“Oh, but Fanny said…” Mrs Collins began, but she stopped herself mid-sentence, wincing. In a quieter tone, she admitted, “I believe I have taken Fanny at her word much too often. My sister made many sacrifices for old Mr Ashwood. She is owed so much better than this.”
“Why should her family remain silent in the face of such insults?” Darcy asked.
“I, for one, intend to speak of them to anyone who will listen,” Mr Collins announced determinedly. “And many will, do not you think, my darling?”
Mrs Collins lifted her chin. One hand, Darcy noticed, clutched her middle protectively. “They will,” she said, with more resolve than he had ever expected. “I will speak to Mama. She will be made to understand that every word out of her mouth will be one of support for Lizzy, and she may henceforth save her criticisms for Fanny Ashwood. If not, she will be moved to the dower house.”
“Longbourn does not have a dower house, my dear,” Mr Collins said, appearing perplexed.
“I know,” Mrs Collins replied firmly. “But Lizzy does.”
From her newly redecorated sitting room, Fanny watched the carriage drive away from Stoke, one question piercing her mind:
Why had they come?
There was nothing remarkable about a visit from a neighbour, of course. John had been pleased to welcome the trio, but then, John was hardly the most perceptive man ever born. Something was off, however; it had been clear in the way Jane would not settle—she had seemed nervous, her eyes constantly turned towards Mr Darcy, as if waiting for him to do or say something dreadful. But why should he? A great man such as he would never disrupt the strictures of protocol. Indeed, their visit had been precisely the quarter-hour expected, full of polite enquiry, expected compliments, and a discourse upon the weather.
The carriage reached the end of the drive—but then, instead of taking the sweeping lefthand turn towards the main road…it took the right.Why?
There was only one house down that battered and decrepit lane—Eliza’s dower cottage. They were probably fetching some of her belongings, but again, why? If Jane was, more or less, fully recovered, why would her sister need anything more? Would not Eliza be returning to Stoke?
Unless…unless the sisters had, fully, reunited. It had not seemed to be so when she had visited just a couple of days previous—the rift between them had been obvious, still.Leave it to that grasping Eliza to throw herself at Jane’s feet, to do and say anything to restore herself to Jane’s good graces.Fanny had suspected this to be her purpose once she had learnt of Eliza’s departure to Netherfield.
It was infuriating to realise that her enemy would, most likely, soon be ensconced at Longbourn, and probably running the place before the year was out. Foolish Jane, to give her such power.I warned her, the ninny!It is not right!Jane ismyfriend!she raged internally.How dare she try, again, to abscond with what is mine!It was all Eliza ever did—take what rightfully belonged to others and keep it all for herself. She was selfish and spoilt and much prouder than she had any right to be.
Jane, weak creature that she was, had obviously not wished to reveal news of this reunion. It was probably as well that no one had said a word about Eliza Ashwood.I may not have been as temperate as the polite world expects, and told them all exactly what I think of her!
Restless, fuming, Fanny turned away from the window; the room she now faced, however, only filled her with more dissatisfaction. In striving to erase every bit of Eliza’s taste, which had run to a buttery, creamy palette accented with varying shades of green, she had perhaps gone too far with gilt and scarlet. John had laughed when he first saw it, saying it looked like the inside of a brothel. She hated it all.
Snatching up the nearby water pitcher, she flung it against the vermilion velvet brocaded wall, where it shattered with a satisfying screech of splintering porcelain. Unfortunately, since it had been half-full, it left an ugly, blotchy, wet stain behind.
This was Eliza’s fault, as well.
25
PROVOKED TO JEALOUSY
Elizabeth had been a bit surprised when she learnt Darcy had taken Mr and Mrs Collins out for a drive. Still, Jane was obviously improved; she had not lost her breakfast this morning, for instance, although Elizabeth noted that she was very particular in what she chose to consume. Nevertheless, Jane had been relieved when Molly had notified her of Mr Collins’s presence in the drawing room, and had gone to him eagerly.
There was no question in Elizabeth’s mind that this drive was a signal to the neighbourhood that Jane’s illness was at an end, and that Mr and Mrs Collins were reunited. Whether Darcy had arranged it as a favour to her family due to the gossip their mother had conveyed, or whether the Collinses had asked it of him, doubtless he was doing the couple a tremendous kindness by lending them his consequence. Since he did not think much of either, in her heart, she felt he meant it as a kindness to her, as well.
He was a good, good man.
It had been so long since she had felt purely, truly happy, the feelings she now carried felt new and wondrous. She was in a mood to like everybody, even Miss Bingley, who joined her in walking through the garden—much to Elizabeth’s surprise.
As they strolled through the shrubbery, however, she found she was due for another one.
“What think you of my brother?” Miss Bingley asked, once they were quite some distance from the house.
Elizabeth looked at her, trying to obtain a clue as to why she would ask such an odd question. Miss Bingley had a wooden smile pasted upon her face, as though trying to appear more pleasant than was her usual expression.
“Hm. I think he is a fine gentleman,” Elizabeth answered at last. “Very kind.”
“He is quite sought after amongst the young ladies of theton.”
“I am sure he is,” Elizabeth agreed, bemused. A few quiet minutes followed, the only sound their footsteps along the gravelled path.
“I think he is interested in you,” Miss Bingley said at last, bluntly. “In a romantic fashion.”
