Previous Section, Section III
Chapter 22
THE COLD AIR WAS enough to bring Lizzy back to her senses. With a jerk of her arm, she managed to break Mr. Darcy's hold, spinning to face him.
"What exactly are you about, sir?" she demanded. She was unwilling to put aside her suspicions just yet and although the dress she wore offered little protection from the brisk evening air, she was determined to have an explanation of Mr. Darcy's intentions.
"You seemed to be distressed, Miss Bennet," he replied. "I thought you might benefit from some fresh air and privacy in order to compose yourself."
Lizzy was glad for the cold air and the relative darkness of the terrace in order that Mr. Darcy should not see the flush on her cheeks as she thought about the sensation of his warm breath on her neck. "I was surprised by having you whisper in my ear, but that is not what I was asking. What are you about as concerns my sister Jane and your friend, Mr. Bingley? I have been aware for some time that Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst view you as their best hope at saving their brother from the clutches of my sister. I have heard them say as much when they were not aware I was within their hearing. I know how great a value Mr. Bingley places on your friendship and how closely you have attended him since you have been in Hertfordshire. I repeat, what are you about, sir?" Lizzy folded her arms around herself as a gust of cold wind caused her to shiver.
"Miss Bennet, you are cold and my explanation is likely to take some time," Mr. Darcy said. "Allow me to escort you inside and attempt to find somewhere private and warm for our discussion."
Lizzy would like to have stayed in the darkness, but she had to admit the wisdom of his words. She was cold and getting colder by the second.
MR. WICKHAM NERVOUSLY PACED the small parlor that Caroline had seen him to. He had had a severe shock when Lady Catherine had entered Netherfield. He had no fear of Mr. Darcy. Indeed, he looked forward to besting him; for he knew that Mr. Darcy, even when seething with anger, would be loathe to create a scene. He was prepared for Mr. Darcy, but Mr. Wickham feared, no, he was positive, that Lady Catherine would have no such scruples about causing a scene. He suspected that the old battle-axe would likely take great enjoyment from airing all his sins, not the least of which was the information that he was but the son of Mr. Darcy's steward. Yes, he would have to proceed with much greater care than he had originally anticipated.
He crossed to the window and looked out into the darkness, startled when he saw movement on the terrace. Two people were there, a man and a woman, the man holding the woman's arm, leading her. He gasped as they got near enough for him to see their faces in the dim light. His nemesis, Fitzwilliam Darcy was with Miss Elizabeth Bennet.
"Now, that is unexpected," he whispered. "What can they be up to? He is as good as engaged to Miss Caroline Bingley and yet there he is, sneaking around in the darkness with Miss Bennet."
He watched with great interest as Lizzy pulled out of Mr. Darcy's grasp. He could not hear their words, but she was very visibly upset. He silently opened the door to the terrace so that he could overhear their conversation.
"Allow me to escort you inside and attempt to find somewhere private and warm for our discussion."
Mr. Wickham eased the door shut and pondered what he had overheard. Somewhere private and warm. Miss Bennet, Mr. Darcy? They were the last two people in Hertfordshire that he could imagine together. Oh, he knew that Mr. Bingley was engaged to Lizzy's sister Jane, but he also knew that Mr. Darcy was a proud man who would never consider an honorable alliance with a woman so far beneath his station.
He smiled as an entirely new plan began to form in his head. Oh, it would be wonderful. He would trap Mr. Darcy into marriage with the last woman in the world he would ever think to marry and he would thumb his nose at that old witch, Lady Catherine, at the same time. He had been in the company of Mrs. Bennet often enough to know that it would be torture for Mr. Darcy to be her son-in-law. A compromising situation. This was perfect. Then he, George Wickham, could take his time courting Miss Bingley. Miss Bingley and her lovely twenty thousand pounds. He would definitely enjoy marrying Miss Bingley and, of course, all that money. Not only would he marry the woman that Mr. Darcy planned to marry, he would at the same time, saddle Mr. Darcy with the Bennet family. What could possibly be improved upon? Not one thing. The most perfect, sweetest revenge imaginable.
He dared not follow them out onto the terrace. It would have to be done from inside the house. He crossed to the door and opened it far enough to see out in the hall. Even from the back, he recognized Caroline and knew at once that she was listening at the door. He hesitated, wondering who and what she was listening to. This was good. This was wonderful. This was secret knowledge and with secret knowledge came power. He could hold this secret knowledge above Caroline's head. As he hesitated, a man walked by the door he was peeking out of to the door that Caroline was peeking into. He eased his door closed after he saw Caroline stumble and heard the thud of the door closing.
MR. COLLINS OPENED the door to begin his search for Mary as Lady Catherine had directed him to do. Not that he wanted to. He most definitely was not interested in Miss Mary Bennet. Why, she was . . . she was . . . she was Mary Bennet. She was interested in sermons. She actually read books of sermons. Her favorite author was Fordyce. She read the Bible. She actually read the Bible and understood it. And she most definitely was not Miss Elizabeth Bennet. Miss Elizabeth Bennet, his betrothed. He was sure that he had offered her a proposal of marriage. Almost sure. He could even remember the words that he had so carefully written out following Lady Catherine's instructions. He should be able to remember them. She had been explicit about what he was to say. She had made him promise to practice the words. And he had practiced. Over and over again.
He wanted to slam the door behind him, he was that upset, but he found he could not dare to be so bold with Lady Catherine sitting right there in the room so he closed it quietly. So quietly, in fact, that the couple walking arm-in-arm back toward the drawing room were unaware that he was following them. So quietly that when he drew even with the door standing slightly ajar down the passageway he found himself peering directly into a startled eye. That door quickly closed again, but not before Mr. Collins caught sight of a red uniform coat.
Mr. Collins paused as he contemplated the significance of the eye behind the door. Someone was spying! He was being spied upon. But why? Why would someone spy upon him? Did he know something that he was unaware of knowing? He wracked his brain to remember. He was an important man, after all. Personal clergyman and protégé to Lady Catherine. That must be it. There must be something he knew that he had forgotten. If only he could remember. Perhaps it was something of great importance to the crown. And just who was that soldier spy. A soldier spying against England and for France. It must be. He would have to discover the fiend and save England. He would be honored for bravery. Maybe even be knighted. Sir William Collins. Then Cousin Elizabeth would be sorry about this betrothal mix-up. Then she would be sorry that Lady Mary Collins, her sister, had received the great honor of becoming his wife.
Instead of continuing on to the drawing room to search out Mary, Mr. Collins opened the next door down, on the opposite side of the corridor and slipped inside, leaving the door slightly ajar in order to catch out the dangerous French spy that had been laying in wait for him. He would show everyone. He would!
CAROLINE PLACED HER had on Mr. Hanford's proffered arm. Annoyed as she was by his continued attention and the sudden headache of Mr. Wickham, she decided that a bird on the arm was worth two in the bush. Or something like that. Mr. Hanford did not have the advantage of being Mr. Darcy's oldest and dearest friend as did Mr. Wickham. However, he was at hand and he was looking at her with adoring eyes. Until Mr. Wickham recovered from his sudden indisposition, she would have to make do with using Mr. Hanford to make Mr. Darcy jealous. It might work almost as well. Maybe even better. Mr. Hanford was more than acceptable looking. Why, he was nearly as handsome as Mr. Darcy. Well, perhaps not quite nearly. After all, Mr. Darcy was perfection, but Mr. Hanford was very nice looking, indeed. Every bit as handsome as Mr. Wickham and he had the advantage of already being at her side. And then there was his income. Caroline understood that his income rivaled Charles'. She knew positively that Mr. Wickham's income could not compete. Five thousand a year was nothing compared to Mr. Darcy's, but it was enough to give Mr. Hanford the appearance of being a serious suitor.
Caroline turned to look at Mr. Hanford as they approached the door leading to the drawing room, just as Mr. Hanford turned to look at her. She felt a tingle in the pit of her stomach as their eyes met. Oh, dear. He did have beautiful eyes. And his smile. His smile made her toes want to curl. Oh, yes. He would be just the right person to make Mr. Darcy jealous. Mr. Darcy would be sorry that he was so slow in making his declaration to her. Mr. Hanford would smile at her and she would smile back at him and Mr. Darcy would be left out in the cold. It would be perfect. Mr. Darcy would never forgive himself. But it would be too late and Caroline would have the last laugh. She would teach that Mr. Darcy a thing or two.
She was smiling back at Mr. Hanford when they passed through the doorway into the drawing room, Mr. Wickham and Mr. Darcy completely forgotten.