Implacable Resentment

by Jann Rowland

  “I cannot believe this!” cried Lady Catherine. “I will not be defeated by the machinations of an improper Jezebel. I will be obliged!”

  “I can hardly be a Jezebel,” said Elizabeth with a wry look. “As I understand the term, a Jezebel is a woman who seduces unsuspecting men. Since I have never even allowed the worm you employ into my bed, I believe that such assertions mean little.”

  By this time, Lady Catherine had reached a dangerous shade of red in her rage, and Darcy thought for a moment that she might strike Elizabeth with her walking stick. But before he could move to protect her, Lady Catherine turned an icy glare upon the still cringing form of her parson.

  “Control your wife, Mr. Collins. If this woman’s behavior causes a scandal, then you may as well find another parish.”

  She turned and stalked from the room, her walking stick striking a loud beat as she went, a counterpoint to the sound of her boots hitting the floor. All was silent in the room after her departure.

  Though it seemed as if his aunt had forgotten about his presence, Darcy had no desire whatsoever to leave, intent as he was on watching Mr. Collins. The man’s face went white at the inference behind Lady Catherine’s last words, and for a moment, he appeared too shocked to speak. But then the color rushed back into his face, and his countenance quickly assumed the hue of a ripe tomato, and he turned to deliver what Darcy assumed would be a harsh rebuke to his wife.

  But then he stopped and looked at Elizabeth for a moment, and a resolve seemed to settle over him. For her part, Elizabeth ignored him, seeming to simply revel in the fact that Lady Catherine had departed. But Darcy could see something more in the man’s calculating look, and he knew exactly what Mr. Collins was contemplating.

  “Mr. Collins, a word,” snapped Darcy, startling the man, as if he too had forgotten Darcy’s presence. Instantly, however, the man’s familiar subservient expression appeared, though this time it was colored with a hint of cunning, an expression which was rather incongruous on his stupid face.

  “I would be happy to, Mr. Darcy, but I believe that I must have a long overdue conversation with my wife.” He shot a stern glare at Elizabeth, who rose to her feet and announced that she had some matters to see to.

  “It appears that we have a few moments, Mr. Collins,” said Darcy, forestalling the man’s obvious intention to prevent Elizabeth’s departure.

  Mr. Collins was a mass of conflicting emotions, and though he judged better than to force his wife to stay, his struggles were clear for Darcy to read. First and foremost, Darcy thought, was his abject fear of Lady Catherine and the threat of dismissal, but Darcy could also see the man’s frustration at Elizabeth’s recalcitrance and his inability to force her to behave as he wished. And of course, there were the more unsavory emotions—bewilderment, sullen anger, and, unless he missed his guess, lust for the young woman Darcy loved. But Darcy was not about to allow the man to harm her in any way.

  After Elizabeth left the room, Mr. Collins turned his attention to Darcy, and immediately his countenance changed to a look of utmost servility, much as Darcy had seen the man display many times before. It was something that Darcy could use, he decided with a grimness of purpose.

  “Yes, Mr. Darcy?” asked he. “How can I be of assistance to an exalted personage such as yourself?”

  “First, we may dispense with this fawning. I am not my aunt, Mr. Collins, and I do not require your submissiveness or your flattery.”

  “But it would not do for me to treat you with anything other than the respect you deserve.”

  The slightly whining quality to the man’s words grated on Darcy’s nerves, and he frowned at Mr. Collins, noting his sudden pallor in response.

  “As I have stated, Mr. Collins, I do not require your groveling. However, what I do require is for you to treat your wife with the utmost dignity and decorum.”

  A look of utmost condescension came over the man’s face, so incongruous with his earlier deference, and Darcy wondered at this man. He certainly was like none other Darcy had ever met before. Darcy fervently wished that the pleasure had been indefinitely postponed.

  “As an unmarried man, you cannot, I fear, have any understanding of what passes between man and wife,” said Mr. Collins, his tone a strange mixture of deference and self-assurance. “It is for the man to control and direct his wife in all things, and your aunt has made me painfully aware of my own failure in regard to this necessity. I fully intend to correct my oversight and exert the direction which my wife is sorely lacking.

  “You had best focus on your own future wife, Mr. Darcy,” continued he in a tone which was even further steeped in condescension. “I am highly anticipating the opportunity to wish you joy with your fair cousin, Miss de Bourgh.”

  “Mr. Collins, are you completely bereft of sense?” hissed Darcy. “I am well aware of the direction in which your thoughts lie. And I will tell you now that if you harm one hair on the head of your wife, the full force of my fury shall fall upon you without mercy.”

  “What right do you have to instruct me on how I may deal with my wife, sir?” demanded Mr. Collins, forgetting his deference.

  Darcy stood and towered over the small man, and Mr. Collins seemed suddenly reminded of exactly with whom he was speaking. “I have the right of a gentleman concerned for the welfare of a lady. Your conduct in this entire matter has been reprehensible, Mr. Collins. I suggest you take great care lest you find yourself in circumstances even worse than the ones you currently face.”

  Mr. Collins wrung his hands, his agitation warring with his perceived need to enforce his control over his wife. “But I face dismissal if my wife succeeds in this mad design to throw off our marriage. Whatever shall I do?”

  “I care not,” said Darcy, his tone pitiless. “I seriously doubt you will escape punishment regardless. Perhaps you should have thought of this before you defied all sense and propriety and allowed Mr. Bennet to wed his daughter to you with only the barest appearance of the proper forms of marriage. I am certain the church does not look kindly upon parsons who willfully disregard ecclesiastical law.”

  By this time, Collins was looking at him, mouth agape in horror, and Darcy could not help but gaze at him with satisfaction.

  “But all shall most assuredly be lost if you assault your wife, Mr. Collins. I will ensure it. By the time I am finished with you, you will wish you had never been born. Do we understand one another?”

  Mr. Collins nodded his head in a most animated—and absurd—fashion, and the words spilling from his mouth were almost coherent, but the gist of it was that he would not dream of treating his wife with anything but respect.

  Grimly, Darcy smiled and thanked him and let himself out of the house.

  The next few days were almost pleasant for Elizabeth. Though any interaction whatsoever with Mr. Collins was exasperating and a trial on her patience, there was in actuality relatively little to be had. Simply put, the man seemed intent upon avoiding her in the most assiduous manner possible, and Elizabeth could only be grateful for that. She had waited at the door listening to Mr. Darcy reprimand him and warn him from engaging in any untoward behavior, but she had almost expected Mr. Collins to ignore his directive, given how fearful he was toward Lady Catherine. But other than at mealtimes and a few instances when they came across each other in the house, there was little communication between them. Elizabeth could not be happier for that fact. Apparently, Mr. Darcy’s threats had found fertile ground in the imagination of the parson.

  A place where this courtesy—if it could be called that—was not extended was in church that Sunday. The topic of the sermon for the week was decided upon by Lady Catherine, which Elizabeth had discovered soon after her arrival in Kent. Knowing that Lady Catherine was in charge meant that she expected some sort of denunciation from the parson, and though he was not willing to cross Mr. Darcy in the matter of his physical conduct, he could hardly fail to use the Sunday services as a way to reprimand his wife according to the wishes of his
patroness.

  Thus, when the first words out of his mouth that Sunday morning confirmed the subject to be the need for women to submit to their husbands in all things, Elizabeth was not surprised. She also did not refrain from glancing skyward in exasperation, and if the man’s suddenly tight glare was any indication, he did not miss the movement.

  Nor, it appeared, did Mr. Darcy’s relations. Lady Catherine shot Elizabeth several smug smiles throughout Mr. Collins’s long-winded and droning speech, but the colonel’s features openly betrayed a grin, and Miss de Bourgh could be seen to suppress a giggle at some of his more dramatically pompous pronouncements. Even Mr. Darcy, though clearly not amused when the parson began to speak, seemed to echo a little of his relations’ amusement. As for Elizabeth, her amusement at the sheer ridiculousness of the parson made it impossible for her to feel affront at his blatant and ineffectual attempt to embarrass her.

  After church, however, was when tempers truly began to flare. Once Mr. Collins concluded his remarks, he went to the door, as was his wont, to say farewell to those worshippers who had attended the service and to ensure that his patroness and her party had a clear path to the door, as if the lady was royalty.

  Thankfully, Lady Catherine waited until most of the congregation had dispersed before doing anything, though Elizabeth was uncertain whether to attribute her wait to discretion. It hardly seemed likely, given how outspoken the woman was, but Elizabeth was grateful nonetheless.

  “Mr. Collins,” said the lady once the Rosings and Hunsford parties were for the most part alone, “I trust that the situation at the parsonage has improved?”

  Clearly, the man was at war with himself. If the surreptitious glances he cast at Mr. Darcy were any indication, it was obvious that the parson feared to anger the man. He could hardly be blamed, as the gentleman was regarding him with a stony severity which promised pain should he speak wrongly. Ultimately, Mr. Collins’s old loyalty and, perhaps more importantly, his fear of inciting Lady Catherine’s displeasure was a powerful motivator. Thus, he stood for several moments, clearly wondering how he should proceed.

  Lady Catherine, however, took his silence as an inability to own that he was unable to control his wife, and the woman turned on Elizabeth with anger etched upon her face.

  “Mrs. Collins, have you submitted to your husband and performed your duties as I have instructed?”

  “Since I do not consider Mr. Collins to be my husband, I cannot imagine to what duties you refer.”

  Immediately overcome by anger, Lady Catherine strode up to Elizabeth and began to shout at her. “How dare you, Mrs. Collins! I gave you explicit instructions with the expectation they would be carried out, and still you continue to defy me? This is not to be borne.”

  “I am afraid you have no choice,” replied Elizabeth in a frosty tone. “The church will decide my fate, as it will that of Mr. Collins. I am merely waiting for that eventuality.”

  “This is not a matter to involve the church in!” screeched the lady.

  “The church is already involved,” replied Elizabeth, her own tones climbing as she fought to maintain her temper in the face of such attacks.

  “Mrs. Collins, do you not understand that you are tainting the very stones of Rosings and Hunsford with your actions?”

  “Then you must wish for me to be gone. Believe me, I wish for nothing less!”

  “I must insist that you submit to your husband as you have been instructed! I will accept no other answer from you!”

  Finally, Elizabeth’s temper snapped, and she glared at the meddling old crone with fire in her eyes. “Lady Catherine, if you are so adamant about the need to submit, then perhaps you should submit to him! I never shall!”

  Her eyes fairly bulging out of her head, Lady Catherine stammered for a moment before screaming, “I have never been so insulted in my entire life!”

  “Then perhaps it is time for you to receive a taste of your own medicine, as I had not been in your company for two minutes before you had insulted me!”

  And with that, Elizabeth glared at Lady Catherine and stalked away. She did not leave so quickly that she did not witness the colonel’s struggle to hold in his mirth or Miss de Bourgh’s hidden smile. Of Mr. Darcy, she could see very little, as his emotions were concealed behind his typical mask of reserve. But he watched her go, and she thought she could detect a hint of approval in his manner, which was rather curious. She had just grievously insulted his aunt, after all!

  Elizabeth did not return to the parsonage. She stayed outside and walked the paths of Rosings, intent upon avoiding Mr. Collins as much as possible. She knew that she would not meet Mr. Darcy, as it was better for them to avoid being seen in one another’s company as much as possible. Thus, she spent a long and lonely afternoon in solitary reflection, which was certainly much superior to spending time with her husband.

  Tuesday could not come soon enough!

  Chapter XXVI

  When Tuesday morning finally did arrive, it was as if Elizabeth was hearing the siren call of freedom. The preceding days had been difficult in some ways, though easier in others, but the general atmosphere of tension and anticipation was almost stifling, and she was eager to have done with it. No matter what happened today, she was determined to leave Collins behind as soon as may be. She would rather take ship and live in the wilds of Canada than live with an imbecile for the rest of her life!

  Mr. Collins said nothing to her that morning. He had not said anything since she had insulted his patroness. His looks, though, spoke volumes as to the level of affront he was feeling, and Elizabeth knew that he was beginning to wish that he had never laid eyes on her despite whatever physical attraction or lust the man felt for her.

  The small gig he kept for his journeys to the further flung areas of the neighborhood was hitched, and they soon found themselves on their way to Westerham for the hearing. Elizabeth was amused that the man had not offered to help her up to the seat, but she did not comment. Her thoughts were mostly on Mr. Darcy, who had contrived a moment to speak with her the day before when she had taken her constitutional. Though he had been careful not to speak to her for more than an instant, he had assured her that he would be at the hearing to lend his support. Elizabeth was grateful, and because of his expected presence, she knew that she could suffer through a short ride with her soon-to-be-erstwhile husband.

  The church in Westerham was only slightly larger than the one in Hunsford, as the village was not much larger than the parish over which Mr. Collins presided. But it was actually rather new, the previous building having burnt to the ground several years earlier and been subsequently replaced. The sight of the two-wheeled gig caused little notice as they made their way through the town to stop in front of the shining white façade of the house of worship.

  Elizabeth quickly alighted, not wishing for one moment to give Mr. Collins any reason to touch her, not that she should have bothered. The man ignored her as he tied the horse’s reins to a post and followed her into the church.

  The inside of the building was primarily lit by the light of the morning sun flowing in through the large windows along the side of the chapel, though a few sconces had been lit as well. The pews had been moved back slightly to allow for the proceedings at the front where the pulpit was located. On the floor in front of the pulpit, three high-backed chairs had been situated to look back toward the pews, and several other chairs had been set up to accommodate the principals of the matter. There were a number of people in attendance, and most appeared to be official looking, though of the few laymen present, Mr. Darcy standing tall and giving her an encouraging smile, was the one who captured her interest. She dared not look at him nearly as long as she would have liked, and she distracted herself by noting that though the lady had expressed her opinion on more than one occasion, Lady Catherine had not chosen to attend that morning.

  “Mrs. Collins, Mr. Collins,” a voice spoke up. Elizabeth refocused her gaze and was relieved to see Mr. Forbes approaching w
ith his typical kindness. “Please, if you will step this way, we may begin momentarily.”

  Grateful to the man for acting to put her at ease, Elizabeth followed him and was soon seated in a chair facing the tribunal, a little to the right of the center. Mr. Collins, by contrast was placed in one a little to the left in the same general position, and it appeared he disliked the thought that he was facing those who would be stern and strict in their interrogations. If Elizabeth was to be honest with herself, she was nervous herself.

  Elizabeth glanced around at the chamber, noting the sparsely populated room and the small groups of men discussing what she presumed to be the matter at hand. Most were dressed as Mr. Collins and Mr. Forbes were, all in black with the traditional collar of the clergy tight about their necks. But there was one group of three who were dressed slightly differently; these men wore long, flowing black velvet Chimere over their ivory Rochet and puffy lawn sleeves, with Geneva bands at their throats. Two of the men were likely somewhat younger than her father; one had blond hair and an open countenance, and the other had black hair which had mostly turned white. The final man in that group was tall and imposing, with piercing dark eyes and coal black hair that had only a hint of gray at the temples, for all that he appeared to be older than the other two.

  A moment later, the signal had been given, and Mr. Forbes stepped forward to speak. “I now call this hearing to order. The tribunal has been gathered today to hear the petition for annulment from Mrs. Elizabeth Anne Collins, née Bennet. Presiding at this hearing and forming the tribunal will be Their Graces, the Bishop of Chichester, the Bishop of Rochester, and His Grace, the Archbishop of Canterbury.”

  That was a surprise, and Elizabeth stared at the elder man situated in between the other two bishops with some trepidation. Because annulments were so rarely petitioned and even more infrequently granted, they were matters for the highest echelons of the church. But Elizabeth did not think that His Grace Charles Manners-Sutton, the Archbishop of Canterbury and senior bishop of the Church of England, would concern himself with proceedings such as these. A glance at Mr. Collins revealed that he was in a state approaching terror. The involvement of the leader of the church would almost certainly not bode well for him.