The Guest | F. Darcy

Prologue: The Parsonage

Adele gazed out of the carriage window with a quiet sigh. Much had transpired over the past few months since a certain gentleman had departed Hertfordshire, taking with him not only his friend but also a great deal of her peace.

Elizabeth had received—and soundly rejected—a marriage proposal from Mr. Collins, a refusal so resolute that even the most ardent defender of matrimonial prudence could not fault her. Yet, rather than sulking in wounded pride, Mr. Collins wasted no time in turning his attention elsewhere. It had been Adele who had subtly suggested Charlotte Lucas as a prospective bride, knowing full well that Charlotte would make him a contented husband, if not a particularly exciting one.

She had not, however, anticipated the cost of her intervention.

Elizabeth's pride had been deeply wounded by the suddenness of the event, for scarcely three days had passed before Mr. Collins proposed to Charlotte and was accepted. And while the former eventually forgave her friend, the same could not be said for Mrs. Bennet.

For weeks, Adele and Elizabeth endured the brunt of their mother's displeasure, for she considered their involvement in the match to be a grievous betrayal. Adele, however, bore the reprimands with quiet indifference, for she had long since mastered the art of ignoring Mrs. Bennet's shrill lamentations. She had far graver concerns—chief among them, the absence of Fitzwilliam Darcy.

She had lost him once before, and now, she had lost him again.

But worse still was the silent sorrow of Jane, who concealed her heartbreak behind serene smiles and soft-spoken reassurances. Adele had known grief before, but guilt was a far crueler burden, and it weighed upon her heavily.

Yet, not all was bleak.

Adele had, in the months following the Netherfield Ball, reclaimed much of her humor, and she found herself smiling more often than she had in years. There had even been moments of joy—chief among them, the engagement of Mary to Mr. James Lucas. He had asked Mr. Bennet for permission to court her on the very day of Charlotte's wedding, and to the delight of all, Mary had accepted with teary-eyed happiness.

And now, Adele found herself bound for Kent, seated beside Elizabeth, Maria Lucas, and Mr. Lucas Sr., answering a summons she had little desire to obey.

Lady Catherine de Bourgh had requested her presence.

The letter had come first from Mr. Collins, brimming with self-importance as he relayed the invitation. But it was Charlotte's letter that had ultimately swayed Adele's decision. There was a quiet desperation in her friend's words, a plea for companionship that Adele could not, in good conscience, refuse.

And so, despite her reservations—and her distinct distaste for Lady Catherine—she had agreed to the visit.

As for Jane, she had been sent to London to stay with their aunt and uncle in Cheapside, a feeble attempt to ease her heartache. But Adele knew better. Distance would do little to mend what had been broken.

The carriage came to a halt, and as Adele stepped down, she was immediately engulfed in a warm embrace.

"Oh, Charlotte," she laughed in surprise, "how I have missed you!"

"And I you," Charlotte whispered. "I know of your kindness, Adele. Mr. Collins told me it was your suggestion that led him to propose."

"Anything for you," Adele teased, "and, perhaps, a little to ensure his attentions were turned elsewhere." She chuckled, then added wryly, "Though my mother may never forgive me for it."

Charlotte laughed, taking her arm and leading her inside, while Mr. Collins took great pains to extol the virtues of his humble parsonage. Though his words were ostensibly meant for Elizabeth, Adele knew them for what they were—a feeble attempt to prove how much she had lost in rejecting his suit.

His particular pride lay in his garden, which they dutifully admired before the women at last seized their chance to retreat indoors, leaving the men to their own devices.

Once inside, conversation flowed easily, with Adele an unusually active participant. Her once-muted spirit had rekindled, and she found delight in the simple pleasure of speaking freely among friends.

That is, until Elizabeth broached the inevitable subject of Lady Catherine de Bourgh.

"We are to meet her on Sunday," Elizabeth stated, folding her arms.

Mr. Collins, who had just rejoined them, beamed with satisfaction. "Yes, Miss Elizabeth! You shall have the honor of being introduced to Lady Catherine at church, and I daresay you will be most delighted with her." He turned to Adele, all self-importance and pompous nodding. "And, of course, Miss Adele has already had the pleasure of making her acquaintance. Lady Catherine is all affability and condescension, and I have no doubt she will bestow upon you both the highest marks of favor."

Elizabeth cast a skeptical glance at Adele, who merely sighed.

Mr. Collins, undeterred, continued his praise. "Lady Catherine is most gracious to my dear Charlotte. We dine at Rosings twice a week and are never permitted to walk home—her ladyship's carriage is always at our disposal. Why, I should say, one of her many carriages, for she is quite wealthy, you know."

Charlotte offered a far more measured response. "She is a most attentive neighbor," she said simply.

"Quite so, my dear!" Mr. Collins exclaimed. "A woman of such rank deserves nothing but our utmost deference."

Adele and Elizabeth exchanged knowing glances, barely suppressing their amusement.

The evening passed in lively conversation, though Adele could not ignore the feeling of foreboding that settled upon her. The timing of their arrival was almost too perfect—coinciding precisely with the annual appearance of two most unwelcome guests at Rosings Park.

The next day, as she and Elizabeth prepared for a walk, a sudden commotion in the house caught their attention.

Footsteps thundered up the stairs, followed by Maria Lucas's breathless voice.

"Oh, Miss Adele! Dear Eliza! You must come at once! There is such a sight to be seen!"

Adele exchanged a glance with Elizabeth before opening the door.

Maria stood there, wide-eyed and flustered. "Come down this moment! I will not tell you what it is—you must see for yourselves!"

Elizabeth, though intrigued, asked a series of questions, but Maria refused to answer, insisting only that they hurry.

Curiosity piqued, they followed her to the dining room, which overlooked the lane.

To their great anticlimax, they saw two ladies seated in a low phaeton at the garden gate.

"And is this all?" Adele exclaimed. "I expected, at the very least, that the pigs had gotten into the garden. And here we have only Lady Catherine and her daughter."

Elizabeth burst into laughter.

Maria, however, was scandalized. "La! My dear, it is not Lady Catherine! The old lady is Mrs. Jenkinson, Miss de Bourgh's companion." She gestured toward the frail young woman in the carriage. "That is Miss de Bourgh herself. Only look at her! Who would have thought she could be so small?"

"She is abominably rude to keep Charlotte out in this wind," Elizabeth observed. "Why does she not come in?"

"Oh, Charlotte says she rarely does," Maria explained. "It is the greatest of honors when Miss de Bourgh actually enters a house."

Elizabeth smirked. "She looks sickly and cross. Yes, she will do quite well for him."

Adele sighed. "She is merely frail, Lizzie, and entirely under her mother's dominion. But when spoken to, she is quite sweet. I daresay you would like her—if ever you had the chance to speak freely in Lady Catherine's presence."

At last, the carriage moved on, and the party returned indoors.

Mr. Collins, practically bursting with delight, announced, "Her ladyship has invited us all to dine at Rosings tomorrow!"

Adele let out a breath of disbelief.

Tomorrow, then.

Tomorrow would be a long, long day.