Her Indomitable Resolve

by Jann Rowland

  “If he does not come,” replied Jane, “Mr. Hurst will stand up for Charles. Do not concern yourself, Mama—I am certain everything will be well.”

  While Jane could be accused of optimism to a fault, in this Elizabeth knew she was correct. It was a facet of Mrs. Bennet’s character to expect the worst, as much as it was Jane’s to see the best. Years of living with the threat of the entail had left Mrs. Bennet a nervous, agitated creature, and though Mary had resolved that problem four years before, Mrs. Bennet’s nerves remained unchanged. Though Jane’s confidence silenced her effusions of doom, she continued to mutter and fret. It was fortunate Elizabeth could not hear her words, for she might have burst into laughter if she had.

  A moment later the door opened, and Aunt Gardiner stepped in. “How are your preparations, Jane dear? It will be time to depart for the church soon.”

  “Almost finished,” replied Jane, to the maid’s ready agreement.

  The question, however, prompted an attack of Mrs. Bennet’s nerves, for she exclaimed: “Oh, we shall be late! What shall Mr. Bingley do when he arrives at the church and does not find his bride waiting for him?”

  Seeing the problem at once, Mrs. Gardiner acted. Fixing Jane with a smile and Elizabeth with a look skyward, she stepped forward and grasped Mrs. Bennet’s arm. “Come, Maggie, Jane is well on her way to being ready. As the mother of the bride, it would not do for you to delay our departure.”

  “Yes, of course, Madeline. You always know exactly what to do.”

  Mrs. Gardiner led the Bennet matron from the room, the door closing behind them, leaving the three remaining to sigh with relief. The maid, as familiar with the mistress’s ways as the Bennet sisters, set to her work again, while Elizabeth fixed Jane with a significant look.

  “It is well that Aunt Gardiner can settle Mama,” observed Elizabeth. “If she had stayed and fretted much longer, we might have been late.”

  Jane shook her head and did not reply. A few moments later, seeing the maid had everything in hand and would have Jane ready on time, Elizabeth slipped from the room to see to her final preparations.

  A short time later, they all gathered in the vestibule to prepare to walk the short distance to Longbourn church. The weather had also cooperated that morning, dawning cool, yet calm, not blustery or wet as many days at that time of year tended to be. Before they could depart for the church, however, the one of their number who often said the most, while making the least sense, could not restrain his verbosity.

  “I see you are ready to meet your fate at our humble church this morning, Cousin,” said Mr. Collins, his tone more than usually pompous.

  “Yes, I am,” agreed Jane. “Thank you, Mr. Collins, for your support these past months. I appreciate the assistance you and Mary have provided to make this day possible.”

  Mr. Collins preened as if he had not only introduced Jane to Mr. Bingley but also gone so far as to propose in the gentleman’s stead! If that had been the end of it, they would all have been well pleased. It was unfortunate that Mr. Collins could not allow the opportunity to pontificate pass by.

  “There is nothing else Mrs. Collins and I could have done, my dear Cousin. On this, most joyous of all days, I abjure you to make those vows we all hold holy in the spirit of gravity and quietude, for you make a promise before God himself today. As my patroness, Lady Catherine de Bourgh always said: ‘Matrimony is a solemn duty to us all, for there are few things in this world as important as the begetting of children. Though your children, Mr. Collins, will not be the equal of my Anne, nor will they inhabit the same exalted sphere, they will still provide some useful service to our society.’

  “In this, her ladyship can only be correct, for though my beloved Mary and I have yet to produce a child, it has not stopped us from attempting to fulfill her ladyship’s commands. Wherefore, I abjure you, Cousin, to come to your husband in the spirit of submission to all that he commands, for you will be blessed if you do.”

  It was at times like this that Elizabeth wondered what a spectacle Mr. Collins’s sermons must have been. Ever stoic, Mary, who possessed the wisdom to ignore the inanities that spewed from her husband’s mouth at all times of the day and night, looked down at the floor, her cheeks tinged with the slightest hint of a rosy hue. Jane, for her part, appeared like a ripened tomato. What a silly creature Mr. Collins was!

  Unfortunate though it was, the man’s sermonizing did not finish there, for he continued in this vein, his comments growing more outlandish and improper the longer he spoke. Though those of his family who possessed sense were embarrassed by the display, Mr. Gardiner regarded the parson, his contempt for the man plain to anyone who cared to look.

  At length, as often happened, Mary had enough of listening to her husband embarrass them. “It is time,” said she, speaking over whatever her husband was saying, “to depart for the church. “We would not wish Mr. Bingley to wonder what has become of us.”

  Reminded of his eagerness to be rid of one of his wife’s sisters, Mr. Collins changed in an instant and could not wait to usher them all toward the church. Mary, however, ignored her husband’s impatience and approached Jane, folding her sister into an embrace.

  “Please accept my wishes for your happiness, Jane,” said she, pulling away and holding Jane at arms’ length. “You are to marry a wonderful man. It is all I have ever wanted for you.”

  “Thank you, Mary,” replied Jane. “I believe I shall be happy, indeed.”

  Elizabeth and Kitty crowded around their sisters and offered their congratulations, and for a moment it was like they were all children again. The moment was brief, for the import of the situation intruded again. They ordered themselves for their short walk, Jane on Mr. Gardiner’s arm, as the man who would give her to her new husband, while Elizabeth walked in front, where she would precede them into the church.

  It did not escape Elizabeth’s attention that Mr. Collins looked on Mr. Gardiner with a scowl, though she endeavored to ignore him. It was a curious facet of the man’s character—as were most of his quirks—that he did not wish to host the Bennet sisters, while at the same time was annoyed Mr. Bennet had left their guardianship with Mr. Gardiner. With Mary by his side, however, Elizabeth knew he would not raise the subject, which allowed her to proceed with confidence.

  The church was, as expected, filled with well-wishers, all eager to witness the joining of the long-acknowledge jewel of the county with the most eligible man any had seen in many years. The Longbourn party, with the exception of those playing a part in the ceremony, filed into the church. Within a few moments, Elizabeth, noting that Mr. Bingley had taken his place in front of the altar and seeing the signal given for the bride to enter, shared one final embrace with her sister and made her way down the aisle to where a grinning Mr. Bingley waited, clearly at ease, as he winked as she approached.

  To his side stood a tall man, dark of hair yet fair of countenance, standing a little to the side, watching the proceedings with nary a hint of his feelings visible. The long-awaited Mr. Darcy, Elizabeth presumed; she inspected him as unobtrusively as she could manage, noting the erectness of his posture and the excellence of his tailored suit. Mr. Darcy was, Elizabeth decided soon after, one of the handsomest men she had ever seen, though in the small neighborhood in which she lived and with her limited opportunities to visit London, that was, perhaps, not saying much. Even so, Elizabeth could imagine few men could be more blessed than Mr. Darcy.

  The ceremony progressed as such occasions did, and Elizabeth endeavored to favor the parson with her attention. The vows were requested and given, the parson pronounced Jane a new bride, and soon the service ended. With beaming smiles, the newly married couple came together and made their way down the aisle and out to the entrance where the register awaited them. Following them, Elizabeth walked on the arm of a man to whom she had never been introduced.

  With a hint of sentimentality making her eyes mist over, Elizabeth watched as Jane signed her maiden name, resigning it forever
in favor of her husband’s. Then she proceeded forward with Mr. Darcy, signing her name in turn after the gentleman signed his. Elizabeth noted his hand was masculine, but fine, with precise letters, unlike Mr. Bingley’s illegible scribble. Then she stood with Mr. Darcy, wondering if it was proper, despite their positions, standing up for bride and groom, to remain so close without an introduction. It was fortunate Mr. Bingley came to the rescue.

  “I say, Darcy, I declare I have not introduced you to your escort for the day.”

  The gentleman gave his friend an understated smile. “Nor have you introduced me to your bride, Bingley.”

  Mr. Darcy, Elizabeth decided at that moment, should smile more often. Then again, such a devastating weapon should be hidden away, unleashed only when it might do the most damage. The hearts of maidens the length and breadth of England might be broken forever by the mere sight of it!

  “Right you are!” exclaimed Mr. Bingley, who proceeded to correct the oversight.

  It was curious, as Mr. Bingley and Jane turned away to receive the well-wishes of those who crowded around them, that Mr. Darcy seemed to shy away from them. Elizabeth, tasked with remaining with the gentleman as she was, watched him, noting his countenance betrayed little, even as he opened his mouth only when required. For a moment, she wondered if this man considered himself above his company, with his great estate and connections to the nobility.

  Then she chanced to see a nervous glance at a lady who pushed past him, and Elizabeth realized that he was only uncomfortable in company. Her feelings, which had been growing frosty toward this enigmatic man reversed, and it became a matter of importance for her to see to his comfort. Thus, when the company began to move forward, walking toward Longbourn, she spoke to him.

  “That is Sir William Lucas,” said she, pointing to the knight who was walking just before them, congratulating Mr. Bingley in his expansive way. “Though he was not born a gentleman, Sir William takes it upon himself to be the community’s spokesman and the font of all civility. When one comes to know him, he is harmless, though his continual comments concerning St. James’s court become a little tiresome.”

  Mr. Darcy, who had looked to Elizabeth with surprise when she first spoke, nodded in his grave manner. “I believe I have heard him speak of it at least twice since we began walking.”

  “So you have,” replied Elizabeth, chuckling. “Everyone esteems Sir William. Even my father, who was a man able to tolerate the society of few men with equanimity, held a particular fondness for Sir William.”

  “Your father was a studier of character?”

  “To the despair of us all, at times,” replied Elizabeth.

  “My condolences, Miss Elizabeth. When did your father pass?”

  “Almost two years gone, sir,” replied Elizabeth, feeling that familiar pang enter her heart. “I miss him, though the passage of time has made it easier to bear.”

  “It has been five since my father passed, and twelve since I lost my mother. As such, I can confirm your words, though I will note the pain never disappears altogether.”

  With a nod, Elizabeth turned her attention to another. “Walking by Sir William’s side is his eldest daughter, Charlotte. Charlotte is seven and twenty, if she is a day, and seems destined to be a spinster. But she is good-hearted and kind, intelligent and practical. If not for the difference in our ages, I suspect we might have been excellent friends.”

  Mr. Darcy’s eyes once again caught Elizabeth’s. “Pardon me if it is an impertinent question: I presume you are still young?”

  “I am nineteen in July, Mr. Darcy,” replied Elizabeth, her smile telling the gentleman she was not offended. “I am the youngest of my sisters, the last remaining at Longbourn, though not the last remaining unmarried Bennet.”

  Seeming to consider this, Mr. Darcy said: “I understand there are several of you.”

  “Five altogether,” replied Elizabeth, trying not to laugh. “The only one not present is my second eldest sister, Lydia, who lives overseas with her husband, an officer.”

  “It is difficult to be sundered from family, especially when that family is far overseas. My cousin is a colonel and member of the dragoons, and while he has never been stationed at such a great distance, he has seen action on the continent. I miss him very much when he is not present.”

  “Yes, that is true,” said Elizabeth. “My sister has been parted from us for some years now, and while being sundered is regretful, the difference in our ages and characters rendered a close relationship between us problematic. Though my elder sisters may have a different opinion, the separation has not been so trying for me.”

  Whether Mr. Darcy understood the underlying currents in Elizabeth’s words she could not say, for he contented himself with a nod in reply. As they walked, and after they reached Longbourn, Elizabeth continued to speak to Mr. Darcy, informing him of the people of the neighborhood she had known all her life. In time, she felt that Mr. Darcy’s discomfort lessened, though his reticence remained; knowing something of the people surrounding him made them less mysterious and more real, she thought. When others approached them, Elizabeth introduced the gentleman to their acquaintance and assumed the burden of the conversation herself. It was the least she could do, for this could not be the sort of society with which Mr. Darcy was familiar.

  The gratitude Darcy felt toward this young woman was such that he could not determine how he should express it. That was not uncommon, for Darcy had often found himself unable to speak to those he did not know and not sound like a fool. That she also spoke for them both he did not misunderstand, and it amazed him all the more.

  Though uncomfortable in society, Darcy was a man of the world, one who had been in company for almost ten years. In all that time, he did not think he had ever seen such a self-assured woman at such a young age. And while he might have felt uncomfortable even with her, wondering if she knew something of his situation and meant to make the most of the opportunity, he received no such covetous hints from her.

  As the wedding breakfast progressed and Darcy became more comfortable—or perhaps it was more accurate to say he became less uncomfortable—his concentration turned to his friend and the woman by his side. Though Darcy had promised to join Bingley at Netherfield in the fall, Georgiana’s near elopement with George Wickham had ended such thoughts, as Darcy could not leave her alone after that incident.

  Never would Darcy have expected, however, that Bingley would finally give in to the charms of one of his angels in this, of all neighborhoods. Had Darcy had nothing more than Miss Bingley’s diatribes against the girl—delivered outside her brother’s hearing—he might have wondered just what Bingley had done in allowing himself to be captured by an unsuitable woman.

  Darcy’s powers of observation, however, were keen, and he could soon discern the woman’s pleasure at becoming the wife of his closest friend. It was true she did not have much—one glance at the estate confirmed that much—but if Bingley did not care for such things, Darcy decided it was none of his concern. Miss Bingley lamented the lack of greater connections, but Darcy knew, as did his friend, that it would take some generations for the Bingley name to be established in society. He would receive little more acceptance if he married the daughter of a baron than he was likely to receive with a gentleman’s daughter as his wife.

  There was one in the room Darcy knew, though the acquaintance was not one he wished to acknowledge. Given the man’s temperament, it surprised Darcy he had not approached as soon as he had seen Darcy in the church. It was possible, Darcy decided, the man’s wife had interceded to prevent him from making a fool out of himself, though his very character made that eventuality all but certain.

  “Mr. Darcy,” said Mr. Collins, bowing as low as he ever had as a parson, “how wonderful it is to see you here, sir. When Mr. Bingley informed us of your friendship, I knew he must be a man of quality, for no ordinary man could claim an acquaintance as exalted as that of my former patroness’s nephew.”

  By h
is side, Darcy noted a sudden blank expression come over his companion’s face. There were only a few situations when he had observed the like, most when the person in question was attempting to stifle a laugh. Of Mr. Collins there was much to find diverting, but Darcy could not determine what she found of particular amusement at that moment.

  “Mr. Collins,” said Darcy, saying nothing more in the vain hope the man would desist and depart.

  “And how are your lady aunt and your excellent cousin? It has been some weeks since I last received word from her ladyship, though I suppose she is well as she always is.”

  “Lady Catherine is well, Mr. Collins,” said Darcy. “I shall visit her again at Easter, as is my custom.”

  “Excellent! How wonderful you attend to the ties of family. I am certain she, and her amiable daughter, must find excessive comfort in your diligence.”

  As the former parson continued to blather on, Darcy listened to only one word in three; he did not repine the lack of the other two, for he did not think they would make Mr. Collins sound any more sensible. Darcy had not misunderstood Mr. Collins’s reference to Anne, reflecting with annoyance that Collins had made similar statements those times Darcy had visited Rosings when he had been the parson. Cursing Lady Catherine for her inability to hold her tongue, Darcy reflected he would need to speak to her again about it when he visited in March. The lady would not like it, but she was the only one in the family—including Anne—who did not know her dream would never come to be. Even that would do nothing, for she would continue to speak of it as if it were inevitable, hoping to wear him down through the frequency of repeating it.

  The one benefit to Collins’s long-winded speech was that it kept others away. Though Darcy did not look down on these people, he did not wish to associate with them either, for even with Miss Elizabeth’s efforts, he had nothing in common with them. It was for this reason that Darcy allowed the man his head, rather than turning away from the ridiculous man as a gentleman of quality should.