Mr. Darcy’s expression tightened almost imperceptibly, a shadow of concern crossing his features as he leaned forward slightly, his voice low and deliberate in response. “You believe he would inform her of this matter without hesitation?”
“I am certain he would,” Charlotte replied, meeting Darcy’s gaze with unyielding frankness, her words carrying the quiet certainty of a wife who had learned her husband’s habits by necessity rather than choice, a certainty that elicited a faint nod of acknowledgement from James, who crossed his arms as if bracing against the complication. “Not from malice—nor even from vanity alone—but because he sincerely considers it a duty to keep her ladyship apprised of whatever occurs within her neighbourhood. He cannot distinguish between what is true and what is safe to repeat, and in his eagerness to oblige, he would unwittingly transform fact into something far more damaging.”
James Bennet gave a short, controlled exhalation, his glance shifting briefly to Elias before returning to Charlotte, his tone measured yet tinged with the frustration of one who had already endured much that day. “And in this case, where the truth itself carries such peril—”
“In this case,” Mrs. Collins interposed gently, her voice softening as she acknowledged James’s concern with a sympathetic inclination of her head, “the truth would not remain the truth for long, but would be embroidered into conjecture before it reached Rosings, and from there spread beyond retrieval, truncated, enhanced, and deformed.”
“Do you fear, Mrs. Collins that her ladyship might draw wrong conclusions about Miss Darcy—and perhaps about us all?” Elias’s voice was low and careful, his gaze steady upon Charlotte as he weighed her words, a subtle warmth in his expression revealing his admiration for her foresight.
Mrs. Collins met his look directly, her own eyes reflecting a quiet accord that spoke of shared understanding from years past, her reply carrying a note of gentle affirmation that elicited a faint, appreciative nod from Elias Bennet. “I fear she would draw conclusions about all of you—and announce them as certainties, with the authority of her position to lend them weight. If her ladyship learns that Miss Darcy was brought here—drenched, shaken, and in need of privacy—she will not ask how it happened; she will decide what it means, and Mr. Collins will carry every word to her, with additions of his own, as naturally as he breathes.”
Darcy’s jaw set with visible resolve, his fingers drumming once upon the arm of his chair before stilling, his voice emerging with a controlled intensity that betrayed the depth of his protective instincts. “Then we must prevent it at all costs, for my sister’s peace cannot withstand such exposure.”
“Exactly so,” Charlotte Collins said, her tone warming slightly in response to Darcy’s evident concern, a faint smile touching her lips as she noted the unity forming among them. “Therefore, I beg you—until Miss Darcy is safely out of danger and this matter properly contained—say nothing of it to my husband. Not a hint, not a fragment. If he sees that you are grave, he will press; if he suspects there is a story, he will feel entitled to it. And once he has it, Lady Catherine will have it within the hour.”
James’s glance went, briefly, to the door, as if measuring time against the approaching footsteps they all anticipated, his voice carrying a note of practical inquiry that prompted Charlotte to nod in affirmation. “How shall we account for Mr. Darcy’s presence here, then, should Mr. Collins inquire?”
Charlotte did not hesitate, her reply swift and composed, drawing a subtle look of approval from Elias as he recognised the elegance of her plan. “It is not uncommon for Mr. Darcy to callupon the parsonage when he is at Rosings—particularly when he wishes to speak privately, or to avoid the bustle of the great house. You may let it appear that he stopped in for a cup of tea after walking in the neighbourhood. Nothing more elaborate is required.”
Darcy inclined his head, accepting both the judgment and the management with a grave courtesy that conveyed his growing esteem for her acumen. “You have my thanks, Mrs. Collins—your prudence is most welcome, and I shall follow your counsel to the letter.”
Charlotte’s expression softened by the slightest degree at his words, a quiet satisfaction warming her gaze as she responded with modest grace. “I am glad to be of use, sir, for in matters such as these, prevention is far kinder than remedy.”
Elias Bennet spoke again, quietly, his tone thoughtful yet laced with the subtle warmth of one who appreciated her insight, a warmth that prompted Charlotte to meet his eyes with a faint, reminiscent smile. “And if Mr. Collins presses for particulars beyond what we offer?”
His wife’s answer was immediate, her voice carrying a gentle insistence that drew nods of agreement from both brothers, reinforcing the bond of shared secrecy among them. “You must refuse him with perfect ease—give him nothing to carry away. If you offer one detail, he will supply three more of his own, and the tale will grow beyond recognition.”
There was the sound of a step outside—then the distinct movement of someone approaching the front door, a sound that caused James to straighten imperceptibly and Mr. Darcy to still his hands upon the armrest.
Charlotte’s gaze sharpened, and she lowered her voice one final time, her words imbued with a quiet urgency thatcommanded their full attention. “Please,” she said, with gentle insistence, “remember: whatever has occurred today must be treated as a matter that never crossed this threshold. Miss Darcy’s safety depends upon it—and so does her peace, which is a treasure too precious to risk for the sake of idle revelation.”
The gentlemen required no further instruction. Darcy’s composure settled into a colder, more guarded stillness, his nod conveying resolute compliance; James’s expression became politely blank, a subtle shift that masked his inner vigilance; and Elias, already trained to silence, simply inclined his head in quiet accord, his thoughts turning briefly to Georgiana upstairs with a surge of protective tenderness that lent new depth to his resolve.
A moment later, the latch stirred. Mr. Collins entered the house with the air of a man returning from duty well performed, his step measured, his countenance already arranged for benevolent gravity. He had scarcely crossed the threshold before his eyes widened at the unexpected sight of company assembled in his parlour, a surprise that caused him to pause mid-step, his hat half-removed.
“My dear Charlotte!” he exclaimed, recovering swiftly and completing the flourish of his hat with a bow that narrowly avoided the side table, his voice carrying the eager warmth of one delighted by unanticipated distinction. “How fortunate—how very fortunate!—that I should find our humble dwelling so honourably graced this afternoon.”
Mr. Darcy rose at once, with the composed civility proper to a gentleman who neither apologises nor intrudes, his movement prompting Mr. Collins to beam with gratification.
“Mr. Collins,” Darcy said evenly, his tone calm and unyielding, “I hope I do not inconvenience you by calling.Circumstances required a brief retreat from Rosings, and your parsonage offered the nearest respite.”
“Not at all, sir—by no means!” Mr. Collins assured him with eager warmth, his eyes darting from Darcy to the Bennet brothers as curiosity mingled with his deference. “Your presence here is a compliment of the highest order. Indeed, Lady Catherine herself has often remarked upon the propriety of such informal visits among those of elevated standing.”
His wife interposed smoothly, her voice gentle yet guiding, drawing her husband’s attention with a subtle touch upon his arm that conveyed both affection and direction. “My husband, Mr. Darcy arrived only a short while ago and Miss Darcy came with him. Now she is upstairs, resting. Pray be seated. You must be fatigued after the church duties, and a cup of tea will restore you.”
Mr. Collins obeyed at once, though his attention darted from Darcy to the Bennet brothers with undisguised curiosity, his brows lifting slightly as he settled into his chair. “And my cousins! Mr. James—Mr. Elias! How are you in this fine day? This is quite an assembly.”
James nodded as to confirm that everything was in order.
Mr. Darcy answered before either brother could speak, his tone calm, economical, and final, his words prompting Mr. Collins to nod vigorously in agreement. “My sister was indisposed after the morning air. She is resting upstairs as Mrs. Collins kindly said and does not wish to be disturbed, but her condition is not grave.”
Mr. Collins clasped his hands together, his expression instantly solemn, his voice rising with sympathetic concern that Charlotte met with a faint, approving smile. “Ah! Poor Miss Darcy. A constitution of sensibility, no doubt—such delicacy isnot uncommon in young ladies of refinement. I trust she has been attended to with proper care, and that no lasting harm has befallen her?”
“She has,” Mr. Darcy replied, his gaze steady upon Mr. Collins, acknowledging the inquiry with a nod that conveyed quiet finality. “Mrs. Collins has shown the greatest kindness, and all is well in hand.”
Charlotte inclined her head, neither encouraging nor denying further inquiry, her subtle gesture drawing a beam of satisfaction from her husband.
Mr. Collins nodded vigorously, reassured by the composure around him. “Just as I should have expected. My wife possesses an excellent judgment in all matters domestic. Lady Catherine herself has remarked upon it more than once, and I daresay—”
