by Jann Rowland
It could be expected that the necessities of accomplishing their work would lead to idle chatter among ladies of their station. This was precisely what happened that day—and many days after—at Netherfield. The demands of working with one’s hands left the mind to other tasks, and as such, the ladies rarely stayed silent for even a few moments. For the most part, their conversation was desultory in nature, but on occasion something of more substance was said.
“Do you expect your other daughter to return home in time for the wedding?” asked Elizabeth of Mrs. Bingley when they had been working for some time.
“We do,” replied Mrs. Bingley. “Louisa and Humphrey should arrive a week before.” Mrs. Bingley paused. “While I do not see Louisa as much as I would like, at least they are to attend us for her sister’s wedding.”
While Elizabeth understood a mother missing her daughter, few others would repine her absence should she not come. If Elizabeth’s relationship with Caroline when younger had been, at times, a little strained, there was little of a relationship to be had between Elizabeth and Caroline’s elder sister. Elizabeth found Louisa Hurst to be more than a little vain, somewhat vapid, and possessing a mean streak which had passed the rest of the family by completely. For many years, she had set her cap at Thomas, resenting Caroline for the attention she gained from the gentleman so effortlessly.
While the matter had never been discussed openly, Elizabeth was aware that her brother had taken Louisa aside some years back and informed her he would not propose to her, advising her to cease her objectionable behavior toward her sister. Louisa had, at first, been inclined to discount his words, until he had publicly snubbed her at several events of local society and one infamous evening in town. Humiliated, Louisa had ceased to importune him, and for some time after had treated her sister with cold civility. Had she possessed any affection at all for Thomas, the matter might have been one to provoke pity for her lost hopes. But she had quite clearly only wished to be wed to the wealthiest man in the neighborhood and, as a result, had not garnered much sympathy.
This character flaw had been more than amply proven when she had promptly during the next season attached herself to the wealthiest man who would have her. Humphrey Hurst was a portly, balding man some fifteen years her senior. He was of suspect hygiene, little intelligence, and the most banal of interests. His principle virtues were a fondness of the finer things in life, including his new father-in-law’s table, dishes rich and exotic in nature, and an ability to imbibe enough spirits to knock a bear into a month-long hibernation. It was not uncommon for the man to lie down on a sofa and snore the evening away, no matter who comprised the company.
After some months of marriage, Louisa had seemed to realize the flaw in her vengeance, for she had mellowed the few times Elizabeth had seen her since. While Mr. Hurst was fond of society—and more precisely fond of anyone who would feed his prodigious appetite—much of their time was spent at his estate in Norfolk. It was the simple and unfortunate fact that while Louisa had thought him to be wealthy enough to provide her a triumph over the man who spurned her, Mr. Hurst was a man of more fashion than fortune, his estate generating only a little more than half of Longbourn’s annual income. A tendency to exceed his income due to his appetites and an unfortunate interest in the racetracks meant they could not afford to be in London, unless they were staying with family.
“I understand from my daughter there might be reason to expect an addition to the family in the near future.”
“Is that so?” asked Elizabeth. “I will be sure to give my congratulations to the expectant mother when she comes.”
Elizabeth’s sisters echoed her words to varying degrees, from Jane’s softly spoken but fervent congratulations, to Mary’s more cynical well-wishes to her hostess’s eldest daughter. Caroline, for her part, said nothing, the news already clearly known to her. It seemed she still had not forgotten nor completely forgiven her sister for her previous behavior. If there was any character flaw to attribute to Caroline Bingley, it was a tendency to remember slights and slurs, as well as an unwillingness to allow them to rest.
Of course, given Caroline’s behavior when calling at Longbourn after Elizabeth’s return, it was inconceivable that she should be spared similar jests, especially now her mother was in attendance. Though Caroline was never overt, the sly manner in which she spoke of Mr. Darcy, then encouraged her mother to continue speculating as to the gentleman’s level of interest, was blatant enough to raise Elizabeth’s hackles.
“He did dance with you, of all the ladies of Hertfordshire,” said Mrs. Bingley to her daughter’s provocation, her tone introspective. “Of course, he did favor Louisa and Caroline, but we knew he had no intentions in that direction, though Louisa did hope she might engage him.”
“Louisa was deluding herself,” was Caroline’s blunt assessment.
“Yes, perhaps she was.” Mrs. Bingley turned a speculative eye on Elizabeth. “What did you think of the gentleman, Elizabeth?”
“No more than we all did,” interjected Jane. “He danced with me as well, if you recall.”
“He did. But I am certain he understood my Charles’s interest in you, my dear, even four years ago.”
Jane blushed in response to this observation and could not say anything more. Elizabeth glanced at her sister, reassuring her that she was well able to speak for herself. It was her impression that Jane was grateful for the reprieve.
“As Jane has said,” inserted Elizabeth into the silence, “I thought of Mr. Darcy no more than anyone else. While he did ask me to dance, it was nothing more than a dance. I could detect no peculiar interest in me, I assure you.”
“But he is undeniably a handsome man,” said Caroline.
“Oh, aye,” replied Elizabeth. “I dare say there is no deficiency in his ability to attract the attention of those of the fairer sex.” Only in his ability to act in a gentlemanly manner to young and impressionable girls. “But there is much more to attraction to a man than simply his countenance or his stature. It would be vanity to consider such things above all else.”
“You are correct, I am sure,” said Mrs. Bingley.
“So perhaps you would prefer a plainer man?” asked Caroline with an arch look. “Perhaps Mr. Collins is much more to your taste.”
“There is nothing the matter with Mr. Collins,” interjected Mary primly into the discussion. “But I do not think our Lizzy is considering him either.”
“Nor would I have expected she would,” said Mrs. Bingley. She turned a fond smile on Elizabeth. “I have nothing against the gentleman. But I am sure you could do much better for a husband than him.”
“Such as Mr. Darcy.”
Elizabeth directed a withering glare at Caroline for her continued attempts to tease. Though completely unaffected by Elizabeth’s displeasure, Caroline shook her head, shot a grin at Elizabeth, and let the matter drop.
“Well,” said Mrs. Bingley, “I shall not press you, Elizabeth. You still have all the time in the world to be married—if you find you are not inclined to it yet, then there is no need to rush.
“As for Mr. Darcy, I found him to be a gentlemanly man, one who would make any young woman a fine husband. Furthermore, according to Charles, he is an excellent catch—one of the most sought-after young men in the country. It would be a stupendous match if you were able to induce him to propose. But know that I shall not push you in his way, nor interfere in any way. Your mother, God bless her sainted soul, wished for the best for you girls, and I will do my part to guide you in her absence.”
The arrival of the elder Mr. Bingley put an end to such discussion. Elizabeth found she could cheerfully forgo it though she smiled at Mrs. Bingley with pleasure and affection. Mrs. Bennet had been more of a matchmaker, and she had not been choosy about toward whom she had directed her daughters, though she had not been insistent on their accepting her chosen suitors. By contrast, Mrs. Bingley, though also eager to see her dear friend’s daugh
ters married, was in no way a matchmaker. She was much more content to illuminate her thoughts of who would make a good match and allow the girls to make their own choices. In the end, it was all done out of love for them, a fact which Elizabeth appreciated. Her interference could have been far worse.
In this manner, the final days before the wedding passed. For Mrs. Bingley, the delight of having her second daughter disposed of in marriage was tempered by the loss of said daughter to another man’s house. This, in turn, was made easier by the fact that she would live only three miles away, allowing frequent opportunities to be in Caroline’s company.
Of further interest and satisfaction to Elizabeth was the behavior of Mr. Bingley with her sister Jane. The long-held expectation that he admired her was playing out before their very eyes—Elizabeth expected her sister to be engaged by the end of the year. In this expectation, she found that her sister had acknowledged the increased fervor of his attentions and had responded by increasing her hopes accordingly.
“I have always found him to be the most amiable man of my acquaintance, as you know, Lizzy,” confided Jane the day before the wedding.
“Only a simpleton would be unaware of your feelings, Jane,” replied Elizabeth. “And Mr. Bingley is no simpleton.”
“But he has been more overt in his admiration of late.” Jane’s eyes lost their focus and a dreamy expression rendered her countenance hopeful and all the more beautiful because of it. “He has given me no indication by word, however, that he intends to propose.”
“But in deeds, he has given his assurances amply,” said Elizabeth. “I am happy for you, Jane. I suspect you will be a very happy woman, indeed.”
A warm glow suffused Jane’s cheeks, and she nodded to acknowledge Elizabeth’s point. Though sorely tempted to tease her sister further, Elizabeth did not have the heart, so obvious was Jane’s pleasure in Mr. Bingley’s increased attentions. Soon, she would leave for her own home with a good man for a husband. But Elizabeth knew she had nothing to fear, for like Caroline, she would only be three miles from her ancestral home.
The next morning dawned bright and warm, a truly propitious day for a wedding. The Bennet family prepared for the day with laughter and not a little remembrance for the one member who had not lived to see it, the one who would have taken the most pleasure in it of them all—perhaps even greater than that of the groom!
“Mama would have been in a frenzy of preparations, would she not?” said Mary, the light of happy remembrance bright in her countenance. “We would have been up before dawn, chivvied from our beds to ensure we were ready in time, looking our best.”
“She might have thought it likely that we would all catch our own beaux at the wedding,” added Elizabeth. “For if Thomas would only invite his friends from town, surely we would all be thrown in the path of eligible gentlemen!”
“I cannot say you are incorrect, Lizzy,” said Mr. Bennet as they all laughed. “This would have been your mother’s crowning triumph, and as such, I think we should all dedicate it to her memory.” Mr. Bennet paused and looked at Jane, winking and saying: “Then again, she would likely already anticipate Jane’s marriage, which would undoubtedly supplant today’s festivities as her new crowning achievement!”
Once again, the Bennet family laughed. Elizabeth found herself fighting back tears, for though it was cathartic to think of her mother in such terms and gratifying that the crippling sorrow her loss had caused was absent, still she missed her mother and wished she could be here for this day.
“I, for one,” said Thomas, “will gladly cede the title to my sister. I am simply happy to be marrying a woman I esteem.”
“And we are all equally happy, Thomas,” said Mr. Bennet. “But while your mother is not here to chide us for the potential of arriving late, I have no doubt your new mother-in-law will take up the office should we tarry. Shall we?”
The Bennet family agreed, and they soon departed, making their way down the drive toward the church which lay nearby. An open carriage was pulled up before the door of the church to convey the happy couple to Netherfield for the wedding breakfast once the service was complete and from thence to Ramsgate where a house had been let for their honeymoon. Outside the church, the principle families of the neighborhood had gathered to see the union which had been expected for so long. Elizabeth was greeted cordially by those she had known all her life, and if there were those among the company who were disgruntled that they had been spurned by Longbourn’s heir, they were thankfully few and possessed the good sense to keep their disappointment to themselves.
As she was making her way toward the gathered crowd to the church, Elizabeth caught sight of the parson and moved to greet him. He was a tall man, slightly heavyset, with neatly combed dark hair, which, unfortunately, was thinning at the back. He was dressed in the traditional cleric’s garb, black upon black, which gave him a certain distinction. He was a young man, only five and twenty, and while he was not handsome, his features could be called pleasantly plain. Elizabeth also knew from experience that he was not a particularly intelligent man though not deficient either.
“Miss Elizabeth,” said he with a bow. “How do you do on such a fine occasion?”
“I am very well, Mr. Collins,” said Elizabeth with a fond smile. “I am very happy for my brother, for he is gaining an excellent wife.”
“That he is,” replied Mr. Collins. “I suspect Jane will also be following him to the altar before long?”
“Perhaps,” was all Elizabeth would say in response.
“I hope she does,” replied Mr. Collins. “She is deserving of every happiness in life, as is all your family.
“Might I escort you to the family pew?”
“Thank you, Mr. Collins. That would be lovely.”
As she took his offered arm and accompanied him toward the front benches where the Bennets usually sat, Elizabeth considered the young man by her side. Mr. William Collins was her father’s distant cousin, though Elizabeth did not quite remember the exact extent of her father’s connection with the gentleman. Mr. Collins’s father and Elizabeth’s father had fallen out over a disagreement of some sort—Mr. Bennet had never been explicit as to the details—leading to a long estrangement between them.
When Mr. Collins had been fifteen years of age, his father had suffered a fatal accident, leaving the young master quite alone in the world. Upon hearing of it, Mr. Bennet, putting his grudge against the young man’s father aside, had sent for him, installing the young man in his home, treating him as the family he was. William Collins had resided in their orbit ever since, as much a part of the family as any of the Bennet children.
Furthermore, Mr. Bennet had undertaken to educate the young man, who had come to them quite downtrodden. The elder Collins had been, from what Elizabeth understood, a miserly and abusive man with a revulsion for the gentry and a sense of dissatisfaction for his lot in life. Under Mr. Bennet’s painstaking tutelage, Mr. Collins had grown to become more than what he had been when he arrived, receiving not only an education, but lessons in how to be a man of good character. He still, at times, possessed a certain servile streak about him, and he gravitated to others, craving their guidance, but he had been educated in a prominent seminary at Mr. Bennet’s expense, and been installed as the rector of Longbourn when the incumbent passed away about a year before.
“Here you are, Miss Elizabeth,” said Mr. Collins, taking up her hand and bowing over it. “I hope I shall see you after at the wedding breakfast? I have been reading in the gospel of Luke of late, and I was hoping to obtain your insight. And Mary’s, of course.”
“Then I would be happy to speak with you,” said Elizabeth. “Until then, sir.”
Once again, Mr. Collins bowed and took his leave to take his place at the front of the church, his welcoming smile bestowed upon all the congregation. Of his request, Elizabeth could not help but smile, though she was well aware that Mary’s name had been thrown in by Mr. Collins as an a
fterthought. Though Mary was the Bennet sister with the most interest and knowledge of Holy Scripture, it was to Elizabeth that Mr. Collins turned.
The reason, of course, was that Mr. Collins admired Elizabeth and had for quite some time. While Elizabeth had noticed some inclination on his part before he even left for the seminary, it had become increasingly evident when he had returned, taken up the curacy, and subsequently become master of the parsonage.
It might have become difficult for Elizabeth to be the recipient of his admiration, for she possessed no similar inclination toward the gentleman. While she knew him to be a good sort of man and his situation was eligible, Elizabeth thought she required something more in a husband, something more challenging than William Collins could provide. Mr. Collins seemed to understand and accept her feelings, though they had never spoken of it, content to watch and esteem her from afar. Or at least it seemed that way. It was entirely possible that he was simply biding his time until he thought she would be receptive to his overtures. But Elizabeth thought it unlikely. The man was quite incapable of misdirection or guile.
Soon Elizabeth’s family joined her, Mr. Bennet sitting beside her, while her sisters sat on her other side. The way Mr. Bennet regarded her, it was clear he had seen Mr. Collins’s actions. Showing a protective side that he did not often display, he addressed the matter:
“Are you well, Lizzy? I hope your conversation with my cousin was agreeable.”
“Quite agreeable,” replied Elizabeth, well aware as to her father’s thoughts. “Mr. Collins has always been perfectly amiable in my presence. I believe he wishes to discuss scripture with me when we go to Netherfield.”
Bemused, her father looked up at the parson, and they both caught a glimpse of his eyes darting away. Elizabeth allowed herself a slight smile and a nod which proved, by his replying smile, that he remained aware of her presence.
