Page 6 of The Lost Prophecy

Elizabeth spread butter across her toast. “That was precisely my conclusion. His pride might have been forgiven if he had insulted me with some originality. Tolerable is not merely rude; it is dull. A gentleman in possession of such consequence ought to manage a much better offence.”

Jane lifted her eyes at last, ever the defensive shield for humanity. “Perhaps he did not intend you to hear him.”

Elizabeth took a bite. “Then his manners are careless in addition to being unpleasant.”

Jane frowned slightly. “Mr Bingley clearly thinks well of him, and Mr Bingley does not appear unkind or foolish. There may be more to Mr Darcy than we observed.”

Elizabeth regarded her sister’s earnest expression and softened her answer. “There must be more, for we observed very little beyond a dark coat and a stubborn refusal to enjoy himself. I shall reconsider him on receiving evidence that he has earned the exertion.”

Mr Bennet drew a letter from under the newspaper. “Before Lizzy undertakes the heroic reform of Derbyshire’s most reluctant dancer, we have another gentleman requiring the family’s attention.”

Mrs Bennet paused with the butter knife suspended in mid-air. “What gentleman?”

Mr Bennet smiled grimly. “One whose interest in Longbourn exceeds Mr Darcy’s by several thousand acres.”

The seal had already been broken. Mr Bennet opened the letter and surveyed the first page, a cynical satisfaction gathering around his mouth.

Mrs Bennet’s colour altered to a shade of panic. “It is not from that dreadful man.”

Mr Bennet adjusted his spectacles. “It is, my dear; from my cousin, Mr Collins, who will inherit this estate upon my death and has discovered that Christian benevolence requires him to visit us while I am still using it.”

Mary straightened her spine. Kitty and Lydia exchanged bewildered glances, while Jane set down her cup. Elizabeth had heard Mr Collins discussed often enough to understand the legal entail and her mother’s hatred of any man inconsiderate enough to benefit from it, but she knew nothing of his actual character.

Mr Bennet continued through the letter, pausing over its most elaborate passages. Mr Collins regretted the disagreement between their late fathers, had recently received ordination, and considered it his sacred duty to heal the breach between their families. His noble patroness, Lady Catherine de Bourgh, approved of humility and of reconciliation with those whose property he would eventually inherit. He therefore proposed to arrive at Longbourn in three weeks and remain long enough to demonstrate the sincerity of his intentions.

Mrs Bennet sank back in her chair, as though she had been struck. “He is coming here?”

Mr Bennet nodded slowly. “He has supplied the day, the hour, and enough moral justification to sustain a full military invasion.”

Elizabeth accepted the letter when her father offered it and examined the dense, reverent lines. Mr Collins had managed to apologise, congratulate himself, and worship Lady Catherine all within the opening paragraph, an efficiency of sycophancy that Elizabeth found worthy of admiration.

She returned the pages to her father. “Mr Darcy may soon lose his distinction as the most disagreeable man of our acquaintance.”

Mr Bennet restored his spectacles to his nose. “I confess that I have great hopes of Mr Collins. The man appears to be a marvel of absurdity.”

Mr Collins’s letter provided Longbourn with several days of frantic speculation, but even the looming prospect of an unknown cousin arriving to count the furniture could not displace Netherfield from Mrs Bennet’s mind. She discovered reasons to discuss Mr Bingley at breakfast, during formal calls, and whenever Jane entered a room wearing a colour he had vaguely admired at the assembly.

The gentleman himself encouraged her expectations by calling at Longbourn before the week ended. His sisters accompanied him, as did Mr Darcy, whose formidable presence Mrs Bennet received with a civility too elaborate to contain any actual warmth. Mr Bingley bounded into the drawing room eager to greet everybody, while Mr Darcy bowed, accepted the chair farthest from the company, and settled into silence before anyone could impose a conversation on him.

Jane had been seated near one of the tall windows, where a watery brightness fell on her chair. Mr Bingley approached her readily enough, but halted abruptly before taking the place beside her. He considered the sunlight, examined the remaining chairs, and dragged a small table several feet into the room.

He indicated the brightness crossing Jane’s hands, blinking rapidly. “I fear the light must be troublesome for you, Miss Bennet. The glare is quite severe.”

Jane lifted her face to a sky mostly occupied by thick grey clouds. “I had not noticed it.”

Mr Bingley drew another chair into the deepest shadow beyond the curtains. “I have always found autumn sunlight particularly penetrating. It causes a most uncomfortable... prickling sensation.”

Elizabeth observed this bizarre architectural arrangement from the sofa. Miss Bingley had placed herself close enough to Mr Darcy to imply that the rest of the furniture had been manufactured for inferior species. The daylight was weak, the window glass imperfect, and the room scarcely brighter than the hallway. Mr Bingley nevertheless maintained a rigid distance from the glass until Hill entered carrying tea, at which point he became solely interested in Jane again.

Mrs Bennet urged cakes on the visitors. Mr Bingley accepted one, thanked her warmly, and held his plate at a precarious angle until the pastry slid silently into his napkin, a manoeuvre he executed with the guilt of a jewel thief. He listened while Jane spoke of an ill tenant near Longbourn, offered to send assistance, and continued guarding his napkin as if it contained state secrets.

Elizabeth lowered her eyes to conceal her amusement.

Mr Darcy noticed. His heavy gaze had rested on her many times since entering the room, although each instance ended the moment she acknowledged it. A man who had loudly declared her insufficiently handsome to tempt him now devoted a great degree of concentration to discovering whether she laughed at breakfast food. He looked less like a visitor and more like a starving wolf attempting to solve a complex mathematical equation.

Jane directed Mr Bingley to a book on the nearby table. “My father received it from London last month. I believe you mentioned an interest in natural history at the assembly.”

Mr Bingley’s eyes had descended to the delicate pulse visible beneath the ribbon at her throat. He swallowed hard. “I beg your pardon?”