Page 79 of Dear Friend

“That was Mr. Bingley and his friend, Mr. Darcy,” Mary explained. “They have been at Netherfield since early last month and are now well acquainted with our family.”

“Mr. Darcy?” Mr. Collins repeated, his interest visibly increasing. “Can it be Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy of Pemberley?”

“The very same,” Lydia said. “Do you know him?”

Mr. Collins's whole manner altered. “Good heavens! Mr. Darcy of Pemberley? The nephew of my most noble patroness, Lady Catherine de Bourgh?”

Elizabeth nodded, having expected some such reaction from the moment Mr. Collins learnt Darcy's identity. Ordinarily she might have taken considerable pleasure in witnessing it. At present, however, her thoughts were too much occupied elsewhere.

Mr. Collins stared down the road as though Darcy might be persuaded to return merely by the strength of his admiration. “This is most extraordinary. Most extraordinary indeed! To think that I have been within speaking distance of Mr. Darcy himself and was not afforded the opportunity of paying my respects. Lady Catherine has spoken of her nephew upon several occasions, and Miss de Bourgh, of course...”

Elizabeth's attention returned to him. “Miss de Bourgh?”

“Her ladyship's daughter. A young lady of the most superior accomplishments and delicate constitution.” Mr. Collins assumed an expression of considerable importance. “Indeed, it has long been understood within the family that Miss de Bourgh and Mr. Darcy are intended for one another. Their union was, I believe, the particular wish of their mothers from infancy.”

Elizabeth regarded him steadily.

Had she heard such intelligence yesterday, she could not have said precisely what she might have made of it. This morning, however, Darcy had told her himself of Lady Catherine's expectations, of his refusal to marry his cousin, and of the estrangement which had followed. There was something almost amusing in discovering how exactly he had anticipated the likelihood of Mr. Collins mentioning the connection.

Mr. Collins continued upon the consequence of the de Bourgh family for some time, but Elizabeth's attention soon wandered from him. There was another gentleman in their party who had said nothing since Darcy rode away.

She turned towards him. Much of his former ease had returned, but not entirely. There remained a tension about his expression which had not been there before, and Elizabeth found herself more curious than she wished to appear.

“Forgive me, sir, but I suppose you are acquainted with Mr. Darcy?”

A slight pause preceded his answer. “Yes. We have known one another from childhood.” He nodded as he spoke, making an evident effort to recover his composure, though Elizabeth thought the attempt was not entirely successful.

There was enough in his manner to invite another question.

Elizabeth did not ask it.

Whatever had caused Darcy to ride away with such anger was plainly no ordinary quarrel, and she had no intention of obtaining from a near stranger an account of a man who had, only that morning, entrusted her with his hopes.

Mr. Wickham seemed to expect her curiosity. When none came, he added, “Our acquaintance has not always been a fortunate one.”

“I am sorry to hear it.” Nothing in Elizabeth's answer encouraged him to continue.

For the first time since his introduction, Mr. Wickham appeared uncertain of how to proceed.

Lydia, fortunately for him, possessed curiosity enough for the entire party. “But what happened? Did you quarrel? Mr. Darcy looked absolutely furious.”

“Lydia,” Elizabeth said.

“What? He did.”

Mr. Wickham laughed, though not quite with his former ease. “Miss Lydia, I fear the history is rather too long for so pleasant an afternoon.”

Elizabeth doubted very much that length was the difficulty.

She considered him for a moment. “I confess Mr. Darcy's reaction has made me curious.”

Wickham looked at her.

“But I believe I shall ask him about it.”

Something shifted in his expression.

It was gone almost before Elizabeth could be certain she had seen it.