Page 13 of Mr. Darcy's Folly
“Your ladyship is all goodness,” Mr. Collins stammered nervously, “but I would never presume to request that you send a carriage to retrieve us. It is already remarkable that we are so rarely allowed to walk home.”
“You need not request anything,” Darcy said. “In future, you will send a footman to enquire. The carriage will be sent as a matter of course in inclement weather. Is that not so, Aunt?”
“What? Oh, yes, of course.” Lady Catherine waved her hand. “I keep an excellent stable, Mr. Collins. The horses are quite accustomed to such duties.”
Mr. Collins moved to sit in his accustomed chair, but Darcy’s aunt called out sharply, “Collins, you will stand until you are dry. I will not have you leaving a water mark on the furniture.”
The parson nodded and bowed. He was still attempting to explain himself to Fitz when the ladies returned. Miss Lucas wore a pale blue muslin that, while perhaps two seasons out of date, was of the finest quality and fit her perfectly. Darcy had not realized that Anne and Miss Lucas were so close in size. Mrs. Collins had been provided with a serviceable grey shawl that caught the slate blue of her eyes and improved her usual drab appearance considerably. And Miss Elizabeth—
Her dark curls had been tidied, and her colour was high. The rose-coloured shawl was a soft cashmere—he recognized it as one of a pair he had purchased several years back, a blue one for his sister and this one for Anne. It brought out an answering warmth in Miss Elizabeth’s complexion, and her eyes sparkled with suppressed mirth at Mr. Collins’s obvious discomfort.
She must realise that he had been scolded severely while they were out of the room, and it amused him that she appeared so satisfied by it.
Each lady wore dry shoes and, he supposed, stockings. Anne entered behind them, looking rather pleased with herself. Darcy caught her eye and nodded his approval. To his surprise, she gave him an exasperated look that clearly said she did not need his approbation for doing what any decent hostess would.
For the second time in less than half an hour, he found himself hiding a smile. Perhaps his quiet cousin had more spirit than any of them had suspected.
“Come, ladies,” Fitz said, smoothly intervening, “you must sit by the fire. I insist upon it.” He glared at Mr. Collins until that man escorted his wife to a chair near the hearth.
Fitz then caught Darcy’s eye with a knowing look that Darcy chose to ignore, though he could not help but notice how the firelight brought out a bit of auburn in Miss Elizabeth’s dark hair. She was still shivering slightly.
“Another log for the fire, Peabody,” Darcy ordered. “And the blankets, please.”
Peabody tended to the wood while Mrs. Wilson brought the blankets. A maid opened them and placed them over each lady’s lap.
Miss Elizabeth sighed as she tucked the wool blanket around her legs and feet. He hoped she would feel warm again soon. After a moment, she glanced over at him.
“Thank you,” she said quietly.
It was ridiculous how pleased those two words made him. Darcy was aware he was watching Miss Elizabeth too closely—his aunt was looking at him with raised eyebrows, and Fitz was hiding a smirk. But the sight of Miss Elizabeth’s grateful expression made it worth any awkwardness.
“I have always said,” Lady Catherine pronounced, moving to another tall-backed chair nearer the fire so that her guests could still hear her, “that one must take particular care of one’s guests. It is the mark of true nobility to attend to such matters. Anne, you have done very well—though of course, you learned from my example.”
Anne caught Miss Bennet’s eye and quickly looked away, but not before Darcy noticed her small smile. He found himself fascinated by the silent communication between the two young women—the slight arch of Miss Elizabeth’s brow, the answering set of Anne’s mouth. When had his cousin learned such subtle impertinence? Or had he, so caught up in his disputes with her mother, merely failed to note it?
The tea arrived and Anne set herself to pouring it out.
“Indeed, your ladyship,” Mr. Collins effused, still attempting to recover his standing, “your consideration for others is beyond compare. Such generosity of spirit—”
“Yes, yes.” Lady Catherine waved away his praise, though Darcy noted she sat a bit straighter. “It is merely what any person of proper breeding would do. Though I dare say few households could provide such fine things at a moment’s notice.”
Miss Elizabeth lifted her teacup to hide her smile.
Darcy found his attention drawn repeatedly to that smile, to the way she managed to convey perfect politeness while her eyes danced with barely suppressed amusement. He had once thought her merely pretty. How blind he had been. There was a luminosity to her expression that seemed to draw everyone into its orbit. Even now, she was including Anne in her private mirth without making his cousin uncomfortable, a feat he would have thought impossible even an hour ago.
“Of course,” his aunt continued, warming to her subject, “I have always maintained that true charity lies in knowing how to give without making others feel their obligation. Would you not agree, Darcy?”
He started slightly at being addressed. “Indeed, madam,” he replied automatically, though his eyes stubbornly strayed back to Miss Elizabeth, who was now listening with an expression of exaggerated attention that made his throat tighten. Good Lord, he needed to distract himself. It would not do to laugh at his aunt before her guests.
“It is a principle I have always impressed upon Anne,” Lady Catherine declared. “I have taught her the natural ability to bestow favours without causing embarrassment to the recipient.”
Miss Elizabeth smiled to herself. She caught his gaze for a moment, and he could read her thoughts as clearly as if she had spoken them aloud: It was impossible to teach something that was a natural ability. But if anyone would claim to do so, it would be Lady Catherine.
“Your ladyship’s understanding of such delicate matters is unparalleled,” Mr. Collins began, but his wife interrupted him with gentle firmness.
“Perhaps, my dear, we might allow Lady Catherine to enjoy her tea?”
Lady Catherine grunted approvingly, and Darcy silently applauded Mrs. Collins’s tactful intervention. He had noticed how often she managed to redirect her husband’s effusions without seeming to do so, not unlike Miss Bennet had the other night. No wonder they were friends.
