Very well. I shall simply apologise that any action of mine caused her former unhappiness, and suggest we let bygones be bygones.As far as Elizabeth was concerned, it could all remain in the past; there was no need to unearth it all. “Jane, dear,” she began.
At that moment, a light tapping on the door preceded the entry of Mrs Hurst’s and Miss Bingley’s women—two females with a good deal of elegance, in Elizabeth’s opinion. They made pleasant conversation, and had only just departed when Molly reappeared. She looked only at Elizabeth, and not Jane, for some reason.
“Excuse me, ma’am, but Mr Collins is here, wishing to speak with his wife, if you please.”
Her unwillingness to address Jane directly was immediately explained when Jane gripped Elizabeth’s hand. “I do not want to see him, Lizzy. Not yet.”
Molly appeared to find something of interest in the ceiling; evidently, this was not the first time Jane had refused to see her husband.
“Please tell him I am not feeling well enough!” There was an undeniable urgency to Jane’s tone.
Elizabeth had no idea what reasons her sister held for this sentiment; Mr Collins was not a bad man, and in fact, tried very hard to be a good one. But she did know one thing—had she been required to marry him, it would have been difficult for her indeed. Whilst feeling ill, spending much time in his company might seem unbearable.
“Please, Lizzy, go to him—tell him I am sleeping. Indeed, I feel now I should like nothing better. He only requires reassurance, which you can surely provide, that I am on the mend.”
With a sigh, Elizabeth left her sister to provide the requested comfort.
Darcy summoned all the compassion he could muster for the man wringing his hands while pacing Bingley’s second-best drawing room. Mrs Hurst had beaten a hasty retreat with the ostensible excuse of checking upon Mrs Collins’s condition; of course, she knew exactly the status of her patient, as they all did, and could certainly have summoned a servant to do ithad she wished to hear it repeated. She had not wished. Or rather, she had undoubtedly sent a servant to convey Mr Collins’s request, and then escaped to her own rooms.
It was for the best, however, that Bingley had gone out for a gallop upon hearing of Mrs Collins’s improvement an hour earlier. His friend had little patience for her husband.
But it was not a servant who appeared in the doorway to lead Mr Collins to his wife, but Mrs Ashwood. She looked pale in the drawing room’s soft morning light; her wide, dark eyes bespoke the fatigue of one who had not had the benefit of rest the night before. She wore the same dull grey gown of the day previous, albeit it looked considerably less muddy. Her hair, which yesterday had been escaping its confines, was mostly hidden by her matron’s cap, drawn back into the severest of styles. Yet, she managed to appear composed and lovely and young and fresh-faced—almost maidenly.
She is no maiden, he reminded himself, but that brought another notion into his man’s brain. She was not under a father’s protection any longer. Temptation, dishonourable and lurid, lurked within that realisation.
His peculiar situation had made him extremely careful with relationships of any sort. There were plenty of females amongst theton, women who had hinted they would be glad to welcome him into a liaison. Most were married, which he found distasteful, even when their husbands could not have cared less; some were widows, whose lives and decisions were their own.
He would not risk it. Some of these females might say they were enjoying their freedom—but what if there were children born of the affair? There was no perfect way to be sure there was not. No, widow or not, if he did not wish for marriage before he shared a woman’s bed, he would notwant it afterward. The idea of turning his long hoped-for dream of a wife and family of his own into some sort of travesty of shame, payment, or abandonment sickened him.
The promise made to his dying father had been very explicit. He had loved his niece, and although understanding of why Darcy could not marry her, he did not want Anne hurt unnecessarily. Until Darcy was ready for marriage, he was to act with the greatest possible discretion, that gossip and rumour would never reach her. While perhaps his father had not meant for his son’s life to go quite the way it had, Darcy was not sorry. Besides, he had been much too busy over the last five years to even think of marriage.
His aunt, Lady Catherine—the centre of his troubles—was noisy, nosy, and nagging. Yet, upon receiving the news of his father’s demise, she had at once travelled to Pemberley. He had been newly home from university, green, feeling panicked and unprepared, while she was a widow who had managed her own large estate for years; in the chaos of that time, she had been a rock of good guidance, good advice, and good comfort—he owed her much, if not marriage to her daughter.
He had met beauties before Elizabeth Ashwood, and he would again. When he finally met just therightbeauty—a female of wealth, family influence, and affectionate inclination, the perfect lady to be addressed ‘Mrs Darcy’—he would know it, and then he would deal with his relations in Kent. Until then, temptation could go to the devil.
“Mr Collins,” the beauty said, greeting her brother-in-law and going to him at once. He instantly clutched both her hands in his, neither bowing nor showing her any of the courtesies she was due before demanding her report.
“How is my dear wife?” he cried. “Is she worsened?”
Mrs Ashwood winced at the pressure on her hands, and Darcy fought the urge to grab the man by his cravat and teach him forcibly how a lady was supposed to be greeted. To his mild surprise and wonder, it took, he found, considerable effort to achieve restraint.
7
CAPABLE OF A TURN
“Iinformed you already, Collins, that your wife was reported much improved this morning,” Darcy said, aggrieved, and Mrs Ashwood’s eyes snapped at once to his in slight surprise. She had not noticed him before he spoke, evidently.
She addressed the trembling oaf in her usual calm, kind and dignified fashion. “I am certain, my brother, that you wished to be apprised directly from the one who has most often attended her. It is true that Jane had a bad night, but a couple of hours ago, it became obvious that her illness has begun to weaken. She is, finally, and for the first time in several hours, sleeping peacefully. I expect that is how she will remain for the rest of the day. I know you would not wish to disturb her, that your greatest desire is that she might recover fully and as soon as is possible.”
“She is better? Truly?”
“I believe so. I wish you would tell my mother that thereis great reason to think Jane will recover without issue, if she is allowed to rest and recuperate without interruption.”
“Your mother is very annoyed with me for not bringing the carriage horses in from the farm to carry her to her visit here. She said…she said that I have killed my wife, and she would never forgive it.” Tears filled his pale blue eyes, and he finally released Mrs Ashwood’s hands to fumble for his handkerchief, blowing his nose noisily. “I did not realise there was any threat to Mrs Collins’s safety! She is an excellent horsewoman, and I believed the weather would hold!”
“Of course you did not know. No one could have,” Mrs Ashwood spoke soothingly. “Mama might have made the same decision, in your place. The important thing is that Jane is recuperating now. There is no need for recriminations or agitation.”
“Mr Jones will be along to look in on Mrs Collins later today,” Darcy put in. “I will send him to Longbourn to provide a report, afterwards. I am sure he would agree that sleep is the very best medicine at this point in her recovery.”
