Page 11 of Mr. Darcy's Folly
“Nothing?” Fitz raised an eyebrow. “Then you will not mind if I pursue her myself? She seems quite receptive to my dashing figure and charming address.”
The surge of jealousy that rose in Darcy’s chest was hot enough to burn. “You cannot possibly afford her.”
“You know how much my brother enjoys playing the bon vivant. I believe he would increase my allowance substantially if I promised to wed and start my nursery so he might avoid doing so himself. If my bride were Miss Bennet, that duty would not be at all onerous.” He leaned back and spoke to the ceiling. “She has wit, beauty, and a particular talent for managing difficult relations.”
Darcy stood abruptly, his chair nearly toppling over from the force. “Do not even consider it, Fitz.”
“There it is!” his cousin crowed triumphantly as he sat up and wagged a finger in Darcy’s direction. “That is not the reaction of a man who finds a lady’s conversation merelyengaging.”
Darcy righted his chair and sat with a grunt.
“When was the last time you met a woman who could handle Lady Catherine so deftly, and yet so kindly? Who makes you smile despite yourself? Who constantly draws your gaze? I cannot remember a time I saw you so distracted at dinner. You nearly put your elbow in the sauce.”
“I did nothing of the sort,” Darcy protested, though he had to admit he had been paying rather less attention to his plate than usual.
“Only because I kicked your leg under the table,” Fitz said cheerfully.
“Yes,” Darcy said drily. “I would ask you to stop doing that, by the by.”
Fitz crossed his arms behind his head. “Seriously, Darcy, I cannot recall ever seeing you so affected.”
“It does not signify,” Darcy repeated slowly, as though speaking the words would make it true. “Nothing can come of it.”
“So you say,” his cousin responded. “But I believe the lady has already broken through your defences. The only question is how long you will continue to deny it.” He caught Darcy’s gaze and held it. “I am not about to fish in your pond, but others will not care a jot. A woman with her excellent qualities will not go unnoticed forever. Lady Catherine may in fact be composing a list of eligible men for your Miss Bennet even as we speak. You know how she likes to be of use.”
The thought of another man courting Miss Elizabeth was exquisitely painful. Darcy did not speak, but as he sipped his brandy, he could not quite banish the memory of Miss Elizabeth’s bright eyes as she had deftly led his aunt’s attention away from her friend, or the way something in his chest had tightened when she smiled. Nothing could come of it, he told himself firmly. Nothing at all.
But watching the firelight dance across his cousin’s knowing expression, Darcy was not certain he believed it anymore. The brandy in his glass offered no answers, only the reflection of his own troubled countenance.
The rain lashed against the parlour windows, the steady patter rising to a furious drumming as the wind howled through the trees beyond the parsonage. The warmth of the fire in the grate was a welcome contrast to the damp chill seeping in from the storm outside.
Elizabeth sat on the settee nearby, her hands wrapped around a cup of tea that had long since cooled. Next to her, Charlotte worked at a bit of mending, her needle flashing in the dim light, while Maria sat with her hands folded in her lap, glancing anxiously over her shoulder at the window each time the thunder rolled.
Mr. Collins was in his study, writing the sermon on bees he had assured Lady Catherine was already complete. She supposed that composing one’s thoughtswasdifferent from putting them to paper. It was his third morning sequestered away, and Elizabeth had never been more grateful for an unintended consequence of her occasionally impetuous wit.
“I know you wished to walk out this morning, but I believe the weather proves I was right to keep you at home,” Charlotte said pleasantly.
Maria nodded solemnly while Elizabeth laughed. “You usually are, and I confess I am grateful not to be caught out in it.”
Near eleven, Mr. Collins burst in, interrupting their quiet pursuits. He held a note in his hand.
My goodness, what poor servant had been required to go out of doors to deliver it?
“My dear Mrs. Collins! Miss Elizabeth! Maria! Lady Catherine has most graciously invited us to take luncheon at Rosings. We must make haste! Her ladyship was most insistent that Miss de Bourgh requires company on such a dreary day, and she particularly mentioned you, my dear cousin.”
Maria stood and removed from the room without another word while Elizabeth and Charlotte exchanged glances.
“My dear,” Charlotte ventured, “perhaps we ought to send our regrets. The rain is quite severe.”
Pounding footsteps travelled up the stairs. Maria, as afraid of Lady Catherine’s displeasure as Mr. Collins, was apparently in a hurry to gather her things. Elizabeth sighed. There was little chance of them getting out of the engagement, but Charlotte, bless her, would try.
“Send our regrets? To Lady Catherine?” Mr. Collins looked aghast. “My dear Mrs. Collins, surely you cannot mean to refuse such condescension! Her ladyship specifically requested our presence.”
“The lanes will be quite muddy,” Elizabeth offered. “Surely Lady Catherine would not like it were we to sully her floors. She will understand—”
“Understand? Cousin Elizabeth, you cannot comprehend the honour being bestowed upon us! To brave a little rain is nothing compared to the privilege of providing company to Miss de Bourgh.”
“Alittlerain?” Elizabeth murmured, watching sheets of water cascading down the windows.
