Implacable Resentment

by Jann Rowland

  “Surely you can see that such a suggestion is not proper,” replied he in a pompous tone. “Of course, I should not be surprised that one such as you would make such a suggestion. But it would be most improper for me to entertain such a thought, even for a moment.”

  “It is not improper, and the Gardiners encouraged me to make use of the house should it be required. Surely you can see that I will not be welcome at my father’s house.”

  “I care not, madam. I must deliver you to your father’s home to be finished with you, and that is what I shall do.”

  He allowed only one short stop at a small and nondescript inn which appeared on the side of the road soon after they left London behind. Other than that brief interlude, he drove them forward, almost as if the very hounds of hell were pursuing them, driving them back to Mr. Bennet’s estate. Considering that it was Lady Catherine who was behind them in Kent, Elizabeth supposed that her fanciful imaginings might not be far from the truth.

  Thus, though it was well before noon when he guided the gig up to the front door of Longbourn, Elizabeth was already feeling exhausted and heartsick at the reception she was likely to receive. In the back of her mind, she still worried about Mr. Darcy, wondering what had happened to prevent his appearance at Hunsford.

  When she and Mr. Collins pulled up in front of Longbourn, Elizabeth was close to panic. Her father had essentially dragged her to the altar and forced her to marry, her mother never treated her with anything but contempt and ridicule, and her sisters, save for dear Jane, had never given her any reason to suspect they would be anything but hateful. Elizabeth was not looking forward to this reunion in the slightest.

  Once the gig had come to a halt, Mr. Collins tossed the reins aside and sprang down with a spryness that was surprising for such a heavyset man. And before Elizabeth could step down from the conveyance herself, Mr. Collins was there. None too gently, he dragged her from the gig and onto the ground and hurried her toward the door.

  “Unhand me, Mr. Collins!” gasped Elizabeth, shocked by the violence with which the man was treating her.

  “I mean to return you to your father as soon as may be,” snarled Mr. Collins. “Remember you have brought this on yourself.”

  But Elizabeth was not about to allow this man to treat her in this fashion. Twisting her arm, she wrenched it out of his grasp, glaring at him with contempt. “It appears you did not listen to the archbishop, Mr. Collins.”

  “The archbishop does not understand what manner of woman you are,” ground out Mr. Collins. He reached out to grasp her arm again propel her toward the door again.

  The door opened before they could reach it, and the countenance of Mrs. Hill appeared. She seemed shocked as she beheld Elizabeth in the company of Mr. Collins.

  “Miss Elizabeth—” began she, only to be interrupted by the parson.

  “Summon your master, immediately.”

  Mrs. Hill started and looked to Elizabeth for direction, but at Elizabeth’s motion, she backed into the house. Mr. Collins followed closely behind, still clutching Elizabeth’s arm. Mrs. Hill turned to approach the door to Mr. Bennet’s study, but the door to the parlor abruptly opened, and Mrs. Bennet stepped out into the entrance hall, only to stop short at the sight which met her eyes. Behind her, all of Elizabeth’s sisters followed, each showing confusion at the sight of their sister. While Jane appeared happy at seeing her and Lydia openly disdainful, it was the sight of her middle sisters which confused Elizabeth, as Catherine appeared hopeful and Mary seemed relieved.

  “Elizabeth?” cried Mrs. Bennet with a frown. “What is the meaning of this?”

  Sensing that something significant was about to happen, Mrs. Hill turned and rapped sharply on the door to Mr. Bennet’s study, and the door opened immediately, suggesting that Mr. Bennet was on the verge of investigating the sudden commotion in his house. He stepped forward when he saw Elizabeth and Mr. Collins, and he could not have missed the way Mr. Collins was scowling and holding her arm tightly.

  “Mr. Collins,” said Mr. Bennet, though his attention was settled firmly on Elizabeth, “I thought we had agreed that you and Elizabeth would not return to Longbourn as long as I was alive.”

  “I am done with your demon daughter!” screamed Mr. Collins. He shoved Elizabeth forward so that she stumbled and fell at her father’s feet. “You can have her back, Mr. Bennet, for she is nothing to me now. I hope you have a pleasant life with her.”

  Mr. Bennet glared down at Elizabeth, but she refused to be cowed. Wincing at the pain of a knee which she had bumped when she fell, Elizabeth gained her feet and dusted off her dress.

  “I believe that the marriage has been solemnized, Mr. Collins,” said Mr. Bennet. “Perhaps whatever she has done may be ameliorated if you would take her more firmly in hand.”

  “Your daughter has offended, embarrassed, and humiliated me!” shouted Mr. Collins. “She has claimed ill-use and has sued for annulment, Mr. Bennet.”

  Shocked, Mr. Bennet stared at Mr. Collins briefly before turning and glancing at Elizabeth. “Annulments are but rarely granted, and one such as my daughter cannot have the resources to affect such an outcome.”

  “Then perhaps you should ask your daughter how she managed to bring such an eventuality about, for the annulment was granted yesterday morning.”

  The surprise inherent in her parents’ faces was perhaps not unexpected—regardless of how Mr. Bennet had brought the marriage about, he must have thought there was little chance of Elizabeth even managing to induce someone to listen to her grievance, never mind actually obtaining the annulment. But the surprise lasted only a moment before Elizabeth once again witnessed the rage of her father, so difficult to arouse, once again directed at her.

  “You have ruined us again!” shrieked her mother, breaking the pregnant silence.

  As if that was the impetus needed for them all to break free from their amazement, everyone began talking, and though Elizabeth could not make out much of what was said, the overlying emotion was anger, and her father’s appeared to be the most prevalent.

  “How could you, a girl with no family and no connections, possibly bring about an annulment?” demanded Mr. Bennet over the din.

  “I merely told the truth, father,” said Elizabeth, her chin rising in defiance. “That sham you attempted to force on me could not stand up to any scrutiny.”

  “It was not meant to be scrutinized!” roared her father. “It was meant to finally allow you to repay the debt you owe this family!”

  “Oh, Mr. Bennet, whatever shall we do?” wailed Mrs. Bennet. “She has stained the family name yet again, and should you die, Mr. Collins will throw us all out as soon as may be.”

  “On that, you can be assured,” spoke up one William Collins. “I have been most grievously used in this whole affair. The character of your daughter was misrepresented, the situation of the family obfuscated, and the unwillingness of Miss Elizabeth to marry me hidden. Once I have quit this place, you shall hear no more from me until my solicitor brings word of your immediate removal once Longbourn is mine.”

  Mrs. Bennet began to wail anew, and Mr. Bennet stalked toward Elizabeth, his hands clenching and unclenching as he stalked her as the falcon stalks the hare. But Elizabeth would not be cowed—she would never allow this man to intimidate her again!

  “What have you done, you stupid girl?”

  “Perhaps you should ask yourself what you have done, father,” said Elizabeth. “All my life, you have blamed me for something which could not be my fault. Should I feel any allegiance to a man who does not lift even a finger to make things better for his family?”

  “You shall not talk to me in such a fashion!”

  “And you, mother,” said Elizabeth, ignoring the man. “You, who treated me worse than the dirt beneath your feet, taught your daughters to fear and hate me without any explanation other than your own petty narrow-mindedness. Should I feel even the tiniest measure of empathy for your situation?”

  Though she kne
w she was provoking both of her parents beyond what was wise, Elizabeth could not help the words which spilled forth from her mouth any more than she could still the beating of her own heart. It was as if all the hurts she had been subjected to during the entire course of her life had now come to the fore and were being released. And the release felt cathartic. She did not even wish to stop it now that it had begun.

  “You—both of you—have behaved in the most reprehensible manner possible,” continued Elizabeth with a relentless will to be heard. “You blamed a young child who could not have possessed the knowledge of any possible consequences of her actions, and you made her a pariah, mistreating and shunning her, making her wish she was dead. I was that child, father. You have no notion whatsoever of how close I came to ending my own life during those miserable years when I was forced to bear your contempt and ridicule.”

  “Were you not responsible for what happened?” asked Mr. Bennet in a dangerous tone.

  “Is the bird who flaps his wings and causes an avalanche which results in someone’s death at fault? Of course not! I cannot even begin to tell you both how much you disgust me!”

  Mr. Bennet reached out and struck Elizabeth with the back of his hand, and she went down in a heap. All at once, she heard several voices screaming, and as Elizabeth attempted to rise, Jane moved in front of her, standing there like an avenging angel.

  “You shall not touch her again!” exclaimed Jane.

  “Stand aside, Jane. It is time your sister finally receives what is coming to her.”

  “Yes, father, give me what is coming to me,” said Elizabeth with a contemptuous sneer. “Show us all exactly what kind of a man you are.”

  As Mr. Bennet strode forward, pushing Jane roughly aside, a deep voice sounded out, arresting his progress.

  “That is enough!”

  It was into this scene that Darcy arrived at Longbourn, and he was appalled to see what was happening in that house. He had ridden like a man possessed, certain that his love was in danger. It appeared as if he had been correct to be so concerned—Mr. Bennet was on the verge of causing his daughter great physical harm, and Darcy was not about to allow that to happen.

  “You will not touch her, Mr. Bennet,” said Darcy as he stalked toward the other man. Something in his countenance must have told Mr. Bennet that Darcy was serious, for he shrunk back. “You will never touch her again if you value your life.”

  Mr. Bennet appeared to recapture some of his belligerence, as he stuck out his jaw in obstinacy and said, “And what do you have to do with this matter, sir?”

  “You know precisely what I have to do with this matter. Had you been more reasonable, more of a gentleman, Miss Elizabeth and I might already have been married.”

  Several gasps were heard about the room, and Mrs. Bennet in particular appeared to be close to fainting. It was, of course, the Bennet matron who spoke first.

  “What do you mean? Have you an interest in my daughter?”

  Darcy glared at the woman. “I asked Miss Elizabeth for a courtship the day before your husband forced her to the altar with him.” Darcy waved his hand at Collins, who was standing in mute astonishment. “The fact that your husband did not even take care to observe the barest of requirements is my gain, as it allowed Miss Elizabeth to sue successfully for release from him.”

  “Oh, Mr. Darcy!” wailed the Bennet matron. “Surely you cannot think to marry such . . . such a . . . disobliging, disobedient, murderess such as my second daughter! My Lydia would be certain to make you a much better companion.”

  “Madam, I had not known your youngest a week before I knew that she is the last woman in the world whom I could ever be prevailed upon to marry.” Mr. Bennet gasped, and Miss Lydia turned red, but Darcy continued to speak with pitiless honesty. “She is fit to be no one’s bride, considering the way she acts. You had best lock her into her room until she has learned something—anything!—of propriety, for she assuredly knows nothing of it now.”

  Mrs. Bennet stared at him and then rounded on her husband. “Will you allow him to talk of your daughter in such a fashion?”

  Mr. Bennet looked at Darcy through narrowed eyes. “Elizabeth is still only nineteen, and she cannot marry without my consent. You shall not succeed in your purpose.”

  “If you think even for an instant that you shall deter me, you are sorely mistaken.” Darcy glared at Mr. Bennet. “There are ways around such things, Mr. Bennet, and you should remember that I have the power to make life very difficult for you. Do not try my patience!”

  Apparently defeated, Mr. Bennet lifted a hand which was slightly shaking to his head and rubbed his temples. “Take her, but leave. She has ruined this family twice already, and she shall not be given an opportunity to do so again.”

  “I shall,” said Darcy, taking Elizabeth’s arm and drawing her toward the door. “Do not ever expect to see her again.”

  “We shall be happy never to lay eyes on her!” shrieked Mrs. Bennet. “Good riddance! I wish you have never been born, Elizabeth Bennet!”

  Guiding her outside, Darcy shielded Elizabeth from the accusing eyes of her parents, intent on protecting her to the best of his ability. Outside, Darcy saw the gig in which Mr. Collins had brought Elizabeth to Longbourn, the horse still standing winded in the driveway. Darcy shook his head in disgust at the man’s stupidity. To have subjected Elizabeth to a journey in such accommodations was ludicrous on many fronts. Whatever the man intended to do, that horse would not be taking him back to Hunsford tomorrow or, indeed, any time soon.

  The difficulty was determining a way to transport Elizabeth away from this place without any real means of doing so. Darcy had left his carriage behind in Kent so that Fitzwilliam might use it to convey Anne to London, so it was obviously not available. And given what she had endured the past day, Darcy did not think it wise to allow her to try to walk to Netherfield. The only way to accomplish her removal was, therefore, to put her on his horse and walk the animal to Netherfield. He would send a servant to retrieve her bag, though the fact that she had nothing else to bring with her incensed Darcy all that much more.

  “Mr. Darcy! Mr. Darcy.”

  Against his better judgment, Darcy turned to see the fawning form of the parson hurrying toward him. The man was wearing an anxious frown, and he made a comical figure as he approached Darcy, bowing low every few steps. If the man so much as put one toe out of line, Darcy would crush him like the insect he was.

  “Mr. Darcy!” gasped Mr. Collins as he strode up, even that little amount of exertion causing the man to double over in breathlessness. “I really must protest, sir. This is not seemly at all.”

  “What must you protest, Mr. Collins?” Darcy glared at the parson.

  The man mopped his brow, clearly recognizing the dangerous note in Darcy’s voice. “I must protest this fascination with my cousin, a woman who is now disgraced by virtue of an annulment. I cannot fathom why you have even followed us here, as I know for a fact that Lady Catherine de Bourgh had expected you to formalize your engagement with your fair cousin, Miss de Bourgh. I can only suppose that this . . . this slattern has made you forget the allegiance to your family. I adjure you, sir, by all that is holy, do not . . .”

  “Be silent, Mr. Collins!” interrupted Darcy.

  The parson’s mouth snapped shut, and he gazed at Darcy with unconcealed astonishment.

  “I know not what hearing you were present at, Mr. Collins, but I clearly heard His Grace, the Archbishop of Canterbury, state that the wrong was perpetrated upon Elizabeth and that she herself had done nothing wrong! I suggest you remember that, sir, as the moment you return to Kent, you will likely find your own actions under the heaviest of scrutiny.

  “And as for your comments concerning me and my cousin, you have no connection to either of us, so it can be of no concern to you. However,” continued Darcy when the parson seemed intent upon interrupting, “if you must know, I informed Lady Catherine myself, in the company of my cousin, that we would not
marry. In fact, I did this in April the last time I visited, and I was forced to reiterate it only yesterday.”

  Mr. Collins stood there in the cold, gaping at Darcy in astonishment, but Darcy grimly noted the fact that the man appeared to have some semblance of a self-preservation instinct, as he did not venture to say anything further. “There, Mr. Collins,” said Darcy after a moment of watching the man, “though you have clearly overstepped your place, you may take solace in the fact that you have protected the interests of your patroness to the best of your ability. Now, I suggest you return to the house and determine how you will return to Kent.”

  When the parson opened his mouth to speak—proving that his reverence for Lady Catherine was indeed stronger than his sense of self-preservation—Darcy stepped close and lowered his voice to a hiss. “I suggest you do not speak any further, Mr. Collins. Anything you say might contribute to your future misfortunes.”

  Thankfully, Mr. Collins turned on his heel and returned to the house, leaving Darcy alone with Elizabeth in Longbourn’s driveway.

  Chapter XXIX

  The next period of time was a mystery for Elizabeth, so consumed was she with what had happened. After the event, all she would remember was brief flashes of memory—Mr. Darcy lifting her up on his horse; the concerned expression on his face as he watched her with all the worry of a lover; brief flashes of the landscape through which they traveled; and the smooth and steady gait of the horse beneath her.

  Knowing intellectually and through the memories of a child that her family hated her was quite different from knowing it through personal experience. Even the memories of her father’s pitiless glare, her mother’s words, and Lydia’s indifference on the day of her forced marriage were nothing compared to what she had been subjected to that day. Her father had struck her, and comparing it with the slap she had endured the day before her marriage would be like comparing a puddle to a lake. Her cheek still smarted from where he had hit her, and she would likely have a spectacular bruise to go along with her wounded pride.