A Fortunate Alliance

by Beth Poppet

  If he thought to escape the frustrations of such conjectures, he was gravely mistaken, as Miss Bingley came upon him, taking note of the way he watched Mr Wickham and Miss Bennet dance.

  “It seems Miss Eliza has abandoned you for more… patriotic, though less respectable company,” she murmured at his ear.

  “What is that to me?” he retorted icily, a prick of something more than disinterest sharpened his tone, and the alteration was not lost on Caroline.

  “I didn’t catch the particulars, but it seems they were discussing you just before the dance. Perhaps that was the subject which caused Miss Eliza to laugh so unusually loud. I believe unsociable and taciturn were two of the words ascribed to your person, though she pretended to find you sociable enough mere weeks ago.” She felt a triumph in the way his jaw set, and his eyes flashed with a dangerous glint. “I cannot imagine who or what has managed to change her tune so thoroughly.”

  “Then it would be a kindness for you to forget hearing such insulting remarks rather than drawing my attention to them,” he stated, eyes still fixated on the dancing couple. Miss Elizabeth was a wonderful dancer; grace and gaiety in equal parts of her steps, and it made his indignation complete to see it so splendidly displayed with the man he hated most in all the world.

  “Of course.” Miss Bingley withered but momentarily. “I only meant to open your eyes to the kind of person Miss Elizabeth Bennet is. My caution was kindly meant.”

  “Indeed,” he replied coolly. “If I required such a warning, I might be obliged to you, but as I have stated before, I am in no danger from her. She may dance with whomever she pleases. It is of no consequence to me.”

  Though Miss Bingley might have believed such an assertion, Mr Darcy was not wholly convinced. He spent the entirety of the ball refusing to address the second Miss Bennet, assessing the foolishness of her relations, and assuring himself she did not regard their behaviour nor his in the slightest.

  Chapter Eight

  The marriage of Miss Jane Bennet to Mr William Collins was not the most fashionable affair of the season, nor the most anticipated amongst the attendants, but there was enough elegance and fanfare to make Mrs Bennet more than satisfied during the nuptials of her eldest daughter, and enough warmth of affection between the sisters to almost make up for the lack of it between the bride and groom.

  There was nothing wanting in Jane’s demeanour, nor did anyone suspect she was not entirely happy, as all was modest blushes and sweet smiles from her as she was dressed and escorted to the church. She donned her ivory silk, the least worn of her gowns—though Jane took such care with her clothes that even some of her oldest frocks were in remarkably fine condition—newly trimmed and ornamented especially for the occasion. Her blue cape was entirely new, for each of her sisters had given some of their funds in order to procure it for her, and even Lydia gave up a little extra of her pocket money to have it trimmed with silk to match her gown. She also gave Jane a new muff to match, deeming it a late Christmas present, though it was far more to Lydia’s taste than Jane’s, and she dropped many a hint that Jane may send it back to her once she tired of it and wished for a new one.

  “I am sure to have no need for such fine things at Hunsford,” Jane assured her sweetly, “You are welcome to it after the ceremony, for I know Mama would be disappointed if I wore my old one today.”

  At this, Lydia beamed while Kitty pouted, for it was she who was in greater need of a new muff, she declared, and older by two years besides, while her muff was older still. Jane promised to give Kitty her kid gloves with the yellow bows if she was willing to give Jane her old ones, and all was made right again for the present.

  “Oh, Jane,” Lizzy sighed, “Whatever shall we do without you to make peace between us?”

  “You do not need me to make you kind to each other. You need only remember you are sisters and must love one another accordingly.”

  Lizzy was hardly convinced. “Perhaps we need only be patient long enough for husbands to be had. You don’t suppose Mr Collins has a relative for me?” she teased.

  “None at all that are eligible!” Jane laughed in return, and then before her mirth had entirely abated, she hastily said, “Do not tarry long in coming to us, dear Lizzy. You must come as soon as you are able and make me laugh at myself again. We will set Mary loose in Mr Collins’s library, and you and I shall have our tea overlooking the hedge that divides our property from Lady Catherine’s. I am determined to be content in spite of my selfishness, you see.”

  Lizzy offered a sad smile. “Jane, there is no one in the world who is less selfish and deserves happiness more than you. I do so wish…” She put the thought out of her mind before it succeeded in dampening the mood. “Well. Wishing is for little girls with copper pieces to spare, and as I have used all mine up on Christmas presents and remaking my gown, I shall have to wait a while before I can do so myself.”

  Jane’s smile was far more convincing than Lizzy’s had been. “Do not worry for me, Lizzy,” she said. “Mr Collins does appear to care for me in his own way, and I am certain I could be happy with him if I truly set my mind to it.”

  “Your mind may be set, but I fear your heart is moved in quite another direction,” Lizzy said with a mournful sigh.

  “I must not… I cannot dwell on that, now,” Jane coloured despite herself, indicating some of her previously concealed emotion. “Please do not speak of what I confessed to you in a fevered state of unrest. I am… in mere hours to be married to Mr Collins, and I must learn to love my husband as I will vow to presently. It would be very wicked of me to do otherwise.” Jane met her gaze in earnest, then. “Promise me that on the subject of a certain gentleman we will never speak unless absolute necessity calls for it. I wish him only good, and in time I may hear his name spoken without a pang, but it will be very difficult if you insist on reminding me of him too often.”

  “I will speak no more of it,” Lizzy promised, leaving a kiss on Jane’s cheek. “Not to another soul, nor even to you after this moment. But Jane, I am glad you confided in me, however silent we must remain on the subject from this day on.” She grew sombre again. “Though we may have little enough opportunity as it is, even if we wished to.”

  “We will not think of it that way,” Jane pressed. “We will only think of the loveliness of the chapel all decked in evergreen boughs, how good and how sweet all these dear people are who have come to see me wed, and how very soon you and I shall be together again.”

  “Yes,” Lizzy agreed, cheering some. “And we must be considerate of your husband who is suffering his fair measure of disappointments today. After all, Mr Collins did not get his first choice of groomsman.”

  This lightened the mood once again, for Mr Collins had wished to ask Mr Darcy to stand up with him, being that he was the closest relation to Lady Catherine de Bourgh in Hertfordshire, but Jane and Lizzy both managed to dissuade him before he made all haste to Netherfield in order to beg the favour of Lady Catherine’s most distinguished nephew. As it was, Sir Lucas paid him the honour, in part as a kindness to Mr Bennet, and Mr Collins had to settle for Mr Darcy as a mere guest at the proceedings.

  “Lady Catherine herself will not attend,” he had said, “as she is far too occupied with matters at Rosing’s Park, and it would be impossible to bring Miss de Bourgh out in such frightful weather, but we must send an invitation nonetheless, and perhaps, my dear,” he rushed all at once in a great breath to Jane, “the top of our wedding cake before it is cut. It is a great pity that Lady de Bourgh could not be here to advise on the matter of cakes, for I am certain she would know exactly which kind to be most suitable for our celebratory breakfast.”

  Mrs Bennet chided him thoroughly for such a statement, insisting that Mr Norton made the best cakes to be found in all of the county and likely in all of the British Isles, and she was certain that even Lady Catherine would approve of his delicacies. At this, Mr Collins begged profuse apologies and spoke another ten or so minutes on his trust in Mr
s Bennet and her abilities to discern wisely in the manner of weddings and sweet cakes.

  But now, all thought of cakes and sweets were set aside, for Lizzy had taken Jane’s arm as they readied to leave her room behind for the trek to the church.

  The chapel was a humble stone structure, ancient, but stalwart, and the very one Jane had been christened and confirmed in. According to Mr Collins, it was nowhere near the grandeur of the smallest of breakfast rooms at the grand house at Rosing’s Park, but as Lady Catherine herself condescended to attend Mr Collins’s services which were quite humbly located indeed, he did not think she would be too disappointed in their wedding venue.

  All residents of Netherfield Park were attending as Jane remained on excellent terms with both of Mr Bingley’s sisters, and inviting them without their brother or his friend could not be avoided, no matter the pain it must have caused the young bride.

  Elizabeth was her only bridesmaid and looked uncommonly pretty in her green velvet spencer and fur-lined pelerine. “You’ll never be as beautiful as Jane,” her mother had said while Lizzy added the final adornments to her winter hat, “but I will say you look very pretty!” Jane might have had all her sisters stand up with her for the ceremony, but there was not time nor funds to prepare them all with frocks and trimmings enough to content Mrs Bennet, and Lydia declared she would not stand up if Mary did, for she might make them take lessons in standing and posture, and she refused to be subjected to such abuse. Kitty, who rarely took a position against Lydia, agreed wholeheartedly, and so Elizabeth, and Elizabeth alone remained a bridesmaid, and she was secretly glad, for it afforded her the pleasure of having Jane mostly to herself throughout their preparations.

  She had not quite got over Mr Darcy’s coldness to her on the eve of the Christmas ball, but Jane’s wedding was hardly the time to reproach him over it, and she had so many little duties to attend to on Jane’s behalf that she would not have had time to do so even if she felt it proper. His stoic expression did not alter from the moment he took his seat among the guests and continued to imitate the rigidity of a marble statue until the last words of from the Solemnisation of Marriage were read aloud by the minister. Unlike his friend, Mr Bingley reserved nothing indifferent in the solemnity and utter lostness of his expression that day. When those who considered themselves his friends—and there were many from Hertfordshire who did—asked why his behaviour was so peculiar, he hastened to rectify with a cheerful dismissal that it must be the weather making him gloomy.

  Before Elizabeth was quite prepared, it was done; Jane was being handed into the gig by Mr Bennet who was begging Mr Collins to take care to keep her warm, Lizzy was kissing Jane goodbye and wishing the couple well with the host of other onlookers and sisters, feeling quite as lost as Mr Bingley had looked all morning.

  The newly wed Mr and Mrs Collins would travel by post directly to the parish at Hunsford, for Lady Catherine de Bourgh thought honeymoons a frivolous expense for a clergyman, and Jane made no complaint, considering it sensible enough counsel to heed. Elizabeth and Mary were soon to follow, once Mr Collins and Jane had time to settle and the weather was clear enough for travelling. Lizzy might have preferred more lively company for the journey, but Mary was next in line, for once asserting her privileges not to be passed over, and Kitty and Lydia refused to leave Longbourn with the officers still stationed in Meryton.

  Mrs Bennet was weeping. It had begun with the inexpressible joy of having her first daughter married and Longbourn finally secured, but by the time Mr and Mrs Collins’s carriage was out of sight, Lizzy was sure it had turned to misery. The tears continued all the way back to Longbourn, excepting a time or two of reprieve for her to chide Mr Bennet or one of her girls for some petty grievance. Elizabeth would have liked to escape the moment they entered the house, leaving one of the other girls to console her mother while she made herself cosy with tea and began writing to Jane at once, but she stole instead to her mother’s side and put her arm around her the way she imagined Jane might have done.

  “Mama, Jane assured me she would be happy, by and by.”

  “Of course, she will,” Mrs Bennet snapped hysterically, “but who is to tend to me, now that Jane is gone? Though no one can truly know what I suffer, Jane was always thoughtful, and knew how to speak in just that low and gentle way so as not to aggravate my poor nerves!”

  “You speak as though she’s died and gone to the pearly gates already, my dear,” Mr Bennet scolded, and that was the last thing he said before withdrawing to the solitude of his study.

  Kitty, who cried whenever anyone else was disturbed began to sob harder.

  “Kitty, will you gain control of yourself!” Mrs Bennet exclaimed. “It is not as if you had lost anything dear today. Saying goodbye to a sister, and one not even close to you in age is nothing like losing a daughter. Oh, I feel quite overcome.” Saying this, she sank into a chair with the air of one doomed to execution.

  Lizzy made several more attempts to restore order and peace to the household, but no matter how she tried, it only seemed to worsen the mood. This, in turn, caused her own mood to darken, and soon she was the worst of them all, though her unhappiness was manifest in shortness of temper rather than an abundance of tears. Mr Bennet had not reappeared since his early hibernation to the study, well aware of the longevity of his wife’s emotional outbursts. Finding herself uncommonly annoyed by this, and deeming the whole thing quite a hopeless business, Elizabeth relinquished her role as peacekeeper and let Hill see to her mother. As she made her way to the sanctuary of her room, she did her utmost to shut out the scenes of Lydia making jests about Kitty’s red nose and crowing over the prospect of her new muff, and Mary silently but deftly moving her belongings into Jane’s old room.

  Longbourn was now quite empty, and it was not only Jane’s departure that made it so. The Gardiners, too, had returned to town, taking with them all the merriment their children provided, and the distractions from the seemingly inconsequential nothings that result in a great deal of upset between four sisters with little in common and no motivation to curb their ill tempers from all the perceived injuries. With the onslaught of snow that kept the Bennet girls mostly shut in and abominably quarrelsome, Lizzy began to not only look forward to her journey to Hunsford and the famous Rosing’s Park, but to long for it.

  Mr Wickham was still a frequent guest, and when he was not dining at Longbourn, they were forever crossing paths whenever the weather let up for them to take tea at their Aunt Phillips’s. It was there that they learned Netherfield Park had also emptied within days of Jane’s removal from Longbourn. Elizabeth supposed this to be mostly Mr Darcy’s doing. Although Mr Bingley and his sisters could have no great fondness for the place now that their only friend had married and gone away, it was Darcy who had the ear of Bingley, and it seemed from his recent behaviour that he did not believe any of the countryfolk worthy of his or his friend’s intimate acquaintance after all.

  Lizzy heard much of this from her mother, though in Mrs Bennet’s words it was all Lizzy’s own fault for not doing all she could to entice Mr Bingley’s interest. It was a pity she was not half so good a daughter as Jane, or she would have done her duty and secured a fine husband for herself.

  Lizzy was half indignation, half regret. Perhaps she was not such a dutiful daughter and should have done better to ensure a deeper friendship with the rich gentlemen of her acquaintance. Perhaps she should have used whatever womanly charms and few accomplishments she possessed to secure the affections of one unattached gentleman with a large fortune. Though it was not Mr Bingley she regretted, but his taller, sterner, and more handsome friend with all of ten thousand a year.

  Chapter Nine

  The journey to Hunsford was slow, cold, and melancholy as the weather. Mary behaved as though there was not a reason in the world to complain, and Lizzy was strangely thankful for her seeming inability to be moved by the shifts in weather or lurches in the coach. She was certain that neither of the other girls would h
ave made the journey with so little complaint and so steeled a determination to believe everything that befell them was not only God’s design but must be theirs as well. This view of Mary’s took a little bruising when supper at the inn was delayed and it came at last merely lukewarm. Although Lizzy remained grateful that Mary was not prone to adding misery to misery, she could not help asking with some mischief in her tone, “Well, Mary. What do you say now to our wills aligning with the Lord’s?”

  Mary hesitated, her spoon hovering in the air between bowl and lips. “There is a gratification to the soul when one is made to suffer,” she primly brought the unfortunate spoonful to taste, “We may not enjoy it at the present, but far better to suffer now and learn to bear it with grace than to enjoy a blissful life that may prove injurious to our souls.”

  “In principle, I think you are right,” Lizzy said, expecting nothing less from her sister. “Although I see no wrong in hoping for a hot supper at our next stop.”

  “The sweeter too it will be, now that we have tasted the repast of affliction.”

  Elizabeth fought back the urge to laugh at her or scoff ungraciously as Lydia would. She needed to learn to curb such inclinations now, as Mr Collins was likely to produce many more such formal solemnities. It occurred to her quite suddenly that in all the Bennet sisters’ evident dislike of Mr Collins, Mary was never complicit. Jane, of course, defended him as she defended anyone who found themselves a target of Lizzy’s wit and the younger girls’ jibes, but Mary was respectfully silent on the matter.

  “Mary,” she asked, once the watery soup was gone, “what is your opinion of our new brother-in-law?”