Mr. Collins looked astonished. “Good heavens! Why did no one tell me before?”
Jane, somewhat taken aback, said gently, “It did not seem important.”
“Oh, but it is,” he cried, adjusting his cravat. “Lady Catherine de Bourgh speaks of him often. I have long wished for the honour of meeting him. To think that I should find myself among his acquaintances—it is most providential.”
Elizabeth regarded him curiously. “Your patroness knows Mr. Darcy personally, then?”
“Knows him?” Mr. Collins drew himself up. “She is his aunt, Miss Elizabeth. Her ladyship’s daughter, Miss de Bourgh, is his intended bride. The match has long been arranged and gives her ladyship the greatest satisfaction.”
Elizabeth felt the colour rise swiftly to her cheeks. “His intended?” she repeated softly.
“Yes,” continued Mr. Collins, entirely oblivious. “Miss de Bourgh is a young lady of rank and refinement, though somewhat delicate in health. Her education has been conducted under Lady Catherine’s own eye. She will make a most suitable mistress for Pemberley.”
Elizabeth forced a faint smile, though her pulse had quickened unaccountably. She bent to adjust Pippin’s collar, willing her hands to remain steady. “Indeed,” she said lightly, “Lady Catherine appears to have arranged everything to perfection.”
Charlotte, perceiving her friend’s sudden stillness, hid her concern beneath a calm expression and sipped her tea.
Meanwhile, Mr. Collins went on with earnest self-importance. “I must make Mr. Darcy’s acquaintance without delay. Lady Catherine will be pleased to learn that I have met her nephew’s circle here in Hertfordshire. I shall write to her at once.”
His tone was full of solemn purpose, as though the fate of the kingdom depended upon it. Yet, as he spoke, his eyes strayed toward Charlotte Lucas, whose polite attention he seemed to mistake for admiration. Elizabeth observed the direction of his gaze and a small, knowing smile touched her lips.
Jane rose to pour fresh tea. "It seems, Mr. Collins, that there is more to Lady Catherine than you have yet told us."
"Indeed, Miss Bennet. Her ladyship possesses such depth of character and condescension that I could not hope to do her justice in so brief a time."
Elizabeth exchanged a glance with Charlotte, her face composed though her thoughts were in some disorder.So Mr. Darcy is to marry his cousin, she thought. How very suitable. And how very foolish of me to care.
Pippin, sensing her mistress’s mood, laid her head against Elizabeth’s knee. Elizabeth stroked the little spaniel gently and said, with forced brightness, “Well, Mr. Collins, I am sure Lady Catherine will be most gratified by your diligence.”
He bowed, missing entirely the irony in her tone. “I shall strive to deserve her praise.”
Charlotte smiled into her cup. “And she will be equally gratified, I think, when she learns her clergyman finds such pleasant company in Hertfordshire.”
Mr. Collins beamed. “You are exceedingly kind, Miss Lucas. Most kind indeed.”
Elizabeth nearly laughed, but caught herself. She bent close to Pippin and whispered, "It is just as well, my dear. Even if he has been... unexpectedly kind, of late. A man engaged to his cousin has no business looking at anyone else. And I have no business noticing if he does."
Pippin sighed softly and pressed closer, as if in agreement.
CHAPTER NINE
Netherfield – November 1811
“I RAN INTO MISS BENNET today,” said Mr. Bingley cheerfully as he settled upon the settee, taking the cup of tea a servant had just poured for him. His face was animated with a smile that betrayed both delight and sentiment.
Around him, the drawing room at Netherfield held its usual composition: Mrs. Hurst reclining near the fire, her husband half-asleep behind a newspaper and a glass of wine, Caroline Bingley poised elegantly beside her embroidery frame, and Mr. Darcy seated at some distance, a volume of philosophy open upon his knee.
“Jane Bennet?” Miss Bingley repeated, arching a brow.
“The very same,” said Bingley, his tone warm. “Whether it is an assembly ball or a morning errand, she stands out in any crowd.”
Mrs. Hurst gave a delicate laugh. “Oh, Charles, you exaggerate dreadfully. She is a pretty girl, I grant you, but not of consequence enough to command such devotion.”
Bingley shook his head, smiling as though he scarcely heard her. “You may think me foolish, Louisa, but I find her company delightful. She is gentle, amiable, and sensible—and her manner so free from pretension. I could speak with her for hours and never tire.”
“Ah, the same old Charles,” said Mrs. Hurst lightly. “Quick to lose his heart to the first agreeable face—and to a scheming mama’s design, no doubt.”
“Scheming?” Bingley looked puzzled. “What can you mean?”
