Too Close to Mr Darcy
Too Close to Mr. Darcy
Claire Cartier
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Epilogue
Also by Claire Cartier
Author's Note
Copyright © 2019 Claire Cartier
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.
1
Elizabeth Bennet rushed across the small service courtyard towards the sleeping back facade of the house, pulling her woolen shawl even tighter around her neck and shoulders both to warm and conceal herself.
Dead twigs and the yellowed stumps of more resilient weeds that had not been pulled out during the warmer months crunched under her damp boots. Her small feet left a trail in the frost that covered the frozen dirt. She could only hope that more icy dust would drift in to cover them before they were discovered.
At least her petticoat had not become soaked as it would have been in rain or snow and was only slightly soiled from brushing against the soles of her shoes and the brambles she had cut through.
Elizabeth paused to look around, her nose twitching with the cold, but the only movement around came from the thick plume of white breath issuing from her chapped lips. All the windows on this side of the house were either shuttered or completely boarded up.
She still hoped to sneak inside the kitchen before her absence was discovered. She had been explicitly forbidden to leave the house unchaperoned and, until recently, her long walks in the countryside had become a thing of the past. She had not long ago taken up roaming on her own again and was yet to be caught misbehaving.
Elizabeth could only imagine the fit Mrs. Collins would throw if she knew that her charge had walked nearly as far as the village this time.
Currently, however, the house appeared dead. Elizabeth was almost ready to breathe a sigh of relief as she quietly rested her numb with cold fingers on the door handle of the service entrance. She stalled for a moment before pressing it to take in the silence that now smothered her childhood home.
There had been a time, not in the distant past, when the backyard had used to burst with noise and activity, even on a day as frigid as today’s. Agnes, the maid, would be chasing a screaming hen, muttering threats and curses to entice the poor bird into her devious hands.
A piano would be screeching somewhere inside the house as Mary, Elizabeth’s younger sister, would tirelessly practice her rather restricted artistic talents.
A window would be thrown open from inside a bedroom on the second floor and an indignant Lydia (another of Elizabeth’s younger sisters, the third being Kitty) would theatrically threaten to jump to her death if Kitty would not concede a piece of ribbon they both wanted.
The smell of roasted lamb with potatoes and rosemary would waft through the kitchen’s window, along with Cook’s constant gentle humming, and tickle Elizabeth’s nose, making her mouth water.
Mrs. Bennet’s shrill cry would rise from somewhere deeper inside the house, possibly from inside Mr. Bennet’s study where he would have retired to seek solitude but would usually find himself cornered by his loquacious wife. The latter would loudly lament the impossible burden of having so many unmarried daughters under her roof and so few eligible gentlemen in the vicinity to match them off to. There would be a long sigh from Mr. Bennet but it would be drowned in the high-spirited, dramatic but often cheerful clamor that used to in the Bennet household.
Now, the house slept in darkness and silence even though it was almost noon.
Elizabeth pressed the door open and it creaked softly on its hinges as she crept inside. She tiptoed into the kitchen and once she assessed her relative safety, she stomped lightly in place, both to warm up her frozen toes and to shake off the frost from the tips of her boots.
Someone cleared her throat behind her, a sound that was most similar to a frog’s drawn-out croak, and Elizabeth’s heart lurched. She nearly screamed as she spotted the tall, ghostly figure looming in the dusk of a corner by the door.
The woman’s hands were clenched into tight fists that dug at her angular hips. Her expression was stern, her lips pinched and her eyes flashing with a malicious glint. The way she lurked in the dark recesses of the room, draped in her cape, she reminded Elizabeth of a bat lying in wait in its cave.
“Mrs. Collins, I was merely—” Elizabeth stammered, feeling her cheeks flush. It was impossible to tell whether this was the effect of her skin finally thawing inside the room or the blood suddenly rushing to her face with embarrassment.
“Have you gone behind my back?” Mrs. Collins hissed even though an eerie smile stretched her lips. “Is it so much to ask that my prescriptions be observed even when I step out of the house for five minutes? You must know by now that I am certainly not one to police others, but…”
Elizabeth tried to keep Mrs. Collins’ gaze but eventually looked down and away, her eyes glazing over as she stopped listening to the long tirade she knew she could anticipate. Her attention wandered over to the cold, spotless stove, brushed over the immaculately clean table with not a crumb left on its surface, and finally encompassed the entire abandoned kitchen.
Had Cook still been here, the room would have been rich in scents, noise and mess. There would have been pots simmering on the stove, fire crackling softly in the fireplace, bacon sizzling in a pan and bread plumping up in the oven.
When she had moved in, Mrs. Collins had insisted on dismissing all of Longbourn’s staff, which she had declared wastefully numerous in size and largely incompetent in skill. She had then proceeded to hire help to her own liking and standards, which had effectively killed the last remaining spirit of the old life in the house.
“…You must be aware how contemptible I find the qualities of loitering and idleness in a young lady. I must admit, Elizabeth, then, that I am at a loss when I think of the features I must extol when I try to find a suitable marriage partner for you.”
Mrs. Collins threw her hands in the air as if the mere prospect of dealing with such an impossible task left her in utter despair. Elizabeth only cringed at the thought of having to rely on Mrs. Collins’ matchmaking designs for finding a husband.
The late Mrs. Bennet had been bad enough in her obsession to find suitable bachelors for her daughters, but at least, apart from the financial gains she had sought to acquire from a successful marriage, she had also had her daughters’ best interest at heart. She had wanted them to be happy.
Mrs. Collins, on the other hand, simply wanted to get rid of the five girls as soon as possible.
“I shall see what Mr. Collins has to say about all this,” Mrs. Collins said, narrowing her already tiny eyes so they nearly disappeared under her heavy brows. “Now, hurry! Make yourself decent before his return. I would hate for him to be disappointed in his kin and start blaming himself for your shortcomings.”
Finally in the relative privacy of her room (for Mrs. Collins was known to unexpectedly burst through closed doors), Elizabeth quickly changed out of her wrinkled, messy outfit and into a clean, yet simple gown. She refreshed herself at the washstand, splashing cool water over her still burning cheeks and fixing the errant strands of hair to her nape.
Reluctantly, when there was nothing left to be done in her bare room, which had been recently stripped of nearly every luxury by Mrs. Collins’ fastidious hand, she headed downstairs.
“Why, what have you done, Jane?” Mrs. Collins’ shriek carried through the parlor’s open doors.
Elizabeth’s heart jerked and her grip on the wooden banister tightened. She paused mid-step, short of breath. Anger rose through her core, nearly blinding her. She could take all the offense Mrs. Collins regularly sent her way, but she could not contain herself when Jane was being attacked by the vicious woman.
Elizabeth inhaled deeply and slowly continued her descent. It was all she could do to stop herself from rushing into the parlor and strangling the abominable woman.
Jane is too good-natured, Elizabeth mused. Her older sister was still trying to make peace with Mrs. Collins and find redeemable qualities where there were none. In their private discussions, Jane often made excuses for Longbourn’s new mistress: “It is all new to her still,” she would say, or, “She has not settled yet. It must be hard to be on one’s own so far away from home.”
All Elizabeth saw, however, were snideness, pettiness and cruelty, in comparison to which even their cousin, Mr. Collins’ pomposity and self-importance seemed harmless and even laughable.
“You have ruined the dress!” Mrs. Collins continued as Elizabeth stepped into the room quietly. “Have you no proper practice sewing? Now we will have to buy fabric when we have not rationed for it! I suppose you have no idea how difficult it is to maintain economy in a home. I am simply astonished at how old Mrs. Bennet used to run a household with such excess while neglecting to teach her daughters even the simplest of skills.”
Elizabeth bristled at the unfairness she was witnessing. She was overwhelmed at once with the surge of aggression that built up inside her. She had never considered herself a violent person and yet now she needed to resort to extraordinary self-restraint to keep from smacking Mrs. Collins.
First of all, Jane’s sewing was flawless. Second, her mother, even if feeble in her moods and frivolous in her speech, could not be criticized for ever mismanaging Longbourn’s household affairs. Of course, Mrs. Collins spoke out of ignorance and would hear none of it, but Elizabeth would be blasted if she did not at least try to talk some sense into her and defend her mother and sister.
“Mrs. Collins,” she began in a voice trembling with indignation, “to my knowledge—”
Jane’s imploring look made her stop and bite her lip as soon as Mrs. Collins turned sharply to address the uninvited comment.
At the same moment, the front door opened and shut, which, to Jane’s relief, stopped Elizabeth from pouring out all the bile she had collected towards their tormentor.
Mr. Collins walked into the parlor, his arrival stirring the oppressive atmosphere of unspoken resentment that hung in the room.
“Good day, my beautiful ladies!” he said in a voice so upbeat, one would think it was a rare occasion for him to come home to his wife and two cousins. “What pleasure indeed to return home after such a strenuous day of tending to my parishioners’ needs. It is most satisfying to bask in the modest comforts of my hearth and the attention of my dear family. Now, tell me, how have you been?”
Elizabeth rolled her eyes inwardly at the preposterous comment. Was her cousin indeed this ignorant and blind that he did not sense the constant tension under Longbourn’s roof or was he simply making a point of ignoring it?
Mrs. Henrieta Collins was not a beauty by most standards. She was too tall and too thin, with features too sharp, hands too bony and skin too sallow. If she were ever to be considered charming, it would be in that precise moment when her face lit up at the sight of her beloved husband. Her disposition changed instantly. Her shoulders relaxed and a gossamer of fine lines framed her eyes as her expression softened into a smile.
“Oh, but we have managed splendidly!” she chirped and immediately called for her bulldog-resembling maid to attend to Mr. Collins. She continued to chatter excitedly while he got settled in, inventing a story about a day that had never happened.
Elizabeth could hardly keep herself from snorting while Mrs. Collins went on at length about how the three of them had carried out their usual duties in complete harmony and was once or twice compelled to call out one lie or another. It was Jane’s firm grip on her hand that reminded her that preserving the peace would be preferable to confrontation.
It truly was in Elizabeth’s best interest to comply with her sister’s warning. On the few occasions in the past when she had let her temper get the better of her, both sisters had had to suffer through endless accusations of ungratefulness.
After all, the two of them had been allowed to remain at home, instead of being shipped off to live with relatives. Elizabeth sometimes wondered if staying in a house that no longer resembled the home she had grown up in was even worth the humiliations and injustices she and Jane had to suffer daily.
Mr. Collins’ voice jolted her out of her gloomy thoughts.
“Ah, how grand!” he said, then added with affected modesty, “I have some good news of my own. I have invited a distinguished gentleman to dine with us tomorrow. I realize it is short notice but I have no doubt that industrious ladies such as yourselves would manage to accommodate our guest. I simply could not pass the opportunity to introduce my dear cousins to a man of such numerous merits. I hope it would not be a problem.”
Elizabeth and Jane exchanged a quick frown while Mrs. Collins was nearly rapturous in her excitement.
“What a wonderful surprise!” she said, clapping her hands together. “The girls and I will set everything up. You should not worry about a thing. We will show this gentleman what Longbourn’s famous hospitality is about.”
Elizabeth’s frown deepened.
As if Cousin Henrieta would ever know what Longbourn had been really like before her arrival…
2
“We have not had any guests since they have moved in,” Jane later remarked with suspicion in the privacy of their bedroom.
Elizabeth and Jane were preparing for bed at an hour much earlier than what they had been used to when the whole Bennet family still lived together under Longbourn’s roof.
There was not much to do in the evenings nowadays besides listening to the droning voice of their cousin reading the latest instructional sermon he had selected to entertain the household.
Music, literature or lively discussions on matters unrelated to faith were not encouraged. Moreover, both Mr. and Mrs. Collins were proponents of early bed-time as it not only helped ration candles but also prompted an early rise and start to the next day.
Jane and Elizabeth did not object to the new house rule. The earlier they retired to their shared room, the earlier they could rid themselves of the exasperating company of their relatives. They could finally enjoy speaking frankly about the matters that bothered them and find solace in each other’s words and presence.
“Taken over, you mean,” Elizabeth said with a curl of her lip. Jane smiled bitterly.
Currently, Elizabeth was helping undo Jane’s hair. Doing each other’s hair was a ritual the two of them had performed since early girlhood with increasing success over the years. It was also the time the two eldest Bennet daughters used f
or sharing secrets and discussing what was most pressing on their minds.
Once Elizabeth had removed all the pins and combs that held Jane’s locks in place, she took the silver brush and ran it through her sister’s long, lush blond hair.
It was a miracle they had been allowed to keep an item as luxurious as the silver brush, but since Mrs. Collins had found herself with a lack of a more modest replacement and had been reluctant to spend money on providing a new one, she had let the girls keep it.
Aside from the brush, Jane and Elizabeth had needed to part with nearly every finer possession they had had or anything that Mrs. Collins had deemed extravagant. In her view, excess spoiled character.
She never ceased to remind them to always look for ways and instances in their daily routines when they could promote modesty and temperance.
For example, chocolate, tea, coffee and sugar that could always be found in abundance under Mrs. Bennet’s former home management, were now only brought out in front of guests or for special occasions. With the majority of the staff dismissed, Jane and Elizabeth were the ones who had now taken up most of the mending, the collecting and drying of herbs in the still room, and the preparation of ointments, cleansers and cures. Their days were full of tasks neither of them knew how to perform and only accomplished with varying degrees of success.
“Let us not forget it could have been worse,” Jane said.
“But how?” Elizabeth said desperately. “Mama and Papa are gone, Lydia is in London with Aunt Gardiner, Kitty is with Aunt Phillips, Mary is stuck in a convent somewhere—”