Elizabeth’s face went numb, not from the cold but from surprise, as she stared at her cousin in amazement, her mouth agape.
“It is all very sudden, I know. But I came to secure a wife, and I must return to my duties soon, and after extensive thought and prayer, I realized that I could not in good conscious make an offer to any of my cousins.”
Elizabeth’s hand flew to her stomach as she stumbled backward toward a nearby bench, sinking slowly down onto it as she attempted to process all that she was learning.
“But have I given you any indication…” she gasped, her eyes wide as she looked up at the man. “Other than Mr. Darcy’s word, have you any reason to believe such a thing?”
Mr. Collins looked pointedly in the opposite direction as he shuffled his feet.
“Nothing I have witnessed while staying in your home has confirmed such rumors, no,” he said at last. With a sigh, he removed his hat and looked back to her. “But cousin, this is not the first time I have heard such things. It is a family story, something I have heard since a babe. I have never known if it was true or not, but do such things really matter in society? Whispers are enough.”
Elizabeth laughed bitterly, and shook her head.
“You would not have thought such a thing had Mr. Darcy not said something,” she said slowly. Mr. Collins shrugged.
“Perhaps, perhaps not. But cousin, though I know you to be a moral, true Christian, it does not matter. I am sorry to speak bluntly, but your family is odd. You have strange traditions, you and your sisters are all very outspoken, and your father is peculiar. As the daughter of a gentleman these peculiarities are allowed, accepted even. But as the wife of a clergyman, they would not be acceptable. We cannot be moral role models if we ourselves are questioned.”
Elizabeth was silent for a long time as his words rolled through her mind, over and over. It was all for naught. The Longbourn magic was lost, her efforts wasted, and her future was now looking entirely bleak and solitary.
“Mr. Collins, I appreciate your honesty. You have been kind to give me such a service, though it was not at all required," Elizabeth said tightly. "I wish you much felicity in your future life, and I commend you on your choice of a wife. You could not find a better woman.”
A smile erupted across Mr. Collin’s face, and he gave a great audible sigh of relief.
“Thank you, cousin! Truly, thank you.” He sat down across from her and pulled her hand into his, and she winced slightly as his thumb pressed on her wound. “I was true in my letter to your father. I wish only to mend the bonds broken by my father, and I hope that our families will enjoy a great friendship and closeness as we go forward. We must always be friends, Cousin Elizabeth, promise me!”
Elizabeth nodded slightly, and forced a smile.
“I promise, sir.” She sat up straight and looked away from him as she attempted to steady her breathing. “Sir, I am afraid I still do not feel entirely well. I thank you for your conversation, and pray forgive me. I wish to retire.”
She stood and curtseyed to him quickly, then headed toward the house before he could rise and offer to escort her. As she expected, her mother and younger sisters were crowded around the window when she came in, and she was quickly surrounded by a sea of women.
“He did not propose!” she finally yelled above the din. The Bennet women went silent immediately, and Elizabeth closed her eyes to breathe deeply. “He has proposed to Charlotte Lucas instead, as he feels they will suit each other better.”
“What did you do to him?” screeched Mrs. Bennet, her hand flying to her chest. “It was almost certain! How did you chase him away?”
“I do not know,” Elizabeth said, almost crying. “I tried, mamma.” But her response fell on deaf ears, and Mrs. Bennet was quickly succumbing to her nerves.
“Why did you discourage him! Oh, I knew I should not have encouraged him to pick you. Jane or Kitty would not have failed as you have! I should have suggested Lydia, she would have secured his hand, but she is much too pretty to be a minister’s wife!”
“Mamma,” Mary started to scold, but Mrs. Bennet did not listen.
“Oh, what is to become of us! Imagine, Charlotte Lucas, mistress of this house! She will have us all turned out!”
“Mamma she would not, you know Charlotte,” Elizabeth tried to explain. “She loves us as she loves her own family. If it were not one of us, this is the best alternative we could have asked for.”
“I’m sure you are very happy about all this, Lizzy! You and your foolish ways. You have always been too wild. Well now you shall be wild all alone, starving in the hedges with your sisters and I! We must pray that Mr. Bingley will make an offer for Jane soon.”
***
Mr. Collins had wisely excused himself from the house, and Mrs. Bennet had retired to her bed once more, though her complaints could still be heard down the hall. Elizabeth, though feeling very physically poor, had excused herself for a lengthy walk in an attempt to clear her mind, but it had not worked. By the time she returned home and went to her room to change, she was physically, emotionally, mentally, and magically exhausted.
She did not expect to see Jane on their bed, huddled under the covers as she was, and a great jolt of fear shot through her.
“Jane! Are you ill?” she asked her sister, flying to her side. Jane turned over slightly to reveal eyes almost as red as Elizabeth’s own, and a note clutched firmly in her hand. “What has happened?”
“Miss Bingley has written to me…” Jane said, trailing off. She wiped her nose quietly and exhaled greatly before continuing. “It appears that Mr. Darcy has returned to London on some urgent business, and has convinced Mr. Bingley to go with him. Miss Bingley believes they will be detained some weeks or even months, and as such has closed up the house and left to follow them this very afternoon. She does not know when they will be back.”
Elizabeth sucked in her breath quickly as a small pang radiated from her hand. Had she done this? But as soon as the thought crossed her mind, she dismissed it. No, she had not banished Mr. Bingley, nor driven Mr. Darcy out. She did not know what detained the man, but she was sure it was natural, and not magical.
“Oh Jane, this is dreadful. I know you had attempted to close yourself off to him, and though I disagreed with your reasons, perhaps this will shield you from some pain until he returns?” she asked her sister hopefully. But Jane shook her head glumly.
“The other night I began to hope as I have scarcely allowed myself to before. Oh, Lizzy, he was so kind, so interested. We spoke all night, and I truly believed…” Jane trailed off and shook her head. “Nevermind. It is behind us now.”
“Believed what?” Elizabeth pressed, crawling up onto the bed.
“I thought that he would make an offer for me soon. I explained to him why I acted as I had toward Mr. Collins — well, partially. I did not mention our magic, obviously. He was so understanding! I thought we had broken through that silent wall between us, but now…”
Elizabeth sat back and thought a long moment.
“You are my sister, so I am disposed to think of your feelings first and foremost, but perhaps in this case we must consider Mr. Bingley. Though he may have been understanding, there is a great deal of confusion for him to work through. Perhaps, in guarding his heart and seeking further understanding, he has endeavored to put some distance between you to ensure his heart stays true?”
Jane nodded slowly.
“Or perhaps he truly is assisting Mr. Darcy with some urgent business, and did not have time to wish me goodbye?” Jane ventured hopefully. Though Elizabeth did not truly think this the case, she nodded.
“Indeed, this could be the case. The gentleman are close friends, though I cannot account for how, as they are so wildly different in disposition. One is the best of men. The other is the worst.”
XV
As the days grew colder and the winter solstice fast approached, life at Longbourn settled into its former, calmer nature, though some would susp
ect that a gloom had settled over the house.
Mrs. Bennet had found it difficult to rally after the staggering loss of both Mr. Collins and Mr. Bingley on the same day. The former had returned to the neighborhood to claim his bride and had left in due time, after a rather somber ceremony. The latter, unfortunately, had not returned, and no word had been sent on his behalf as to whether he ever would.
Jane bore this loss the best she could, but to her sisters her heartbreak was impossible to ignore, and it was difficult to watch their sunny, optimistic elder sister sink under the weight of loss and self-recrimination, for she could not help but believe that Mr. Bingley’s departure was a result of her inconstancy.
Elizabeth fared slightly better than her sister, though she too suffered from self-censure. As every day passed, she realized with more certainty that she had not succeeded in banishing her feelings for Mr. Darcy, and as a result was forced to accept that she had instead succeeded in banishing the man himself. As such, she was left feeling guilty for sending him from the neighborhood, as well as desperately confused as to the feelings that she harbored.
At times she scorned herself and the gentleman, and reprimanded herself for how she had come to feel so strongly for a man she also hated. What did it say of her, that she could love a man who was so foul? At other times she allowed herself to sink within them, to remember his eyes, his hands, his self-recriminations in the dark alcove of Netherfield Park that night. On these days her heart leapt at the sound of the door, a foolish voice in the back of her mind hoping that it would be him, even though she knew it to be impossible.
However, there was a gentleman who did regularly appear at the door, and in time became a regular fixture in Longbourn’s drawing room. Mr. Wickham had quickly graduated from one of Lydia’s favorites to a friend to the whole family; indeed, even Mr. Bennet could occasionally be stirred from his library to listen to Mr. Wickham’s stories. In short time, the man was considered to be well on his way to becoming a new member of the family, as no one could miss how much he favored Elizabeth — except, perhaps, for Elizabeth.
She had been upset with him at first for his mysterious absence from the ball, but it was easily explained away, and as soon as she learned that he had been asked to run an errand for Colonel Forster, all was understood and forgiven.
Though it was impossible for the gentleman to touch her heart, which was so full of another, she allowed that she liked Mr. Wickham. If she had not met Mr. Darcy, she imagined a life where she could be happy with the handsome, affable officer. Her mother was so taken with the idea of ensnaring a possible suitor that Mr. Wickham could do or speak no wrong in their household, and as such, Elizabeth was placed in an awkward situation.
Reports of Mr. Wickham’s relationship with Mr. Darcy — excluding the magical elements — had spread quickly. All of Meryton knew that Mr. Wickham had been barred from his living, though no mention was made of Mr. Darcy’s sister. But it was a story Mr. Wickham never seemed to tire of telling. As a result, Mr. Darcy and Mr. Wickham’s piteous situation were regularly discussed in the Longbourn drawing room, and each time Mr. Darcy’s name was mentioned it was like a physical pain for Elizabeth.
Mary and Kitty seemed to be aware of this, and both endeavored to avoid the subject, but Lydia saw Elizabeth’s own desperate spell as further permission to hate the gentleman from Derbyshire, and thus did not hesitate to malign him and complain about how abominably he had used everyone.
The more the story was told, the more it grated against Elizabeth’s senses, and the more she found it difficult to enjoy Mr. Wickham’s company. She did not know why she was beginning to doubt him now, when she had only seen further proof of Mr. Darcy’s arrogant disregard for the welfare of others. Maybe her love for him was blinding her; but whatever the cause, Mr. Wickham and his woes did not sit so easily anymore.
She was very nearly resolved to back away from her friendship with the man when an incident occurred that confirmed her every suspicion, and even still she could not dwell on it without uneasiness.
Mr. Wickham had walked her and Mary back from their aunt Phillip’s house, as had become a customary activity. Though usually unflappable, something was clearly bothering Mr. Wickham, and he seemed uneasy. With a flash of wry humor, it occurred to Elizabeth that he was acting taciturn and awkward enough to rival Mr. Darcy.
“It is unseasonably cold, isn’t it?” she asked, but the gentleman next to her simply grunted.
“We have not seen as much of you this past fortnight. Mr. Denny told us you have been very busy?” Another grunt in response.
“Mama told us she has invited you to celebrate Christmas with us and help us get through our plum pudding, Mr. Wickham,” Elizabeth told him, attempting for the third time that afternoon to pull conversation out of the man. He nodded vaguely.
“Indeed. I am quite honored to be included on such an important family holiday,” he answered distractedly. There was a pause, and then the man’s eyes lit up suddenly. “I confess it has been a long time since I have celebrated such an occasion with people of my own religion. It is almost as gratifying as celebrating the solstice with friends — though I’m sure you will be too busy preparing your rites to socialize.”
Elizabeth almost gasped audibly. Mr. Wickham regularly made small comments about her magic, but she was able to deflect them most of the time. Though he had been increasing his hints, he had rarely been so open in his comments.
“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean, sir. Though I will be very busy preparing my sisters’ gifts! I admit I am very far behind on selecting my presents this year,” she said, smiling as she tried to dance around his comment.
“Whatever you give them, I’m sure they will love. Giving presents is one of my greatest joys in life — are you curious at all what offering I have selected for you, Miss Elizabeth?”
“Mr. Wickham, you must be joking. You did not get me a present, I pray!’ she said, feeling deeply uncomfortable. It would be highly improper for him to give her a gift of any kind, and she did not want to be forced to refuse it.
“Do not worry, Miss Elizabeth, I would never put you in a compromising position. It is no trinket that you will have to account for. No, indeed, I have given you something much more nebulous. Do you want to know?” he was baiting her, his smile too wide, his suddenly cheery disposition too forced.
“Indeed I do not! I have everything I could need, and I thank you for your efforts, but I could not—”
“—I have written you a spell,” he interrupted her. “Nothing serious, just a small cantrip to produce my favorite flower. It always reminds me of you. I would consider it the best present I’ve ever received if you would cast it for me.”
Her eyes wide, she stiffened.
“Mr. Wickham, I have told you before, I do not practice. I wish I could help you, and I thank you for your kind thought, but unfortunately it is wasted on me.”
“That is indeed a shame, Miss Elizabeth. I believe you could be incredible, if you allowed yourself freedom to practice. If you were magical, that is. I wish I still had such skills, for I imagine I would use it to do good for my fellow man. I had hoped to fulfill that calling in another way, but with such avenues closed to me…” he trailed off for a moment. “Forgive me! I am a fool caught up in daydreams. I confess I often think of what we could accomplish together, if we used our skills.”
Mary was ahead of them on the road, almost around the bend and out of sight, and Elizabeth had no easy way of speeding up or catching her attention. She had not done magic since the night after the ball, but she was desperate to avoid any further private conversation with the man.
Sending up a silent apology, Elizabeth reached her hand into her pocket, took a deep breath, and whispered a small enchantment as she pinched her upper thigh viciously. Around the bend, Mr. Wickham and Elizabeth heard Mary let out a small yelp of pain.
Elizabeth hurried around the bend and approached her sister, her eyes wide as she attempted to co
nvey an unspoken warning.
“Mary, are you well? I heard you cry,” she said. Mary furrowed her brow and nodded.
“Oh, yes. I have a stone in my shoe. It is gone now,” her sister responded in stunted, awkward tones.
“No, you are still walking strangely. Let me help you back. Mr. Wickham, I thank you but we will go on from here. Have a wonderful afternoon and we will see you at Christmas!”
The two sisters waved and hurried their step around the garden wall.
“Lizzy, I do not appreciate being put in a position to lie. We tell falsehoods to protect our secrets and our craft, but when we bear false witness casually, it degrades our inner integrity, and we cannot—”
“Oh, Mary, I just needed an excuse to get away from Mr. Wickham. He was asking me about magic,” she said, chewing on her bottom lip. A look from Mary showed that her sister was as concerned as she was. “He’s been more insistent about it lately, and he just asked me to cast a spell for him. Mary, I do not think I trust him.”
Mary let out an uncharacteristic snort.
“I’m being serious. We all have believed him, and mother and Lydia and even Kitty are so taken with him, but I worry about the effects of allowing him so close. He clearly knows our secret, and I wonder what he would do with it.”
An Unnatural Inheritance: A Pride and Prejudice Variation Page 15
