A small smile crossed Mrs. Bennet’s face. A tiny glance at Mr. Collins made it disappear. Nevertheless, some of the ice had finally melted.
Mr. Collins turned his slippery smile on Elizabeth as soon as Mrs. Bennet was gone. “It is such a delight to see the prodigal child returned to its mother.”
“Is it? I thought you preferred to tear them apart.” Elizabeth did not even bother pretending to be polite. She curtseyed, but only to her husband. “Mr. Darcy, I shall go and see to our guests.”
“Mrs. Darcy.” He returned the bow and then turned to Collins. “Now, sir, I am glad to have the chance to speak to you alone. While I still stand by everything I and my wife said at dinner the other night, I feel that I have been remiss in my duties to you as host. You were thrown to the dogs, as it were. That is an inexcusable fate for any guest, much less a man of God. My point, sir, is that I would like to try again. In particular, I feel that I should be more familiar with the man who is soon to be my brother-in-law.”
“An abrupt conversion!” Collins cried, eyebrows almost disappearing into his fringe, “Can it be in earnest?”
“Yes. My wife refuses to accept the truth, but you and I are both realists. The marriage will go ahead; it is senseless to spend the rest of our lives in enmity."
“A generous condescension, sir.” the rector gave him a slight nod. A sly look crossed his face as a servant approached them with a silver tray. “Shall we drink to it, brother?”
Darcy almost sighed. The man was disgustingly easy to manipulate. It had only taken a few toadying words and a convenient chance to exploit a man’s addiction. Mr. Collins was a sadist of the highest order - but at least he was an idiot.
The footman walked faster when he was beckoned and offered the tray. Darcy took two glasses of punch. The one that had been closest to him had no alcohol in it - but Collins did not knowthat. The one closest tohimhad an extra shot of rum in it. For all the rector knew, they were both drinking the same thing, for they looked the same. For the rest of the evening, whenever a servant offered them drinks, the same easy trick would be used.
Darcy saw the footman grinning wickedly as he walked away. With an impatient gesture, Darcy dismissed him and the servant fled.
“Let us drink to… family.” Collins raised his glass with a smirk. Darcy mirrored him.
“To family. To gettingexactlywhat we deserve.”
Chapter 70
Mary Bennet did not dance.
It was not simply a lack of preference, but an utter absence of skill. She had always struggled to navigate left and right, and her feet had a habit of resorting to their own devices while she concentrated on her hands. In vain had she struggled. It even reached the point where she took extra lessons, grudgingly paid for by a father who had notyetgiven up all hope.
The dance tutor gave up first, shaking his head every time she turned the wrong way. He did not bother to scold her. It was clear that she would never be Miss Noverre or Salome, but after several gruelling years he conceded that at least she would not break anybody’s toes, except possibly her own. That, he assured a resigned Mrs. Bennet, was the best they could have hoped for.
Lydia and Kitty danced like sylphs and found their sister’s struggles hilarious. In a final humiliation, Mary was only allowed one ball without them. She had been told it was her chance to prove herself - but apparently, she had failed, for the very next morning Mrs. Bennet declared her intention to bring the younger girls out. Mary’s punishment was to be outshone by her silly little sisters for the rest of her life.
All of that, because her left and right feet could not agree!
Mary actually liked bright fabrics and sparkling jewels. After such a deplorable entry into society she made herself forget about them. Her instinct was to avoid attention at all costs. The last thing she wanted was to attract a gentleman’s notice, for then she was sure to make a fool of herself.
It was better not to dance at all.
Mary Bennet did not dance.
To ensure it, Mary adopted a sour pout and a slouch. She made it look as if she was bored and never showed how much she longed to be one of the butterflies.
Colonel Fitzwilliam had put her into an impossible quandary. She wanted him to see her looking pretty - perversely, for she knew that he had no intentions towards her. Nevertheless, he was the only gentleman that she had been able to look in the eye, and that deserved some kind of effort. Just once, it would be nice to feel like shedeservedone of his compliments.
But what if he should ask her to dance? From there lay disaster. Disgrace. Humiliation.
In the end, Mary wore a grey dress, a severe hairstyle and a dejected expression. She found a quiet spot beside the privet to sit and waited for the ball to end. She had promised to sit with Georgiana after the third dance. Until then, she would watch Fitzwilliam and see which pretty lady he flirted with when he thought himself unobserved.
Perhaps he would flirt with them regardless. There was no special understanding between the Colonel and Mary. When she was in a foul mood, they were barely even cordial. Yet, jealously, Mary was prepared to condemn him for his inconstancy.
There was a burst of laughter from a close knot of ladies. A man’s low voice wove through it, like a silk ribbon whispering through warm, perfumed hair. Mary guessedexactlywho must be behind such decadent humour. She scoffed.
She did notknowthat she was jealous until she saw her sister Kitty among the fray. Then, suddenly, she wanted to scream.
Mary leapt to her feet, hands clenched into fists. She had put on a (reasonably) pretty dress and stood within five feet of a gentleman. That was more than enough jollity for one night. She would go and sit with Georgiana early - yes, and take a book so that she would not have to watch him… watchthemmaking fools of themselves.
Resisting cliche at every turn, Mary at once collided with a man who, naturally, turned out to be Colonel Fitzwilliam. Laughing, he caught her arm and opened his mouth to speak. Unfortunately for both of them, Mary got there first.
