by Beth Poppet
Chapter Two
The calm that settled over Longbourn in the confidence Mrs Bennet held for her eldest daughter’s match was disrupted by the news that the new tenants of Netherfield Park were come at last. It was over a month's time since the joyous proclamation that an eligible gentleman of five thousand a year, according to Mrs Long, had taken a liking to the place, but evidently there had been a delay in his coming. Now that he took possession of the estate, Mrs Bennet was fraught with excitement, and awaited his establishment into the neighbourhood with his forty servants, and full company of twelve ladies and six gentlemen, if Kitty’s and Lydia’s accounts were to be believed.
Mr Bennet had been pressed upon at every moment to make himself known to the family for the sake of his daughters, for Mrs Bennet had every intention of finding Mr Bingley as suitable for Elizabeth as she believed Mr Collins was for Jane.
Elizabeth had quite forgotten the prospect of merry company and eligible dancing partners in the wake of Mr Collins’s imposition. Had he not been a thorn in her side through his continued courtship of Jane, she would have been in excellent spirits; vexing her mother with endless verbal bait as she shared a knowing smile with her father, making sport of her sisters’ exaggerated repetitions of hearsay, and imagining only good of the gentleman new to town. However, current events had her in a dark mood, and she was often rendered intolerable for any of her sisters to abide besides the saintly Jane.
Her low spirits took her out of doors, where the sounds of stream and sparrow could lend some repose. There had been signs of showers earlier in the day, but now the sky was relenting in the downpour, and the world was clean and crisp, if not a little damp. Lizzy put Mr Collins and the whole business of his visit out of her mind while donning her gloves and cloak, and decided to turn her thoughts to happier things, such as spying on their new neighbours from her vantage point on the hilltop overlooking Netherfield Park.
She could see naught but fields covered in a November fog and was about to turn towards home when a man’s cry of “Brutus! Heel!” rang out in the otherwise quiet park, and a moment later a large hound burst out of the brush, tackling Lizzy to the ground.
Two gentlemen appeared on the scene, the first leashing the dog with expert timing and pulling him off the startled Lizzy, and the second rushing to her side to assist in the case of injury.
“A thousand apologies, madam!” said the one at her side. He had a round and pleasant face, a bounty of tawny curls peeking from beneath his hat and over his forehead to enhance the earnestness in his eyes. “Are you injured?”
“Only my pride, I think,” she said good naturedly, shifting delicately as was possible to test her limbs and ligaments. Her posterior was a little bruised, but she had no trouble standing with the gentleman’s assistance. The muslin skirt of her frock had taken the brunt of the violence, muddy pawprints now streaked alongside flecks of wildflowers. She had long given up the vain attempts to keep her boots and hems from the inevitable scourge of wet earth, and though this was a new level of dishevelment, she was not at all sorry for it.
The other gentleman, a taller, more severe looking one, dark of hair and eyes, had gained some control of the dog and now that its victim was back on her feet, he chided his companion. “Bingley, I told you he would never make a proper hunter. This is what comes of not consulting me before purchasing hounds. That man was a perfect crook.”
Ah, so this was the notable Mr Bingley that had caused such a fuss amongst her mother and sisters. A smile danced about the corners of Elizabeth’s mouth as she thought of how her mother would cry in delight to know she had managed to throw herself in the path of the gentleman—two gentlemen, as Mr Bingley’s friend must be of some means to possess a coat as fine as the one he wore. She would have to thank the hound properly—Brutus, she thought he’d been called.
“You are right, Darcy, and I am absolutely mortified,” Mr Bingley said, red mottling his cheeks, and brows tightened in concern. “May we escort you home for the trouble, Miss…?”
“Ah, Bennet. Miss Elizabeth Bennet.” Though time for appropriate courtesies had passed, she bobbed her head for civility’s sake.
“Charles Bingley, at your service,” he replied, frown disappearing into a charming smile. “And may I present my good friend, Mr Fitzwilliam Darcy!” A terse nod was all the tall gentleman offered, though Lizzy could hardly blame him for how eagerly Brutus strove to escape his hand and set off after the next scent.
“We are not entirely without introduction, Miss Bennet, as your father has called on us only yesterday!” Mr Bingley beamed as if their meeting was one of sheer joy, now he knew they were not perfect strangers. “I believe you live just down the way. We will help you home so that you may recover from the accident young Brutus has caused.”
“Oh, no,” she refused politely, “I am perfectly capable of walking back. No lasting harm was done, I assure you.” She hesitated, searching the surrounding brush for inspiration as the excuses formed on her tongue. “I rather intend to remain out of doors for the time being.” Though bringing home two unmarried gentlemen might have her mother singing Lizzy’s praises for the rest of her living days, she was not prepared to make the introductions with Mr Collins at home.
She looked to Mr Darcy who despite bearing a constant straining at the leash from the excited animal kept a firm and steady grasp on him. His expression was not without some trace of emotion, though he was nothing like the jovial Mr Bingley in his openness of manner.
“May I approach the hound?” she petitioned.
He arched an eyebrow at her. “If you wish. He is not vicious, only poorly trained.”
Lizzy could not help but smile at the exuberance in the happy hound before her. She pat him a little on the head, and he squirmed and whined to be given yet more attention.
“I should have thought he would frighten you after such a fall,” Mr Darcy said, assessing her easy interaction with Brutus.
Elizabeth laughed, and it seemed to her almost unfamiliar after the previous days of distemper. “It would take more than a little spill to undo me,” she replied, laughing again at the way Brutus’s tongue lolled out of his mouth while she scratched behind his ears. “You see, Brutus, we are good friends already, are we not? But you must not go about introducing yourself in such a way. ‘Tis most improper.”
Mr Bingley was glad to have his conscience cleared of traumatising her and announced that Brutus might be forgiven being that his oafish expediency caused them to meet such a charming neighbour.
“Miss Bennet,” Mr Bingley enquired, “You are second eldest to all your sisters, are you not?”
“Yes, I am. Jane is the eldest, and after me are Mary, then Kitty, and Lydia is last.” She spoke with care, watching to see if her new acquaintance would grow befuddled by such an influx of names, but he merely continued to smile pleasantly, as if five daughters from one household was not such a strange occurrence at all.
“I believe I saw your younger sisters in passing but have not had the pleasure of meeting your eldest sister.”
“That is a great pity,” Lizzy said with absolute sincerity, “for she is by far the most good natured and pleasant of us all.”
“She must be loveliness itself if she surpasses your own amiable nature. I cannot imagine my own sisters would take kindly to one of my dogs knocking them about.”
“You are very kind.” Lizzy was smiling still and found it rather a challenge not to in the present company. “But I have every confidence in my sister’s ability to outshine me in all matters of import.”
Mr Bingley shook his head in merry disbelief, and Lizzy wondered if her mother might be persuaded to desist her intentions with Mr Collins in favour of such an amiable gentleman. She was not usually inclined to matchmaking, but she saw at once that there was something remarkably fitting in the thought of her sweet Jane and the affable Mr Bingley.
“How are you enjoying the countryside?” she asked him.
“I am enchante
d with it as if it is Paradise itself,” Mr Bingley exclaimed, and he looked as if he meant every word. “I am only sorry we have come so late in the year, for I cannot imagine a prettier place to reside.”
“I am glad, indeed!” Not wishing to exclude his friend, she turned to the gentleman beside her. “And you, Mr Darcy? What do you make of our rural paradise?”
He started, as if surprised she directed an enquiry at him. “I cannot make an accurate judgement so soon, having seen very little of it beyond Netherfield. The air is very… sharp, here, and the grounds a little wild, but there is nothing so far to cause either censure or praise.”
Lizzy might have been less inclined to think well of such a dispassionate answer, but she supposed a man of fortune might find the change from London to Hertfordshire somewhat perplexing. “I confess, I have been to London and Bath but once, and I would venture to argue neither compare with the delights of the countryside. The air may be sharper here, as you say, but I’d wager so are the natives’ spears if you are not quick to compliment all our country ways,” she warned teasingly. “You will suffer no reproach from me, but I know several good ladies of the neighbourhood who would be scandalised to hear you are not enraptured by the wild beauty and simple manners to be had in our part of the country.”
“I thank you for the warning, Miss Bennet,” he dipped his head in gratitude, “but it is not in my nature to give compliments where none are deserved, no matter the expectation. Insincerity is a form of deceit, every kind of which is my abhorrence.”
After a month of Mr Collins’s constant flatteries, Elizabeth could accept such a saying without dissent. “That is well, indeed. I admit, I often find myself resorting to a dance where trite and honest observations can be made that neither mislead nor offend. Civil conversation is not impossible, so long as one chuses to find a few happy things to remark on.”
“I do not find it easy to converse with strangers as readily as my friend,” Mr Darcy admitted, “and I will take your words as a kindness. He possesses all the charm and approval, you see, and I all the severity and judgement.”
“Well founded, I hope,” she cried in mock horror. “Judgements can be based on sound principles, but judgement for the sake of it…” she shook her head chidingly. “I fear with such an outlook, you may not make many friends.”
“I need but a few good friends, Miss Bennet,” he uttered without resentment. “With one or two sensible people about me, I have no lack of company, and therefore no need to recommend myself to other persons who may be likely to misunderstand my attempts at civility. Those persons who take time to know me better before applying their own judgements may decide for themselves whether to continue in my company.”
“You are economical in your friendships, then,” she baited, cheeks aglow from the sparring she loved so well, “And do you keep your friends as long as you take to make them?”
“I only wish it could be so,” he remarked, growing more serious even than before. “But there are those who take advantage by way of avarice and betrayal. Of such persons, my good opinion once lost is lost forever.”
Elizabeth grew serious as well, something in his manner suggesting she had inadvertently stumbled upon a wound not yet fully mended. “I am sorry for the necessity of such caution then, but I hope at least we shall be friends.”
“I would hope the same, Miss Bennet,” he agreed, and his features softened into something like a smile, though Lizzy could not be sure it was there the next moment.
Mr Bingley had watched the two converse in satisfied congeniality, but now he insisted on turning the subject. “Are you certain we cannot escort you back home, Miss Bennet? I must do something in recompense for my dog’s poor behaviour.”
She knew it might be very presumptuous to suggest such a thing, but Mr Bingley was so adamant in his being at fault that she feared she must name some favour to prevent his coming home with her at once. “If you insist on doing me a kindness, you shall host a ball for all our country friends where you shall meet all my sisters and Mr Darcy can judge every man there on whether or not he is worthy of your lasting acquaintance.”
“Excellent!” he nodded vigorously, “A ball you shall have, Miss Bennet. And I will insist on dancing with the sister you recommend as the best of all people in this world.”
“She will be delighted, I am sure, as will all my sisters who greatly love to dance.”
They parted ways with Mr Bingley satisfied at last that he was doing right by his neighbours, and Lizzy bounded home with an air entirely altered from the one that ushered her out of doors. She sought Jane out at once and found her mercifully alone in the sitting room. She worked on a bit of lace to edge a handkerchief with, fingers deft, precise, and patient, and not for the first time did Lizzy wonder how she could be so placid after an entire afternoon in Mr Collins insufferable company. For though he was not present, there was no doubt he would have been with her most of the day.
“Why, Lizzy! What has happened? Why is your dress in such a state?”
In her eagerness to tell Jane all that had transpired between her and the two gentlemen, Lizzy had quite forgotten she was not fit to be seen in mixed company. Even more of a mercy that Mr Collins was not about. She wished to tell Jane all without delay but was ushered up to change and make herself presentable before supper.
While Jane helped the maid with buttons, and bands, and repositioning flyaway curls, Lizzy explained the whole of the matter, sparing no details in the manner of Mr Bingley’s generosity, and the delightful nature of his conversation and personality.
“He is everything a man should be, Jane!” she insisted for the third or fourth time since being led upstairs.
Jane reflected her sister’s smile, glad she was cheerful again. “I believe you like Mr Bingley a great deal.”
“Yes, indeed, but not for myself,” she declared. “No, he is far too agreeable for the likes of me. I fear I would tire of his inestimable goodness, which I dearly love in a sister, but cannot imagine enduring in a man,” she smirked wickedly. “I admit to being more than reasonably intrigued by his much taller and wealthier friend. Mr Bingley should do very well for a favourite sister of mine, though.”
Jane’s countenance fell, and the merriment that had previously been felt between the sisters dissipated in the breath of her next words. “Oh, Lizzy. It is of no consequence to me how agreeable Mr Bingley or any young man is anymore. Mr Collins has offered me his hand in marriage, and I have accepted.”
Chapter Three
A dark mood fell over Elizabeth and all her comings and goings. Liveliness and a vivacity for wit was replaced with a sharp tongue carrying despondent barbs meant to wound. Lydia hardly laughed in her presence anymore, and even Mary took care that her quotations were given either a nod or a half smile before she plunged headlong into another snatch of ancient wisdom.
There were few people for whom Elizabeth would smile. For Jane, whom she wished not to dissuade from remaining in her confidence by her ill humour, and two gentlemen in whose company she had felt cheerful and at ease mere hours before the news of Jane’s engagement descended on her like a black cloud. The prospect of being once more in their company was not entirely lost on her, but her preparations for the assemblies were far less enjoyable than before.
As for her cousin, Mr Collins, Elizabeth hardly spoke three words together to him except for yes or no when imperative that she say something to maintain a modicum of gentility towards him. The fact that she would not even engage with him in underhanded mockeries caused Jane a conflict of feeling that she was unable to express. She was glad that her fiancé was not made the end of every joke hinted at by clever Lizzy, or the name tittered behind her younger sisters’ hands, but the morose silence in her dearest and closest sister was hardly a desirable outcome.
Lizzy made exception for the evening before them. They were to attend the assembly in Meryton, and as Jane’s engagement was not yet announced, Elizabeth hoped for one last evening of enj
oyment before her favourite sister was known to be attached to Mr Collins. She wasted no time in praising Mr Bingley to her mother and reminding her of Mrs Long’s intelligence that his fortune was all of five thousand a year. She did not hold much hope in Jane’s breaking off her engagement—Jane was too honourable a creature to do so, even for Lizzy’s sake—but it did cross Mrs Bennet’s mind that waiting to announce Jane’s engagement until she had met and judged both wealthy gentlemen of her daughter’s acquaintance might be prudent. Elizabeth knew nothing more would come of it but a delay in what she perceived as Jane’s doom, but it was some comfort not to have the matter known at once.
Whether they could prevent Mr Collins from announcing his great pleasure at possessing the hand of his fair cousin was another matter altogether. While Mrs Bennet was instrumental in dissuading him from declaring his conquest at any given opportunity, Lizzy had every reason to hope they might have one last night of amiable dance partners.
“But should you dance, sir?” Lizzy asked Mr Collins on the eve of the ball, her shrewd agenda hidden in the pretence of a concerned frown. “Would it not be seen as unbecoming for a man of your station to participate in such frivolous activities?”
“Your judiciousness does you credit, Cousin Elizabeth, indeed it does!” he marvelled. “But I do not think there can be harm in such innocent amusement. Not when so recently endowed with the honour of calling the most beautiful creature in the world my betrothed!” He flashed a well-practiced grin Jane’s way. “It cannot be against heaven’s will to allow me visible proof of my infinite happiness!”
“Ah, but you forget, Mr Collins,” Mrs Bennet interjected slyly, “that we agreed not to announce your engagement so soon. Let our sweet Jane have this one night to grow used to the idea of a husband. We do not wish our neighbours to think us too eager, you know!” As Mr Collins pondered this suggestion with a knit brow, and something like dejection overtaking him, Lizzy caught her mother looking conspiratorially at her. The thought that she was now scheming with her mother against Jane’s betrothed sent an unexpected pang to her heart.
