you bringing malady into the house."

"I am only a little tired, ma’am. I slept poorly."

"Then you had better sit over there, as far from Anne as possible. If you begin coughing, you must leave at once."

Elizabeth looked towards Anne, who gave her a small, sympathetic smile. Anne de Bourgh had pretty, even features, though she was so pale that it was easy to miss her delicate beauty. She wore her pale golden hair swept back severely, and her gown, a washed-out shade of lavender with a high lace collar, made her appear older and more fragile than she was. Her eyes were dark and assessing, not unlike her mother’s, but there was kindness in them too. Elizabeth had the impression that Anne noticed far more than most people gave her credit for. Their conversations had been minimal and on the most superficial of topics, but Elizabeth liked her and felt sympathy for the young woman who lived forever in the shadow of her forbidding mother.

Elizabeth took the chair she had been commanded to sit in and lowered herself into it with as much dignity as she could muster. She could manage one tea, she again repeated to herself. And she could endure Lady Catherine’s high-handed behaviour tolerably well, so long as she was not also required to endure Mr Darcy. He was not there, and she ought to be grateful for it. She refused to examine the faint disappointment which accompanied the thought.

"You have been walking this morning, Miss Bennet?" Anne asked quietly, breaking the heavy silence of the room.

Lady Catherine answered before Elizabeth could reply. "Of course she has. Miss Bennet is forever walking. I have told her more than once that such excessive exertion is quite unnecessary and may prove injurious to a young lady’s beauty."

Elizabeth kept her gaze upon Anne and tried to school her features into one of polite deference. "I assure you I have taken your advice to heart, my lady. I did indeed walk but it was such a short stroll to be of little consequence." A smile played around the edges of her lips as she saw the amusement reflected in Miss de Bourgh’s gaze.

Anne replied, her voice slightly firmer now. "The woods are pleasant at this time of year."

"They are very beautiful. I am very taken with your lovely park."

"I should like to walk there more often."

Lady Catherine gave a sharp sniff. "The ground is damp and the paths uneven. You would catch a chill before reaching the edge of the formal gardens."

Anne lowered her eyes to her lap. "Then I shall be sure not to walk in the formal gardens, Mama." The answer was delivered so meekly that Lady Catherine appeared to hear only obedience.

Elizabeth, however, caught the firm line of Anne’s mouth before she dropped her head. She was beginning to think there was much more to the pale heiress than she had given her credit for.

A servant brought in the tea tray, and Mr Collins rose halfway from his chair at the sight of it. "The violet service," he said in a breathy voice. "I confess, your ladyship, that no matter how often I am privileged to see it, I am struck afresh by the delicacy of the design."

Lady Catherine glanced at him. "Yes, Mr Collins, you have waxed lyrical about it many times before, though I suppose a man in your position will always be impressed by the finer things in life."

Tea was poured. Lady Catherine began a lengthy account of the errors made by one of her tenants in the management of his poultry. Elizabeth’s confidence grew with every passing minute. Mr Darcy did not appear. No footsteps sounded in the passage and no dark figure materialised in the doorway to look at her sternly.

Lady Catherine had just begun explaining the correct dimensions for a henhouse when voices sounded beyond the door. Elizabeth’s hand paused halfway to her mouth as she recognised Colonel Fitzwilliam’s lighter, amused tones, followed by the lower voice of his cousin. She knew it at once, even before she could make out the words, and all the relief she had so carefully gathered around her over the past quarter of an hour disappeared. A moment later, the door opened and Colonel Fitzwilliam entered first, still speaking over his shoulder. "You cannot blame the horse, Darcy. The poor creature had grown tired of being glared at."

Mr Darcy followed him into the room. He had removed his hat and held it beneath one arm, while his other hand worked at the fingers of his riding glove. He was looking at his cousin rather than the company and appeared more weary than severe.

Then he saw Elizabeth and it felt as if the world around them vanished. Mr Darcy stood in the doorway and stared at her. His face went blank with shock before colour rose sharply beneath his skin, and the glove remained caught halfway over his fingers. He was neither cold nor stern, he looked as if the sight of her had struck him breathless. She knew she should look away, but found she could not tear her gaze from his face.

Colonel Fitzwilliam followed his cousin’s stare and looked from Darcy to Elizabeth. Understanding dawned quickly, followed by amusement, but he recovered himself before either of them did and stepped farther into the room. "Mrs Collins, Miss Bennet, Mr Collins. What a pleasure to find you all here," he said with the easy warmth that Elizabeth had come to associate with him over the past weeks. "We had no notion we should be so fortunate this afternoon."