Page 10 of Fortuitous Encounters

“Fitzwilliam, you must get me out of that madhouse. My mother and Mrs Jenkinson will drive me mad if I stay one more day. I have travelled nearly fifty miles to throw myself on your mercy. I looked for you in town, and you were not there. You could have warned me you were visiting the wilderness. If mother gives me one more bit of advice about how to secure my future, you will have to visit me in Bedlam.”

The outburst surprised Elizabeth. The young lady seemed old enough to have been in society for some years, but did not seem to understand the most basic rules of propriety. Perhaps she had been locked in a cellar, or kidnapped by the French and only recently returned, or possibly in a nunnery, or the worst finishing school in the country—likely with Miss Bingley. How would Mr Darcy handle the outburst?

Once again, the gentleman surprised her with his reply.

“Anne, it is indeed lovely to see you. Are you in good health? What say you of the roads since you have covered so much of them? How is the weather? Is it still fine or has it started raining?”

Whether this was chastisement or teasing was difficult to determine, but Elizabeth suspected the latter. She did her best to suppress a cheeky grin to see what came of his unusual reply.

The young lady took it as chastisement, perhaps unable to believe Mr Darcy capable of teasing. “Oh! Where are my manners? Am I becoming my mother? My apologies! Pray forgive me. Perhaps, introductions are in order, if you would be so kind.”

She looked chagrined, so Elizabeth was inclined to give her the benefit of the doubt, particularly given her own family’s usual standards of behaviour. “Perhaps it is slightly outside the usual bounds, but do not be alarmed. We do not stand on ceremony. All is well.”

Darcy gave her a smug little grin at her reference to odd orders of introduction at this particular assembly, given how their evening had begun, and perhaps gratitude for her ability to smooth over the situation. He turned thoughtful.

He was apparently in a humour to mete out either punishment or valuable lessons in life, for he quite surprisingly looked at his sister. “Georgiana, you know everyone present. Perhaps you could make introductions.”

Miss Darcy had been enjoying the spectacle and was not in the least happy to be put on the spot. Elizabeth was satisfied when Jane took the young girl’s hand and smiled encouragingly—as expected. Mr Bingley had allowed Miss Darcy to monopolise Jane’s time, but he seemed anxious to remedy the situation, for he moved their way from the corner where he had been conversing with one of the local gentlemen.

With all appropriate ceremony, Miss Darcy introduced the assembled group to her cousin, Miss Anne de Bourgh. Elizabeth may have heard the name de Bourgh at some point but could not recall exactly where or when—if at all. Perhaps she would ask Jane if things ever settled down.

No sooner had the introductions been made, than Elizabeth noticed that the parson was in fact not introduced. It seemed that nobody besides Miss de Bourgh knew him, and she had entirely forgotten.

The parson drew himself up to his full height, which unfortunately was hardly more than Elizabeth’s, and spoke pompously. “Mr Darcy, it is a delight to meet you. You will be happy to know that my illustrious patroness, the Lady Catherine de Bourgh, was quite hale and hearty this morning when we departed Rosings—”

He seemed inclined to carry on in such a vein, but Miss de Bourgh hissed menacingly, “Mr Collins! You have not even been introduced. You must not speak to Mr Darcy in such a forward manner.”

The parson puffed out his chest and spoke in a voice audible only to Miss de Bourgh—and everyone else within two dozen paces. “My dear Miss de Bourgh, I will trust your fine judgement on such matters in all ordinary circumstances, but I am of the clergy and as such we go by entirely different rules—”

Whatever he intended to say may have been interesting, or at least diverting, but Miss de Bourgh would have none of it. She held her hand up just long enough to slow the man down and snapped, “Mr Collins, we really must work on your manners. At this point, you will need to either be silent, or get some refreshment, or I may need to have you dragged out and shot. Pray give the alternatives some consideration, as I can see it is a difficult choice, fraught with moral peril.”

Elizabeth tried her absolute best not to giggle, or snigger, or make any unladylike noises at all, and was moderately successful. Apparently, Mr Darcy was not the only member of his family with a wicked sense of humour.

That gentleman struggled similarly, but finally said, “I must say Anne, being away from your mother is… ah… good for your forcefulness.”

The little group still attracted the attention of nearly everyone in the assembly hall, and Elizabeth was certain the gossip the following day—or week—would be heavy. It might be to her advantage, however, if the story of Miss de Bourgh were sufficiently diverting to keep her bloodhound of a mother off Mr Darcy’s scent for a few hours. Perhaps she could help the matter along?

By long standing and well-established precedent, she nudged Mr Darcy with her foot again and nodded towards Miss de Bourgh. Darcy perceived the wisdom in her choice, and since he had not yet asked Jane to dance, nor even hinted he was under orders to do so, he sought to quell discussion and move them out of the very centre of the story. “Anne, would you care to dance?”

Anne de Bourgh looked at him as if he had gone insane, as she had never known him to dance voluntarily in his life. Fortunately, she had recovered her manners somewhat. “I shall be delighted, cousin.”

Darcy held out his arm, and Colonel Fitzwilliam, with what Elizabeth could swear was a nudge from Mary, asked Jane, “Miss Bennet, might I have the honour of the next?”

By then, Mr Bingley had worked his way over to the little group, but since he had already danced two sets with Jane, he obviously could not do so again unless he wanted to enter the parson’s mousetrap. He contented himself with asking Mary, and the three couples left for the dance floor, leaving Elizabeth, Charlotte, Miss Darcy, and the very odd Mr Collins.

Elizabeth took pity on the poor man, who looked much like the duckling without his mother.

After forcing Mr Darcy into a dance, talking to a clergyman without a formal introduction seemed a minor offence, so she said quietly, “Mr Collins, is it?”

This started the man on a bout of bowing, scraping, prostrations, and long-winded descriptions of his patroness and her fine domicile. Elizabeth had just about had enough and was ready to summon the men Miss de Bourgh had intimated might be willing to drag him out and shoot him, when he abruptly changed tactics and asked a direct question.

“Are you perchance Miss Bennet, of Longbourn?”

Elizabeth eyed him. He had easily learned her name from Miss Darcy’s introduction, but the name of Longbourn was unspoken. Perhaps he heard it on the way into the assembly, so she answered, “Yes.”

The next ten minutes passed in an endless stream of chatter. She understood only one word in five, but eventually she gleaned, much to her horror, where she had heard the name before. He was the dreaded cousin! Her father had told her all about him not a fortnight earlier, though in his usual way he told no one else.

Because of the entail, this ridiculous man was to inherit Longbourn, and apparently, from what little Elizabeth determined from his endless prattling, he had designs on marrying one of the Bennet daughters. Elizabeth knew not which idea was worse, since both were so mortifying; once her mother was on the scent of the heir, she would be insufferable until she forced one of her daughters into the shackles of matrimony. She was so put off that she could not speak for some minutes, which the parson did not even notice, such were his effusions.