Suzanne gave an exaggerated sigh. “Such insipid remarks,” she said airily. “Come to me when you can speak of that gentleman with something warmer than esteem.”
Elizabeth caught up a pillow and threw it at her. Suzanne’s squeal and laughter rang out, bright and unrestrained. “I do not know what you wish me to say,” Elizabeth protested, smiling despite herself. “If you see a marriage in my future, you must disabuse yourself of the notion. Though you have found happiness once more, I have no intention of surrendering my freedom to another man’s power.”
Suzanne’s smile faded. “Do you judge me for my choice?” she asked softly. Her look of genuine concern stirred Elizabeth’s sympathy, and she hastened to reassure her.
“No—certainly not. You must live your life as you see fit. It is only that I recall you once holding sentiments much like mine. You have tried to describe what altered them, yet I suppose I must experience such a change myself before I can understand it completely.”
“And why should that not be with Mr Darcy?” Suzanne pressed. “You just said you esteem him above any other gentleman. My sister has known him from childhood—surely Lady Matlock could tell you all you might wish to learn. Tell me, have you written to her lately?”
“You will keep your sister out of this,” Elizabeth warned. “I do write to Lady Matlock, though never of personal matters. She and I were but slightly acquainted when I quitted town. The understanding you and I share is of another sort.”
Suzanne looked at her dubiously . “Do you question my sister’s sincerity—her acceptance?” she asked. “I assure you she would welcome the notion of having you for a niece. Lady Matlock’s support would smooth your way into society—and you would not stand alone—you would have me with you. If it is consequence youfear—”
Panic rose with every word. Reason told her Suzanne spoke only the truth, yet the thought of becoming a wife once more—of surrendering her hard-won independence, her very peace of mind—to any man’s authority filled her with dread.If Suzanne knew what Fiennes truly was—his origins—she would not speak so easily of her sister’s approval,she told herself.
Elizabeth shook her head. “No, stop, I beg you,” she said firmly. “Mr Darcy and I are friends. I can be nothing more than that. Not now.”Not yet,whispered a voice she dared not heed.
Suzanne’s expression softened. “Very well, Elizabeth, I shall say no more; I can see the subject distresses you.”
Their conversation faltered, then wandered to safer topics, until at last their ease returned. Elizabeth was grateful when the earlier discussion was forgotten—and still more when, around four o’clock, she, Suzanne, and Jane took their leave.
The relief of being home once more was profound. On reaching Longbourn, she went straight from the carriage to the nursery, where Elinor’s laughter restored her spirits more surely than any conversation could. Resolved to put all thoughts of marriage from her mind, Elizabeth passed the afternoon in her daughter’s company.
Alone in her bed in the quiet of the night, she could not but imagine what life beside Mr Darcy might be.Would it prove another calamity such as before? I do not believe so. But could I endure the risk?It was a question she dared not answer.
Sleep would not come; the memory of his eyes—searching, impossibly kind—would not be dismissed. She feared their image would outlast the night.
Chapter Thirty
18 November 1811
Longbourn
Elizabeth
“Welcome,sir,”saidMrBennet politely as their guest approached. The footmen made haste to remove Mr Collins’s trunks from the carriage, while the gentleman bowed before straightening to return his host’s greeting.
“Thank you, Cousin,” he replied warmly. “I cannot tell you how pleased I am to be here.”
Mr Collins proved an unremarkable specimen of the male sex; he was tall and somewhat stout, with brown hair and eyes. He struck her as all affability and good nature.
“Well, let us go inside,” Mrs Bennet urged. “It is November, after all. I should hate for anyone to catch a chill by standing in the breeze.” With characteristic briskness, she turned and led the way into the house, notpausing for her husband. Elizabeth suspected that their guest’s arrival had discomposed her mother more than she cared to show. The entail had been a source of anxiety to Mrs Bennet for as long as anyone could remember, and even the comfort of knowing it had been dissolved was not enough to wholly dispel her unease.
As they entered the house, Jane and Elizabeth exchanged a look—part curiosity, part apprehension. The man had spoken but two sentences, hardly enough to form a fair judgement of his character; yet Elizabeth was inclined to believe him sensible.
Suzanne and Arthur were away in Stevenage for several days, visiting one of the dowager countess’s acquaintances. She had promised to return before the week was out, and already Elizabeth missed her friend’s company.
The younger Bennets soon joined their elder sisters in the drawing room for tea. Kitty and Lydia had been invited so that they might be introduced to their cousin and had been sternly reminded to behave with propriety. Elizabeth felt gratified when they seated themselves decorously on the settee, their governess close by to restrain any lapse in conduct.
“Now that we are within and warm, perhaps you will perform the introductions, Mr Bennet.” Mrs Bennet turned expectantly towards her husband, one brow arched and her lips pressed into a thin line. Though her composure remained, Elizabeth noted the handkerchief twisting nervously between her fingers.
“Certainly, Mrs Bennet. Mr Collins, may I present my dear wife, Mrs Fanny Bennet? Beside her is our second daughter, Mrs Elizabeth Fiennes. She and our granddaughter have resided with us since her husband’s passing. Next is Miss Jane Bennet, our eldest; Miss Mary is our third; and thesetwo young ladies are Miss Catherine and Miss Lydia, who are not yet out.”
Each daughter inclined her head as their father presented them to Mr Collins. He appeared a little taken aback on learning that Elizabeth was widowed with a young child, though he soon recovered his composure as Mr Bennet continued through his line of daughters. His admiration when it settled upon Jane was unmistakable. That was no surprise; few gentlemen could remain unmoved by the beauty of the eldest Miss Bennet.
The others were favoured with polite glances as well. Mary blushed becomingly when their cousin smiled at her; being the most oft overlooked of the sisters, she seldom received such notice, and the attention clearly gratified her.
“I must say, Cousin, that you and your good lady have been singularly blessed with a most handsome family,” Mr Collins declared when the introductions were concluded at last.
