A Pemberley Medley (A Pride & Prejudice Variation) by Abigail Reynolds

calm words. No other lady would have shown such an understanding of his need to protect his friend, when it involved denying her sister an advantageous marriage. But perhaps Elizabeth saw no need for her sister to marry well because she pictured herself as the future mistress of Pemberley. He must be more careful to hide his feelings. “I have never heard him say so; but it is probable that he may spend very little of his time there in future. He has many friends, and he is at a time of life when friends and engagements are continually increasing.”
     
    “If he means to be but little at Netherfield, it would be better for the neighbourhood that he should give up the place entirely, for then we might possibly get a settled family there. But perhaps Mr. Bingley did not take the house so much for the convenience of the neighbourhood as for his own, and we must expect him to keep or quit it on the same principle.”
     
    “I should not be surprised,” said Darcy, “if he were to give it up, as soon as any eligible purchase offers.”
     
    Elizabeth made no answer, turning her face from him. Did she know that her profile fascinated him? If only he could taste her delicate cheekbones with his lips. In an attempt to steer his mind away from that delightful prospect, he said, “This seems a very comfortable house. Lady Catherine, I believe, did a great deal to it when Mr. Collins first came to Hunsford.” It was a reminder of the difference in their station.
     
    “I believe she did—and I am sure she could not have bestowed her kindness on a more grateful object.” Elizabeth gave him an arch look.
     
    He smiled at her graceful acknowledgment of her cousin’s flaws. “Mr. Collins appears very fortunate in his choice of a wife.”
     
    “Yes, indeed; his friends may well rejoice in his having met with one of the very few sensible women who would have accepted him, or have made him happy if they had. My friend has an excellent understanding—though I am not certain that I consider her marrying Mr. Collins as the wisest thing she ever did. She seems perfectly happy, however, and in a prudential light, it is certainly a very good match for her.”
     
    Was she giving him a hint? He cast about for words. “It must be very agreeable to her to be settled within so easy a distance of her own family and friends.”
     
    “An easy distance do you call it? It is nearly fifty miles.”
     
    “And what is fifty miles of good road? Little more than half a day’s journey. Yes, I call it a very easy distance.”
     
    “I should never have considered the distance as one of the advantages of the match,” cried Elizabeth. “I should never have said Mrs. Collins was settled near her family.”
     
    Her vehemence caught him by surprise until he remembered her propensity for stating opinions not her own. He was quite willing to tease back. “It is a proof of your own attachment to Hertfordshire. Anything beyond the very neighbourhood of Longbourn, I suppose, would appear far.”
     
    A pretty flush crept up Elizabeth’s cheeks. “I do not mean to say that a woman may not be settled too near her family. The far and the near must be relative, and depend on many varying circumstances. Where there is fortune to make the expense of travelling unimportant, distance becomes no evil. But that is not the case here. Mr. and Mrs. Collins have a comfortable income, but not such a one as will allow of frequent journeys—and I am persuaded my friend would not call herself near her family under less than half the present distance.”
     
    He could not help himself. He drew his chair a little towards her, and said, “You cannot have a right to such very strong local attachment. You cannot have been always at Longbourn.” The intoxicating scent of Elizabeth and rosewater drifted over him.
     
    Elizabeth looked surprised, and he realized he had gone too far. He drew back his chair, took a newspaper from the table, and glanced over it. When he