What had happened during the past two years? Darcy was wild to know and yet feared the answer.
Miss Bennet blushed at his perusal of her gown. If only he could somehow reassure her that he did not judge her appearance but instead worried about her family’s well-being.
“I noticed Miss Kitty and your mother with you. Are Miss Elizabeth and Miss Mary here as well?” he asked, although he knew the response.
Jane bit her lip. “Uh, no. Mary does not care for balls, and Lizzy is…watching over the Collins’s baby, Robert.”
“Surely they have a nurse?”
Jane stared at the tips of her dancing slippers. “Er…not at the moment. The child is weaned, so the wet nurse has departed, and Mr. Collins has not hired someone new…” Darcy was shocked. They did not have a nurse or a nanny of any sort? “Ordinarily…Kitty watches the child,” Miss Bennet hastened to add, “but she wanted to attend the dance…”
“I see.” Darcy did indeed see. Kitty had been pressed into service as the child’s unpaid nurse, and Elizabeth had take
n her sister’s place so she might attend the assembly. Obviously such an arrangement benefitted Mr. Collins. He was already supporting Kitty; from his perspective he probably saw her as making herself useful. But it came perilously close to turning his cousin into a servant. And the nurse’s wages were obviously not now invested in new gowns for the Bennet sisters. Instead they became Collins’s badly embroidered waistcoats.
Darcy started to regret every civil word he had uttered to the man.
“Perhaps I will call on her tomorrow,” he said absently.
Jane’s eyes widened. “Er…I am sure Mr. Collins would be pleased if you would call upon the family.”
Of course. If Collins perceived Darcy giving preference to his dependent cousin, he might be displeased with her. “Yes, yes. I will be pleased to see everyone at Longbourn.” If only he could learn how Elizabeth was truly faring! But he could think of no polite way to embark on such a frank discussion.
Perhaps there was another way. “And how fares your—”
Collins appeared suddenly, looming over his cousin. “My dear, perhaps you should obtain some of the delicious punch?” He raised a cup with a smile, but his tone of voice made the suggestion into an order. Was he attempting to separate Miss Bennet from Darcy? Surely he did not suspect any attachment there?
But just as the woman turned to leave, Collins grabbed her elbow and spoke in an undertone. “Stand there.” He pointed. “Mr. Shaw might request another dance.”
Ah, now Darcy understood. The older man was speaking with Mr. Long near the punch table, and Collins wanted his cousin to situate herself nearby. But the man was quite old; surely even Collins would not think of marrying her to— A wave of nausea swept over Darcy again.
Miss Bennet flushed bright red, no doubt suspecting that Darcy had overheard her cousin’s mercenary words. She gave Darcy a brief curtsey. “I beg you to excuse me, Mr. Darcy. Hopefully, we will see you at Longbourn before long.”
As she hurried away, Mr. Collins beamed at Darcy. “Now I have the opportunity to tell you of my plans to purchase a new carriage for Longbourn…”
Darcy sighed. He had accomplished all he could for the evening, and now he resigned himself to the babble.
Chapter Five
Elizabeth was irritated with herself for caring. She had a clean dress—her best day dress, a sprigged muslin that was not quite as worn as the others—and her hair was tidy. But she could not help wondering if there were shadows beneath her eyes or if the color had drained from her cheeks. Ever since Jane’s breathless account of encountering Mr. Darcy the night before, he seemed to occupy all her thoughts at a time when she had far more important concerns. He had promised to call upon Longbourn today. At any moment they could hear his knock upon the door. Elizabeth wished it did not matter to her.
There was nothing for it. Imagining Mr. Darcy sitting in their drawing room reminded her forcefully that she was no longer Elizabeth Bennet of Longbourn. She was simply Elizabeth Bennet, or perhaps Miss Bennet of Nowhere, a woman with a spotty education and little to recommend her save faded prettiness and a pert tongue. Elizabeth was all too aware that she was leaner, tanner, and more muscular than when he had last seen her. She consumed the same amount of food, but constant labor had worn away the slight curves her figure had once possessed. Her hands were not dainty, and her complexion was no longer creamy.
Mr. Darcy’s return recalled the last happy time in her life, when her greatest concerns were her sisters’ squabbles and whether she would have a partner for the ball. She had been completely ignorant of how fragile her peace was. It had shattered practically overnight—and through no fault of Elizabeth’s. All it took was a sister’s disgrace and a father’s death, and her whole world was turned on its end.
Nearly everyone in Meryton regarded the Bennet sisters with sneers or sympathy, but Elizabeth had accustomed herself to it. Could she bear either sneers or sympathy from Mr. Darcy?
She kneaded the dough on the kitchen table, sending flour drifting into the air. It would be sneers, of course. Mr. Darcy was not a very sympathetic man, although he had demonstrated unexpected compassion at Hunsford when she learned of her father’s first attack of apoplexy. He had been all that was kind and had even dispatched his coach to take her to Longbourn.
But she could not expect such civility again. Most people could display compassion under extreme circumstances; it was a different matter when faced with a disgraced family.
And why must he come at such an inconvenient time? He had not visited for two years; plainly he did not enjoy the company in this neighborhood. Why had he bothered to return at all? Even if he had some business in the area, it would be a simple matter to avoid the acquaintance. Surely it was beneath him to gloat at her diminished circumstances. Perhaps some misguided sense of obligation drove him.
She brushed hair from her face, no doubt getting flour on her forehead, and worried about flour on her gown despite the apron she wore over it. But there was nothing for it. Bread must be made; Hill could not do everything.
A knock sounded at Longbourn’s front entrance. Hill hurried up the stairs, her heels tapping a staccato rhythm on the wood.
Elizabeth hurried to pull the apron over her head and hang it on a peg. Jane rushed into the room. Without speaking a word, she tucked a wayward lock of hair behind Elizabeth’s ear and brushed flour from her cheek. Jane had been dusting, so Elizabeth performed the same office for her, removing dust from the shoulder of her gown. It was a routine they followed whenever somebody visited Longbourn, perpetuating the myth that they were gently bred women who never worked.