by Jann Rowland
“Then I would appreciate it if you would maintain your silence and not speak of it. It would not do if any whispers about her came to the ears of even so small a society as this. The Darcys are a prominent family; if it were to become known in London, it would cause her immeasurable grief.”
“Perhaps you should have thought of that before you did whatever it is you did,” snapped Elizabeth, though she kept her voice low to avoid being overheard. “Though your attempt to apologize is laudable, to do so where anyone might hear you is more than a little careless.”
Mr. Wickham, Elizabeth noted, did not deny anything she said.
“You need have no concern, Mr. Wickham, for I shall not tell a soul. I hope that you will take as much care with her reputation and that you will trouble her no more.”
“Of that, you have my promise,” replied Mr. Wickham.
The officer then sketched a bow and removed himself from Elizabeth’s presence. Elizabeth was not unhappy to see him go. For a moment, she considered speaking to Miss Bingley and attempting to warn her about this dangerous man. Then she decided against it. Miss Bingley would not listen to her, and Elizabeth did not think the woman was in any danger from him anyway.
Those present soon migrated their way back to the ballroom and the latter half of the dancing began once again. Elizabeth stood up as much as she ever had, but her heart was not in it, for she was too full of weighty thoughts. Mr. Darcy and Georgiana crowded her thoughts, as did Mr. Collins and Mr. Wickham, and for a time, Elizabeth was insensible to the goings-on around her.
Of Miss Bingley, she saw little for the rest of the evening. Mr. Collins, Elizabeth saw often, for the gentleman wandered the ballroom and surrounding chambers, searching for Miss Bingley. Wherever the lady had hidden, it seemed successful in throwing the man off her trail.
It also meant that Mrs. Hurst stepped into the role of hostess for the rest of the evening, though the woman did not seem to mind. Elizabeth spent much of the remaining evening, when she was not dancing, in the company of Mr. Darcy, and for a time they stood with Charlotte and Colonel Fitzwilliam, laughing and speaking in animated tones. Charlotte, too, Elizabeth noted, was enjoying the ball as much as she had enjoyed any function in recent years. For a time, Elizabeth watched her friend, wondering if there was something between herself and the colonel.
Elizabeth pushed even those thoughts to the side in favor of her evening with Mr. Darcy. There were several times when the gentleman appeared absent-minded, and she wondered if he was thinking about Mr. Wickham and what had happened earlier that evening. If he thought to speak to her about it, Elizabeth was willing to listen. But it was only as a friend, for she did not need to know about Georgiana’s misfortune.
Chapter XVII
Few were awake at an early hour the morning after the ball at Netherfield Park. This would be true regardless of the venue, for balls ended late, and beds sought in the wee hours of the morning.
This was true at Longbourn as it was in any other estate; some would say it typified Longbourn more so than other estates because of the preponderance of young ladies living there. It was true that Lydia and Kitty did not often rouse from their beds early, and even Jane could sleep late when the occasion permitted it, but Mary, and Elizabeth in particular, were early morning risers.
Yet even Elizabeth was abed later than usual that morning. Under normal circumstances, Elizabeth was awake with the sun and eager to go about her day. That morning, however, Elizabeth woke early as was her wont, but then dozing back to sleep for periods, her unconscious mind invaded by dreams which would have made her laugh had she remembered them when she woke.
When, at length, Elizabeth rose from her bed, she found the rest of the family likewise lethargic, shuffling with uneven steps, bleary eyes, and wide, exhausted yawns. Elizabeth suspected they would all nap for a time that afternoon, and even she, who rarely indulged in such things, thought it would benefit her that day.
That was what made the discovery that morning at the breakfast table that much more surprising. For some moments after the family gathered, they partook of the meal in silence, each eager to complete their repast and return to their rooms for a quiet day in the company of books or whatever caught their fancy. Thus, it was not surprising, perhaps, that no one noticed the absence of the visiting member of the family until they had been in the room for fifteen minutes.
It was Mrs. Bennet who noticed they were short one member of the party. Eyes narrowed, she looked down her table, and then at her eldest daughters.
“Has no one seen Mr. Collins yet this morning?”
“For a parson, he is reluctant to rise from his bed early,” said Mary with a sniff. Mary was not one to excuse sloth, especially from one she thought should avoid it at all costs.
Mrs. Bennet thought on the matter for a moment. “Perhaps that is it.” She paused and sighed, shaking her head and adding: “Though I could do very well without Mr. Collins’s company, I suppose we should have him summoned.”
Calling for Mrs. Hill, Mrs. Bennet instructed her housekeeper to send John, the footman, to inquire concerning Mr. Collins’s plans for the morning meal.
“Mr. Collins is not here, Mum,” said Mrs. Hill.
“Not here?” demanded Mrs. Bennet, confused by her housekeeper’s intelligence. “Wherever has he gone?”
“I cannot say,” replied Mrs. Hill. “Mr. Collins did not say where he was going or when he would return.”
“When did he leave?” asked Elizabeth.
“Perhaps five and forty minutes ago.”
Nonplussed, Mrs. Bennet dismissed her servant and turned back to her family. “That is rude of Mr. Collins, to depart and not inform us of where he is bound. I cannot imagine what he is thinking.”
Though Elizabeth agreed the parson was lacking in proper manners, she thought she knew where Mr. Collins had gone. There was no reason to give voice to her suspicions, however, and she held her peace. They would all learn the truth when the parson returned, for if he succeeded, he would trumpet it from the rooftops. Should he prove unsuccessful, as Elizabeth suspected, his demeanor would tell them all they needed to know.
Though Kitty and Lydia returned to their rooms at once after lunch and Mary retired to the music room for some morning practice, Elizabeth remained with her parents in the sitting-room, with Jane also in attendance. A book sat in her lap, the pages of which Elizabeth turned infrequently, for her mind was engaged in thinking of Mr. Collins’s likely whereabouts, but more often considering her association with Miss Darcy, and even more, with her brother. After a time of sitting together, Mary joined them, and soon immersed herself in a book.
When Mr. Collins returned about an hour later, Elizabeth was certain her suppositions had proven correct, for the man bore an impression akin to a dark cloud bearing a fierce storm to beat the land with lashing winds and heavy rain. Had the gentleman returned to his room without comment, they might have avoided much unpleasantness. But Mr. Collins was not known for his sense.
Miss Caroline Bingley was as inclined to wake late the morning after a ball as for any other, accustomed as she was to town hours, having lived in London with her brother for much of the preceding several years. Town hours were considered fashionable. Since Caroline was eager to follow any custom which made her appear more like those of the highest set, she rarely rose early.
The morning after her brother had hosted the neighborhood, sleep was elusive, as thoughts and memories of Mr. Darcy and how he had carried on with Eliza Bennet plagued her waking moments, much as they had her dreams. Unable to find sleep, she rose, not to prepare for any useful activity, but to consider what she might do to return the gentleman’s attention to where she, Caroline Bingley, felt it belonged.
The fact of Mr. Darcy’s absence was both blessing and curse, for Mr. Darcy and his sister had requested a tray in his sitting-room that morning. While Caroline might have preferred a full day in Mr. Darcy’s company, Caroline had to confess, if only to herself, that such t
actics had not been successful in the past.
Soon after meeting the gentleman, Caroline had embarked on a campaign to show him how suitable she was to become his wife. She focused on his sister, flattering her whenever the opportunity presented itself, agreed with the gentleman in everything he said, learned his preferences, sought his opinion, attempted to adopt a sophisticated demeanor and to do everything she had seen others of society do to attract a wealthy gentleman’s attention.
And none of it had succeeded. Caroline had thought many times she had reached the gentleman, had been certain he was close to offering for her. Now, as she considered her acquaintance with him, she realized she had only been lying to herself. Mr. Darcy had never shown her anything other than the courtesy he felt she was due as the sister of his close friend.
The question was what went wrong? Had she misunderstood how others of his set went about finding a wife? Or was Mr. Darcy a man who wished for something different? Though Caroline’s only hope lay in the former, that he had shown interest in Miss Elizabeth with such alacrity was evidence of the latter. Caroline hoped it was not so, for if it was, she had lost the fight before it had even begun.
Into this maelstrom of fear and loathing came the detested and unwanted person of Mr. Collins. When the parson entered the sitting-room in which Caroline was sitting with her sister—Louisa had been quiet and thoughtful most of the morning—Caroline gaped at him, wondering why the silly man visited the morning after holding a taxing ball. This further evidence of the Bennet family’s unsuitability prompted her lip to curl, as Caroline considered whether she could use this against Miss Elizabeth to injure her in Darcy’s eyes. Would he believe for an instant that Miss Eliza was to marry Mr. Collins?
“Miss Bingley,” greeted the despised parson. For a moment, Caroline had forgotten his presence as her thoughts had taken over again. “How fortunate I am to have found you at home this morning, for it is the most auspicious of all occasions. I see it now! You must have waited for me, eager for my arrival as a woman of delicate sensibilities can be!”
“What?” asked Caroline with less patience than civility, even as her sister gasped. “Where else would I be the morning after hosting a ball until the wee hours of the morning? Are not all sensible people in their homes recuperating from last night’s exertions?”
“Your words are just,” declared Mr. Collins. “Had I not been caught in the grips of a great tempest of feeling, threatening to overwhelm my senses, I might, even now, be in my room at Longbourn, contemplating your perfections. Alas, I cannot, for those affections have driven me here this morning.”
“Perhaps it would be best—” attempted Louisa, only for the parson to interrupt her.
“If you will, Miss Bingley, I should like a private interview with you.” The man turned a sickly-sweet smile on Louisa. “Though I cherish such sights as these, the bonds of sisterly affection, what I wish is to speak my mind to you alone.”
“Of what are you speaking?” demanded Caroline, in no mood to listen to the parson’s mewling. “What could you possibly wish to say to me that my sister cannot overhear?”
“Why, I am certain your feminine delicacy can only come to one conclusion, my dear Miss Bingley.” The parson paused for dramatic effect and smiled at her, though his expression spoke of constipation rather than great feeling. “I have come, Miss Bingley, to offer you all that I have, all that I am, and all that I will be. I have come with a full heart and meekness of spirit only for you.”
Though that last he spoke in a tender voice designed to make love, Caroline could only gape at the parson. Could he be saying what she thought he was saying? It was unfortunate she found no words, for the parson used her silence as an invitation to continue.
“Come, Mrs. Hurst, leave us alone for a brief time, though you may leave yonder door ajar. If you wait but a moment, you may return to a happy bit of news.”
“Do you mean to propose to me?” demanded Caroline, finding her voice at last.
“Oh, your emotions have overcome you!” exclaimed the parson, his voice colored with what he thought was ecstasy. “I join you in your sublimity of heart, my dear Miss Bingley, for I feel it as much as you, down to the last degree. What felicity of heart and mind we shall have! What happiness! What commonality of purpose and opinion must be ours! My patroness decreed it must be so, and I see the hand of her greatness in your joy once again. What felicity we shall find under the wing of her protection until we must do our duty and take up Longbourn’s management on that sad day when its current master shall go to meet his eternal reward.
“But perhaps before I am carried away on the wings of my feelings, I should explain to you, in some insignificant way, what has led me to Hertfordshire and to your heart. For, you see—”
Astounded as she was by Mr. Collins’s stupidity, Caroline could not find her voice. His words of leading him to her heart, however, broke her from her shock and provided life to her voice.
“Why would you think I would ever marry you?”
The question hung in the air, halting Mr. Collins’s copious words before he could utter them. The parson stopped and stared at her, uncomprehending, while she stood looking at him, her arms crossed while her foot tapped an impatient cadence on the floor. Louisa still sat in her chair, a look of utter horror etched on her countenance, one Caroline thought might be mirrored on her own, should she consider the possibility of marriage to an idiot on the order of Mr. Collins.
“Because I have asked for your hand,” said Mr. Collins, as if that explained everything. “Given my attentions to you this past week, which you could not misunderstand, I am certain you must have been expecting my offer with every whit of your soul.”
“No, receiving a proposal from you was the furthest from my mind,” retorted Caroline. Then she grimaced and muttered: “I suppose I should have expected it from such a simple-minded fool!”
Though it was clear Mr. Collins had not heard the entirety of her statement, his frown suggested he had caught something of it. Louisa, traitor that she was, stood and hurried to the door, leaving Caroline alone in the dullard's company. Caroline did not concern herself with her sister’s actions, for her concentration was on ridding herself of this man’s odious presence at the earliest opportunity!
“But my dear Miss Bingley, you cannot be serious.”
“I cannot?” asked Caroline through clenched teeth.
“Of course not! My offer is eligible, the best you are ever likely to receive, for—”
Mr. Collins’s eyes bulged when Caroline laughed at the thought his offer was the best she would receive. Why, she, Caroline Bingley, mingled with the best society had to offer! The notion that such a disgusting man was the best to which she could ever aspire was laughable!
“Why do you laugh?” asked Mr. Collins. It was clear he was becoming perturbed.
“It should be clear I laugh at your idiocy, Mr. Collins,” spat Caroline. “If you expect me to believe you and accept I shall never receive a better offer than that of a sniveling parson, you are without sense.”
Mr. Collins sputtered and stammered and said: “But my offer is eminently eligible!”
“Perhaps for one of your cousins,” sneered Caroline. “Perhaps you should offer for Miss Eliza. She can expect nothing better than squalor and she is not unsightly to look upon. There, I have resolved your dilemma for you, Mr. Collins. You may return to Longbourn and to your love.”
When Mr. Collins did not respond at once, Caroline thought he had understood her, insulting though her words had been. The unctuous smile with which he regarded her disabused her of that notion.
“I am not discouraged, nor am I deceived, Miss Bingley, though I must wonder at your choice of words. I suppose you must be overcome by joy because of my application, for I understand it is usual for a woman to reject the hand of the man they mean to accept.”
“By what convoluted reasoning have you come to that conclusion?” asked Caroline with a harsh laugh.
&nb
sp; “To incite the increase of my love by suspense!” exclaimed Mr. Collins.
“The only suspense inherent in this situation, Mr. Collins,” said Caroline, “is if I can avoid becoming ill because of the useless drivel you spout!”
“You must marry me!”
“There is nothing I must do, and certainly not with you!”
“Here, what is this?” a voice demanded.
The combatants turned as one and saw Charles hurrying toward them, Mr. Darcy and Louisa on her heels. Behind them, in sauntered Hurst, his usually bored countenance alive with glee. Never had Caroline so wished to slap him with every ounce of strength she possessed!
“What is the meaning of this, Collins?” demanded her brother again.
“Ah, Mr. Bingley,” said Mr. Collins, bowing thrice in rapid succession. “It is fortunate, a sign from God that you have come, for there appears to be some unforeseen difficulty.”
“Will you stand up straight and speak clearly! God did not bring me here, but by my sister’s urgent plea to intercede. What are you doing?”
“Why, I am proposing to your sister! You must have expected it these past days, considering my incessant attentions to your sister.”
Charles glanced about, and Caroline tried to inform him with nothing more than her scowl she had no intention of hearing this man sputter on for even a moment longer. She might not have concerned herself, for he was as bewildered as she had felt when Mr. Collins arrived.
“I have noticed something of your presence,” said Charles. “Are you mad to have proposed to her after only a week of acquaintance?”
“He is mad to have proposed to me at all!” spat Caroline.
“Mr. Bingley,” said Mr. Collins in a soothing tone, but one which carried an undercurrent of rising distress, “my patroness, Lady Catherine de Bourgh, Mr. Darcy’s excellent aunt, has given me only a fortnight to be absent from my parish. As such, it is necessary that I conclude my wooing most expeditiously.”
“I care not how long your patroness has given you leave to be absent,” growled Charles. “Nor do I care if she is Darcy’s aunt or the queen herself. To propose to a woman after a week of acquaintance is beyond the pale. To do so when she has not welcomed you is lunacy.”
