“I came to apologize for my unkind comments at the Meryton Assembly.” My face burned, embarrassment spreading through my body as I uttered the words again to a much larger group than I had intended to hear. “I met Miss Elizabeth along the path. It was slippery and she was agitated.”
“She would never have been out of doors had she accepted Mr. Collins’s proposal as she should have!” complained Mrs. Bennet.
I swallowed my offense. “It was an innocent accident, but I am aware of what conclusions you must have drawn when we arrived here.”
Mr. Bennet waved off my comment. “Nonsense. In light of recent events, you are obviously an honorable gentleman. If you declare nothing untoward transpired between you and Lizzy, I see no need to discuss the matter any further.” He looked at Elizabeth, eyebrows raised. “Have you anything to add to this account?”
She shook her head.
Mrs. Bennet pulled out her handkerchief and waved her face with it. “Two wasted proposals in one day!” She turned to me. “Mr. Darcy, unless you wish to be tied to a rebellious, headstrong bride, you will stay away from Longbourn!” She leveled her gaze at each of her daughters, her eyes squinting in her intensity. “Girls, I do not want to hear a word of this from any of you. And unless you wish to force Mr. Darcy to become your brother and make yourselves the target of your friends’ pity—we know he is not so disagreeable as others say he is, but they do not—you will say nothing to anyone, not even your aunt Philips or the Lucas girls!” She stared them down until she secured a guarantee from all five of her daughters.
Having no further need to linger, I donned my coat with the help of Mr. Hill and collected my horse from the pear tree. Fortified with cake, tea, and a stolen handkerchief, I rode toward Meryton.
CHAPTER 7
Every gentleman within a reasonable riding distance of Meryton met on Wednesday afternoons to play chess, exchange news and opinions, debate politics, and eat and drink without the supervision or disapproval of their wives and mothers. These meetings lasted well into the night and were very well attended, according to my source of information, Sir William Lucas.
The Golden Lion was too grand a name to describe the establishment designated to house these important weekly meetings, but the inn was clean and the innkeeper was affable. He motioned over his shoulder toward a hallway that led to the private parlors. “Just follow your ears to the gentlemen. Will it be wine or ale… or something a little less common for you, sir?”
I rarely imbibed when I was in social groups, preferring to keep full control of my faculties, but if I wished to win the favor of Meryton’s finest, it was necessary to join them. One drink might be sufficient. “I will have whatever the other gentlemen are having.”
“Ale it is, then. I’ll bring it in shortly.”
Nodding my thanks, I continued down the hall, following the boisterous sounds of lively discourse to the first door on the left.
A dozen gentlemen had convened in clusters, newspapers strewn about between ale tankards and plates of roast beef, rolls, and butter. All fell silent when I entered the room. Bingley’s mouth dropped open.
My inclination was to take affront at their bewilderment, but Mrs. Bennet’s voice whispered at my shoulder like a conscience. Given the silence in the room, she was not the only one to think poorly of me.
Right on cue, the innkeeper arrived with my ale. Taking it from him, I held it up to the group, asked him to bring in another round, and took a sip of the beverage. It tasted better than I expected. By the time I lowered the pewter from my lips, Bingley had found his tongue, and the appreciative landowners were welcoming me heartily to their pack. I joined Bingley’s group, taking great care to greet everyone and exchange a few pleasant words.
The men had as much gossip to exchange as the ladies did after the Netherfield ball, although I heard nary a comment about coiffures (other than the occasional jab at each other’slackof hair) or the fineries worn. What was fashion to horses, hounds, and pheasant hunting?
Having nothing further to say on those subjects, the weather, or the roads, I sought Sir William Lucas, whom I knew to be capable of carrying on a conversation without my participation. His eldest son sat beside him, full of pride over his prized purchase from Tattersalls. An invitation to inspect and admire his recently acquired stallion followed. With neither a reason to refuse nor the heart to dampen his enthusiasm, I accepted and agreed to call at Lucas Lodge on the morrow.
After a few hours, another tankard of excellent ale, and several games of darts, it was drawing close to the dinner hour. Having arrived last, I decided it best not to be among the first to depart, so I remained behind and waited for Bingley to bid hisfarewells. He was in no hurry, though. It became increasingly difficult to hide my desire to stand by the window and observe the occupants of the room in contemplative silence without adding to my reputation of arrogant aloofness.
I slid nearer to Bingley, hoping my presence might inspire in him a desire to return to his home. Even Sir William and his son had decided it was time to go. I smiled and bowed at their departure, curious to see on the morrow how much John Lucas’s claims about his stallion were true. The thought led me to the perfect solution, and I addressed my friend. “Did you not tell me there was a horse at the Meryton stables that had caught your eye?”
Bingley bolted upright and out of his chair. “I had forgotten!” He scratched his head and turned to me. “Do you suppose it is too dark to have a look?”
“At the least, you could make arrangements to inspect the horse on the morrow in the daylight.”
“It is a good plan. Let us go directly before I forget again.”
We bowed our leave and finally reached the hall, only to find Sir William and his son on either side of Mr. Collins, who looked more somber than usual.
Already knowing the cause of his distress, I sought to quietly slip by him.
However, upon spotting me and Bingley, Sir William begged us to join them. He rested his hand on Mr. Collins’s shoulder. “What ails you, dear fellow? You look as though your favorite horse ran off.”
The clergyman sighed deeply. “My esteemed patroness charged me with an important mission here, and I have failed her.”
His dismay over Lady Catherine’s disapproval far eclipsed any personal heartache he might have suffered over the lady who had refused him. I could only imagine how he had framedhis proposal; my aunt must have featured prominently in his speech. No wonder Elizabeth refused! If Mr. Collins’s purpose in life was to please my aunt, he was doomed to a life of misery. She disapproved of everyone and everything. While I genuinely pitied him for the life of frustration to which he was bound, I could not help but be grateful Elizabeth refused to share it with him.
He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his face. “I do not know how I shall return to my parish bearing the burden of this dreadful news.”
Sir William, not knowing my aunt or her tendency to dictate other people’s lives, motioned for a drink to be brought for his new friend. “What is this? If there is any way I might assist you, I assure you that I am at your disposal, sir.”
