“You value your living, sir.” she said pointedly, “You do not wish to lose it.”
“Lose it!” he burbled.
“As you have lost your chance with Miss Bennet, sir, and your reputation as an upright man - yes, I would say that it is under threat. I am a Christian, sir, and would not tear a man away from his responsibilities to the Church. You may continue, but you shall follow my instructions to the letter. We shall see if you can redeem yourself.”
There was a silence, and then Darcy let out a low, sadistic chuckle. “What was it you said to my sister-in-law, Mr. Collins? ‘Once you have proven yourself to be trustworthy, I shall not be so strict’?”
Mr. Collins gaped at him. His skin was nearly green, so pale had he gone. Beside his dilated, stoned eyes he looked like a gremlin. Kitty and Lydia burst into nervous giggles and he flinched.
“Go back to Hunsford.” Lady Catherine told him. “Sit in your parsonage, sir, and consider carefully the path that you wish to take. Only one option allows you the kind of life you desire. All other paths will expose you, and then I shall throw you to the wolves.”
Chapter 81
It had been dry and warm all summer. Typically, the day before Fitzwilliam decided to ride across the county, a downpour had turned the roads into sticky, slimy slop. His horse was not inclined to hurry through such conditions, especially since it had tasted freedom on the same night Fitzwilliam tried to tie himself down forever.
The roads that were not sheltered by trees had baked too quickly, making the muddy tracks stand up like rocks. It was intolerable, and Fitzwilliam ground his teeth every time he turned a corner and saw more mud ahead. Sometimes he rode across fields and even animal trails, just to break the tedium of having to dance around someone else’s footprints.
The journey took days. It felt likeyears.
He had never been to Meryton before, but he felt like he knew it by heart. Mary had described it so well to him - or, at least, the church and the market square, where she said there was a passable bookshop. He dismounted and walked his horse down the last road: a simple country lane which led towards an attractive house bordered by white stone walls. Then he hesitated.
There was a familiar carriage in the driveway. Bingley and Jane were within.
He almost cursed in realisation. Of course, the carriage would have travelled much more slowly than he did on the uneven roads. His horse had been slow, but the carriage would have rattled like a skeleton’s teeth. They would doubtless be bruised black and blue - and speaking to Jane’s father at that very moment.
Fitzwilliam loitered beside the gateway, shuffling his feet and patting the horse. It snorted at him, clearly thinking him an utter fool to be standing in the sunshine when there was a stable yard within sight! Finally growing impatient, the horse dragged its head away and headed for the drinking trough with a low whicker. Fitzwilliam laughed despite himself and allowed it. As his horse drank, he heard another snort and saw a peaceful old mare staring at him from a stable.
“Help you, sir?”
“Thank you,” Fitzwilliam blinked at the servant, “I didn’t see you there. I have come to speak to Mr. Bennet, if he is at home.”
“He is, sir, but he already has company.”
“I can wait.”
“Right you are, sir. If you care to step into the house proper, they’ll take your hat. I’ll look after this’n.” The servant patted the horse. His voice had been cool and clipped, but he nodded at the house with an encouraging smile. Fitzwilliam thanked him again and walked in.
It was not a long wait. He had almost hoped it would be. This was Mary’s home, and there were traces of her all over it. The music on the piano was doubtless her own, and thebooks that were heaped up beside it. There was an ostentatious bonnet halfway through being trimmed which was definitely Miss Lydia’s, but beside it was one with a brown and yellow ribbon which might as well have been sitting upon Mary’s head, so obviously did it suit her.
A lady with plain preferences, forthright and honest, utterly unafraid to be herself. Had the young Fitzwilliam been asked to write a list of features which he valued in a prospective bride, he would have stopped that sentence at the word ‘lady’ and not thought of any of the rest. It was truly remarkable that the person who suited him most of all was someone who he would never have thought to look for. He had barely known that such womenexisted.
They all hid, he supposed, behind sheets of creamy white paper and sticky black ink.
The door clicked open and he heard a gasp. In a flutter of fabric, Jane flew into the room and caught his hands. “Fitzwilliam! What are you doing here? Is something wrong?”
“No, not at all.” he started, and then caught sight of Bingley over Jane’s shoulder. The man was beaming. “I take it that Mr. Bennet gave his consent?”
“Yes! We are engaged.” Jane cried warmly and then burst into almost hysterical laughter. “Every minute in that carriage I thought that we would be caught, but we were not! I was so frightened. I was so sure that it would be over. Oh, but why are you here? Has he followed us?”
“No. Be easy and put it from your mind.” Fitzwilliam took her arm and firmly walked her back to Bingley. “This is the man you should be thinking of, Miss Bennet, not that wretched cousin ofyours. I am here on a different matter entirely. Is your father able to see another visitor?”
“Yes, I think so. He is in good spirits.” Jane’s smile faltered a little, “He does notlookwell, but… but he is stronger than we hoped for. He said that the peace and quiet has been a blessing, and that he feels much improved.”
Fitzwilliam gave her a quick, nervous grin, then straightened his coat and marched from the room. They heard a steady tap at the study door, a barked invitation, and then disappearing footsteps as he walked inside.
“Poor Colonel Fitzwilliam. He looks terrified.” Jane murmured, trying not to smile.
“Do you think he asked Mary, or do you think she asked him?” Bingley teased.
