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Darcy glared. “Very amusing. Let us be clear between us—you will not try any of your flummery upon her. Laugh at me all you wish, but she is not to be trifled with.”

Fitzwilliam smiled in reply, but Darcy thought he caught an offended expression. It was true that he was sensitive on this subject, but dash it, his cousin’s sense of humour was a defining characteristic. He would not have Elizabeth taunted or made a source for his personal amusement.

Oh, to be able to care for her, to watch over her, to shelter and shield her in all ways, for all his days! It was moments like these that he wished for nothing else, and nothing less.

CHAPTER SIX

A DANGEROUS CONCLUSION

Mr Collins, as it turned out, acted as a sentry to his beloved vicarage; the moment Darcy and Fitzwilliam crossed the road leading to the gate which led, in turn, to his front porch, the man lumbered out to greet them and drag them in for refreshment.

The months since he had last seen Elizabeth had done absolutely nothing to minimise her beauty. Indeed, he thought her even more lovely, more witty, more enticing than his memory had served. He had hardly been able to find two words to piece together, while Fitzwilliam, the rogue, chatted easily and with great charm. Probably, she had not even been able to determine that she was being cross-examined, with the accomplished skill of a practised barrister. All those questions regarding her home and family were meant to increase his cousin’s own knowledge of the situation, to verify Darcy’s opinions, and likely to support those sentiments. Did he wish support for them? Or, rather, did he prefer his cousin come down on the side against matrimony? It had been all Darcy could do to remain mute, when the words, “I have missed you so,” wished to tumble from his tongue.

He had stumbled, however, when she had questioned him directly about whether he had seen her elder sister in town. He had not lied. Yet…he had not spoken the whole truth, either, and it did not sit well with his conscience. Despite not seeing her, he had known she was there.

Miss Bingley had not been at home, that lady had informed him, when Miss Bennet had called—an out-and-out untruth, he was fairly certain—but had he not agreed that there was ‘no use mentioning her visit to Charles’? He had approved, for Bingley had not quite recovered from this particular romance. There was no sense in stirring up his friend’s feelings once again.

All told, he was almost relieved when the polite call was past.

What he could not manage was to prevent the intensity from his words, once he and his cousin were alone. “Well? What did you think of her?”

Happily, the colonel did not choose to tease. “She is pretty, clever as well. I am surprised—she is not the sort you usually admire.”

Darcy frowned. “I do not care for vapid, ugly females.”

Fitzwilliam laughed. “No. You usually prefer a more voluptuous, polished sort of vapidity.”

It was impossible not to feel insulted. Darcy had always been very careful not to give hopes where there were none; therefore, he avoided the young misses of society, by and large. There were plenty of women who would not hold out those hopes, women of beauty and distinguished birth. He was not careless, and did not indulge in affairs with married women nor even keep a mistress. There were some who were his friends; none were stupid, even if they did not choose to engage in Fitzwilliam’s ideas of ingenuity.

Honesty compelled him to admit, however, that none were like Elizabeth. They did not challenge his ideas—but why should they? Good manners would always prevail over argument. Not that Elizabeth argued—she was always civil. Certainly, none of his other friends laughed at him, but then, he tried to live a life which could not be laughed at. Elizabeth had laughed, regardless—but there was something so sweet, so genuine in her aspect. She was not frivolous or flippant; she simply faced life with a certain merriment, a cheerfulness that was not blind optimism but an attempt to see, to acknowledge, and to cope with all the realities in her world, pleasant or not so much.

“She seems very attached to the family you despise,” Fitzwilliam remarked, and Darcy realised he had descended into silence for too long.

“It is not that I despise them,” Darcy retorted.

Fitzwilliam shrugged. “You cannot respect them.”

“They do not attempt to behave respectably.”

“You are embarrassed by them.”

“Had you seen their behaviour, you would have expected that someone should be. You can tell the reasons for my hesitation. Naturally, she is not the parent of those girls, and yet it is obvious that she misses her family dearly. How can she stand them?”

“I do not notice anyone demanding that we visit Lady Catherine and Anne every Easter, and yet, here we are.”

Darcy looked at his cousin askance. “I know my duty to my relations. I hardly long for Easter to come more quickly each year.”

“Oh…is her entire family as tiresome as our aunt and cousin?”

Fitzwilliam had a point.

Darcy remained as confused as ever.

He could not stay away. He found any little excuse to visit with her, to see her, to be in her company. It was doubly difficult, since Lady Catherine refused to entertain, and since he did not wish, particularly, for Fitzwilliam to know just how often he found himself at the parsonage. Or upon her walks about the park, where he just ‘happened’ to frequently meet her.

Nevertheless, it was Lady Catherine, whose unguarded tongue drove the final nail into the coffin of his resistance. Fitzwilliam, solely out of sheer ennui, had brought up the subject of the Hunsford party.

“I understand that you might have to go to the trouble of seeking a new parson one of these days,” he remarked. “Since the one who currently holds the office will someday inherit the home of his houseguest. Do not you think that it might, at times, be awkward for them all? That Mr Collins and his wife should entertain a person who must someday forfeit her home to her host and hostess…well, I am sure it happens often, but I would not enjoy such a visit myself, I do not think. After all, for many years, the Bennets must have hoped to have a son who would break that entail. It is perhaps more recent that they have surrendered all hope.”