He intends it.
The thought was unwelcome not for what it implied about Collins, but for what it stirred in himself.
Elizabeth glanced up, as if aware – not of Darcy’s thoughts, but of his gaze. Their eyes met briefly. There was no appeal in her look, no request for rescue – only a flicker of recognition, followed by a look of composed patience that suggested she meant to manage the matter herself.
The look should have satisfied him.
It did not.
An estate entailed to the very man.He found he could not look away from the group. On the surface, it was a desirable situation. The estate would stay in the family’s hands, and the family would be safe if Mr. Bennet should die. On the surface, it made perfect sense. He paused there, as if the conclusion ought to have satisfied him – and was irritated to find that it did not.
So why did this bother him?Miss Elizabeth and this buffoon.It did not sit well with him – and the fact that he should think so at all only sharpened his irritation. He told himself it was his conviction that she could – she should – aim for better. Mr. Collins, self-absorbed as he was, could not appreciate her character.
Darcy turned away at last, annoyed with himself for the attention he had paid, and more so for the strange sense of displacement that lingered even after he forced his thoughts elsewhere.
He told himself – firmly – that whatever Mr. Collins intended, whatever Elizabeth chose to endure or discourage, was no concern of his.
Yet the room no longer felt quite as it had before. He looked around, and he did not feel up to conversing about the most unimportant matters. This was going to be a long evening, he thought.
***
Elizabeth and Jane were alone at last. They went to deliver coffee and tea and Mrs. Bennet’s pride for the evening – her signature cake.
Jane was the first to speak. “You were very quiet this evening,” she said gently. “Not unhappy, I hope?”
Elizabeth smiled, but it was not her usual one. “No. Only… busy in my own head.”
Jane hesitated, then said, “I spoke to Mr. Bingley again.”
Elizabeth looked up at once. “Did you?”
“Yes. He found me as soon as they rejoined.”
“Oh, Jane. He must like you very much.”
“He did compliment me.”
“I am sure he did. He quite forgot that I was sitting on his other side at dinner, but I endured his distraction as I knew it gave you much pleasure.”
“Oh, Lizzy.” She not uncommonly reddened. “Anyway, that is not what I wanted to talk about. We spoke of the officers.” She paused. “And of Mr. Wickham.”
Elizabeth did not lean forward this time, nor did she laugh. She sat down on the bench in the back hall. She only said, “And?”
Jane sat next to her and folded her hands in her lap. “He does not know the whole of their history, of course. Mr. Bingley is quite frank about that. But he is convinced that Mr. Darcy has not acted without reason, and that Mr. Wickham’s conduct has not always been… prudent.”
Elizabeth frowned. “That is very vague.”
“I know,” Jane said quickly. “And he was careful not to repeat anything that was not his own knowledge. He believed the provision in the will was conditional only. Prudence – or something like it – is, I believe, expected of a clergyman.”
Elizabeth looked down at her hands.
“That is not what he led me to believe… or not what I understood him to mean,” she said slowly.
Jane watched her sister’s face. “You are not surprised.”
“I am,” Elizabeth replied. “Just not in the way I expected.” She gave a short, humourless breath. “It is only that… certain things no longer sit quite as they did.”
Jane said nothing.
