He inclined his head. “A pleasure, Miss Bennet.”
Jane was already seated, her cheeks bright with the cold and something more. “Good evening, Mr. Bingley,” she said as he stepped back.
“Good evening, Miss Bennet. I shall hope to see you soon.”
With farewells exchanged, the coachman flicked the reins. As the carriage began to move, Pippin gave one last bark. Apollo answered with a single deep tone before trotting a few steps after them, only stopping when Darcy called him back.
Inside, the sisters sat in companionable silence for a time. Then Jane turned, her smile soft but knowing. “He admires you, Lizzy.”
Elizabeth blinked. “Who, Mr. Darcy? Nonsense.”
“Nonsense?” Jane repeated gently. “I saw how he looked at you, how he spoke to you.”
Elizabeth turned her face toward the window. The lantern light from Netherfield flickered faintly behind them, and in the distance, she could just make out a tall figure still standing at the foot of the steps.
“You imagine things, dearest,” she said, though her voice lacked conviction. “He is civil, that is all.”
Jane’s hand found hers. “And yet you are smiling.”
Elizabeth pressed her lips together, but the smile remained. “Then perhaps civility has its charms after all.”
As the carriage rolled down the lane, she cast one last glance back toward Netherfield. Darcy was still there, Apollo at his side, the pair dark against the glow of the house. For reasons she could not name, the sight warmed her more than the clothe about her shoulders.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Longbourn – November 1811
TWO DAYS AFTER their visit to Netherfield, Longbourn was unusually still in the early afternoon. Mr. Bennet had retired to his library with a book and a glass of port, Kitty and Lydia were gone to their aunt Philips’s house in Meryton, and Jane remained upstairs with a mild headache. The drawing room was peaceful; Elizabeth sat beside Mary, their workboxes open, while Pippin lay curled at Elizabeth’s feet, content with the quiet company of her mistress.
The tranquillity did not last. The door opened with a rustle of silk, and Mrs. Bennet swept in with the air of one bearing news of great importance. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes sparkling, and behind her followed Mr. Collins, looking both self-satisfied and nervous.
“My dear Lizzy,” Mrs. Bennet began breathlessly, clasping her hands together, “I have something most delightful to tell you. Mr. Collins wishes to speak with you in private, and I have given my full consent.”
Elizabeth started, the colour leaving her face. “Mama, surely—”
“No surelys, child. You must hear him out. Mary, be so good as to leave us.”
Mary looked up from her needlework with an air of displeasure. “May I ask what is so important that I must go?”
“Do not question me, Mary,” Mrs. Bennet said sharply. “Do as you are bid.”
With evident reluctance, Mary gathered her work and quitted the room. Pippin, disturbed by the rising tension, lifted her head and gave a faint growl.
Mrs. Bennet flinched. “That dreadful creature again! Lizzy, take her out this instant and chain her. I will not have her snapping at Mr. Collins during a delicate conversation.”
Elizabeth’s eyes flashed. “I have not chained Pippin in years, Mama. She is gentle, and far too sensible to interfere in human folly.”
Mr. Collins raised a hand with solemn magnanimity. “Pray, Mrs. Bennet, do not trouble yourself. Any creature dear to my fair cousin must be dear to me as well. Let her remain. It is a mark of sensibility in a lady to cherish her companion animals.”
Mrs. Bennet sniffed but said no more. “Very well. I shall be in the adjoining room should you need me,” she declared, and rustled out in a flurry of muslin and indignation.
The door was left slightly ajar. The moment they were alone, Elizabeth’s heart sank. She knew too well what was coming. Mr. Collins straightened, clasped his hands behind his back, and began his speech in tones of grave ceremony.
“My dear Miss Elizabeth, I flatter myself that you are not wholly ignorant of the purpose of my visit. As Lady Catherine so rightly observes, it is the duty of every clergyman to set an example of domestic propriety, and I could not be easy until I had chosen a wife. Having been so kindly received at Longbourn, I thought it proper to select one of my fair cousins, thereby securing my own happiness and, at the same time, making amends for any future disappointment which might arise from the entail.”
Elizabeth’s lips tightened. “Mr. Collins, I—”
He lifted a hand. “Allow me, I beg, to complete my declaration. My motives are, I assure you, most honourable. I am not insensible to your many attractions, nor to the prudence of forming such a connection. It is universally acknowledged that a young lady’s success depends on a respectable establishment, and what could be more proper than uniting the heir of Longbourn with one of its daughters? I am convinced that your amiable disposition would ensure our felicity. Therefore, Miss Elizabeth, I beg leave to solicit the honour of your hand in marriage.”
