Vampire and Prejudice

Chapter 20 - Elizabeth

I opened my eyes in the dim room and looked for Jane, but she was not there. She was in London, while I was in Kent, laying in a bed in Hunsford Parsonage. A disobedient daughter no longer, I was instead an honored guest and a dear friend come to visit. Shamefully, I missed nothing from home, for there was not much to miss. Perhaps only papa, his wit and the soothing sound of his voice, but I had no need to be soothed, so even his absence from my life was not of great consequence.

I shared the room with Maria, Charlotte's younger sister, who was close in age to me, but seemed unbearably young. She had nothing of Catherine's—or Lydia's—wildness and was a soft and shy creature. I felt keenly that she was in my care and we both, in turn, were under the care of Mrs. Collins.

Charlotte Collins, the reverend's wife. She brought every dignity to her role, even making her husband's presence somewhat bearable. Though I still maintained my belief that Mr. Collins did not deserve such an accomplished lady for a wife, there was considerable hope that her goodness would improve his character twofold. It might not make him into a perfectly amiable gentleman, however, for even tripling his good qualities would unlikely let him reach such heights.

We were not plagued by Mr. Collins much. He was busy, and he was encouraged to be busy by his wife. Once in a while I forgot he was even an inhabitant of the Parsonage, and while we were spending a pleasant afternoon, I was suddenly shocked to find him freshly arrived and wishing for entertainment.

Lady Catherine was a peculiar character, the likes of whom I had never met with in my entire life. She was rich to an extent that I could not fully comprehend; her house an exhibit of that wealth and her personality and extension of it. Her attentions were considerable even toward lowly creatures such as us. Mr. Collins had not exaggerated his special relationship with his patroness and, by association, she was our honored mistress also, inviting us to dine with her twice a week.

Miss de Bourgh, Lady Catherine's daughter, was entirely unlike her mother. She was very small and undoubtedly sickly, a quiet creature in a near constant presence of Mrs. Jenkinson whose sole purpose in life was to make sure that the young lady was warm enough at all times. Miss de Bourgh was a quiet creature, but her silence did not appear to come from being shy. I had the distinct impression that she was incredibly cross with everything and everyone, and the only way she managed her condition was by saying as little as possible.

Time spent in Kent had little by way of excitement, but it afforded much needed peace after the emotional storms of this winter. I did not have to brace myself for my mother's harsh words upon entering the room, and I was sure to have amiable and sensible conversation most of the time. The tranquility was a thing I did not know I needed until I came.

Perhaps in time the place would have proved itself too peaceful, if not for the shock of meeting a detestable acquaintance in the parlor of Rosings Park. We were shown into a room where Lady Catherine, Miss de Bourgh, and Mrs. Jenkinson were sitting, but we were not the only addition to the evening party. There was a gentleman whom I did not know and one I did—Mr. Darcy of Pemberley had come to spoil my mood once again, and I had to gather all my strength of composure to not quit the room in the most ungrateful and impolite fashion.

I stared at him, not quite able to avert my eyes, my mind trying to come up with a hope that I was maybe not seeing him at all—to no avail. It was indeed Mr. Darcy, and he was likewise staring at me. My only satisfaction was that I had surprised him in my turn and maybe my presence would sour his mood as well.

"Let me introduce my nephews—Mr. Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam," Lady Catherine said, and gave all our names in turn, provoking a lot of bowing and curtsying.

Colonel Fitzwilliam looked around forty, a gentleman of distinction, but with a pleasant and open air which his cousin lacked. I wondered if he was a version of Mr. Bingley—someone more amiable than Mr. Darcy who was better in company and therefore provided a lot of conversation in Mr. Darcy's stead. I also wondered if Colonel Fitzwilliam suffered the same abuse that I had witnessed Mr. Bingley do.