Rebellion at Longbourn

Mr. Bingley traveled with Mr. Darcy’s sister? Was there an understanding? An engagement? Mr. Darcy must have guessed the tendency of her thoughts. “Bingley never had many opportunities to travel, and I was grateful for someone else to watch over Georgiana. By the end of the first month, I believe he quite regarded her as the little sister he never had.”

He would hardly describe their relationship thus if they were engaged. Beside her on the settee, Jane relaxed fractionally. “It was a shame he was unable to accompany you here,” Elizabeth said.

“Yes. But Mr. Bingley still holds the lease to Netherfield, so he may yet visit.” Mr. Darcy was studiously avoiding any glances in Jane’s direction. Was Mr. Bingley engaged or married? Just because he did not love Miss Darcy, it did not necessarily follow that he was unattached. “My visit to Meryton was a hasty affair to manage some business.”

“I pray you”—Jane cleared her throat—“I pray you, give him our regards.”

“He will be pleased to hear about your family.”

Jane did not smile, but her countenance did brighten a bit.

Their mother had managed to hold her tongue for longer than Elizabeth would have believed possible, but her restraint did not last. “Indeed, yes! Tell Mr. Bingley we long to see him! He is welcome to dinner any time. Er—” Mrs. Bennet cast a glance at Charlotte, recalling that she was no longer mistress there.

“We would be happy to have Mr. Bingley as a guest,” Charlotte said serenely.

“I will convey your invitation,” Mr. Darcy said to Charlotte. “I understand you have had a recent addition to your family.”

“Oh yes!” Charlotte’s expression softened as it always did when she discussed her son. “His name is Robert, and he…” Mr. Darcy had unwittingly hit on the only subject that would make Charlotte Collins garrulous, but he seemed quite content to listen to her enumerate her son’s amazing achievements, among them: holding up his head, rolling over, smiling, and growing two teeth.

As Charlotte spoke, Elizabeth suddenly realized Mr. Darcy was staring at her hands. As the weather grew warmer, she had not troubled herself to don gloves after working in the kitchen. But her bare hands were red and chafed, bearing callouses and blisters—the unmistakable signs of labor. They were not the hands of a young lady. Elizabeth flushed and fought the urge to hide her hands under the folds of her gown.

There is nothing I might do now, she consoled herself. He has noticed and is unlikely to forget. The damage is done.

Why should I care what he thinks of me anyway? He is wholly unconnected to me and my life. She did not understand why he had troubled himself to visit since he did not appear particularly interested in any of the conversation. Let him think what he likes. My hands are calloused because I am caring for my family. Elizabeth raised her chin and stared at Mr. Darcy, daring him to criticize her callouses. After a moment he reddened and averted his gaze.

Now her mother was recalling the halcyon days when Mr. Bingley had thrown a ball at Netherfield. Elizabeth supposed the reminiscences did no harm, although she could still recall how embarrassed she had been by her mother’s indiscretions and Mr. Collins’s want of delicacy at that event. It was also the only time she had danced with Mr. Darcy. Did he now regret it?

Mr. Darcy had never been an intimate friend of the Bennets, and surely he knew how Lydia had damaged the family’s reputation. But he had never liked Mr. Wickham; perhaps he was more willing than others to blame the officer rather than their sister.

Perhaps Mr. Darcy deserved her approbation rather than her scorn. She gave him a small smile, and he returned a bemused expression.

Her mother chattered with great animation, most likely still nurturing some hope that Mr. Darcy might convince Mr. Bingley to resume courting Jane. Nothing would make Elizabeth happier. If even one of the Bennet sisters could escape their slow descent into poverty, Elizabeth would be quite relieved.

But it was a vain hope. Jane was an even less acceptable match for Mr. Bingley than she had been before. Elizabeth wondered if Mr. Darcy was regretting his decision to visit Longbourn. Those regrets must have surely intensified when the door opened to admit Collins. The man was breathless, having doubtless rushed to the drawing room when he learned of Mr. Darcy’s visit.

“Mr. Darcy, sir!” Her cousin bowed, shook the other man’s hand, and then bowed again. “You are very welcome. Most welcome indeed to our humble abode.” Standing beside Charlotte, he took her hand and gave her a simpering smile that would have made Elizabeth laugh had she not seen it so frequently as to become immune. “Mrs. Collins and I are quite delighted to have you grace our home. You honor us with your presence.”

Mr. Darcy clearly believed the effusiveness of the welcome was unnecessary. “It is my pleasure,” he said shortly, eyeing the door as if considering an escape, but instead he took a sip of his tea.

“I must say—and forgive me that I did not say this yesterday, but I was quite amazed to see you at the assembly; indeed I was nearly overcome with shock—but I must say welcome home from your travels. I hope you did not find the Colonies too excessively savage.” Collins did not wait for a response. “Lady Catherine always said she would take great pleasure in visiting the Colonies, but unfortunately her stomach rebels at the slightest boat trip. I cannot count the number of times she has said to me, ‘I would show those ignorant colonists how a truly great nation functions.’ And I replied that indeed those people had been deprived of true greatness.”

“They seem to be struggling on despite that deprivation,” Darcy said dryly. Elizabeth had to cover her mouth to stifle a laugh.

Collins nodded earnestly as he settled himself beside his wife and accepted a cup of tea from her. He often poured a little brandy into his tea, but fortunately he did not do so in front of their guest. “Have you visited Rosings Park since your return?” he asked.

“I have not had that pleasure,” Mr. Darcy said. “I arrived home only a few days ago.”

Elizabeth’s eyebrows rose. His business in Meryton must be very urgent indeed. She wondered what it could be since she was unaware that he possessed any connections to the neighborhood.

Collins’s gaze flicked quickly to Elizabeth; she wanted to roll her eyes. Charlotte had suspected Mr. Darcy had formed an attachment to her, but really it was nonsense. “You should visit Kent at once,” her cousin admonished him. “Your aunt has felt your absence most keenly and is naturally most eager to celebrate a certain long-awaited event.” No doubt her cousin was hinting about Mr. Darcy’s engagement to Anne de Bourgh. Elizabeth had

never heard the man himself refer to such an engagement, but he did not now deny it.

“I will visit Rosings in due course,” he said impassively.

Collins bounced with energy, obviously unsatisfied with this vague promise. “Lady Catherine is most eager to see you.”

Mr. Darcy regarded the man coolly. “I have pressing business elsewhere.”