Mr. Collins was slurping his soup.
This was no tiny slurp, which could be forgiven at a family table, but a horrific, slimy assault on the ears that reminded Elizabeth of an animal cleaning itself.
The suction of the slurp was broken only when Mr. Collins sucked a piece of meat or vegetable through his flabby lips, an action requiring additional force and producing a sort of popping sound that made her shoulders hunch. There was a blessed moment of silence whilst he lowered his spoon back into his bowl, but the anticipation of what would come next quite ruined the reprieve.
Slurp, suck, pop, silence. Slurp, suck, pop, silence. Everyone at the table was now watching him—except for Jane, whose eyes were fixed firmly away—and yet Mr. Collins remained oblivious.
Mr. Fitzwilliam was the first to break. “I say, Mr.Collins!”
Elizabeth supposed it was not astonishing, given that the man had been raised eating at an earl’s table where the standards for behaviour were higher than those of a family meal at Longbourn. Even amongst their current party, which did not always maintain precisely correct behaviour, Mr. Collins’s lack of etiquette was astonishing. It must have been much worse for Mr. Fitzwilliam.
Mr. Collins was nonplussed. “Yes?”
“Stop making that infernal racket! It is agonising.” He addressed Jane. “Miss Bennet, I beg your pardon for the abrupt speech.”
The pastor’s mouth fell open so wide that everyone could see inside. Fortunately, there was no food remaining or Elizabeth thought she might have been put off her meal entirely.
“I have said it for years,” Mr. Darcy said to his cousin, a droll half smile playing on his lips. “You would not have lasted five minutes in the hands of the French.”
Papa laughed aloud at that, and the tension at the table broke. Poor Mr. Collins was still at a loss, but even Jane could not help but smile behind a napkin held daintily to her lips.
The servants whisked the soup bowls away, and the meal was served. Elizabeth noted that Mr. Collins was careful not to allow his knife to scrape against the china.
So, hecouldlearn. Elizabeth felt a little pity for the man, but it was not enough to wish for more of his company. Mr. Collins might not be the worst man she had ever met, but he was certainly the most annoying, and she had only known him an hour. It was long enough to detect a seed of self-important pettiness to him that she thought would grow beyond amendment if ever planted in the right soil. It might very well be the soil of Rosings Park, for he could not stop talking of it.
When Elizabeth lifted her head to make a remark to Mary, she realised that Mr. Darcy was staring at her again. He immediately looked away.
Perhaps Mr. Collins was not themostannoying man she had ever met.
She suppressed a smile. Although his stares were baffling and she was not sure she liked how well he seemed to guess at her more impertinent thoughts, Mr. Darcy was intelligent, well read, and occasionally witty. Strong. She allowed her eyes to drift over to his forearms as he conversed about the weather with Kitty, who had become unaccountably shy.
As Elizabeth finished her soup, she considered the handsome Mr. Darcy. He was larger even than Mr. Collins, but his figure spoke of strength and power. In both body and mind, Mr. Collins was heavy and difficult to digest, like a loaf of bread that never rose. She listened as he spoke to Jane without leaving room for a response. Even Jane was having some difficulty remaining patient with him.
Sadly, he was entirely unaware of his deadening effect on conversation all around him. Well, with any luck, Papa’s lecture would frighten the man off. Or perhaps Papa was taking him on as a project.
Oh, she hoped not.
Chapter Twelve
Onthefirstmorningof Mr. Collins’s stay, Papa was up and out with him before the sun had fully risen. He left Mr. Darcy and Mr. Fitzwilliam at Longbourn, for which Elizabeth was grateful. They were visitors themselves, and she did not think it right that they should be forced to endure Mr. Collins’s company.
When her father and Mr. Collins returned, everyone had finished breakfast and separated to their daily tasks. Lydia and Kitty were dismissed from their morning lessons and came downstairs, determined to walk into town to purchase new ribbons for their bonnets. Elizabeth and Jane had offered to treat them, as it was a great disappointment to their youngest sisters not to be able to attend the ball.
“It will not be long now, Kitty,” Jane reassured her. “And the time will go by more quickly than you suppose, Lydia.”
“Threeyears!” Lydia moaned. “It will last forever!”
“Closer to two than three now,” Mary reminded her. “Your birthday is at the end of March.”
“That is true,” Lydia said, brightening. Then she frowned. “What will I do when you are all out without me? I shall be in the nursery all alone.”
Even Jane laughed at that. “You have not been in the nursery since you turned eight, Lydia.”
“More than half my life.” Lydia stood. “And I am already the last one in the schoolroom, which is almost the same thing.”
“I am still taking lessons, Lydia,” Kitty said, exasperated.
“Music and etiquette. I must still slay the dragons of French and history.” Lydia stood and clasped her hands together. “May we not walk into Meryton now?”