Mr. Darcy Came to Dinner (15 page)

* * *

The parties from Longbourn and Netherfield walked into the Meryton church together, the somewhat recovered and plainly embarrassed Miss Bingley much more quiet than usual. As her male relations were otherwise occupied — Mr. Hurst with his wife, and Mr. Bingley attending Jane — she used Colonel Fitzwilliam’s supporting arm to help her down the aisle.

Elizabeth smiled. Surely when Miss Bingley dreamed of being on the arm of a gentleman from Derbyshire, a colonel of infantry was not what she had in mind!

Elizabeth’s amusement vanished as she became aware of the whispers and furtive glances from the congregation. She had a sinking feeling she knew the cause, and another moment proved her right. There, in a corner of the church, Mr. Collins was speaking to Sir William Lucas. Elizabeth grew mortified. All of Meryton was aware of Mr. Collins’s removal from Longbourn. Goodness knew what stories were being bandied about!

Elizabeth glanced at her relations. Jane was preoccupied with Mr. Bingley’s close attentions, Lydia and Kitty were engaged in their usual gossiping and giggling, and Mary was deep into her Bible. Only her parents seemed aware of the murmurings, and they reacted in very different ways. Her father was obviously bored by the whole exercise, while her mother, cheeks red with embarrassment, raised her chin and sat straight in the pew next to Elizabeth, looking neither left nor right. She reached over and squeezed Elizabeth’s hand.

“Never mind them,” Mrs. Bennet whispered, indicating the townspeople. “Gossip is all they have. We have better waiting for us at home.” She accented her declaration with a wink.

Elizabeth’s mortification was complete.

The service passed without further incident, but the rain had returned. While waiting for the carriage, Elizabeth had time to speak with her good friend, Charlotte Lucas.

“It is the talk of Meryton,” Charlotte disclosed in a low voice. “Everyone knows that Mr. Collins has quit Longbourn, but there is no accord as to why. Some say he was driven out because of some unrevealed misbehavior by him. Others say that he had grown tired of Mrs. Bennet’s insistent matchmaking.” She looked at her friend expectantly for an answer.

Elizabeth blushed. She longed to be frank with Charlotte, but a crowded church was not the proper place for such a discussion. “There is a reason he has left our house, and the blame must be all his. More than that I cannot say, but if you come to Longbourn tomorrow, you shall know all.”

Charlotte’s eyes grew wide, and she stole a glance at her mother across the church. “I am happy you told me this much. Mother was quite put out when she heard the news of Mr. Collins’s removal, and she is determined to show the man the civility she says he deserves. She means to invite him to Sunday dinner.” She continued in a whisper, “I think she wants me to take your place.”

Elizabeth looked over. Sure enough, Lady Lucas was deep in conversation with Mr. Collins.

“Charlotte, take care! I must leave now, but promise me you shall do nothing, agree to nothing, until we talk tomorrow!”

Charlotte readily agreed, and the two parted, Elizabeth still unsettled. She was glad for her own escape from the foolish clergyman, but she wondered whether Charlotte could withstand both Mr. Collins and her parents. She knew her friend was all but acknowledged a spinster and that she was painfully aware she was a burden on her family. Elizabeth prayed that Charlotte would resist any entreaties until they spoke again.

Once in the family carriage, Elizabeth learned that the Bingley party was to return to Netherfield, but Mr. Darcy’s relations were firm in their intention to dine with him, regardless of the rain. The two carriages made good time in the inclement weather, and all were soon safe and dry at Longbourn. As Mr. Darcy could not join the others in the dining room, Mrs. Bennet had Mrs. Hill set up a small table for Miss Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam in the parlor. The young lady and the officer could hardly find the words to express the appreciation they felt, and a very flattered Mrs. Bennet took her usual place at table with a self-satisfied smirk.

Sunday dinner at the Bennets was a matter of routine, for Mr. Bennet, contrary to his usual behavior, was very particular about it. It was Elizabeth’s favorite meal because her father, basking in the pleasure of enjoying his preferred dishes, was gregarious and forgiving of the foibles of the more foolish members of the family.

Alas, today was not a usual day. It began with the presentation of the main course.

“Madam,” cried Mr. Bennet, “what is this?”

“I beg your pardon, Mr. Bennet?”

“This!” He gestured to the platter of meat set before him in preparation for the ritual carving. “This is not roast beef. This is a leg of lamb!”

“House-lamb is all we can get in November. We cannot get good grass-lamb until spring, you know.”

Mr. Bennet rolled his eyes. “You misunderstand me. What I want to know is why we are having lamb at all. And — good heavens, is that potatoes? Where is the Yorkshire pudding?”

“Potatoes are much better with lamb.”

“Mrs. Bennet, this is Sunday. We
always
have roast beef and Yorkshire pudding on Sundays!”

“Yes, but we have guests.” Mrs. Bennet smiled and looked at Elizabeth. “I understand
Mr. Darcy
is partial to lamb.”

Elizabeth’s face turned bright red while her two youngest sisters giggled uncontrollably.

Mr. Bennet glowered. “Mrs. Bennet, this is
my
house, not Mr. Darcy’s, and I expect roast beef on Sundays!”

His wife waved her napkin in an unperturbed manner. “Oh, you may have your old roast beef next week! Indeed, you like Cook’s lamb.”

“That, madam, is beside the point. You are spending
my
money on Mr. Darcy’s lamb!”

Mrs. Bennet was unmoved. “I insist you carve. The rest of us are waiting.”

Mr. Bennet was all irritation as he attacked the mass of meat before him. Usually very careful, he made a hash of it, but Elizabeth could forgive him his mood. All her life she could depend upon roast beef and Yorkshire pudding for Sundays. It was her father’s favorite dish, and for his preferences to be set aside as a result of Mrs. Bennet’s scheming was not only unfair in Elizabeth’s eyes, but unnecessary.

True, Mr. Darcy had been a bit more accommodating of late. He had apparently forsaken the snobbish air he so effortlessly displayed at Netherfield during Jane’s illness, and he had been very forceful in his dealings with the obnoxious Mr. Collins and his equally unpleasant aunt. But that signified little to
her
. Elizabeth was still the lady judged not tolerable enough to make an adequate dance partner. It was not easy to recover from such a blow to one’s pride.

Mr. Darcy’s recent good behavior was the result of the gentleman finally remembering his manners — that was all, Elizabeth decided. For her part, she would respond in kind. The two might no longer be enemies, but acquaintance is not admiration. Mrs. Bennet’s ambitions for her second daughter were doomed to failure.

Mr. Bennet’s mood did not improve upon the presentation of dessert.

“Baked apples? But where is the trifle?”

“Oh, Mr. Bennet,” laughed his wife, “we have trifle all the time! The apples were so nice this week. I knew we must have some. Nice and warm on a cool and wet November day. Look, Cook added currants. It smells heavenly, does it not, Jane?”

“I do not like currants,” whined Mr. Bennet. “I like my trifle! Is it too much to ask that I be satisfied
one
day a week?”

This last statement from Mr. Bennet was one too many, and all the girls looked on with wide eyes as their mother threw down her napkin. “I will have you know that I have set a good table for you these four and twenty years! Such a thing to say to me!”

Mr. Bennet remembered himself and apologized, not very graciously, but it was accepted by his wife, and all attended to the apples. They were delightful, an opinion echoed from outside the family.

Colonel Fitzwilliam appeared with a plate, the smile on his face making his plain features very pleasant. “Mrs. Bennet,” he cried. “Allow me to convey the gratitude of my cousins and myself for a wonderful dinner!”

“You are very welcomed, Colonel,” Mrs. Bennet simpered, giving her husband a look of triumph. “It has been said I serve the best dinner in Hertfordshire, and I believe I can give a good account of myself, even in Town! I am happy you enjoyed it. Mr. and Miss Darcy did so as well?”

The colonel laughed. “Indeed, they did! In fact, my cousin sent me to see if any of those delicious apples were left. He is not one for second helpings, but he cannot resist a baked apple, particularly with currants!”

“Is that so?” Mrs. Bennet looked as if butter would not melt in her mouth. “Well, here is more. Hill will fill your plate.”

Colonel Fitzwilliam turned his back and did not see how dark Mr. Bennet’s look became, but the change in her father’s countenance did not escape Elizabeth’s notice. He waited to explode until the cheerful colonel left the room.

“
Mr. Darcy
likes baked apples, does he?!” Mr. Bennet stood up in a huff. “Mrs. Bennet, you may name me exceedingly displeased!” He stalked off, declaring that he was going to his book room and was not to be disturbed. Elizabeth was thankful that he did not slam the door.

Mrs. Bennet did not seem affected in the least. “Oh, he will sit and storm for a while. Let him stew.” She smiled at Elizabeth. “The important part is that Mr. Darcy is well pleased!” With that, she rose to go to the kitchen to thank the cook.

Elizabeth’s sisters stared at her, and the object of their examination dearly wanted to escape to the woods if only the weather would permit it. It did not, however, and the others began directly to question her.

“Lord, Lizzy, is Mama trying to match you with Mr. Darcy?”

“Lydia, I am sure that is not what Mama is doing.”

“It appears so, Jane. How funny! Mr. Darcy is so dull!”

“Mr. Darcy is a respectable gentleman, Kitty. He is serious, not dull, although I must wonder at his disrespect for a member of the clergy.”

“Oh, hush, Mary! (cough) Mr. Darcy is worth a hundred of your stupid Mr. Collins!”

“Kitty, he is not
my
Mr. Collins!”

“Perhaps not, but Mama would have Mr. Darcy be Lizzy’s! Haha! If only he had a red coat, he would be as handsome as Wickham!”

“Lydia, for shame! Mr. Wickham is a scoundrel.”

“I know that, Jane, but he is a
handsome
scoundrel.”

“If Mr. Darcy marries you, Lizzy, how many carriages would you have?”

“Money is the root of all evil.”

“Oh, hush, Mary!”

There was nothing for it but for Elizabeth to flee above stairs.

* * *

“I say, Darce,” said Colonel Fitzwilliam, “these baked apples are almost as good as the ones served at Pemberley!”

“I agree,” said Darcy. “Apparently, Mr. Bennet has a source of cinnamon — it must be his relations in trade.”

“I have no idea what cinnamon is, but if it makes apples taste like this, then I must have Father procure some for Matlock.”

Darcy, knowing how frugal and English his uncle was when it came to his table, did not expect that Fitzwilliam was serious. It was a long-standing difference between Pemberley and Matlock, for the earl considered all things French to be foreign and unnecessary — except for wine and Cognac, of course. At Pemberley, it was another matter entirely. Darcy’s cooks were well versed in the French style, and lately there had been attempts at Italian
pasta
and even the exotic
curry
of India.

Georgiana ate her dessert with a thoughtful expression. “Has Mr. Collins left Longbourn?” Assured that he had, she became concerned. “I do hope that the Bennets are not blamed for that. There were strange looks directed at them during the church service.”

The colonel was nonchalant. “Small society as found in the country must have their gossip, Georgie. What other entertainments are available here in the wilderness?”

“If memory serves,” responded Darcy drily, “the
ton
indulges in its share of gossip and scandal and more besides, even with all the diversions that may be enjoyed in Town.”

The colonel laughed. “Well said! Although you must admit that gossip is paramount among the pastimes in London! Things would be so dull without it.”

For some of us
, thought Darcy. Aloud, he asked his cousin how long he was to stay in Hertfordshire.

“My plans are not fixed,” the colonel admitted. “I have received indefinite leave from Whitehall.” He grinned. “It helps having a father in the House of Lords, what? The length of my stay depends on you, Darcy, and how fast your leg heals. I shall stay until you are well enough for removal to London and civilization.”

“Well, I like it here,” said Georgiana. “I only hope that Mrs. Annesley is not too lonely.”