Beginning, Section II
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Chapter 14 ~ Welcome to Rosings
Somehow, in the flurry of arriving at Rosings I found myself accepting Mr. Darcy's hand to help me down from the carriage. This was not at all what I'd intended to do and the vexing weakness with which I let him take my small hand in his large, strong hand so confused me that I could scarcely answer his questions.
"Miss Collins," he said. "What a pleasure to see you again."
Which, of course, proved he was insane. What a man greets that way a woman who has refused him in no uncertain terms?
I felt myself blush as I mumbled something. Around me, I noticed that Jane Darcy was being helped down by Fitzwilliam and Eleanor helped down by the handsome blond man that I'd never before met.
"Are your parents well?" Mr. Darcy asked.
"Very well, thank you." I had recovered my composure and noticed that Eleanor had turned a very deep shade of pink and was having more problems answering the blond man's questions than I was. Very interesting. Was my new friend smitten?
"And your cousin, and your aunt and all our acquaintance in Merryton," Mr. Darcy said. "They're well, I hope."
"Very well," I said.
"And your parents?"
Definitely, the man was not well. Did he not notice he was repeating himself? And why was my face burning quite so hotly? And why was Richard Fitzwilliam walking away, arm in arm with Miss Jane Darcy?
I realized I felt cheated because not every man had turned to me immediately and almost laughed. My success in the ball had spoiled me indeed.
"Everyone of your acquaintance is quite well," I answered, smiling at Mr. Darcy with as much warmth as I could muster. It was the least I could do, as he was smiling at me as if I were quite the most wonderful thing he'd ever beheld.
And yet -- how well that smile became him. It was almost enough to make me forget the obvious taint of mental illness in the family and the horrible way he'd proposed to me before. Indeed, if he'd proposed to me again at that very minute, I couldn't have sworn I would have refused him. My sensible head was being contradicted by wobbly legs and a fluttering heart.
I told my heart to be still, but it remained stubbornly disobedient as Mr. Darcy offered me his arm for support and led me towards the older couple, who remained sitting beneath the shade of the trees.
"Miss Collins," he said. "This is my uncle, Richard Fitzwilliam, and my aunt, Mrs. Anne Fitzwilliam. They have the good grace of allowing the younger and flightier members of their family to camp on their doorstep all through the summer sometimes, and for a good portion of the summer, at any rate, every year."
The gentleman got up to bow to me, and Mrs. Fitzwilliam smiled at me, a smile of welcome. She gave Darcy a look of censure. "Don't tease her so, William. She'll have no idea what our family is like, and we must all seem horribly bewildering to her." She smiled at me. "Come sit by me, my dear, and acquaint me with news of your dear mama who used to be my friend, these many years ago."
I sat on a chair next to her, and tried to reconcile this handsome older woman with what Mama had told me of the former Miss DeBourgh, whom mama had said was very sweet and kind, but also very sickly and not very endowed with looks.
This woman was beautiful. More, she had the kind of beauty one would always have imagined to have been there -- the kind that comes from good bones and a gentle expression. Her face was very thin, showing prominent cheekbones. Her hair was all silver, which surprised me a little as mama still retained some color in her hair. But silver, worn upwards in a very simple style, became Mrs. Fitzwilliam -- as did her decorous white dress and the single diamond on a chain at her neck. It was the sort of simplicity that betrayed both breeding and fortune.
She looked, I thought as I sat by her and noticed -- to my amazement -- that Mr. Darcy slid onto the chair next to mine -- she looked like an angel who's long fought an heavenly battle and is no worn down and at rest. I wondered if her lack of beauty when young and her beauty now came from being very dearly loved. At least, judging from the warmth with which the older gentleman regarded her, he must love her still with the first ardor of youth.
My mother had once told me that being loved can make anyone not only feel beautiful but be beautiful. And, of a sudden, I felt a great sorrow for poor mama, who was beautiful in her own way, but who would never know this kind of love from a spouse.
"My mama is well," I told Mrs. Fitzwilliam.
"How does she occupy herself these days?" Mrs. Fitzwilliam asked. "I seem to remember that when she lived here she was a great patroness of the poor in the district and helped them all even with her small income. I helped, of course, once I got control of my fortune. Is she still very active in charity?"
I felt my nervousness leave me, then. Speaking about my mama, whom I love with all my heart, has always been easy. And I've always been proud of mama's kind heart and her efforts on behalf of those less fortunate. "Oh, she's very busy with charity, still. Indeed, her latest project is a school for the young girls in the village. She teaches the school herself and encourages other ladies of quality to do likewise."
"The girls?" Mrs. Fitzwilliam asked. "Now, that's interesting. Most families seem to save their money to educate the boys."
"I know," I said. "But mama has this theory that educating the girls does more for their future families. Since the school also teaches them skills such as embroidery or lace making, it enables them to earn some income for their families. It also enables them to teach the children. Mama says educating the girls is an investment in future generations. Men just use their education to further their way in the world, but women use it to increase the fortunes of their whole family."
Mrs. Fitzwilliam smiled. "I'd never thought of that, but now that I do, I see the wisdom of it. Also, I suppose even a man thus inclined, is less likely to mistreat a woman who helps provide for the family. Yes. I can see that."
As she nodded, Mr. Darcy said, from my side, "Your mother sounds like a woman of uncommon wisdom, Miss Collins. I think perhaps I should emulate her efforts among my servants and dependants."
I smiled at him. The thought that he had dependants still puzzled me, but I couldn't help but smile. I had no idea why he was being so nice to me now. It was as though the Mr. Darcy I'd known in Merryton had all but vanished, replaced by a much more civil gentleman. I wasn't complaining.
"Yes you should, William," Mrs. Fitzwilliam said. "And I daresay so should we." She turned to me. "William has a neighboring estate. Perhaps he will invite us all to tea there, at some later time."
"What an excellent idea," Mr. Darcy said.
There was something about the exchange that had the feel of a rehearsed piece. I wondered what it all meant. I felt as though, should I turn my head away, Mrs. Fitzwilliam would wink at Mr. Darcy behind my back. Yet, what could it all mean? Her appearance could not be deceiving and I couldn't believe she would knowingly lead me on. On the other hand, I could hardly believe they'd rehearsed this exchange for any other purpose than to tease me.
Was I in for a vacation amid mad people?
However, just then, the blond man stepped forward. "William," he said. "You have not yet introduced me to this young lady whom everyone else seems to admire so much. Eleanor was telling me of her excellent sense and character." He bowed towards me and smiled, a very attractive smile indeed. He spoke with just the barest trace of an accent.
"Miss Collins, this is my cousin, Sasha," Fitzwilliam Darcy said.
Somehow, it sounded as though his words came out through clenched teeth. "He is the same age as my sister Jane, and younger than I by five years. And he is Russian."
This seemed like very strange information to give me about someone, though at least it set at rest a problem I'd had since Miss Darcy had seemed to say that her brother was five years younger than her, and she only twenty or twenty one. I couldn't imagine Mr. Darcy at sixteen. I now realized I'd either misunderstood it, or Miss Darcy had misspoken.
Still, the introduction was very odd.
Mr. Darcy's cousin seemed to think so too. He grinned at Mr. Darcy and chuckled. "What my cousin, who was obviously raised by wolves, means is that I am Alexander Fyodor Yevno Vladimir Nikolai Stefan Ludwik Mikhail Varangiev, son of the Baron of Varangiev. I'm called Alexander Pavlovich. Or Sasha."
So, the madness extended to the Russian branch of the family. I was quite sure I couldn't call him Sasha and though I didn't fully understand his name system, it was quite obvious I couldn't call him Mr. Pavlovich. So, I said, "It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mr. Varangiev."
"The pleasure is all mine," he said. "Pray, when may we have the pleasure to hear you play? Mr. Darcy informs me that you play quite as well as my mother, and my mother is a true virtuoso."
I felt my face burn and looked at Mr. Darcy, with astonishment. I could only remember playing before him once, when someone at the ball had teased me into doing it. And I didn't think I'd played that well at all. "Oh, Mr. Darcy exaggerates," I said. "Doubtless for some mischievous reason of his own."
Mr. Varangiev laughed. "Hardly. Mr. Darcy only exaggerates young ladies defects and I've never heard him willingly praise any woman but you. So, you see, you must be someone very special indeed." His eyes sparkled with amusement and I had a feeling he was teasing Mr. Darcy unmercifully indeed. "I already see he made no exaggeration when he likened your looks to an angel's. Now I must hear your heavenly playing. I demand it."
"Sasha, don't be absurd," Mr. Darcy said. "She cannot play right now. We're in the garden and she's just arrived from a strenuous voyage."
Just then a large, well appointed carriage pulled into the drive, the same way I'd arrived.
"Oh," Mr. Varangiev said. "That will be Milla. William, did you know my sister was to visit this summer?"
Chapter 15 ~ Tea at Timberlane
Milla, alias Ludmilla, alias, Miss Varangiev was a well-grown girl of fifteen or so. Well dressed, if in a somewhat heavy style for the English countryside. She had pale blond hair arranged in rather girlish plaits, and a tiny, heart-shaped pink mouth, which set in an hesitant smile at the sight of her brother waiting to hand her down from the carriage, and then opened in a mue of alarm at seeing the rest of us on the lawn. Her blue eyes opened very wide as she took us all in.
Mr. Varangiev brought her to us, leading her by the hand. "This is my sister, Ludmilla," he said. "Ludmilla, you know everyone except for Miss Collins. Miss Collins is the daughter of one of aunt Anne's old friends and she'll be staying at Rosings for a while."
Miss Varangiev smiled. "I'm very pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss Collins. My cousin, Mr. Darcy, has spoken of you in his letters, sometimes."
And who, exactly, hadn't Mr. Darcy spoken of me to? At least I hoped this time he hadn't undertaken some other skill of mine, such as painting miniatures or embroidering. Because, other than the piano which I had learned and practiced out of sheer enjoyment, my skills limited themselves to tramping about a lot and reading a great deal.
Milla Varangiev smiled. "William tells me you are a great reader and very fond of great walks. Both are also pasttimes of mine, so I imagine we'll get along very well indeed."
And wouldn't you know it? He had bragged about my two great undeniable skills. I looked over at him, just to make sure this wasn't some sort of elaborate joke. He was smiling at me with such an expression of outmost adoration that I almost couldn't find my wits. What a singular man.
Turning to Miss Varangiev, I said, "Well, I am an expert in tramping about woods and if you require nothing more, our friendship will be assured. My mama told me the countryside is very beautiful around here this time of year."
"Oh, it is, it is," Mr. Varangiev said. "You'll enjoy it very much indeed, Milla."
"I am sure I will," Miss Varangiev said, and blushed and looked down.
At that moment it occurred to me that though she looked proud and maybe a little affected, she was neither but only very shy.
I opened my mouth to endeavor to set her at her ease, but before I could Mr. Bingley approached me. "Miss Collins, it seems like yesterday we were all dancing together. How is all my acquaintance in Merryton? Has anyone married or moved away or... married?"
From the intent expression in his eyes, I judged that he was anxious to hear about Emerald, but I refused to gratify it. Emerald had better not be mentioned. "No one of your acquaintance has moved, married or died, sir. We are quite a village under glass - just as you left us."
He looked vaguely annoyed, as if I'd foiled his stratagem for learning more. "And Miss Phillips?" he asked. "She's not engaged."
"Miss Phillips remains as she was," I said and wondered if that were true, or if Emerald had changed, much for the worse.
Mr. Bingley smiled. "What a time we had in Merryton. Perhaps I should visit soon."
I bit my tongue to avoid a most improper caution that he stay away. But I was saved by the arrival of tea, a most elaborate affair served in cups which made mama's finest porcelain look like potter discards, and composed of so many courses of sandwiches and cake and fruit as seemed to never end. I wondered if I'd be able to eat it all, but caught in the midst of the conversation of all these people who'd known each other so long and were so easy with each other, I found myself eating enough of each serving to be polite.
The young people around me were noisy and jovial and I wished very much my relationship with my cousins were like this. I even spoke a little, when Mr. Dumas was discussed.
And then I found Mr. Darcy speaking intently to me. "You must not expect any such great splendor at Timberlane," he said.
"Timberlane?"
"My estate, if you can call it that. It is but a couple dozen farms and fields, and a very small house, little more than a cottage," he said. Then, as though remembering the size of my paternal abode, he blushed and looked away. "But it is, as such, a pretty place and I'm happy to have it."
"How did you come by it?" I asked.
"It is a curious story. It seems a great uncle of my father's was a bachelor and childless and, having taken a great liking to my father, willed the property to my father's first born son. Little did the man know my father wouldn't have a son for nearly fifteen years. The property came to me when I turned twenty one. My great-great uncle believed it would train me to assume the much greater responsibility of Pemberley, someday."
"And has it?"
"I don't know. Even my father can't find fault with my management, but as for the rest, you'll have to judge for yourself, tomorrow," he said.
#
There followed a night in a very comfortable bed, an incredibly lavish breakfast, and a day spent walking the woods with Miss Varangiev who proved very shy indeed, to the point of being almost mute.
Lunchtime found us taking several carriages over to Timberlane.
The first thing I knew of it, was our crossing a little stone bridge over a stream. Then two very tall metal gates were opened by two young men in red footmen uniforms.
Inside, a flower-lined gravel path wound between tall trees. The carriages rolled gently along it, past a vast rose garden and on, till a house came into view.
It looked nothing like a cottage, whatever they had said - a sprawling stone building, larger than my parents' home, it had ivy growing upon its golden walls, it exuded an air of great comfort and, somehow, it seemed to welcome us.
We stopped before the staircase that led up to the open front door.
Mr. Darcy stood in the front door, wearing a green coat. He rushed down the front stairs, and as the footman opened the door, was there to hand me down.
Miss Darcy, who had traveled from Rosings in the same carriage I had smiled encouragingly at me. I'd thought he'd stay by to help Miss Darcy and Miss Varangiev down. But Sasha Varangiev and Mr. Bingley had rushed to help the other ladies down.
Eleanor had traveled from Rosings with Mr. and Mrs. Fitzwilliam and the younger Fitzwilliam. I felt a stab of jealousy as I watched the young Mr. Fitzwilliam escort Eleanor Bingley into the house. But it was foolish. After all, I'd refused Mr. Fitzwilliam. True, he'd said he'd endeavor to change my heart, but if he had changed his mind that was his prerogative.
Looking at him, laughing and joking with his parents and Miss Bingley I thought that Mr. Fitzwilliam was a pleasant man indeed, but perhaps not one of the most steady in the world. Someone that good humored, perhaps didn't engage in very deep thought.
"What are you thinking of?" Mr. Darcy asked as he led me up the stairway. "It must be serious, for you're very silent."
"I was thinking what a pleasant family the Fitzwilliams are," I said.
Mr. Darcy looked at them. It seemed to me his arm grew a little less steady beneath my own. Did he think me so foolish as to be jealous of miss Bingley?
"And how beautifully Miss Eleanor would fit in," I said.
Mr. Darcy grinned. "Indeed. I've long suspected an attachment on her part," he said. "To own the truth since we were children. But it was not till we'd been away and she kept corresponding with him...." He looked at me. "And till he'd given up hope of another heart that he thought to content himself with having captured hers."
What was that supposed to mean? I blushed, as we walked into a beautiful atrium and past it to a large sitting room upon whose tables was set the most spectacular tea I'd ever seen - from pyramids of cucumber sandwiches to little baskets stacked with the fruits of the season. "All these are the fruits of Timberlane's orchards," Mr. Darcy said, and I thought I read pride beneath his voice. "Jane, if you'd so kindly do the honors of the table."
Miss Darcy grinned and said, "Gladly, since you have no wife."
Was it my fancy that, as she passed, she muttered under her breath "yet"?
Tea progressed with much joy amid the gathered cousins, but towards the end of it I felt hot, oppressed.
Mr. Darcy was engaged in a conversation of mutual teasing with Mr. Varangiev, and all the ladies were gathered around Mrs. Fitzwilliam discussing who knew what.
I stepped out the wide french doors to the terrace, which was encircled with the most colorful pots of flowering plants. From the terrace, I had a view of another two terraces leading steadily to the lawn below.
"Miss Collins, is it?" a lady's voice asked.
I turned. Standing beside me was an elderly woman, dressed as a very respectable servant.
"Forgive me for addressing you this way," she said. "I was Mr. Darcy's nurse, when he was young." She hesitated. "Mrs. Darcy, his mother, looked after him most of the time, but there were those times when duties to her other family or to the estate called her and then he was my charge. When Mr. Darcy inherited this estate, he found where I was living, with some distant relatives, and brought me here and made me his housekeeper." She looked over the terraces, with me, in companionable silence for a moment, then added, "The life of a children's nurse can be that cruel. You have no family of your own and sooner or later, you find yourself alone and at the mercy of charity. But Mr. Darcy wanted me to spend my remaining years in comfort and safety."
"He sounds like an ideal master," I said, puzzled, because this did not at all agree with my idea of the proud and rude Mr. Darcy I'd met at Merryton.
"Indeed, he is," the older lady said. "The best of masters, the most devoted of brothers and the most obedient of sons. It's only that--"
"Yes?" I asked, when silence lengthened.
"Well, Miss, it is scarcely my place, but I love him as my own and I couldn't stand for him to divide himself from his happiness through some act of folly." She looked at me and blushed, visibly embarrassed, but went on. "You should know he was the only, much waited son and the elder Mr. Darcy... well, he was so afraid of spoiling our Mr. Darcy that he rather went the other way. Now it's become an habit with him where his father doubts him and he rebels. Because of this, he sometimes acts like an impetuous fool and he has learned to behave as if he doesn't care for the feelings of others, but I assure you he cares. He cares very deeply indeed."
I didn't know what to answer to that, but was saved the trouble as Mr. Darcy came out through the doors. He looked grave. He bowed to his old nurse, but spoke to me.
"Miss Collins, there's a messenger arrived from Longbourn. I think it's a matter of some importance and that you'd be interested in."
Chapter 16 ~ Some Great Fault in Her Upbringing
Mr. Darcy escorted me within, where the same group as before still gathered, but this time with serious, long faces. Some looked embarrassed. Jane Darcy blushed and kept her eyes averted. Mrs. Fitzwilliam seemed calm, her hands folded on her lap, but up close I could tell that her hands were clenched tightly together.
I feared I must fortify myself for the surprise, and I feared I knew in advance what it was - doubtless a letter from Dear Papa extolling me to protect my honor or to catch a wealthy gentleman, or both. And possibly addressed to the whole gathered assembly. Papa had discretion problems.
Then I realized Mr. Bingley was holding a paper and had turned a sickly tallow-white. Why would he turn pale at my papa's indelicacy?
"Let her see it, Charles," Mr. Darcy said. "It is her family."
My family? My breath caught in my throat.
"It is all our families..." Mr. Bingley said, his voice trembling. "When I think they would suspect--"
"Yes, but more materially, Miss Collins might be able to shed some light on the true culprit and thus save us all much grief," Mr. Darcy said, calm and composed. His hand touched my shoulder, very lightly, and then was gone.
I waited in some anxiety not knowing what was to befall me and indeed wondering what could have happened back home to cause such a missive to be sent.
Mr. Bingley handed me the letter with a trembling hand. It looked as though he had been wringing it in his hands just as a maiden would do with a handkerchief. I took the sodden piece of paper and tried to read it. My hand trembled so and the ink had run so that it was is a hard task but at length I read enough to gather that my cousin Emerald had left her family and friends, that she had eloped indeed that she had thrown herself in the power of a gentleman unknown to any beyond her calling him her dearest beloved in her final letter.
This she had left behind in the a letter which had not failed to distress her family who had immediately presumed the gentlemen in question to be Mr. Bingley. They had proceeded to try to track the fugitives and when that failed had bemoaned the tragedy to my papa who, with his usual sensibility, had decided the best means of handling the situation was to insult his daughter's hosts by sending a letter accusing their relative of improper behavior and also to warn them in the sternest of terms not to allow such an infamous rake near his innocent lamb.
How this was received it may well be imagined. I felt my own hands tremble at the thought that my father had thus insulted my kind benefactors. Looking around and feeling tears prickle beneath my eyelids, I fully expected Mr. Darcy to order me out of Timberlane. Instead I found his gaze resting upon me full of sympathy.
This so surprised me, that I couldn't speak.
"Miss Collins," he said. "You must see that this is a matter of the utmost urgency. It is clear your parents labor under a misapprehension as to the identity of whoever might have led Miss Phillips astray. This will make it hard to find her and return her to her family. It also injures the honor of a good man whom the world as nothing to reproach."
His expression showed great anxiety as he stared at me. It was as though he expected me to take offense.
"You see therefore it is essential, even if it should happen to be in your cousin's confidence, you tell us if there is any other man who might have captured her fancy, who might have made his addresses to her, who might have led her astray."
I did not know what to say. My suspicions lay with Mr. Hurst, but Mr. Hurst was Mr. Bingley's cousin. To accuse him in this company, particularly after father's immoderate language in his letter, would only make me seem as ill bred wild as Emerald had proven. In fact so far from displaying any mental taint, it was this family that might shortly believe all my kin to be less than sane.
Mr. Darcy looked at me with speaking eyes, as though attempting to convey an urgent meaning.
"I urge you to reconsider," he said. "I urge you to think what might not become of your cousin, should her people not be able to find her." He seemed embarrassed and a high color flooded his cheeks.
"Consider that the fate of the abandoned woman is neither pleasant nor honorable. If he who took Miss Phillips away should not marry her -- and his taking her away from her parents without consent does not indicate the best intentions -- she could suffer much more than she will from your breaking her confidence."
I still did not know what to do. Words came to me haltingly. "Mr. Darcy," I said. "You must understand it is not breaking Emerald's confidence that pains me, but the fear that I might be injuring the honor of an innocent gentleman for whose perfidy I have no more proof than Emerald's own words."
"In normal circumstances," Mr. Darcy said. " I would be the first to beg you to hold your tongue. However under the present circumstances I must beg you to tell us whatever your cousin has told you. I undertake to promise that no one present will take offense at whatever you might say."
I looked around that the assembly and everyone looked at me so reassuringly that I could not doubt Mr. Darcy's words.
Mr Bingley hastened to tell me, "Miss Collins you must understand all our concern is with Miss Phillips' safety and honor. Please do not leave her in any distress on account of protecting some gentlemen. Gentlemen's honors are easily healed in matters such as this."
"Well then," I said feeling heat rise to my face, and stammering. "I must own that Ms. Phillips has often spoken to me of a gentleman known to you all -- of... of Mr. Hurst."
At the name Mr. Darcy sighed, as though he feared this all along. Mr. Bingley grew a dark red and punched his open hand with his fist. "Hurst, by Jove! Why Am I not surprised?"
"Do not worried Charles," said Mr. Darcy. He shot his cousin a protective, gentle look that made me think of the two of them as little boys. I wondered which of them was the younger. Whoever it was, certainly Mr. Darcy had acted like an older brother to Bingley. As Mr. Fitzwilliam must have done, who looked concerned at his cousins. I thought of their friendship that had sent the three of them under assumed names into the militia and wished I had a friend like that. No, perhaps the family wasn't mad at all. Or if it were, it was a gentle, tender madness and I wish it were catching.
"We'll yet recover her," Mr. Darcy said, and touched his cousin's shoulder much as he had done mine. "And all this will be as if it had never happened."
"Yes." Mr. Bingley nodded. He looked at Darcy and his eyes shone with sudden determination, and he smiled, a quick, feral smile. "Yes that is it. We must leave at once William. We must recover Ms. Phillips before..."
"We will recover her. No matter what it takes."
The family nodded. Mrs. Fitzwilliam offered to pay anything needed for their travel. Jane said, "Yes, you must leave at once."
Feeling left out, feeling like a stranger, I realized that my father's letter, his insulting assumption about Mr. Bingley might have severed whatever ties of beginning friendship I had with these kind, condescending people.
"But," I said, feeling cold and numb and wishing I didn't have to say it. "Whether Emerald his recovered or not ought not to be any of your concern. It is my family, but hardly more than your acquaintance." I had trouble saying these words as unaccountably tears had started rolling down my face and my throat seemed constricted. "It was some great fault in my cousins upbringing that brought this tragedy about."
"My dear," Mrs. Fitzwilliam said. "It is a common thing to say that such slips and moral faults are all the woman's, however I was never convinced of it. You must remember that it takes two to elope. And the gentlemen is of our connection. Therefore we are just as guilty."
"But I don't even know if he is truly implicated. It could be a fabrication of Emerald's," I protested.
Mr. Bingley shook his head in some passion. "No truly, Miss Collins, you must understand Mr. Hurst has been competing with me since the cradle. His father died when he was quite young, his mother married a French count and moved abroad, and my parents, in their kindness, raised him and his sister. Perhaps my parents betrayed some natural preference for me, or perhaps as our nursemaid would have it, I was a better tempered, better natured baby - I do not know. But that truth is I always had more friends." He looked at Mr. Darcy and Mr. Bingley. "And the servants preferred me, and as it was, Mr. Hurst conceived the most hearty dislike of me, as well as a need to surpass me in anything I undertook. I believe he would never have come near your cousin but that he suspected that I had an interest in her." He paused. "So you see it is my responsibility entire to recover your fair cousin and return her unmolested to her home."
I could not say that I agreed, but neither could I attempt to dissuade two gentlemen so completely convinced of their duty. Particularly not while Mrs Fitzwilliam herself, who had stood up, was urging them to hurry and to spare no trouble.
Indeed I could not say anything. The rest of the tea passed in a feverish discussion out the locations in which Mr. Hurst was likely to have gone to ground
Too soon Mr. Darcy and Mr. Bingley hastened away and we returned to Rosings.
There, I sought Mrs. Fitzwilliam in her parlor, where she was seated embroidering a very fine piece of cloth in delicate colors. She looked tired, and her husband stood nearby, pacing. I had the feeling that they had been talking, perhaps discussing something important.
However, when I came in Mrs. Fitzwilliam lay her work aside, and Mr. Fitzwilliam stopped his pacing.
"Miss Collins?" Mrs. Fitzwilliam said. "Is anything wrong?"
Everything was wrong. Mr. Darcy had left, just as I was starting to like him. But worse, I felt like I should leave as well.
"I... I feel I should go back home," I said.
"Why, my dear?" Mrs. Fitzwilliam started to rise.
"Have we offended you in any way?" Mr. Fitzwilliam asked.
"Oh, no," I said. "You have been all that is kindness. But after my father's letter and the way he insulted your family, I feel I could not..."
"Oh, Mr. Collins," Mr. Fitzwilliam said, and laughed. Then stopped. "You will pardon me, Miss Collins. I don't wish to belittle your family. But we've known your father for much too long to take offense at anything he says. I'm sure his letter of apology is on its way to us even now."
"And besides," Mrs. Fitzwilliam said. "We like you for who you are, not your family connections. Both Jane and Eleanor are delighted with your company and I would not dream of depriving them of it. Besides, Mr. Darcy and Mr. Bingley would be very disappointed indeed were you no longer here when they return."
"Is that all that was concerning you?" Mr. Fitzwilliam asked.
I nodded, blushing.
They wished me a good night and I went, quietly, up the very grand staircase.
My room was in the east wing, facing the rose garden. As I approached my bedroom door, I heard a soft cry, as of an injured child. As I got closer, I realized it was full blown sobs and sighs as of someone in great anguish. Closer yet, and I realized they came from the room next to mine.
I didn't remember who roomed there, but of a sudden I felt very guilty indeed. Here I'd been worried about matters of etiquette while some creature in this house was in mortal anguish. And I'd never noticed.
Hesitating, I raised my hand and knocked upon the door.
Chapter 17 ~ So Wholly Unconnected to Myself
When I knocked a second time, I heard a very faint whisper from within, asking me to come in.
The door, thrown open, revealed Miss Varangiev doing her best to look impassive - a look betrayed by her very red, swollen eyes, her reddened nose and the sodden handkerchief clutched in her dainty hand.
"Miss Varangiev," I said. "What... How may... What distresses you?"
She shook her head and clutched her handkerchief tight in her hand. "I am well. Nothing distresses me. It's only that, your cousin... so sad..." At this she broke down and started crying again and I wondered what it all meant and whether she had known some woman in a similar situation to that into which Emerald had thrown herself.
"Oh, Miss Varangiev," I said. "Do not distress yourself for my cousin. She... Emerald chose her path and she knew it to be wrong. She was given a better upbringing than that but she ignored it all for she believed that she was surely much too beautiful to be upright or religious or to pay any attention to the dictates of society." I read horror in Miss Varangiev's gaze, but I forged ahead, because the only way to dissuade her from such misguided pity was to expose Emerald's foolishness in its entirety. "So, you see, she chose to sever herself from her friends and the love of her relatives and threw herself into the power of Mr. Hurst willingly. Therefore, though it be sad, whatever comes to her--"
Miss Varangiev sniffled. "Do you think Charles will marry her?"
"Charles?"
"My cousin. Bingley. Well, he's not truly my cousin, but my Darcy cousins' cousin. But we were brought together as cousins. I've known them from a child, from whenever I visited England. And... You see..." She shrugged. "Charles is a very good man, but perhaps too tender at heart. I don't think he would view it as you do. I think he would want to save her from her fate. In fact, I'm fairly sure he will." Her lips trembled. "And wouldn't that be a terrible marriage for ... for her, to marry a man who doesn't love her and only feels sorry her."
From my parents' experience, I could have told her there were more awful reasons to contract marriage. But I didn't wish to tell Miss Varangiev the story of my life.
She rubbed her dainty nose with her lacy handkerchief. "I'm sorry. Perhaps I'm too emotional. I've been told this is a bad characteristic of Russians. But I can imagine being in the position in which Miss Phillips finds herself and I...."
She'd obviously been very affected by Emerald's story, since she even remembered Emerald's name that she could not have heard more than once.
I calmed her down, as best I could, telling her I was sure Mr. Darcy and Mr. Bingley would surely do what was best for Emerald and that I didn't think that Mr. Bingley's altruism would lead him to marry a woman he did not love.
Of course, I wasn't at all sure that Mr. Bingley didn't indeed love Emerald, but I thought this, like the condition of my parents' marriage, was not something I needed to discuss.
When I left Miss Varangiev, she appeared to be calmer, and we were on a first name standing with each other. This pleased me immensely, as I liked the reserved but emotional Mill a whole lot.
She seemed, indeed, to be a woman of kindness and discernment and yet quite willing to feel for everyone in distress even people she didn't know.
It occurred to me, as I went into my room, that she would make the easy- going Charles Bingley a perfect bride and that perhaps I should find some means to further this.
Meanwhile, with both Mr. Bingley and Mr. Darcy gone, life settled down into a pleasant pattern at Rosings. If other people thought of them very often, no one gave any sign of it.
We had leisurely breakfasts and rambling walks through the delightful woods surrounding the estate. Miss Darcy and Mrs. Fitzwilliam took me to visit the vicarage that my parents had occupied before inheriting Longborn. Mrs. Fitzwilliam told me anecdotes from the time my parents lived there, all so kindly related that she managed to shed a kind light on Papa himself.
And on the third day after Mr. Darcy and Mr. Bingley's departure, I had the first news from home since Papa's disastrous letter. Although I'd been given to understand that, indeed, there had been an apologetic letter to Mr. and Mrs. Fitzwilliam, I hadn't heard from Papa again.
But there was a letter of his beside my place at breakfast. I recognized his handwriting - very black and looking like he gripped the pen much too hard, and scrawled as though someone had dipped a spider's legs in ink and let it traipse all over the paper.
Gingerly, I broke the seal of the letter, wondering what fresh rantings would grace me.
"Sylvia," it started without even a term of endearment. "You must know that your young man stopped by and I'm very pleased with your catch. And never to tell us, what a sly girl. Indeed, the chosen partner of your fate can be looked up to as one of the most illustrious personages in the land. What carriages you shall have, you lucky girl. And a house in town. All that's elegant. With what great joy will I be able to tell my friends that my daughter is Mrs. Darcy. Indeed, this work of yours has redeemed all the dastardly accidents of fate that brought you into existence and what I've believed my curse in being denied a son. Tell me as soon as it's not a secret anymore. Oh, how envious the Lucases shall be. And the Phillipses. Why, I've heard the chimney piece at Pemberley, which Mr. Darcy stands as heir to, is ten times more expensive than the chimney piece at Rosings. What a thing for you to own, that we could all be proud of.
Your proud papa, W. Collins."
I blinked, staring at the letter, and quite unable to make much sense of the fact that Mr. Darcy stood to inherit a chimney piece and that it was a great thing to own. The engagement, or the chimney piece? And what could have given my deluded papa the crazed idea that Mr. Darcy was the chosen companion of my fate.
I thought of Mr. Darcy's handsome features, his unexpected smile and I sighed. Even if he were the chosen partner of MY fate, much good would it do me.
"Disturbing news from home?" Mrs. Fitzwilliam asked kindly from across the table.
I sat the letter down and folded it firmly, afraid that one of my father's raving words should be seen by the Fitzwilliam family.
"No, not at all," I said. "Just my father is sometimes difficult to understand, particularly in writing." I marshaled all my will power. "And they say Mr. Bingley and Mr. Fitzwilliam have been by Longborn, in their... pursuit of Miss Phillips."
"Indeed," Jane Darcy said. "My brother writes that they have now reached London. They have traced Miss Phillips so far."
I felt a swift sting of jealousy and told myself I was an idiot. Of course he'd written to his sister. Did I think he'd write to me also? Even Mr. Darcy would not so far ignore propriety.
Having folded my Papa's letter very hastily, I carried it with me up the stairs, and it was only in my room that I noticed a narrow postscript written in a tiny and scrabbly handwriting across the bottom, "As for the Love child, it does not signify. He can easily be apprenticed to some trade or sent into the navy and no need for him to ever be acknowledged or have a claim upon the estate."
I stared at the words a long time. Whose love child could my father mean? Did it mean that Emerald was with child? But how could my father know that.
I wished I could talk to mama and discuss my father's illusions. Not to claim that my mother, being a sane woman, could possibly understand or anticipate my father's thoughts, feelings and ideas. But she could usually at least fathom what had caused him to be so misguided as to completely break acquaintance with reality for days at a time.
Instead, I burned the letter, making use of the candle in my room, that evening.
In vain.
The next day, at breakfast, I had another letter from papa by the side of plate.
"Your father quite obviously misses you very much, Miss Collins," Mr. Fitzwilliam said. "I'm glad to see it."
I wasn't glad to see the letter, and I opened it with trembling hands.
"My dear Sylvia," the letter opened, causing me to read it twice or three times, wondering if such an affectionate wording could be used to me. But, there not being any other Sylvia around, it seemed likely it was my letter, after all. So I read on. "As eager as we might be to close with Mr. Darcy's offer, I think it incumbent upon me to warn you that the union might prove unfortunate. Indeed, I've just had word that not less a parsonage than his great aunt, Lady De Bourgh disapproves of the union. So it might be best for us to renounce our hopes, rather than risk displeasing the kind and condescending lady. I know, daughter, that your heart must be breaking as you read this. For surely you must already have set your heart on the jewels, the carriages, the servants you'd be able to afford. But, alas, daughter, do anything but risk the displeasure of his illustrious family for you must know that, if they consider the shades of Pemberley to be polluted they will cut you completely off. Your grieved father, W. Collins."
My mouth had fallen open halfway through this letter. Having found myself - in my Papa's imagination - suddenly affianced to Mr. Darcy, now I found myself equally jilted. And I could not fathom the reason for either move. Lady De Bourgh might be my father's patroness of old - and the current Lady Fitzwilliam's mother - but surely even my father could not imagine that, had I been so fortunate as to be Mr. Darcy's fiancé, we would call the union off at the whimsy of his great aunt.
I disposed of Papa's letter as I'd disposed of the previous one.
The day progressed pleasantly. Miss Varangiev and I devised a new embroidery pattern - she told me it was very much like some Russian patterns, but also a little bit English. "Like me," she said.
We decided it would look excellently upon a set of tea cloths and were working on separate pieces of the set when the house was rocked by loud, shrill screams.
"Where is she? Where is the strumpet?"
Both of us stood up, while I wondered who this could be who disturbed the peace of Rosings in such a way.
I didn't have long to wonder for within moments, a very old woman stood at the door, glaring at me.
Her white hair framed her face in writhing curls that couldn't help but remind me of an aged Medusa. And her face had such a nest of wrinkles that it seemed permanently set into an expression of extreme displeasure. It reminded me of Mama's warnings - when I had childish tantrums - that one's face might freeze that way.
She wore a black dress embroidered with gold thread, surely more appropriate to a soire in London than mid-afternoon in a country estate, and several pearl necklaces looped around her bent neck. Her body leaned forward upon a silver-topped walking stick.
I felt my mouth fall open in astonishment at the apparition, sure that I was dreaming and that it would vanish as soon as I woke.
"Miss Collins," it shrieked, a shriek that should have awakened the dead, let alone the sleeping. "Can you take a turn with me in the gardens which my daughter has let fall to sad wilderness?"
Her daughter?
Beside me Milla Varangiev whispered, Aunt Catherine, and went very pale and dropped her embroidery frame.
Chapter 18
I followed the formidable old lady down two sets of stairs to the garden. As well I might, since I was afraid, shaking as hard as she was she would soon fall over, if not followed.
Twice I made to help her on the stairs, twice she swatted my hand away as though it had been some particularly noxious insect whose sting might kill her.
She ranted under her breath continuously, about strumpets and arts, and allurements and heaven only knew what else.
Soon, we were on the pleasant paths of Rosings and the lady fixed me with medusa eye, which presently made my knees tremble and made me feel as though I'd turn to granite. But I rise to every challenge and thus stared back at her as blankly as I could.
She made an impatient huffing under her breath. "Miss Collins," she said. "You can be under no misapprehension as to what brings me here."
"Indeed, I am at a loss to explain it," I said. "Except perhaps you wish to visit your daughter and grandchild?"
The Lady made a rude noise. "What brings me here is that much more urgent, as you well know. I was told you aspire... You dare dream of becoming my nephew's bride."
I was so stunned that I kept quiet.
"Oh, do not deny it, for I have in a letter from your father, himself."
Oh, papa.
"Indeed--" I started.
"Please, do not attempt to deceive me," Lady Catherine said. "I know who your father and mother are. He lived in expectation of advancement at the cost of my patronage and your mother sold both her body and her honor to him in the expectation of a comfortable life, nothing more. With such parentage, I can expect you to be neither honorable nor less than mercenary, but you must know, you will find me a formidable adversary."
I said nothing. To own the truth, I was too stunned to speak. I couldn't understand how my father had imagined me affianced to Darcy, but even if he were thus deluded, why would he let Lady Catherine know? And, more importantly, why would Lady Catherine care? Darcy was not her son or her grandson, only a great nephew, somewhat removed for this kind of fervor.
"Nor will Mr. Darcy's mother and father approve of your pretensions," Lady Catherine said. "For you must know that I've talked it over with his parents and we have it all planned. Mr. Darcy will marry his cousin, Miss Varangiev, who has a dowry of a hundred thousand pounds, enough, surely, to improve even Pemberley. I have talked to the young people about this and they have agreed that they'll set about producing a daughter as soon as they're married. Their daughter, then, can marry my grandson, Richard." She looked at me, managing somehow to project calm certainty in her deranged plan. "Oh, don't look so dismayed. He's less than thirty. When the girl is seventeen and marriageable he'll be less than fifty, still young enough to beget heirs to Rosings, who will be endowed with the best blood in the land."
She smiled as she said this, but the storm soon gathered upon her brow again. "And who are you, a penniless chit of dubious parentage, to come between me and this projected outcome for my family? How dare you attract Darcy, reel him in with your arts and allurements. Oh, we all know what men are, so easy to lead astray."
I pulled my shoulders up. "I have in no way led Mr. Darcy astray," I said. "If I used my arts and allurements on him - which I in no way admit - then he must have been quite ready to have them used for I was neither conscious of any art, nor did I consciously set out to allure him."
She stared at me, uncomprehending, her eyes as devoid of expression and intelligence as a chicken's. Also, as deranged as anyone who's ever gotten eye to eye with that fowl knows it to be. "I cannot believe your impertinence," Lady Catherine said. "You will break off your engagement to Darcy right away. You will pack your bags and stop polluting the shades of Rosings."
"I will not break off my engagement to Mr. Darcy," I said, most of all because I was not engaged to him.
Again she glared. "Very well, but then you must know that his father will write him off his will, I will disown him and none of the family will ever even so much as acknowledge your existence. And that's the end of all your fine plans for social advancement. You'll be stuck with him at Timberlane, his having given up his much more important prospects for you. How long till he grows bitter and hates you? And how long till you hate him, when your avenue into the society of London is blocked?"
Now I was confused. Not only was I presumed to be engaged to Darcy, but I was presumed to be engaged to Mr. Darcy for money alone. Something no woman with eyes and a functioning mind would ever do. "Lady Catherine," I said. "The misfortunes you threaten me with are heavy indeed, however, I must beg you to consider that I might so consider your nephew above reproach that I will be quite happy to be at Timberlane with him the rest of my life, and that I might consider myself so fortunate in just his company that the society and the greater inheritance he might have secured will be as nothing to me. Loving him as much, then, I will endeavor to keep him from regretting what he lost, and perhaps he'll never grow to hate me." As I finished my speech, I could - I swear - hear a rustling in the bushes to my right, but I would not turn to look at it, because I thought it was just a squirrel and if I turned to look Lady Catherine might take the opportunity to slam my head with her walking stick. She looked furious enough to contemplate - perhaps to commit - murder.
"This is not to be endured," she bellowed, turning her eyes to a heaven in whose mercy she appeared to despair. "They will live on love and kisses, will they?" She looked down at me. "And the love child, tell me, what do you intend to do about that? And Belinda?"
"Ma'am?" I asked, even more puzzled than before.
"Belinda, whom Darcy seduced and led astray? What will you do about that? And about his love child whom he still supports?"
I thought of Belinda Whickam, in her lewd portrait done by Mr. Hamsworthy. And I thought of Mr. Darcy such as I'd known him causing anyone to have a love child or, having done so, not marrying her. I could not reconcile the thought in my head.
"I do not believe any such thing of Mr. Darcy," I said. "That he seduced anyone or led anyone astray. I think this is of one piece with what, pardon me for saying it, seems to be your illusions about the world and all in it. Not all of us are in the world for money and pleasure alone. And not all of us will bend our morals to acquire either." I turned on her, this time indignant and certain. "You should be ashamed of yourself suspecting your own relative of something as gross as all that, and, suspecting him, not wishing him to marry the offended party. You, who consider yourself nobility, should contemplate that true nobility stems not from money or pedigree but from the heart and soul and that--" I went on and don't know what I told the old woman.
I know she turned pale several times, and several times she tried to open her mouth, but I did not give her a chance. I'd seen papa on a rant times enough to emulate his style which was to yell before the other party could speak.
I don't know what else I told her, though I have a vague memory of calling her worldly and crass. All the while something in the back of my mind reproached me for unspeakable rudeness, but I could no more stop than I could have taken flight. I had been pushed around enough that it was as though some inner dam had broken and I could no longer contain my just ire. Granted, half of that ire was at my papa, but one could hardly yell at him all the way from Rosings.
And then, out of the bushes to my right, came Mr. Fitzwilliam, the younger. "Grandmama," he said, and advanced, and took the formidable woman's arm as if she were no more than a little old lady. "You didn't tell us you were visiting. You must be tired from your journey. Now, take your leave of Miss Collins, and we'll go within and get you all ready for tea."
He walked her away before she could recover her wits, and left me standing alone in the clearing contemplating my very great breach of etiquette. Judging from the tender way Mr. Fitzwilliam had treated his grandmother, I presumed he would justly disdain me from having yelled at her. Oh, I'd better go and pack my things.
A sob tore through my throat.
Butterfly-light fingers touched my shoulder and I turned teary eyes to see Mr. Darcy standing beside me. He was holding out a handkerchief.
"Mr. Darcy," I said, and exploded in sobbing again, because doubtless he'd heard my words about him and now, on top of all, thought me an unscrupulous bounder ready to ensnare him. I made use of his handkerchief. "I'm sorry. I will now pack and--"
"No," he said. "No. I am sorry. I listened in on your conversation and it was very wrong of me. Arriving at Rosings a little ahead of my cousin, I was crossing the gardens when I heard all this and stopped to listen. It was very wrong of me, but I own to being happy I did."
"Oh," I said. "But I didn't know you were listening, I didn't mean--"
He stopped me with a finger against my lips. "Miss Collins, please. I know you did not mean for me to overhear you. But having overheard you I must now make some explanation to you - some explanation as as been a long time coming from me." He offered me his arm. "Will you do me the great honor of taking my arm and taking a turn with me in the garden, further away from the building, so that we may not be overheard? I would like to explain to you what drove me into the militia and perhaps in some way mitigate the dastardly impression I might have made in Merryton." He looked at me with those melting eyes. "Please?"
He was rumpled from his journey, his dark hair in disarray and he looked disarmingly young and innocent. How could I have resisted him?
Chapter 19 ~ Where Mr. Darcy Explains Himself
We walked for a while in silence. In the woods around us, birds twittered and the trees rustled, but all I heard from Mr. Darcy was his controlled breathing. My own breathing was loud, rushed. I could smell him. There was a faint whiff of horses, doubtless from his journey, but, superimposed on it, a smell of cologne and soap.
He must have stopped at some inn on the way to wash, I thought. I was not thinking very rationally at all. My mind skittered away from this situation because it was so unlike rationality and justice.
I had screamed at an old lady. I had made myself obnoxious to a lady who was almost an invalid. I had-
"I must beg your pardon," I said at last, my words rushing out upon the mad tide of my guilty feelings. "I must beg your pardon that I yelled at your Aunt Catherine. I was most abominably rude. I don't know what came over me."
Mr. Darcy chuckled. "Don't worry yourself about Aunt Catherine. I know it sounds horrible of me to say so, but the older people in the family have, everyone of them, yelled at her at one time or another. I understand my own mother was abominable to her just before she married by father, because Aunt Catherine would not hear of the match, being set on Father's marrying cousin Anne. And then when Cousin Anne wanted to marry Cousin Fitzwilliam she had to yell at her mother that she was getting married because she loved him and, no, she would not wait for her mother to marry her off to some count or other. As for us, the younger set, we've not had our chance to yell at her, yet - but I'm sure it will come. Milla and I felt like screaming when we were told to get married and beget a bride for her grandson." He grinned at me, a grin with an impish bent to it. "And Milla was, I think all of twelve at the time. Aunt Catherine lives in a world all her own, which only sometimes intersects with reality."
"Like my father," I said, hurriedly.
"Your father..." Mr. Darcy took a deep breath. "I don't know how to tell you this, but I think I might have brought about my great-aunt's explosion by speaking to your father...
"Oh, I beg you not to think I was so daring as to ask him for your hand in matrimony. Indeed, I'd never expected to be able to ask it of you any time soon. Not for ten years or so. But I thought if you grew to know me, I could convince you to love me, and you would eventually give in to my love for you. It was probably very daring of me, but I told your father of my intentions, because I wanted to be allowed to visit you and to keep company with you at your house."
"Ten years?" I asked. "You were disposed to wait that long for me?"
He blinked. "How not? I know you are the only possible partner of my fate." He stopped, as if what he'd said surprised him, and said, "I'm doing this very ill indeed. Miss Collins, please let me explain to you all that has been happening."
I nodded my acquiescence, unable to speak.
"My parents waited for my birth a long time," he said. "So that when I was born they greeted me with relief and love in their very different styles. You'll not hear me say this, but my father is a kind man and I'm aware that he loves me very much. However, I'm given to understand that before he married my mother he was somewhat insensitive to other's people's feelings. He thought that the world existed to serve him and bow down to his will and all the mamas and infatuated daughters trying to catch the heir of Pemberley did not help. So when I was born he set about extirpating from me the pride that he felt was almost his downfall."
He shrugged, the movement making his muscular arm tremble beneath my hand. "He was strict with me, though perhaps not unduly so. And meanwhile my mother and sisters spoiled me very much. From my mother I got what could be both a fatal impulsiveness and a mad need to find the world funny. My father doesn't often understand this. He is a serious man."
William took a deep breath. "I say this that you might understand how my father came to misunderstand me so deeply."
He turned to me and I swear that in his eyes there was a glimmer of tears. "As you've probably already surmised, my cousins, on both sides, and I and my sisters make a merry band which often move from house to house in the summer, creating disturbance and joy wherever we go."
I nodded.
"Two years ago, we stayed at Pemberley, my parents' estate. That year we were joined by Mr. Hurst and his cousin, Mr. Hamsworthy, as well as by another of my cousins that we don't often see, Miss Belinda Whickam. My mother's youngest sister, the youngest of five, made a very unfortunate marriage and from that marriage came two boys for whom my father purchased commissions in the army and the one girl, Belinda. Belinda is very beautiful."
My heart ached and thudded, towards my throat. He was now going to tell me was in love with Belinda. He was going to tell me the child was his. "Please," I said. "You don't need-"
He squeezed my hand with his. His hand was very warm. "I do. I must tell you all, because what I'm about to ask requires you to know what sort of a fool I am and to decide whether it is a foolishness you can endure and forgive."
I didn't know. My stomach tied in a knot. If he had sired a child by Belinda, could I believe in him? Could I believe in his love for me, if that were what he was about to pledge? Surely not. A man like I believed him to be would fulfill his obligations to a woman in that condition, no matter how unfortunate the connection. A man such as I wanted him to be would never have fallen for a woman like Belinda, to begin with.
"I must beg you to listen. I must beg you to believe I saw little to attract me in Belinda. You must have heard from my cousins that I'm always very demanding when it concerns female flesh and even more demanding of female behavior. Women like your cousin Esmeralda do not matter to me at all. There is a vacant nothing to their stare that seems to nullify the beauty of their faces. So it is with Belinda. Beautiful - I suppose she is beautiful - beautiful enough to grace a picture or a statue. But if you see her alive and moving... well, there's something else. Belinda never notices the girls in a room, but only the men. She can not talk without flirting. She cannot laugh without throwing her head back and showing her neck to all. She cannot move without trying to show off some part of her anatomy through her too revealing clothes. I beg you to believe me, Miss Collins that such a woman holds no attractions for me. None at all. The woman who would be the chosen companion of my fate..." He stopped. "More on that later. I was, in fact so harsh on all of the fair sex that all my cousins said I would never find a woman to marry, that such a woman didn't exist and I must be contented to see my sisters' son inherit Pemberley. For a while I thought it was so too."
"Imagine then my surprise when, at the end of Summer, Miss Belinda was found to be with child - don't ask me how, some gossip between the maids, some signs my mother understood but which are utter gibberish to me. When asked for the father of the child she named... me. You can imagine how this actuated upon my father who was always convinced that, with my impulsive nature and what he thought was the natural pride I'd inherited from him, I'd soon fall afoul of some snare. He called me to his office and ordered me to marry Belinda. When I told him I wouldn't, he threw me out of the house."
He sighed. "All of this would have blown over, as our rows normally did, save that my mother had an accident at almost the same time I was in the study talking to my father. Unbeknownst to us, she was thrown from her horse. As I was riding out of Pemberley, in disgrace, she was lying on a field, getting soaked in the rain. When she was found she had a fever as well as the injuries from her fall. It was thought she would not recover. My father is not a hard man, but between his fear for my mother and his certainty I was neglecting my duty to my future child, something snapped in him. He denounced me to the authorities as a seducer. When I came to Timberlane, with Charles who had agreed to accompany me, I found the law waiting for me. I was not about to be thrown in jail; I was not about to marry Belinda either. So, we turned tail and rode away. Charles, who is a bit of a romantic conceived the notion of the two of us enlisting in the militia under assumed names." He squeezed my hand again. "Through which providential arrangement we, and later Fitzwilliam, came to your fair town. Where I remained until a letter from my sister told me that my mother had awakened from her delirium and convinced father to call back the law. Thus things stood, my mother convinced the child could not be mine, my father convinced it was. I thought your information that Belinda had posed naked for Hamsworthy would help my father understand what was truly at stake, but he refused to believe me. As I said, it is love that makes him think so harshly of me, and I now understand that. He also thinks that Hamsworthy is... well... not interested in female flesh, being rather effete and foppish and taking more after his mother than his father, if I may say so. So I saw my mother and my sisters, and then retreated back to Timberlane. Meanwhile I had met you-"
He took a deep breath, as if to gain courage. "I want you to understand that my rudeness to you when we first met was only because I was furious at myself for allowing myself to be attracted to you. You see, I knew your parentage... I will not insult you, though. Your parentage is not worse than my aunt Catherine. Indeed, your mother sounds like a woman of taste and discernment. But at the time I perceived it as marrying beneath myself. And I was furious, too, at fate, I think, that a woman of such beauty and intelligence as you, a woman whose grace could befit a duchess, was forced to live on a meager allowance, with few clothes and no idea of how to dress her hair. And so I insulted you, to assuage my anger at myself and fate, and for that I apologize, though you must know I will always be an impetuous fool."
I didn't say anything. I could find no words.
"You must also know at present my father is half-set to disinherit me. Oh, he would have done it already were it not for the fact that he has no other male heirs. But should my older sister produce a son, all might be up. In which case, I can offer you no greater estate than the one from whence you came, and perhaps some shame associated with marrying me, while I'm considered the black sheep of the family."
I started to speak, but he stopped me. "You must also know," he said. "That I am supporting Belinda and her child. Indeed, Hamsworthy has left for parts unknown, we believe in France, and she was in dire straights and though I owe her nothing but reproach, I could not let her son and herself descend into the sort of life they might be forced into by lack of all support. My father found out about my sending her some money - only enough for her to keep in a modest boarding house and for a nurse for the boy, since I don't trust Belinda to look after a sparrow - and he's surer than ever that I'm the father."
Again I tried to speak. I found his supporting the woman who had so wounded me the crowning of all that was good and admirable. Had I not already made my decision, this would fully set it in stone. But he continued, "Further, you must know that even if you say no I plan to keep trying to win your affections and that I do not ever expect to be so affected by any woman as I'm by you.
"So, in full knowledge of the kind of fool I am, Miss Collins, will you consent to being my wife and the chosen partner of my fate?"
"Yes," I said. I believe I shouted. "Yes, yes, yes." I realized even as I was saying it that it was not very poetic and not the sort of thing that our children could be told.
But Darcy didn't seem to mind. He grabbed me about the waist and lifted me with surprising ease, gyrating me around midair and laughing.
His laughter was interrupted by the sound of a mad cavalcade and, following upon that, the sound of a man making his way through the bushes around us. A footman - his clothes stained from hard riding - emerged into the clearing. He was pale and looked half out of his head.
"Mr. Darcy, Mr. Darcy. You must pardon me. It's your cousin, Mr. Bingley."
"Charles? What happened to Charles?"
The man shook his head. His voice came out as a harsh croak. "On that last Inn, this morning, milord, while you rode ahead... I'm very afraid Mr. Bingley shot himself."