“Let me first describe my reasoning for wishing to be married,” Mr. Collins continued, his eyes focused not on her eyes, but somewhere around her nose. Elizabeth found the look disconcerting. “First, it is the duty of a clergyman to be an example of domestic bliss for his parish. Second, it is protection against moral failings and vice. Third, it is the supreme wish of my patron, Lady Catherine, that I would be joined in this way as soon as possible.”
“Mr. Collins…” Elizabeth said with a plea in her voice. She wanted to stop this madness before he actually said the words she so dreaded.
At the same time, she felt a certain amount of disbelief—the only reasons he wished to marry her were duty, morality and Lady Catherine? He could at least give a pretence of romance… It was further proof that Mr. Collins knew nothing of Elizabeth and any union between the two would be disastrous.
“When I came to Hertfordshire,” Mr. Collins continued as if Elizabeth had not spoken, “I had hoped to find my future among Mr. Bennet’s daughters. I had no idea that I would find such an admirable choice as you. So, dear cousin Elizabeth, will you consent to be my bride?”
The words hit Elizabeth and threatened to knock the air from her. She had known it was coming, but to hear the words was overwhelming. Any desire that she had previously possessed to save Mr. Collins from embarrassment or hurt was gone.
“Mr. Collins,” she said sharply. He still would not look her in the eye, and the failing was beginning to make Elizabeth angry. “You are the last man on earth that I would consent to marry.”
She said her words perhaps a bit too sharply, perhaps a bit too rudely, but considering Mr. Collins’ proclamations had been altogether unwanted, she had not seen any other way to end this. However, now, as she saw the blood drain from Mr. Collins’ face, Elizabeth felt a momentary stab of guilt for not softening her words.
But then, to Elizabeth’s horror, a smile crossed his pale face.
“I have heard ladies of a certain rank always play these games, to test the fortitude and affection of their intended,” Mr. Collins said in a knowing way. “So, know that I am not dissuaded in the least. But I will assure you that I do not require further convincing that you are proper and modest.”
Elizabeth gaped at the man, feeling completely appalled. Here she thought she could not have put it clearer, that perhaps she had even been too straight-forward, and yet, Mr. Collins had managed to twist her words into something very different.
“Mr. Collins, I do not know what ‘ladies’ with whom you are acquainted,” Elizabeth said angrily. “But I assure you that I do not trifle so cruelly with a man’s feelings. Hear my words for the truth they contain: I shall not marry you.”
Mr. Collins tried to keep a smile upon his face, but this second refusal made him falter.
“Cousin,” he said. “I do not mean to be indelicate, but, at your age, is it wise to dismiss an offer so readily? Indeed, it is likely the only one you shall ever have.”
Elizabeth felt the sting of Mr. Collins’ undoubtedly unintended insult. But it did nothing to soften her resolve.
“Is desperation a quality you wish in your wife?” She asked, amazed that he had said such a thing.
“I am sure we will be quite happy together,” Mr. Collins said with a dismissive wave of his hand.
Elizabeth gaped at him, anger, disbelief and dread swirling within her like a storm.
“Mr. Collins,” she said, ice coming into her voice. “Hear the truth in my voice. I will not marry you, for you cannot make me happy. And I am quite certain that I cannot make you happy. The future you propose would be one of misery, and I refuse.”
Elizabeth heard a peal of cruel giggles coming from behind the door, but the door did not remain closed for long. Mrs. Bennet threw it open, she and the rest of the Bennet girls spilling into the room. Lydia and Kitty were laughing, barely able to stand straight. Jane looked at Elizabeth with a look of deepest sympathy. Mrs. Bennet, however, was in a towering rage.
“Elizabeth Bennet!” she said, her face turning a deep crimson. “How dare you respond to Mr. Collins in such a callous manner! You will retract your words this instant! You will marry Mr. Collins!”
“I will not,” Elizabeth replied hotly, her own anger breaking free. “And you cannot make me!”
“We shall see about that!” Mrs. Bennet shouted back. Elizabeth folded her arms tightly and refused to look at her mother. Mrs. Bennet, however, seemed to decide she needed reinforcements. “Mr. Bennet!” She cried into the hall.
Several seconds passed, but Elizabeth saw her father walk slowly into the room. Elizabeth felt a surge of hope: surely her father would put an end to this madness!
“I will not marry him, Papa,” Elizabeth told her father stubbornly.
Mr. Bennet gave a small nod, but looked from her to Mr. Collins, who was still on one knee, and back again. Why was he not saying anything, she thought desperately. The hope that had so quickly come was now fading.
“Mr. Bennet,” Mrs. Bennet prompted. “You must tell Lizzy to marry Mr. Collins! She would be the mistress of this house! Oh, you must make her see reason…”
“Lizzy,” Mr. Bennet finally said. “Your mother wishes you to marry Mr. Collins.” He gave his heir a polite nod.
“Do not force me,” Elizabeth said in a fearful whisper, shaking her head back and forth. She felt tears forming in her eyes. She knew her father was well within his power to force the match, but she had never thought that he would do such a thing. Mr. Bennet continued to look between his daughter and Mr. Collins.
“It seems to me,” he finally said, his focus settling upon Elizabeth, “that to encourage such a thing would be playing party to folly. I cannot, in good conscience, do such a thing.”
Elizabeth felt her heart surge with affection. She leapt to her feet, not noticing or caring that she nearly stepped on Mr. Collins, and threw her arms around her father’s neck.
“Thank you, Papa,” she breathed in his ear.
“Oh, Mr. Collins,” Mrs. Bennet said, trying desperately to smooth over the slight. Elizabeth could hear that she had not yet given up hope. “It will all be well—love won in adversity is stronger than any other!”
Elizabeth turned angrily to Mrs. Bennet, ready to disabuse her mother of her hope that she would change her mind, when a quiet voice cut across the room.
“I will marry Mr. Collins.”
Mrs. Bennet, Elizabeth and Mr. Collins—their emotions running high—did not hear the statement until it was repeated, louder this time.
“I will marry Mr. Collins.”
Elizabeth stopped short, turning in amazement to her sisters standing by the door.
“Mary, what did you say?” Jane asked, her eyes encouraging Mrs. Bennet and Mr. Collins to join the conversation. Mary, for her part, looked perfectly unabashed.
“If Elizabeth will not have him, I will marry Mr. Collins,” she said without a hint of nervousness or embarrassment. “He needs a wife, I need a husband.” She shrugged her shoulders. “I find the company of such an intelligent man appealing, and, by marrying me, my sisters and mother could stay at Longbourn forever. It is the logical choice.”
Elizabeth gaped at Mary, hardly believing what she heard. Mary—shy, prudish, proper, Mary—wanted to marry Mr. Collins? Elizabeth had no idea that Mary had harboured any affections for the man! For, despite her appeal to logic, Elizabeth knew that Mary would not have offered herself up unless there were true feelings. Elizabeth quickly turned to Mr. Collins, eagerly examining his face for any indication of his thoughts or feelings.
Mr. Collins was examining Mary with a calculating look. He had finally risen to his feet, and he stood tapping one foot, arms tightly folded, lips pursed together. He was obviously deep in thought. Mary, for her part, looked entirely unperturbed at the scrutiny she was now under. When Mr. Collins finally smiled at her, however, Elizabeth saw a pleased blush creep up her cheeks. Mary!
Elizabeth thought back over the past weeks, and was sta
rtled to realise a pattern in Mary’s behaviour; Elizabeth had attributed Mary’s increased conversation and attention to Mr. Collins to her highly attuned sense of propriety. Now, however, Elizabeth realised that Mary had had feelings for the cousin all along! It was an unexpected solution, but Elizabeth was very pleased.
Mr. Collins, it seemed, had made up his mind. He strode across the room and dropped to one knee again. “Cousin Mary,” he said, voice full of bravado—as if the past minutes had never happened. “Will you do me the singular honour of becoming my wife?”
“With pleasure,” Mary said, dropping into a curtsy.
Elizabeth looked around at her family and saw that everyone looked as stunned as she felt. Kitty and Lydia stood, arms still wrapped around each other, their mouths hanging open. Mrs. Bennet’s face was still red and thunderous, but she was quickly beginning to look quite pleased. Jane had a small smile on her face, and Elizabeth suspected that Jane had been aware of Mary’s affections for longer than anyone else. Mr. Bennet, Elizabeth saw, looked resigned, but pleased that Mary appeared to be pleased. Their father wanted nothing more than for his daughters to be happy—if Mr. Collins made Mary happy, then Mr. Bennet would be fine.
“Allow me to offer my blessing upon the newly betrothed couple,” Mr. Bennet said. “I had no idea this would happen, but I am glad to see Mary so filled with joy. It is not a look I have often seen upon her face, but I see it now. Mr. Collins, you have my sincere blessing.”
Elizabeth looked and saw her father was quite right—Mary looked wonderfully happy. The words seemed to break the surprised silence in the room, and everyone began to chatter and offer their felicitations to the new couple, Elizabeth first among them.
“I suppose I cannot be angry with you, given this outcome,” Mrs. Bennet said quietly, coming up beside Elizabeth several minutes later. “But I am still vexed. You were foolish to turn down such a good match.”
“Stay vexed as long as you like,” Elizabeth sighed. “But there was never anything ‘good’ about a match between myself and Mr. Collins. We would have been miserable, and I think you know it.” She looked at Mary and Mr. Collins, still receiving congratulatory words. “But I think they have a chance together.”
“I suppose they are a better match,” Mrs. Bennet conceded. “They are alike in many ways.” Mrs. Bennet laughed suddenly. “I certainly never thought that Mary would be the first of you to wed.”
“No, I guess I had not thought that either,” Elizabeth agreed.
“Mr. Collins was right about one thing though, Lizzy,” Mrs. Bennet continued. “And it would do you well to remember: You are unlikely to receive another offer.”
“Your confidence in me is overwhelming,” Elizabeth said in a wry tone, but she felt stung by her mother’s words. “But I think I will manage.”
For some reason, as she said the words, a picture of Mr. Darcy flashed into her mind. In all the excitement of the last few minutes, she had almost forgotten they still had a ball to attend that night. Suddenly, she was quite eager to be on the way to Netherfield.
Chapter 22
Darcy
Darcy stood in the entrance hall of Netherfield, watching an army of servants swarm in and out of the rooms on the first floor. He was amazed by the flurry of activity and the variety of objects each person held: flowers, linens, stacks of plates and chairs, and carpets rolled up to protect them from the footfalls of the many guests expected that night. He had never fully understood the complexities of planning such an event.
He had attended many balls, much to his displeasure, but had never gone through the trouble of hosting one before. Georgiana was not yet at an age where he would be required to go through the exercise, though that time was quickly approaching. The dinner parties he had hosted, mostly at the insistence of one female relative or another, were much less elaborate than this.
“No, no, not there!” Darcy heard Caroline cry from inside the ballroom. “Musicians must be set up in the middle, so the music fills the room evenly!” Darcy shook his head in amazement. Caroline, for all her protestation at the idea, had taken over planning at once. She was like a general mustering the troops on the continent, deftly juggling the myriad of tasks that hosting an event like this required.
To his dismay, he was intimately familiar with the planning process because Caroline had dragged him into it. It seemed that she could not sign off on any decision—food, music, flowers—without his input and opinion. Her brother’s as well, but that seemed more of an afterthought. Darcy’s opinions, apparently, were absolutely vital to the success of the evening, despite the fact that he had never organised such an event himself.
It was only his commitment to being a good guest that kept Darcy from running and disappearing into the fields and woods of Hertfordshire over the past days. Bingley, it seemed, enjoyed discussing arrangements with his sisters—or rather, he tolerated it far better than Darcy. But it meant that Bingley had stayed indoors most days, despite the glorious weather outside. So, Darcy had stayed with him, although his annoyance steadily increased as the hours of mindless conversation about the ball increased.
In fact, Darcy was ashamed to remember, he had nearly lost his temper with Caroline only the day before. He and Bingley had planned to visit the Bennets—after so many days of inane conversation, he had craved the company of someone who could have intelligent discourse about something besides linens. Elizabeth, he knew, would be such a person. But Caroline, it seemed, was incapable of finalizing arrangements without them—without Darcy in particular.
“You have such refined taste,” she had gushed to him as she convinced them to postpone their visit. “You know it is a great responsibility to introduce a bit of civility to this place.”
Her arguments were unconvincing, but the guilt she laid at her brother’s feet—deciding to throw a ball without consulting either of his sisters—had effectively kept them at Netherfield all day. And it was all made even less pleasant by Bingley’s obvious moping, presumably due to so many days without contact with Miss Bennet. It seemed Darcy’s concern that his friend’s affections were fleeting was unwarranted.
But now, it was all finally done. The tables had been set, the carpets unrolled, and the flowers had been appropriately placed to welcome their visitors. The first guests were beginning to arrive, and Bingley was playing the perfect host.
“It is wonderful to see you,” he said warmly to each person. “So glad you could come. Please, enjoy your evening.” All the while, Darcy could see his eyes flicking to the line of people, hoping to see the Bennets join the queue.
Darcy, for his part, was not partaking in his usual practice at balls. Instead of finding a quiet, uncrowded room and hiding from the larger portion of guests, he too was standing with Bingley and his sisters, welcoming the guests. However, it was at Bingley’s insistence, and the task was made more onerous by Caroline’s constant attentions.
Despite his discomfort, however, he could not say anything—not now, in front of so many guests. However, not even Caroline could miss noticing that his gaze went to the arriving line of guests almost as much as Bingley’s. He had to admit that he was looking forward to seeing Elizabeth again.
The woman continued to fill his thoughts. After Bingley’s unexpected suggestion—marriage of all things!—Darcy had found that he was dwelling more and more upon the intelligent and beautiful Miss Elizabeth Bennet. He found the planning for the ball a poor distraction from considering his affections. Caroline, he suspected, knew that his mind was on something—and someone—else. He hoped that she would not be cruel.
“Staring at the door will not make anyone arrive sooner,” Caroline said crossly, as if she could read Darcy’s thoughts. She attempted to pull his attention back to her. “Tell me, Darcy, now that the room is beginning to fill, I am concerned that we made the wrong choice for flowers. What do you think?”
“The flowers are perfect, as you well know, Caroline,” Darcy sighed, uninterested in engaging in Caroline�
��s game. Caroline, however, focused on Darcy’s compliment, not his tone.
“You flatter me, Mr. Darcy,” she said with a tinkling laugh. She looked up at him through her eyelashes, attempting to catch his gaze, but Darcy did not notice. Through the milling crowd of people, he finally caught sight of the person for whom he was waiting.
She was beautiful; she wore her brown hair curled and pinned into a simple arrangement upon her head—it was simple only in comparison to the feathers and jewels piled into Caroline and Mrs. Hurst’s hair. Elizabeth’s choices were elegant and beautiful. Her gown of soft green fit her perfectly and she showed a healthy glow from the sun—she, it seemed, had not been trapped inside.
Darcy watched her approach, laughing with her sisters, completely enraptured by her sudden appearance. He felt his mouth go dry and it took all his determination to not leave Bingley and his sisters as soon as he saw her.
Bingley, to Darcy’s amusement, did not seem to have the same determination. As soon as he saw Jane, looking quite pretty as well in a light pink dress, he quickly dismissed the guest he was greeting—the local vicar, Darcy noted—and hurried to the Bennets. Darcy went to follow, but Caroline snared him into conversation with the clergyman. By the time he had bowed the man of the church away, Bingley was leading the Bennet party back toward him.
“It seems we are to be invaded by every Bennet in the county,” Caroline said, her eyes narrowing. Darcy glanced at her, annoyed.
“You can hardly call it an invasion when you have issued the invitation,” he said.
Caroline started to say something else, but she was cut off by Bingley’s introductions.
“Caroline,” he said, joy painted across his face. “You remember the Bennets?”
“Of course,” she said graciously, the perfect picture of a proper hostess. “What a pleasure to welcome you to our home.”
“And what a fine home it is,” Mrs. Bennet replied with a laugh. She was gazing around, seemingly awed. Elizabeth, Darcy saw, looked embarrassed. He felt a wave of sympathy for her. Mrs. Bennet continued to speak. “Thank you for your kind invitation.”
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