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Collins glanced around the room, perhaps seeking a change of subject. “Where are Kitty and Mary? They should be here with our guest.”
“I sent them to the market for tonight’s dinner,” Charlotte said hastily.
“Hmph.” Collins settled into his chair, dissatisfied. He must believe they should wait at home all day in anticipation of a visit.
Elizabeth reached out to take a lemon biscuit, a rare treat. Her cousin frowned on such indulgences unless guests were present. As she nibbled on the sweet, she was aware of Mr. Darcy’s eyes upon her. No doubt he was chronicling every worn seam and loose thread in Elizabeth’s gown. Knowing she was flushing, she was not equal to meeting his eyes.
At least she need not be ashamed of Longbourn itself. Collins was dedicated to keeping up appearances, and Charlotte made sure the rooms never veered toward shabbiness. Attempting to direct his attention to more neutral subjects, she inquired about his family and Mr. Bingley’s sisters. But they had soon exhausted their mutual acquaintances.
Eventually the conversation devolved—as it so often did these days—into Collins’s rhapsodies about Lady Catherine and her inestimable advice on managing an estate.
Occasionally, Elizabeth permitted herself to examine Mr. Darcy. Somehow she had forgotten how handsome he was, with his dark wavy hair and fine patrician features. His clothes were very fine as well, possessing the air of elegance and refinement that Collins aspired to but would never achieve. She even admired the arc of his eyebrows and the straight line of his nose.
What is wrong with me? Ogling a man in such a fashion! Elizabeth immediately dropped her gaze, grateful that he had not noticed. Elizabeth saw so few men; perhaps she could be forgiven for a trifle too much admiration.
Collins’s monologue finally faltered, and their visitor cleared his throat. “I did not know of Mr. Bennet’s passing until I returned from my voyage.” He frowned as if his ignorance disturbed him, but Elizabeth did not know why. He had been acquainted with her father, but they had not been on intimate terms. The man was simply inscrutable.
Her cousin nodded pleasantly as though her father’s death was the subject of desultory conversation. Elizabeth fought the tears that threatened to spill from her eyes; she had long ago vowed not to weep in Collins’s presence.
“It is very good of you to take in Mrs. Bennet and your cousins,” Mr. Darcy continued.
Collins puffed out his chest. “Mrs. Collins and I believed it was the Christian thing to do. I flatter myself that my presence here provides a steadying influence on my cousins.”
Elizabeth winced. Collins never hesitated to make such assertions—when others would think it showed a want of delicacy.
“I am still a clergyman, and I read them sermons every night. In this way I hope to prevent these girls from following the same wicked path of their sister.” Elizabeth had heard this speech so many times she was nearly inured to it. Still, she pressed her lips together to avoid launching into a loud denial.
But Mr. Darcy appeared about to swallow his tongue. He coughed wildly, rattling his teacup on its saucer, and required a moment to regain his composure. Finally, he said, “Is that so?”
Collins nodded with a self-congratulatory smile. “And I believe I have made some progress. Their behavior has been…satisfactory for the most part since my arrival.”
Elizabeth could restrain herself no longer. She “allowed” her saucer to fall on the wooden floor where it shattered. “Oh dear!” She leapt up from the settee as if fearing to spill tea on her dress. “I am so sorry. How clumsy of me.” Collins scowled, but Mr. Darcy’s expression was more amused. Had he guessed her ruse?
Charlotte jumped to her feet and hurried to the door to summon Hill, who arrived at once to clean up the mess. In the ensuing hubbub, Collins’s previous subject of conversation was mercifully forgotten. This was the third time Elizabeth had broken something to distract her cousin from discussing a painful subject. She would experience more regret over the waste if the china had not belonged to Collins.
Soon afterward, Mr. Darcy rose to take his leave. Elizabeth was not sorry, she told herself; his presence in their drawing room was rather a chore. Yet she had to acknowledge a small pang of regret.
Certainly his business in Meryton would soon be concluded. Now that he had fulfilled his obligation to visit them, they would not see him again.
***
As Darcy guided his horse along the road back to the Meryton Inn, his thoughts were disordered and his nerves were jangled. But he was hard-pressed to ascertain the precise source of his unease; there were so many options to choose from. He had never liked Mrs. Bennet, and maintaining a civil discourse with her had been a chore. She had been her usual garrulous self, although her conversation had been peppered with rather more self-pity given her widowhood. And now that Collins was a landowner, he was even more self-important and somehow no less stupid.
But he would not have expected sparkling conversation from those two in any event. Perhaps it had been the silence from the others in the drawing room that provoked Darcy’s disquiet. But Miss Bennet and Mrs. Collins had never been particularly voluble; he would not have expected it. Although it was striking that Miss Bennet’s participation in the conversation had ceased altogether after Bingley’s name was mentioned. Was she still pining over Bingley? Or was she simply uncomfortable at the sound of his name?
But none of these things were the primary source of his profound unease. No… He was forced to admit it was caused by Elizabeth’s peculiar silence. After two years’ absence, his eyes had drunk in the sight of her like a man in the desert consumed water. The minute he had glimpsed her fine eyes in the drawing room, all of Darcy’s love for her had instantly reignited. Any hope that his attraction had faded was immediately dashed.
With every minute that he distanced himself from Longbourn, Darcy increasingly felt as if he were leaving his heart behind. Two years and hundreds of miles of travel had done nothing to quell or even diminish his passion.
Nor could he help noticing she was profoundly altered.
He had enjoyed little of her pert conversation; her answers to his questions had been brief. Although she was attentive to the conversation, she had shown little reaction to anything and had ventured no subjects of discourse herself. Her embroidery hoop had sat unattended in her lap, an unnecessary prop that she was too weary to take up. Like her sister, Elizabeth had lost weight, and lines of worry and fatigue had been etched on her face.
Furthermore, only Mrs. Collins’s dress had been new and fashionable. It was impossible to escape the conclusion that Collins was not allocating any pin money to his dependent relatives and squandered it on himself and his wife.
However, Darcy was most disturbed by the sight of Elizabeth’s calloused hands. Two years ago, Mrs. Bennet had made a point of declaring that her daughters—as proper ladies raised in a household with servants—never worked in the kitchen or, by extension, anywhere else in the house.
At that time, Longbourn had been staffed by two manservants and at least three maids in addition to the housekeeper. Even that had been a rather small staff for the number of people inhabiting the house. But today the housekeeper had answered the door, and Darcy had glimpsed a single manservant outside the manor.
