by Beth Poppet
“But what of the sister?” Mrs Hurst questioned. “The one who gave herself airs after one dance with Darcy. She has no prospects, I’ll wager.”
“Oh, yes! I hear Eliza Bennet is spoken of as a local beauty.” Caroline upturned her nose as if in the midst of swallowing some unpalatable thing. “I did not see it.”
“There is nothing remarkable about Miss Elizabeth Bennet’s looks upon first appraisal,” Mr Darcy said, unable to keep silent. “There is as much to critique in her form and features as there is to compliment. However, she is a fine conversationalist and put the entirety of that assembly to shame with her manner and comportment. I was not certain I would enjoy myself this evening, but I am happy to be wrong.”
“I am all astonishment!” Caroline exclaimed, and she meant it, uncertain if she was to feel triumph over Darcy’s admission to Elizabeth Bennet’s flaws. “Fitzwilliam Darcy, finding enjoyment in a country dance!”
Eager to find some measure of approval from his friend in Jane Bennet’s family, Charles asked him, “You would rather I recommend myself to Miss Elizabeth Bennet?”
“I did not say that. You certainly could do worse, though her connexions are hardly enviable. Indeed, you had better not pursue any of these Bennet girls, lest you be forced to lower yourself in the estimation of society.”
“Darcy, I wouldn’t be fastidious as you for a kingdom!” Bingley was part indignation, equal part anguish now that Jane Bennet was lost to him. “I’ve never been amongst such charming manners and pretty faces in all my life! I daresay, in the countryside, this is society, and it could hardly be considered a degradation to marry a gentleman’s daughter, no matter the situation of her relatives.”
“Perhaps you are right,” he softened, happy to have his own pursuits of the evening justified by his friend’s arguments. “Perhaps I have other motives in turning your attentions away from Miss Elizabeth Bennet.”
Bingley, who expected more of a rebuttal, no longer had a distraction from his disappointment over the eldest Bennet daughter. He had quite forgotten they were discussing the possibility of his paying court to another, and his forlorn expression returned even as a new possibility formed in the mind of his closest companion and friend.
Caroline Bingley had never seen her brother so downcast, nor Mr Darcy so quick to concede a point in favour of the lower classes. Finding her stomach unsettled from the evening’s conclusion, she soon excused herself from the room to retire early, leaving the gentlemen to discuss the winning attributes of the two eldest Bennet sisters.
Chapter Five
The banns were published, the wedding day set. Mr Collins departed Longbourn to make all due preparations for his bride at the parsonage and would return in time for his marriage to Miss Jane Bennet; loveliest, and fairest of all his cousins, and, indeed, all the cousins in the whole of Christendom. With the publication of their betrothal, it could not be helped that the whole of Hertfordshire knew of it. Indeed, those who were well acquainted with Jane were glad of such a match, and willing to overlook Mr Collins’s eccentricities for the sake of his bride. It seemed reasonable that a girl so virtuous as Jane would marry a clergyman, and it was only those nearest and dearest to her that looked upon the impending wedding with anything other than favour.
Mr Bennet was not so delighted to be giving up his eldest daughter to Mr Collins, but as his own lack of provision had put his girls in a situation that rendered them undesirable by men of elevated state, he could not hope to entice cleverer men to marry any them, and so resigned himself, as was usual, to accept things as they were. He was not used to pressing his daughters over their preferences and designs—most were clamorous enough in their intentions to set their cap at this or that young man, and the rest was had from Mrs Bennet’s declarations of impending suitors—and so he had no way of beginning with Jane to reasonably ascertain whether she was quite certain she wanted to marry Mr Collins. Mr Collins had approached his interview with Mr Bennet while Jane was present, after already securing her assent to be his wife, and there was not much objection Mr Bennet felt able to make in such circumstances. Elizabeth would, and did chastise him thoroughly for this, but what was done could not be undone, and there was some comfort in the fact that one daughter at least had a comfortable enough future secured, and that his wife would cease to plague his heart out over the matter of being turned out of the house upon his death.
Mrs Bennet, who for a time was put to a quandary by the presence of Mr Bingley and Mr Darcy in the neighbourhood was now exultant in the triumph of her matchmaking, as of course it was she who directed Mr Collins to her eldest daughter and dropped ever so many hints on the suitability of their match. Her renewed eagerness had much to do with an old acquaintance of hers who just had a daughter married. Miss Marianne Cole whom no one thought much of had secured herself a fine gentleman, and the need to have her own daughters married the sooner overpowered any remaining reservations she held against Mr Collins in the meanwhile. Mrs Bennet still spoke openly now and then of her regret in allowing Jane to become attached so soon before the wealthy gentlemen had come, for she wagered Jane could have snatched herself either one of them had she so desired, but as it couldn’t be helped, she supposed there was nothing for it but to press on and hope Mr Collins had connexions more prestigious than himself for the sake of her yet unmarried daughters.
Through these shameful discourses, Jane pleaded for an end to such talk, blushed appropriately for her oblivious fiancé’s sake, and gently upbraided her mother for her rudeness to her future husband, behaving entirely as expected and with all the goodness she was known to be capable of.
Even in her private correspondences, she remained cheerful and resolute, causing no one to suspect she was anything but thankful for Mr Collins. It was decided between Mrs Hurst and Miss Bingley that Jane Bennet was a dear, sweet girl, and being no danger to their winsome brother engaged as she was, they saw no harm in paying her every civility. Caroline Bingley therefore had taken up a habit of exchanging letters with Jane; a habit which continued beyond the assembly that first had them acquainted.
Elizabeth saw their kindness to Jane not as excessive, nor as sincerity of character, but as a matter of course in how her sister ought to be treated for her own merits. She did not think them the most pleasant of neighbours but was glad if Jane found something enjoyable in either Miss Bingley’s or the former Miss Bingley’s characters to inspire a more intimate acquaintance.
Upon the announcement of Jane’s impending marriage, Miss Bingley wrote in haste, insisting that Jane attend them at Netherfield, where she must chuse a set of fine vases to display during the wedding breakfast. She would brook no refusal, her letter clearly stated, as they were rarely used and hardly admired little things that had just been supplanted by much larger, more impressive heirlooms that very season.
Jane asked for the carriage but was unequivocally denied by Mrs Bennet before Mr Bennet could open his mouth in response.
“The carriage!” she exclaimed, “Surely not, for it looks like it will rain, and then you will have to stay the night at Netherfield.”
“Mother!” Jane cried, letter in hand shaking with her evident distress.
“What good is it to us for you to go all that way when there are four of your sisters still without husbands? No, Nellie will do just as well, and when you are overtaken in the storm and forced to stay the night we will come and fetch you by and by. Let your sisters have a chance to see the gentlemen, as well, Jane, as you know there is nothing at Netherfield for you! Vases, indeed! As if we could not supply a perfectly good arrangement!”
This caused Jane to bow her head in silence, concealing the way all colour left her cheeks and hiding the developing moisture in her eyes; visible signs of the pain her mother inflicted that Elizabeth alone could see and empathise with.
She was quick to defend her sister from the prescribed mistreatment. “Mama, Jane’s constitution is not fit for such an excursion in the rain. If she is exposed to
the downpour, she will likely catch a fever.” It was true, Jane’s complexion was not as rosy as it should have been, and though her outward appearance was already recovered to its cheerful state, the melancholy that had stolen over her was distressingly more obvious to Elizabeth in its manifestations.
“Oh, nonsense,” Mrs Bennet retorted with a dismissing wave of her handkerchief. “Jane is hearty as you are, though without such demonstrative objections which you vex me with, and I daresay she will not die if she catches a little trifling cold. They will take very good care of her there until we can follow and see the gentlemen.”
Much to Mrs Bennet’s triumph, a letter arrived the next day, indicating that Jane had fallen ill after supper and was being cared for to the best of their ability at Netherfield Park. Her triumph was short lived, however, as she was taken up with a bad cold herself and rendered unable to attend her daughters by paying the Bingleys a proper visit on the day she intended to do so.
Elizabeth might have been pressed upon to escort her sisters there in her stead, but Kitty and Lydia wished to see the officers in town, and as Mary said, “I have no desire to meet such lofty persons as inhabit that estate. A walk to Meryton will suit me admirably. For,” she continued with a downward tilt of her head to see through her spectacles, “There is no idleness worse than the idleness of a busy tongue, and the pleasures to be had in them are naught but folly and perdition.”
“Very well, Mary,” Lydia chirped, “You come along with us, but don’t spoil the afternoon by talking on the way. No one cares a fig for your gloomy quotes anyhow.”
“I shall much prefer my own company, in any case,” Mary haughtily retorted, “It is the only way to have a sensible conversation now that Mr Collins has gone away.”
Lydia grunted quite unbecomingly, and the matter was settled.
Elizabeth’s trudge to Netherfield was invigorating as it was frustrating. Each misstep into the sludge was a reminder of the miserable conditions that brought Jane to fall ill in the first place. Though she cared little for the splatters of earth that made her hem a sorry sight, they caused her to wonder if she would catch sight of the hound Brutus that knocked her down with his muddied paws before.
She came upon Mr Darcy instead, who appeared to be lost in thought the moment before he acknowledged her.
“Miss Bennet!” He was surprised, but not vexed, she thought, though she had made no announcement of her own arrival by way of either note or manservant. She assumed the party of five being reduced to one made no significant difference except that of greater convenience to Mr Bingley and his sisters.
“I am come to see Jane,” she stated, suddenly ashamed at the state of her garments. Mr Darcy was no less finely attired than upon their first meeting. Though his outer jacket was more serviceable for the outdoors, and the colour muted, there was no lack of style nor wealth of material in his wardrobe as a whole.
“On foot?” he asked with a quirk of his brow and one of his near-smiles. Elizabeth could not be sure if he was attempting to add to her dismay, or merely amused.
“As you see,” she replied, chusing not to give way to mortification. “You are not enjoying the delights of the countryside whilst confined to a carriage. I am merely seeing more of it myself.”
“In that you have the advantage, though I wonder you risk being set upon by the untrained beasts that are known to roam here,” he countered. “Brutus is in the kennels for the present, but he will be out soon, and there is no telling what damages might befall your gown if he comes at you again.”
“The wreck of my gown is entirely of my own making this time,” she smiled, “and as its ruination has brought me to the place where my sister is, I cannot be sorry for it.” There was a pause wherein he seemed to be assessing her declaration. Elizabeth tired of waiting for him to speak, and so asked expectantly, “Would you be so kind as to take me to her?”
“Yes, of course,” he answered amiably, and together they set off towards the great house.
Jane was in a sorry state. Every comfort had been provided for her, every need seen to, yet she looked so thoroughly miserable that Elizabeth worried for her spirit as much as her body. Cheeks and nose were red from the fever, but her eyes were what caused the most concern, grey and sunken in as they were.
Upon Elizabeth’s entering the chamber, there was an instant brightening of Jane’s features and she sat a little straighter, holding out her hands in earnest to receive her sister’s handclasp.
“Oh, Lizzy! I am so glad you’re come!” she rasped, as earnestly as her present condition allowed, “I have made such a fool of myself, I can hardly bear thinking of it.”
Lizzy perched on the side of the luxuriously fitted bed, hands still holding fast to Jane’s. “Whatever happened?”
“It all came about so unexpectedly, I am not sure I’ve quite got over the shock.”
“Did something happen since you’ve been seen by the physician? Has your conditioned worsened?”
“No, Lizzy. Nothing like that. Only I am still reeling from all that transpired the very night I arrived. As you well know, it rained that afternoon, and I was wet through by the time I came to the house. Everyone was so kind, so attentive to me, and I was given dry clothes from Caroline’s own apartments, and a warm shawl, and the seat furthest from the drafts during supper. I made it through the meal tolerably well. I felt a little lightheaded, and the taste of each carefully seasoned dish was rather lost on me since my throat ached some, but I felt sorrier for the cook who went to all the trouble of preparing it than for my inability to try more than a few bites of each course.”
“That does not surprise me in the least,” Lizzy sighed, but her look was only one of fondness.
“Please, Lizzy, don’t interrupt or I may never regain the courage to tell you the whole of it. After supper, Mr Darcy gave up his usual seat nearest the fire and bade me sit there, but when I tried to refuse he abruptly left me and struck up a conversation with Mrs Hurst so that I was unable to say another word about it.”
Lizzy looked as if she was bursting with the desire to say something at this juncture, but Jane silenced her with a knowing glance and went on.
“Truthfully, I was feeling very ill by then, as the seat by the fire was too warm, and my head ached and was growing heavy. Mr Bingley was looking quite severely at me, and when he whispered something into Caroline’s ear, she remarked how poorly I looked and scolded me for not telling them sooner how ill I was. She left the room to fetch some salts, and Mr Darcy broke conversation to suggest that a physician be summoned. I declined, knowing I would rally once Caroline returned with the salts and I was able to leave the fireside and retire. Before she had brought them, however, Mr Bingley came to my side, and with such a look… Oh, Lizzy!” Her flushed face turned a shade deeper, making her the very picture of womanly beauty in her feverish state.
“I had no idea how to behave or where to look as he assured me they would care for me to the best of their ability and begged pardon for the rain that had caused my suffering, as if he alone was to blame for it. I was already struggling to keep hold of my senses when he said, ‘I… had not known you were engaged on the night when we first danced. I have re-examined my behaviour again and again from that evening, and if I have said or done anything to offend, I hope you will not think too badly of me, however foolish my blunder.’
“My throat seemed to close up, and it took a great deal of effort to respond. ‘Forgive me,’ I managed at last, ‘I... should not have accepted your attentions that evening. It was my behaviour that perpetuated your ignorance, and it was very wrong of me not to put an end to it. You are entirely blameless in the matter, and I pray you will forgive me.’
“He shook his head at the last utterance and said with some measure of cheerfulness, ‘No. You cannot be the one to blame. Only a very stupid sort of person would fail to recognise how a creature so fair and gentle as yourself must already be attached. I wish you all the happiness in the world with your…’
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“Before he could finish, my feverish mind overpowered me. I lost all sense of decorum and spoke when I should have stayed silent and accepted his compliments for a happy marriage.
‘Mr Bingley, please do not continue. You are so very kind, and I would not wish to impose upon your good nature by confessing things that I have no right to feel, by telling you how deeply I regret… how I wish… that is…’ I began to realise my mistake too late. I swallowed back the lump forming in my throat, but it only felt more swollen and sore. ‘Forgive me…’ I choked out the words, ready to say something even worse that what I’d already uttered, but instead I fled from the room before the onslaught of tears overpowered me completely.”
Lizzy fought back the desire to remark on Jane’s accidental confession, and instead asked, “How did you come to be here, Jane? They told me you had fallen faint on your way to your room.”
“I do not know. That is… I have no recollection, though I am told it was he who… he… he carried me here himself, though Caroline was quite cross as it was not the room she’d intended for me and said the servants hadn’t time to prepare it as she would have liked, though I cannot imagine what is wanting. I think Mr Bingley must have known I would prefer…” Her tears began afresh. “I thought I was resolute. I thought I could endure, but how shall I when such a man as he is in this world, and I may never… never be…”
Elizbeth was not cruel enough to finish for her. She did not say aloud what Jane already understood; that she would never be his. That it was impossible to even dream of it, and shocking to even consider when her own betrothed was currently preparing for her to come and begin her life with him.
Chapter Six
Jane would not remain in her gloom. Now that she had confessed to Lizzy what troubled her, now that she had unburdened herself of such a dark secret, she could find the will to smile as she thought of ways to make her sister happy while staying at Netherfield. For Mr Bingley would hear of no scheme that involved Elizabeth leaving for Longbourn while her sister needed her so. As that particular gentleman was a subject too painful to dwell on for long, Jane steered her private conversations with Lizzy in the direction of the other inhabitants of Netherfield, most particularly towards Mr Darcy.
