One Thread Pulled: The Dance With Mr. Darcy (29 page)

Mary's invitation, unanticipated as it was, left Mr. Collins with a dilemma of his own. He could preserve his reputation of impeccable manners, or he could rudely decline Mary and proceed to claim a seat next to the woman he hoped to make his wife. Ultimately, although openly dismayed and slightly agitated, and with a longing glance over his shoulder at Elizabeth, Mr. Collins meekly accompanied Mary to a seat by the table, where her small arsenal of books was stacked in anticipation of a lengthy conversation.

Shortly thereafter, Mr. Wickham, Mr. Denny and Captain Carter were announced to the room by Hill. The officers were greeted effusively by Mrs. Bennet. Captain Carter and Mr. Denny remained politely attentive to her pleasantries, but Mr. Wickham scanned the room of Bennets distractedly, until his eyes fell upon Elizabeth Bennet, who stood by a small table near a window, her person lit by the sunlight streaming through the glass, her face friendly and open. She held in her hand a small white cloth, the project she was working on trimming with lace as they kept company.

His desire to be seated near her was accomplished as soon as it was civil to break free of the welcome, and George Wickham joined Elizabeth with the swaggering confidence of a man well accustomed to admiration from the ladies. He had reflected much on the end of their previous conversation and was determined to use this opportunity to overcome it to full advantage, for it was a blow to his pride that her admiration was not fully given. He employed an excessive degree of charm, greeting her with a kiss on the back of her hand, locking eyes with her as he did so—a maneuver he had perfected by practicing it on the hands and hearts of many a maiden.

“Miss Elizabeth, your loveliness today takes my breath away. You are all that is good and beautiful in the world. Were I to be stricken at this moment, I would die a happy man.” He whispered the compliment hoarsely, a heated expression burning in his pale gray eyes.

Elizabeth withdrew her hand nervously and, returning to her own chair, invited him to be seated as she occupied her hands with a return to the trim on her handkerchief.

He seated himself without even looking away from her face. He took in the tinge of pink his greeting had evoked and pressed for more intimacy by moving his chair slightly closer to hers, talking all the while of how greatly he had anticipated coming to Longbourn after Lydia had issued the invitation, his voice hushed, although infused with an air of urgency.

“I feel that we have much to say to each other, Miss Elizabeth, for I wish to discover all that there is to know of you. I feel so at ease with you. I pray that I am not being too forward, for I would not wish to offend your delicacy, but a soldier's life is not all heroics, you know. We must face the possibility that each day will be our last.”

Elizabeth looked at him curiously. His discourse was far more dramatic than their last encounter, and she wondered what had inspired the change. Her eyes fell to her needle as she placed another stitch. He took her silence as encouragement.

“The peril of my situation gives me courage, Madam, to speak what is in my heart. Our acquaintance has been but of short duration, I well know, but surely you must feel it as well.” He paused to swallow and took a deep breath. “I have seen it in your eyes; I know what I have seen.” He nodded, as if to assure them both. “I dare hope that you find me in some way agreeable.” He stopped, waiting for her to acknowledge it.

“Is it the unrest of the local population that has inspired your fear, or are you to subdue the French today, Mr. Wickham?” Elizabeth asked mildly as she pulled the thread in her lace taut. “I had been under the impression that the militia was quartered here to train and renew their strength. I wonder at this peril you speak of.”

Wickham's eyebrows shot upward at the challenge. “Does not my devotion to King and country serve as sufficient endorsement of my sincerity?”

“Would you have me believe that to merely don a red coat infuses a man with sincerity?” Elizabeth replied. “I would sooner believe that donning the attire of a clergyman bestows wisdom and humility.” She glanced over at Mr. Collins as she said it.

“My red coat, Miss Elizabeth, is indeed a poor second to the attire of a clergyman. That was my fondest wish, you know, to take a living in the church.” Wickham shook his head sadly.

“Truthfully?” Elizabeth's eyes widened as she looked up briefly from her sewing.

“In truth, the desire was instilled in me by my godfather, old Mr. Darcy” Wickham said. “He intended me for the church, and I was set upon the idea from a young age.” He looked out the window with some melancholy, as though he could see the lost dreams of his youth through the panes.

“How came you to be a soldier instead? The path seems far afield from that of a churchman.” Elizabeth puzzled, briefly distracted from the task in her hand.

“Ah.” Mr. Wickham said lightly. “I fear you have discovered the source of my quarrel with young Mr. Darcy.”

At this moment, the door opened and Hill announced the arrival of Mr. Bingley, Mr. Darcy, and Colonel Fitzwilliam to the occupants of the room.

Jane sighed happily and beamed at Mr. Bingley, her eyes inviting him to the seat she had carefully guarded next to her. Elizabeth squirmed in her seat, vaguely uncomfortable at the thought that Mr. Darcy would see her sitting with Mr. Wickham. Lydia, Kitty, Mr. Denny and Captain Carter turned all together at the mention of a colonel in their midst. Mr. Collins and Mary were so deeply engaged in some sort of debate that they barely glanced up at the arrivals. Mrs. Bennet greeted Mr. Bingley warmly, politely acknowledged Mr. Darcy, and pursued the introductions of Colonel Fitzwilliam, who was dressed in his regimentals and lent the uniform much distinction. Mr. Wickham blanched and sat very still.

Mr. Bennet immediately noticed the change in the dynamic of the room and closed his book in order to observe. Mrs. Bennet, oblivious to any tension, introduced Colonel Fitzwilliam to the room, rapidly firing off the names of those who were present, leaving the colonel grateful that all he needed was to locate one person.

As soon as the newcomers had dispensed with their obligatory greetings, Mr. Bingley took the seat next to Jane. Colonel Fitzwilliam took a direct course towards Elizabeth and Wickham. The only unoccupied seat remaining was next to Mary and Collins, but Mr. Darcy did not take it. He moved instead to the window next to the one where Wickham and Elizabeth were sitting and gazed out of it, as he was often wont to do.

Colonel Fitzwilliam, with barely a glance at his cousin and not even acknowledging Wickham, effortlessly moved an empty chair from the position next to Wickham to the other side of Elizabeth. It was done so quickly that she had barely blinked before he was seated beside her.

“So you are the famous Miss Bennet.” Colonel Fitzwilliam opened with such gentlemanly ease that there was no awkwardness to his approach. “I have heard so much of you that I find myself captivated before you have even spoken. I pray that you speak to me now, to justify my belief in your myriad charms.”

Elizabeth could not help but laugh. “Colonel Fitzwilliam, is this some military strategy you employ? I am disarmed, sir, but have no inclination to summon any of my 'myriad charms' by way of your command.” She resumed her attentions to the handkerchief in her hand; the lace trim was now very nearly affixed.

Colonel Fitzwilliam chuckled, nodding his head approvingly. “Well played, Miss Bennet. I shall discover your charms by other means.” He slapped Wickham on the knee. Both Elizabeth and Wickham jumped. “What do you say, George? Have you any advice for me on how best to discover this fair lady's charms?”

Elizabeth had not realized that the two men were acquainted, but she now noticed how distinctly uncomfortable Mr. Wickham appeared to be as he soundlessly shook his head. She detected, as well, a slight trembling of his person, which seemed to imply that he was afraid.

“You are fortunate that he has declined, Miss Elizabeth.” Colonel Fitzwilliam leaned toward her as if confiding a secret. “Mr. Wickham here has a great understanding of the means whereby a young lady's charms may be discovered.”

Fitzwilliam now turned his attention directly to Wickham, and Elizabeth watched in amazement as the colonel's air of geniality and warmth vanished into what she could only assume was that of a practiced commander. It was also the first moment when she saw any similarity in the demeanor of the two cousins. “Who is your colonel, and how long have you been in his regiment?”

“Colonel Forster.” Wickham's composure had dissipated. Great beads of sweat rolled off his face. He swallowed a great gulp of air, causing Elizabeth to wince at the sound. “I ... I ... I ... took my ... my ... c ... c ... commission about a ... a ... a ... week, a week ago.” He was visibly shaking. Elizabeth wondered why he was so afraid of Colonel Fitzwilliam.

“Colonel John Forster?” Fitzwilliam pressed, and was rewarded with a weak nod. “Good man. I am acquainted with him. Please be so kind as to tell him that I shall call upon him tomorrow.” Wickham forlornly nodded again.

The colonel then returned to face Elizabeth, all traces of his formal bearing gone, and he casually engaged her once again in pleasant conversation, during which time he surprised her with his knowledge of many personal details. They spoke for about ten minutes, after which time tea was served.

Elizabeth had finished applying the lace to her handkerchief and set the completed project on the table next to her in order to drink her tea. Wickham made his escape to join Lydia, Kitty and the other officers. His exit from the group served to vacate a chair next to Elizabeth, which Darcy looked at but did not take. He did turn to face the room as he stood with his tea and cake, which Elizabeth thought was a far more social move than she had expected of him, as he had spoken nothing since his initial entrance into the room.

Elizabeth sipped on her tea and chatted with the colonel, who she suspected had taken a fancy to her, as he continually said things to make her laugh and obviously enjoyed his success. She glanced around the room as much as she politely could, taking in the sight of Bingley and Jane, their heads nearly pressed together as they engaged in a fervent conversation. She observed Lydia and Kitty, laughing and giggling with the officers, although Mr. Wickham had not regained his spirits and barely ventured a smile in the course of the hour.

After Mr. Collins finished his third cup of tea, he moved to the chair that had been vacated by Wickham. Elizabeth noted with amusement that this seemed to perturb Mr. Darcy, who became more rigid, stern, and slightly redder in the face than he had been the moment before Mr. Collins changed his seat.

Why Mr. Darcy would react in such a way to the silly parson Elizabeth could not pretend to understand, but she enjoyed it, somehow, to think that he did. She looked at her father, who winked at her. He too had noted the odd effect, and they enjoyed a private joke together that neither of them understood.

Fitzwilliam was unperturbed by the addition of Mr. Collins to their little group, and after acknowledging that he was indeed a nephew of Lady Catherine de Bourgh and a son of the Earl of Matlock, he resumed his conversation with Elizabeth.

At some length, Mr. Collins inquired after the health of the colonel's brother, the eldest son of the earl. Fitzwilliam replied that his entire family was well. This caused some degree of apparent anxiety on the part of Mr. Collins, who muttered something unintelligible about a letter, and Elizabeth realized with a degree of interest that, in resolving this inquiry, all three nephews of Lady Catherine were accounted for; and none appeared to have recently been in any peril whatsoever.

What it could mean, she did not know, but Mr. Darcy suddenly approached the group and stood looming over them. Mr. Collins looked up at Mr. Darcy, the action emphasized by Collins beginning at Darcy's feet, and continuing until Mr. Collin's head was completely tipped back, his mouth slightly agape.

Colonel Fitzwilliam leaned back in his chair and looked up his cousin with some amusement. Elizabeth wondered what private joke the two men held between them.

“Mr. Collins.” Darcy broke his silence. “My cousin, the colonel, had the distinct honor of seeing Lady Catherine just yesterday in London. He tells me she was much engaged in pressing matters related to her family.”

Mr. Collins looked at Fitzwilliam, who grinned and nodded his head to confirm it.

Mr. Darcy then spoke with some warmth to the parson, although his authority was as if forged of iron. “I myself was in London but four days ago and also saw my aunt at that time. I understand that when last you saw her, she was much concerned about
 
me.
 
Her information was from an idle and false report. There is no need for you to concern yourself further on the matter. It is settled.”

Mr. Collins looked nervously between the two gentlemen before launching into speech. “I am much obliged that you have made this known to me, for just today I have dispatched a missive to my esteemed patroness, wherein I made known to her my progress on the errand I am here to perform. I felt it my duty to inform her, Mr. Darcy, that I had encountered you, her nephew, here in Hertfordshire, and assured her that there was no cause for concern, as you were in temporary residence with a very respectable family, that of Mr. Charles Bingley and his sisters.” He drew in a lungful of air and continued. “I had not known, of course, that the matter was already resolved, but it puts my mind at ease that she had heard the news so many days ago, as she was most distressed when I saw her last.”