Page 5 of May I Have the Pleasure
He apparently took my nod as acceptance. “I would like to give you fair warning. Not now, in fact, not until at least the third set, I will ask your permission to request the supper set.”
That declaration left me remarkably close to ruining my coiffure, as I just wanted to scratch my head in perplexity. Why would he ask such a peculiar thing in such a peculiar way? He was watching me carefully, with what I would have to call a mischievous grin while I tried to puzzle it out.
When it finally came to me, I had to join his grin. “Anotherpropriety fiction?”
He chuckled again, which I was finding less alarming than I had previously. “More of apropriety loophole, I should think.”
I had to admit it was clever, and I also appreciated that he apparently respected my intellect enough to believe I would know what a loophole was, and that I could work out his meaning. It was not a word in common use, but he knew enough of my education to believe I could decipher his intent, which showed an uncommon amount of respect for my intelligence.
Just to be certain, I thought to tell him my thoughts.
“Very clever. If I tell you not to even ask, I will not have to sit out the rest of the dances. I will not be denying a request, but simply preventing the question in the first place. From a propriety standpoint, I will be acting as an advisor, not a potential dance partner.”
The grin became even bigger, and I was just about to tell him that he would need to sheath that thing, when he said something even more astounding.
“One other thing. This is not a request… this is an… offer… for… a… service.”
Burning with curiosity, especially given his halting speech, I nodded to encourage him.
He looked serious. “As the evening advances, you may find yourself in need of filling the last set, which is, I fear, another laden with meaning for those tired of reading tea leaves or looking for advantage. If, at any time during the evening, you say the wordfinitoto me, I will ask you for the last set. We shall reverse the entire course of how dances are granted.”
This once again left my hair in some danger, but I must confess that as odd as the conversation was, it filled me with a warm feeling. He had just assured me that not only had he found some mysterious man to take care of my first set, but he would also personally see to it that I could avoid my cousin, or any other lunkhead for the supper and/or last sets as required—at my choice.He was essentially offering me his protection for the three most symbolic sets of the evening, and I felt nothing but gratitude.
I started to thank him, but he very forwardly put his finger on my lips.
“No gratitude, if you please. I do this for my own reasons.”
I, at the very least, gave him a genuine smile, and he seemed content.
At a bit of a loss as to what to do, I looked around but was once again surprised when he asked, “Would you mind introducing me to your cousin. If he is my aunt’s parson, he will no doubt ambush me eventually anyway.”
I should be embarrassed to admit that I snorted just like Lydia at this request, but I will go to my grave claiming I did no such thing.
“It will be my privilege, but do not say I failed to warn you.”
Introduction
I called Mr Collins over, and the formidable introduction was made with my best attempt at reining the ridiculous man in and the expected result.
My cousin prefaced his speech with a solemn bow, and thoughI truly wishedI could not hear a word of it, I heard it all.He rambled on for a good five minutes, liberally injecting the wordsapology, Hunsford,andLady Catherinein an endless litany that eventually worked his way up to indicating that Mr Darcy’s aunt and cousin were in the best of health Saturday week when he had last seen them. On and on my cousin prattled until I was beginning to wonder if this level of embarrassment was to be my lot in life.
I looked at Mr Darcy, thoroughly expecting to see hiscontempt abundantly increasing with the length of Mr Collins’s second speech, but what happened was entirely outside my expectations; although it would later occur to me to wonder why my expectation remained so low after the previous half-hour.
Mr Darcy finally managed to slide in a sentence or two when even Mr Collins required a breath.
“I thank you for your… detailed report. I had a letter from Lady Catherine a month ago, and I would say six weeks for my cousin, so it is good to have recent news.”
At this point, I looked at him in astonishment, andhe winked at me. Men do not do that—well, except in silly romance novels—but I am certain he did so. Then he did something even more astonishing.
“I am curious. As you probably know, I visit my aunt each Easter to review her accounts and assist with any estate issues she needs, so I am familiar with the operation of Rosings. I understand my aunt was planning several improvements to the parsonage. Can you tell me if they have been done, and if the work is to your satisfaction?”
By that point, I had entirely given up on making any sense of the exchange, and much like someone in a boat going down rapids (not that I would ever approach either a boat or rapids, but I do like to read about them), I just sat back to enjoy the ride.
Mr Collins could now wax poetic about the changes to the parsonage, and it took me some time to determine if the great Lady Catherine had torn down the parsonage and replaced it with a castle, or he just took delight in the smallest thing. The answer became clear when several minutes were consumed with a description of the angle of the stairs and the shelves in a closet.
My cousin was just being ridiculous, but then something hit me like a hammer blow. This was a thought of such singularity that I almost gasped in surprise.
Mr Darcy was being kind to Mr Collins. In fact, aside from Jane, Mary, and possibly my Aunt Phillips; he was theonlyperson in Hertfordshire who had been kind to the parson. True, he was an annoying and vexing man, but he was honourable, as far as I knew, and respectable. His position was eligible for the right woman, but my father and I had spent the entire time just making sport of the man. I had been grousing about Mr Darcy’s manners for six weeks, but in the here and now, he was showing me how a real gentleman behaved, and I found myself shamed. Of course, I still did not want to dance with Mr Collins, marry him, or reject a proposal; but I could have shown him more kindness, even if for purely practical reasons.
