Page 60 of The Lost Prophecy

“Mr Collins was raised in the country,” Mr Bennet observed. “His survival until this morning may therefore be considered encouraging.”

Collins drew a breath and turned to Darcy. “Might I request a few minutes of your time before you leave, sir? I believe you may have knowledge which is unavailable to me.”

The room quietened by degrees. Mrs Bennet abandoned the tea long enough to consider why her cousin required knowledge from Darcy, while Miss Lydia lifted her head and appeared willing to supply information on any subject for which Darcy proved inadequate.

Collins noticed the growing interest and made a desperate appeal to the one person capable of extinguishing it. “The matter may have some remote connection to Lady Catherine’s neighbourhood.”

Mrs Bennet’s curiosity expired. Miss Lydia returned to her list, Miss Kitty followed her example, and Mr Bennet resumed the inspection of his quill.

“By all means, consult Mr Darcy,” Mr Bennet said. “Any difficulty which can be transferred to Lady Catherine should be sent without delay.”

Darcy inclined his head to Collins. “I shall speak with you before we depart.”

Miss Elizabeth had taken the empty place next to Miss Kitty, yet her right hand was enclosed in her left, and Wickham’s scent continued to disturb Darcy. He needed to know what had occurred at Mrs Philips’s, and Collins’s frightened silence suggested that he had witnessed far more than an exchange of civilities.

The conversation returned to the ball, although it had lost some of its ease. Miss Bennet concealed a yawn behind her fingers, a movement so slight that Mrs Bennet failed to detect it. Bingley detected it at once and rose reluctantly, his devotion overcoming his selfishness.

“We have stayed too long.” He stepped back, though his eyes stayed on Miss Bennet. “You are recovering, and Caroline instructed me not to exhaust you with questions about the ball.”

“Miss Bingley was quite right.” Miss Bennet rested one hand against the arm of her chair as she rose. “Please assure her that I am very grateful for all the trouble she and Mrs Hurst are taking.”

Bingley offered his hand, then remembered the living warmth of hers before their fingers met and converted the gesture into an unnecessary adjustment of the chair. “There is no trouble. Caroline has been waiting years for an opportunity to command a house full of people who cannot escape without appearing rude.”

Hurst rose as well. “Some of us have been exposed to the privilege for longer,” he said, smiling.

“You must all remain for luncheon. We dine early when Jane is unwell, and Hill has prepared enough for Mr Collins, which means there will certainly be sufficient for everyone else,” Mrs Bennet said, managing an invitation, an insult, and praise to her kitchen in one breath.

Bingley’s gaze returned to Miss Bennet, and for one dangerous moment Darcy believed that affection might persuade him to sit at a table displaying food he could neither consume nor plausibly refuse for an entire meal.

“We are expected at Netherfield,” Darcy intervened. “The steward has business requiring Bingley’s decision.”

Bingley stared at him. “Does he?”

“He has had it since yesterday.”

Hurst straightened his coat. “A steward may survive one disappointment, Bingley, but a second encourages account books. We must consider them.”

Mr Bennet approached them. “An admirable concern. Many gentlemen remember their ledgers only after the bills arrive.”

Mrs Bennet surrendered the luncheon with poor grace but secured Bingley’s promise to call again before the ball. Mr Bennet reminded him that the proposed visit would be the fourth, Bingley coloured for the second time that morning, and Miss Bennet became very interested in the wallpaper.

Darcy bowed to the ladies. Miss Elizabeth rose with her sisters and returned the courtesy, but when he straightened, her gaze held his for an instant. She knew that he had understood her reference to Wickham, and she expected the matter to continue. He could offer neither reassurance nor explanation before her family, so he gave her the only warning available to him.

“Old grievances are not always accurate when describing their injuries, Miss Elizabeth.”

“Nor are old adversaries necessarily impartial.”

“No.” Darcy accepted the justice of the rebuke. “But some grievances become dangerous when believed.”

Her expression altered, the amusement withdrawing while she considered him. “Then I shall endeavour to believe nothing without evidence.”

It was not obedience, but obedience from Miss Elizabeth would have alarmed him more than refusal. Darcy bowed again and followed Bingley and Hurst into the entrance hall.

Hill restored their hats and gloves, then assisted Bingley into his greatcoat while he continued asking whether Miss Bennet had appeared tired, pale, or merely delicate. Hurst informed him that those states could coexist without producing a fatal conclusion. Darcy drew on his gloves and watched the drawing room door, half expecting Miss Elizabeth to emerge and demand the explanation he had denied her.

Collins appeared instead, struggling into his coat as he hurried to reach them.

“I beg your pardon, gentlemen. Mr Darcy, you agreed to grant me a few minutes.”