“And yet we manage well-enough. Better than most, I suspect.” He smiled, dismissing his wife’s discontent and his inaction.
In my experience?of which I had a plentiful portion, thanks in good part to my aunt Catherine—complaints usually stemmed from a lack of attention.
Granted, I did not agree with Mrs. Bennet in this matter. Mr. Collins would not make a good husband for Elizabeth. That she was unwilling to settle merely to secure a home of her own and a place for her mother and sisters told me she expected more from that eternal union. She was not afraid of a challenge; therefore, she required a man who would not be intimidated by her wit or afraid of testing her intellect. That man was decidedlynotMr. Collins.
The cook returned with a blanket. I was finally able to set Elizabeth down as the woman wrapped the quilt around her and promptly ushered everyone out of her kitchen.
Elizabeth hurried up the stairs, where she would undoubtedly change into another gown. I followed Mr. and Mrs. Bennet into the parlor to find the rest of the family entertaining themselves in various occupations. Miss Bennet set down her embroidery and curtsied with a warm smile. Miss Mary curtsied stiffly, the book she had been reading still gripped in her hands. The two youngest sisters scowled at me, though Miss Kitty’s expression was not as fierce as Miss Lydia’s.
I bowed.
“Lydia, mind your manners,” Miss Bennet softly urged.
“What ishedoing here?” Miss Lydia replied, bobbing an obligatory curtsy.
“Lydia,” hissed Mrs. Bennet. “We know Mr. Darcy to be disagreeable, but we will not stoop to that kind of behavior.”
I had been tried, weighed, measured against Lydia Bennet’s lewd behavior… and found wanting.
The shame! I had thought apologizing to Elizabeth would sufficiently erase my error, but it was apparent my thoughtlesscomment had done more damage to my reputation than I had believed possible.
Mr. Bennet motioned for me to sit, and Mrs. Bennet sent for tea and the cake intended for their celebration of Elizabeth’s eagerly anticipated engagement. Admittedly, she was a gracious hostess despite her obvious lack of enthusiasm to have me as her guest.
“Very well, Mr. Darcy, what brings you to Longbourn?” Mr. Bennet pulled out his pipe and stretched his legs in front of him.
I shifted my weight, uneasy. Did he really want me to describe—in front of his daughters—the whole of what had happened? I ran my sweaty palms over my breeches.
“Mr. Darcy, your hands!” In a blink, Mrs. Bennet was at my side, all compassion. “You are bleeding, sir! Mary, bring me some cold water in a basin and a clean rag!”
I had not noticed the cuts and stinging flesh of swollen welts until she called attention to them.
Miss Bennet ran to see what they might have in the stillroom for my injuries while her mother fussed over me like a small child. Being well beyond the age of such motherly ministrations, I balked and tried to pull my hands away.
Mr. Bennet clucked his tongue. “It is useless, Mr. Darcy. There is nothing Mrs. Bennet loves more than to nurse a wounded being. A bird cannot fall out of its nest without her bringing it inside the house to mend.”
Mrs. Bennet cooed and talked under her breath, explaining what she was doing in a soothing singsong. The water she dabbed against the hot welts cooled my skin.
Not since my mother had anyone attended to me so gently. It felt… pleasant.
“It looks like you fought a tiger. What happened that hurt you so?” she asked softly.
“Miss Elizabeth was stuck in the hedgerow, and I pulled her out.”
“The hedgerow did that to you? We ought to cut it down, Papa!” Miss Kitty exclaimed forcefully.
Miss Lydia glared at her. “I wish it had been a tiger! I wish it had eaten him!”
“Lydia, do not speak like that to our guest. Mr. Darcy saved Lizzy from the hedgerows. You know how wicked the thorns on those Hawthorn bushes are.” Mrs. Bennet stood, satisfied she had cleaned and soothed my hands as well as she could. The tray came in, accompanied by Miss Bennet with a jar of salve. Her mother bent and carefully applied the medicinal cream to my fingers and palms while her eldest daughter prepared tea for everyone.
Plied with cake, tea, and hands greasy with ointment, I expected Mr. Bennet would now address the apparent compromise he and his wife had witnessed in the kitchen.
“I know that part of the hedgerow. I lost a bonnet to it only last year. You must be very strong to carry Lizzy like you did! How far away were you?” Miss Kitty asked excitedly, her gaze raking over my shoulders and arms.
Waiting was torture. I wondered when Elizabeth would return with my coat. I hoped someone was tending to her wounds as tenderly as Mrs. Bennet had seen to mine.
“He is a bully!” Miss Lydia puckered her bottom lip. “You should have seen how he attacked poor Mr. Wickham at the ball!”
Miss Bennet frowned. “Mr. Wickham? You saw him?”
