Page 50 of Darcy's Guarded Heart
“Ah, but that is where you are mistaken, Cousin Elizabeth,” he said, turning to her with a self-important nod. “A young lady should not burden her mind with such matters. A woman’s place is by her husband’s side.”
Her temper flared. “So a wife of yours ought not be too intelligent, nor too curious about the world?”
He pursed his lips thoughtfully. “You misunderstand me. A wife of mine should possess a keen mind, indeed—but directed towards the domestic arts. I should like her to be well-read, of course. There are many fine texts—cookery books, for instance, and naturally the Holy Scripture. She need not preach, but she should be able to advise me appropriately after hearing my sermons.”
“Then I hope you find such a woman, for I fear I am not she,” Elizabeth said coolly. “I have no passion for cookery, and it has been many years since I even opened a cookbook.”
“Surely you are familiar with the Bible? You attend church.”
“Of course. But more for the social engagement. I enjoy seeing my friends after service. And Sunday is always agreeable for tea and conversation.”
“Coffee, you mean?” he said, aghast.
She nearly smiled. She had tried coffee once—at her aunt and uncle’s home in London—and found it dreadful. But she suspected Mr Collins would find it scandalous, and she was not disappointed.
“One must indulge in such things now and again, Mr Collins. I daresay any husband of mine would do the same. Life ought to contain a little adventure—culinary or otherwise.”
He tugged at his cravat as if her words made his skin crawl.
“Well, I suppose you have not yet been properly exposed to the beauty of scripture or the blessed simplicity of a vicar’s wife’s life,” he said with some condescension. “You are young. Mouldable. I am sure that any husband would teach you these virtues.”
She opened her mouth to deliver a sharp retort, but before she could speak, the sound of hooves on gravel drew her attention. A rider approached, turning into the drive and dismounting with haste. A cloak concealed their figure, but as they landed on the ground, the hood slipped.
“Georgiana!” Elizabeth exclaimed, rushing towards her. “What are you doing here?”
“Oh, this is most irregular,” Mr Collins huffed. “Most irregular indeed. What would your aunt say, seeing you riding like a gentleman at this hour? And where is your companion?”
“At Netherfield,” Georgiana said shortly. “And I haven’t time to argue with you, Mr Collins. Report what you will to my aunt. I must see Thomas immediately. It is urgent. My brother is making us leave Netherfield in the morning.”
Elizabeth took her by the hand, ignoring Mr Collins’s sputtering, and ushered her inside.
“Wait here,” she said, then hastened up the stairs to Thomas’s room. When he answered, his eyes were heavy with sleep.
“What is it?”
“Georgiana is downstairs. She’s come alone.”
He blinked. “Georgiana? What is she doing here?”
“She’s come to say goodbye. Mr Darcy is taking her away tomorrow.”
“No,” he muttered. “He can’t. Not now… Not when she and I—”
“Thomas, go to her. She’s upset.”
He nodded and squeezed her shoulder before hurrying down the stairs.
“This is most irregular!” Mr Collins cried.
Elizabeth followed quickly and found Collins attempting to block Thomas’s path to Georgiana.
“Please,” Georgiana said, her voice tight, “I wish to speak to Thomas. I do not need a chaperone.”
“You most certainly do. Your aunt would be outraged. I cannot allow this.”
“Collins,” Thomas said, his tone low, “step aside. Or we shall both regret it.”
“Such a threat!” Mr Collins cried.
