Page 16 of Vain and Useless

“I cannot imagine that you might find it otherwise. Will you be glad to surrender the management of your brother’s household?”

“Glad? No, I cannot say that I will. It gives me occupation and satisfaction. But it must be done, and I hope I may be useful to my new sister for some little while as she settles into her role.” She looked across the room, where her brother and Jane were engaged in earnest conversation. “Perhaps we ought not speak as though all were certain, but I have never witnessed such an easy affinity between two people so lately met, have you?”

“I have not,” Elizabeth agreed, smiling at the picture the couple presented.

Mr Darcy, seated nearby, looked up from his book. “Ought I remove myself before you begin planning the wedding breakfast?”

“Indeed, no,” Miss Bingley replied placidly. “We shall require your opinion on the menu, sir.”

Elizabeth laughed so gaily that even Jane and Bingley glanced her way, and Mr Darcy could not restrain a surprised chuckle. “You sounded just like my father, Mr Darcy. He often complains of the topics the ladies of his family choose to canvass. But if you will suggest another, I am certain we may oblige you.”

Saying that as, to his certain knowledge, both ladies were readers of poetry, Mr Darcy asked if there was any one in particular from whom they would most like to see a new work in the coming year. They passed half an hour in lively debate over the merits and failings of the modern poets, until Mrs Hurst loudly asked if Miss Bennet would oblige them with a performance on the instrument. Jane blushed and admitted that she did not play; Mrs Hurst was clearly pleased to have shown her to ill advantage before Mr Bingley.

Elizabeth hastened to defend her sister. “Jane does, however, have a lovely singing voice, though her recent illness will unfortunately prevent any display.”

With a quelling look at her sister, Miss Bingley suggested, “If it is music you wish for, Louisa, I am happy to perform. Miss Elizabeth also sings well—perhaps she will add her voice to my efforts?”

Elizabeth readily agreed, desirous of preventing any further barbs aimed at Jane. Miss Bingley played masterfully and Elizabeth was able to give a better than usual performance herself, relieved of the need to play at the same time. They performed several songs, which were warmly applauded by most, before Elizabeth judged that Jane ought to go up and rest.

Early in the morning, finding Jane improved even further, she wrote to her mother to request the carriage, and was swiftly answered that it would not be available until Tuesday at least. Elizabeth knew the turn of her mother’s mind; to remain until Tuesday would have Jane at Netherfield for a week complete, and no thought was to be given to the utter impropriety of overstaying their welcome. Jane was in complete agreement that Mr Bingley ought to be applied to for the use of his carriage, which she did at breakfast. He was not quite so sanguine as Elizabeth that Jane should be exposed to the cold just yet and urged them to stay but one more day. It was therefore arranged that the Miss Bennets would go to services with the Netherfield party in the morning, and depart from there with their family.

Bingley and Darcy retreated to the library after church, for Mrs Hurst was in full voice about Mrs Bennet’s displeased reaction to having her daughters returned to her. The lady had been visibly shocked, then angered, when they joined their family in the Bennet pew before the service, and afterwards she had scolded Miss Elizabeth in full view of all her neighbours for selfishly risking Miss Bennet’s health. She would not hear her eldest daughter’s protests, and when Bingley attempted to add his support to the notion that Miss Bennet was quite recovered, had forgiven him for not understanding that Miss Elizabeth’s judgment was not to be relied upon.

Darcy had found the entire display insupportable, but had vowed to let it pass without comment. Mrs Hurst, however, had seized upon the incident to harangue her brother with the foolishness of pursuing a Bennet girl. Her opinions had flowed as freely as the Trent the whole of the journey back to the house and seemed unlikely to cease very soon. No doubt they would hear more over dinner, making this brief respite even more necessary. Darcy felt a little bad about abandoning Miss Bingley to her sister’s ill-humour, though even she had been forced, through her sister’s insistence, to agree that Mrs Bennet’s blatant pushing of her daughter at Bingley was vulgar and unbecoming. She had followed that statement with the assertion that the mother’s flaws made the eldest daughters not a whit less agreeable, but Mrs Hurst’s satisfaction at getting any sort of agreement out of any of their party had been great.

“If it were not Sunday morning, I would offer you a brandy,” Bingley said wryly when they were alone, shaking his head.

“If it were not Sunday morning, I would accept,” Darcy retorted.

Suddenly, Bingley choked on a laugh. Darcy’s brows rose as his friend’s shoulders shook. “At least it is not the both of them,” Bingley said through a chuckle. “Can you imagine? I should be quite worn down if both my sisters were set against Miss Bennet.”

“It does not bear thinking of.” Had there been another voice arrayed against Bingley’s attraction to the lady, would Darcy have added his own? He was not certain, and that troubled him. He did not think of himself as someone who followed the popular opinion without due consideration, and yet he had not approved of his friend’s infatuation in the beginning, due to the lady’s lack of fortune and consequence—the very things Mrs Hurst held against her. How easy would it have been to continue to see only the drawbacks and not the advantages of the match, had no one else spoken in favour of it?

Bingley dropped heavily into a chair, and Darcy settled into another. “I cannot understand how a mother could speak to a daughter as Mrs Bennet did to Miss Elizabeth,” Bingley said. “After all she did for Miss Bennet!”

“It is apparent that she wished for Miss Bennet to stay here longer, the better to capture you.”

Frowning, Bingley mused, “Do you know, if I were less certain of my interest in her, I think it quite likely that her mother would drive me away.”

“One wonders how many suitors she has relieved her daughters of in the past.”

Bingley huffed a humourless laugh. “Several, no doubt. Lucky for me, I suppose.”

CHAPTER 13

The following day brought a visitor to Longbourn in the person of Mr Collins: a clergyman, a fool, and Mr Bennet’s heir. The long-winded letter in which he had invited himself to stay with his distant cousins suggested that he intended to offer an ‘olive-branch’ to atone for the fact that his inheritance would leave the Bennet ladies without a home, and the appraising looks he turned upon the daughters of the house gave Elizabeth the notion that he intended to use his position as the heir to get himself a prettier wife than he could otherwise hope to secure.

His attention was all for Jane the first evening, but in the morning he spoke with Mrs Bennet for a time, and then he planted himself at Elizabeth’s side and could not be deterred from paying her fatuous compliments or rambling on about his parsonage and his patroness, assuring himself and her at every moment that she would greatly approve of them. Between his endless conversation and her mother’s smirks, it was not yet midday before Elizabeth felt that she should rather like to strangle them both.

She sought to avoid him for a time by joining in Lydia and Kitty’s walk to Meryton, but here she was thwarted by her mother’s suggestion to Mr Collins that he go with them and see the town, to which he readily agreed. Jane elected to join them, and stayed close by Elizabeth’s side, but on her other walked the senseless clergyman, who regaled her in excessive detail with all the charms of his garden in Kent. Jane could do little but send her sympathetic glances and squeeze her hand from time to time.

In Meryton, at least, there was distraction in the form of acquaintances to greet, and one of these—Mr Denny, of Colonel Forster’s militia regiment—had a stranger with him, a very handsome young man of most gentlemanlike appearance. Kitty and Lydia were wild for the officers; Mr Denny had been a favourite almost from the moment of his arrival and had disappointed them by going to London on regimental business last week, so they did not hesitate in running across the street to greet him and meet his friend. Jane and Elizabeth could do nothing but follow their younger sisters and hope that was as much of a spectacle as they intended to make that day, and where Elizabeth went, thither also went Mr Collins.

Mr Denny introduced them all to Mr Wickham, a friend of his from town who had come to join the regiment. Mr Wickham was well-spoken, his demeanour one of easy affability. The whole party were speaking together very agreeably when the sound of horses drew their notice. Mr Bingley and Mr Darcy were riding down the street; Mr Bingley caught sight of Jane and turned towards them, his friend following. Coming near, Mr Bingley called out a greeting to all, though his eyes were fixed upon Jane. Mr Darcy’s gaze, however, had picked out their new acquaintance, and his complexion had grown alarmingly red, a look of anger stamped across his features. Mr Wickham, contrariwise, had gone white, though after a moment he recovered himself sufficiently to touch his hat in greeting.

“Come to defraud the merchants of another unsuspecting town, have you, Wickham?” Mr Darcy enquired abruptly, and all other conversation stilled as every eye turned to the two men.

Mr Wickham swallowed and said, “I have no notion what you mean, Darcy.”