by Meg Osborne
“Actually,” he cleared his throat. “As we have already skirted the topic, I wished to speak to you about Miss Elizabeth. About - the future.” He clenched his hands into fists, then lay them flat on his knees, then, at last, picked up his glass. His mouth was dry but he did not dare to take a sip, and instead merely occupied one hand in twirling the glass on the palm of the other, watching the light ripple over the surface of its contents.
“Mr Bennet,” he began again. “I am generally a man of few words, and so I shall speak my mind and trust you will not mistake the importance I place on this question, or on your answer.”
Mr Bennet raised his eyebrows but said nothing. Darcy took this as an invitation to proceed, and continued.
“I invited you here, sir, to ask you permission to ask Miss Elizabeth to marry me.”
There was no immediate response, but Mr Bennet looked taken aback by the suggestion.
“You know, I am sure, that she does not intend to marry Mr Collins.”
“I am aware,” Mr Bennet replied, drily. He took a slow sip of his own drink before continuing. “In fact, I cannot blame her. I do not think them well-suited and were it not for my wife's interference...” He trailed off, dismissing the rest of his sentence with a shrug. “I gave my permission for the marriage assuming she wanted it, or would at least be willing to accept it.” His eyes fluttered closed and he grimaced as if recalling something that brought him pain. “I now see this was a mistake on my part. If she holds to her refusal I will of course not pursue the matter.” He opened his eyes and fixed a watery stare at Mr Darcy. “You feel assured of her acceptance - you have already asked her?” There was a mild note of surprise in his voice.
“Not directly,” Darcy admitted. “I wished to secure the approval of her family before I raised the question of marriage with her.”
Something that may have been amusement glinted in Mr Bennet’s eyes.
“Well, Mr Darcy, in that case, you may have my approval, but not my assistance, for I was of little enough help the last time. Recall, however, that desire to please her family was not inducement enough to cause Lizzy to marry a man she did not already care for. What makes you think you will be any different?”
RICHARD FIDGETED IN the pew. It had been several years since he had attended the church at Hunsford, and he had been a good deal shorter and slimmer when last he’d had to fold his knees into the de Bourgh pew. Despite having one visit under his belt already, he still found the experience less than comfortable. Having Mr Collins for curate did not help matters, for he had a tendency to drone on, preaching familiar sermons on familiar scriptures with such little animation in his voice that Richard found his attention wandering. He counted the stones that held the high ceilings aloft, admired the stained glass window, imagined what it would be like to be standing at the front of the church with Mary by his side, before Mr Collins, and hearing him pronounce them “husband and wife”.
It is but ten days away! he reminded himself, surprised how quickly the named date hurtled towards them. When they had arrived at Rosings the three weeks' wait between engagement and marriage seemed an interminably long time, for having decided on his future he was eager to begin it without delay. Now, he could not help but consider the sheer number of things that needed to be resolved before he and Mary were married. The wedding itself he had only a passing interest in. His own family would be represented by Aunt Catherine, Anne and Darcy. He was marginally disappointed that Georgiana could not be persuaded to attend - or rather, her brother could not be persuaded to send for her, but he did not wish to raise the issue with Darcy once more. His cousin had seemed entirely at odds with himself and everyone at Rosings the past few days, constantly frowning over some problem he would not, or could not, share. His business had gone “as well as could be expected” he had admitted, cryptically, yet as no proposal had materialised yet, Richard was left to wonder what precisely he meant.
He glanced down the length of the pew to where Darcy sat, sandwiched uncomfortably between Anne and Elizabeth, and wondered what riot of thoughts his cousin’s frown disguised. Darcy stared straight ahead, fixing Mr Collins with a glare that was almost violent, yet Richard fancied he did not hear a word that tripped from the poor curate’s mouth.
Whereas I am rapt to attention! Richard thought, with a barely disguised chuckle. The sound drew Mary's attention, and she raised a questioning glance towards him. He shook his head, almost imperceptibly, and she returned her gaze forwards, giving Mr Collins the very attention he deserved. His bride was far better than he, and far better than he deserved! He marvelled at her concern for Christian charity and had even - although he would die before admitting it - tracked down a copy of the wretched Fordyce’s she had referred to once before, attempting to read it and understand the values she held so highly. In truth, he had not yet succeeded in choking down more than a few pages before succumbing to inevitable sleep. Perhaps, once they were married, she might summarise it for him, and relay only the sections he most needed to consider, so that he might be spared reading the whole thing. He would much rather spend his time reading the news reports, or some account of a battle, which he found altogether more thrilling than some dreary parson’s ruminations on a life well lived.
The curate before him began to draw his own lengthy sermon to a close, and there was a shift in the energy within the small chapel, with ageing patriarchs blinking into consciousness, while their wives surreptitiously returned their attention to their Bibles, rather than considering their neighbours' potential for gossip after the service. Richard and Mary were still the focus of a great deal of attention within the small parish, although the majority of those who recalled him from his youth, or wished to be introduced to the happy couple had done so last week. It had been surprising to Richard, how many wished to know of their plans for the future, and despite his insistence on being at ease with their nebulous intentions, he could not help but admit he was beginning to wish for a resolution. It must be that which made him so eager for the day of their wedding to arrive.
One last rousing hymn, selected by design to insist those church members who slumbered were given adequate reason to wake, and the service drew formally to a close.
“I thought it a fine sermon,” Mary whispered. “Did not you?”
“Fine,” Richard agreed, with a wide smile. “Very, ah, interesting.” He prayed his bride would not quiz him on it further, for he certainly could recall only the very vaguest notion of its contents.
Mary returned his smile, but her eyes sparkled as if to suggest she did not believe a word of it and was only too aware that his attention had wandered before Mr Collins had reached his second sentence.
“I confess I am glad to be marrying someone altogether more Christian than I!” he whispered. “You must bear with me, in my quest for reform.”
“Reform?” Mary teased.
Richard laughed, curtailing it only as he recalled their surroundings. Mary had captured his heart immediately, but he was amazed at how she grew in his esteem since their engagement. She had relaxed, somehow, and was more than willing to return his humour in her own shy way.
“Colonel Fitzwilliam!” Mr Collins segued close to them, for Lady Catherine had busied herself speaking to her friends, and Darcy, Elizabeth and Anne seemed engaged in their own conversation. Richard forced a welcoming smile onto his face and noticed Mary's was rather more genuine than his own. How did she manage to spare such affection for so irritating a fellow?
“Good morning, Mr Collins,” he said, shaking the man’s limp hand energetically. He noticed the curate’s eyes widen in surprise or pain, and loosened his grip. “Apologies,” he muttered.
“Ah, none required, none required!” Mr Collins laughed, but he snatched his hand away, and wrung it absent-mindedly with the other. “How fare my soon-to-be-weds?” He beamed at them.
“Very well, thank you,” Mary said.
“Good, good, and how - how is your sister, Miss - ah - Miss Mary?”
He tried to crane his neck past Mary to see Elizabeth, but Richard was amused to see his bride angle her own body so that his view remained obscured.
“She is very well, Mr Collins. Quite content.”
“I see.” He hesitated. “I do not suppose she has - that is, I wonder, has she, ah, has she mentioned me at all?”
“You?” Mary raised her eyebrows, as if such a notion were a great surprise to her. “Dear me, ought she to have?”
Richard could barely contain his amusement at the way she managed her cousin, and had to momentarily duck his head to prevent his smile from betraying them.
“Oh!” Mr Collins looked crestfallen. “I wondered if she might have had a little time to consider...that is, I rather hoped -”
“I felt quite sure that you had discussed all you needed to back at Netherfield,” Mary said, briskly. “I am sure my sister’s mind remains unchanged. You see, how contentedly she associates with Miss de Burgh and Mr Darcy?” She rattled off the two names brightly, yet Richard could not have been alone in noticing the emphasis she placed on Darcy's name. Indeed, Mr Collins’ eyebrows launched heavenwards. His jaw fell open.
“Is she-? Has he-?” His hands flew to his cheeks in amazement. “Well, I would not dream of standing in the way of - that is, how could I ever hope to compare to - Indeed, I can hardly...” He did not seem capable of finishing a single sentence, his thoughts had clearly raced on ahead of his lips, and at last, he gave up, bowing politely - too politely, but Richard would hardly take the man to task over his piety at present - and hurrying away.
“There,” Mary murmured, with a decisive nod.
“Remind me to put you to the task of dealing with any problematic callers we may receive in future, Mary dear,” Richard said, sliding his hand across to hers and giving it a congratulatory squeeze. “I had no idea you were so able a manager.”
“Colonel Fitzwilliam!” Mary smiled at him, her eyes sparkling once more, in a reflection of her sister’s. “I do believe you met my mother. One cannot live almost twenty years in the house of such a woman and not learn one or two tricks.”
Chapter Twelve
“William, you must show Elizabeth the de Bourgh mausoleum,” Anne said, turning to her cousin and friend as soon as the service was ended. Her eyes met Elizabeth's and she smiled. “You must not think me morbid, Elizabeth! I do not suggest it out of any desire to send you walking among the tombstones. It is a very pretty building, though, and the architecture is something to be remarked upon. I should imagine you will like it, and it will not delay you too long.” She pulled a face. “I imagine we will not be in any hurry to return to Rosings, for Mama must speak to all of her friends.”
“Do you not wish to accompany us? Three can admire a building just as easily as two can,” Elizabeth asked.
Darcy held his breath, for he had half wondered if this was his opportunity to speak, at last, and indeed, it seemed that his cousin had read his mind, for with a polite shake of the head she declined.
“I shall sit here a while longer if you do not mind. I am rather tired.”
He would have been concerned to hear such words from his cousin's lips, had it not been for the sly glance Anne herself sent him, the moment Elizabeth's head was turned. He groaned, and rolled his eyes skywards. Were both of his cousins working together, now, to orchestrate his life on his behalf? Nonetheless, he was grateful in this instance for Anne’s intervention. He recalled the mausoleum she spoke of, and she was right, it was a pretty building. Not dreary in that way that many memorials to those dearly departed could be, but a light, airy place, surrounded by a canopy of trees and flowers sure to appeal to Elizabeth's eyes, which were quick to notice and appreciate beauty, particularly in nature.
“Oh, you need not worry about me!” Anne reassured Elizabeth, clasping her hand warmly. “I am quite well, just rather too comfortable here to consider the merits of traipsing around a graveyard. I shall leave that to you and William!” She laughed, and turned to Mary and Richard, who easily widened their small circle to include his cousin in it.
Thus dismissed, Darcy offered his arm to Elizabeth, who did not take it, but rose beside him all the same, and they walked towards the door. It was with still more relief that Darcy realised they would manage to escape without needing to shake Mr Collins’ hand, for despite positioning himself by the exit, that he might ensnare each of his parishioners in turn, his attention was, at that moment, rapt on the words of a wealthy older gentleman, and so Darcy was able to steer Elizabeth past the pair without even drawing their notice.
As they wound their way past weathered stones towards the de Bourgh monument, Darcy began constructing his opening words. He had been at the task for hours now. Days, even, yet he discarded every version he had come up with. Too sudden. Too vague. Too romantic. That had quickly been dismissed. Even thinking the words in the silence and privacy of his own mind had been too terrifyingly intimate to Darcy and he had shelved them immediately. No, Elizabeth would not be won by sentiment. She was likely to find it as unusual coming from his lips as he would feel saying it. Better to be straightforward. Business-like, for it was a business arrangement, after a fashion. He dared not hope she loved him as he loved her - for he had come to acknowledge it was love he felt for the clever, spirited young woman who walked beside him with such energy. Love was no sound foundation to build a marriage on though. Darcy had seen enough of society to know that feelings were fleeting and to enter into life together based only on one’s current affections was poor planning indeed. Yet he did not only love Elizabeth, he felt certain, had felt the certainly growing with each conversation they shared, each thrust and parry conversation, that he liked her as well. It was that liking, combined with the business-like offer he might make that would, he hoped, make the match a successful one. If only she would say yes.
They reached the crypt and he drew a breath, conscious that time was short and he must speak now or lose the opportunity along with his nerve.
“Miss Elizabeth,” he began.
“Is this the mausoleum?” Elizabeth lifted her gaze to admire the stonework Anne had mentioned. “Your cousin is right, it is indeed a beautiful monument.”
“It is.” He did not look at it, indeed he was scarcely aware of their surroundings at all.
“Miss Elizabeth?” he began again, determined to say his piece now, before the conversation twisted out of his control.
She said nothing but turned to give him her full attention.
“I wonder if I might ask a question concerning your - ah - your future, once my cousin and your sister are married. Will you - do you intend on returning to Longbourn?”
Elizabeth hesitated, a shadow crossing her face.
“Did Lady Catherine charge you with discovering my plans?”
“I hope you do not misunderstand my reason for asking,” Darcy said, shaking his head. “Certainly you are welcome to remain as my aunt’s guest even once Colonel Fitzwilliam and Miss Mary leave -”
Elizabeth snorted.
“I rather think it would be wise of you to consult with your aunt, Mr Darcy, before making generous offers of her hospitality to those she is not fond of.”
Darcy blanched. He had gleaned that his aunt had taken some dislike to Elizabeth, but could not believe her ill-mannered enough to speak of her true feelings to Elizabeth's face.
“Do not look so surprised, Mr Darcy! Your aunt is a kind host, and polite as manners dictate she must be, but I am not a fool. I well understand her opinion of me. It must in part be formed from her knowledge of my refusal of Mr Collins.” She paused. “I do not doubt she and my mother would agree on that.”
Darcy’s heart beat escalated. Here, she had unwittingly provided him with the perfect introduction, an ideal frame on which to hang his question.
“You remain steadfast in your refusal?” He could not quite keep the hopeful note out of his voice, wishing only that she might not detect it. True to his hopes, she did not, evidently imag
ining some element of criticism lay beneath instead.
“Steadfast? Yes, sir, I do.” She lifted her chin, meeting his gaze with her own, fiery one, as if daring him to counter her.
“I am glad.” He half muttered the words, but still, they did not escape her notice. Her brow settled into a frown of disbelief, and then, of confusion.
“Do you recall, Miss Elizabeth, that I spoke to you of solutions to the dilemma posed you by Mr Collins’ unfortunate proposal?”
Elizabeth said nothing, but a slight relaxing of her frown indicated she did, indeed, remember, and gave him permission to continue.
“Marriage, Miss Bennet. It occurs to me that your mother wishes you wed, your father too, and they fix on Mr Collins as the most likely candidate. I would like to offer another in his stead.”
“Oh?” One word, laden with challenge.
“Myself.”
“YOU?” ELIZABETH COULD scarcely force her lips around the word. She was utterly incredulous. Of all the solutions she had imagined Mr Darcy poised to offer her, the suggestion of marriage had not numbered among them. “Mr Darcy, you have befuddled me. Please, speak plainly, for I am certain I misunderstand you -”
“You do not.” He spoke quietly, carefully, his voice betraying no emotion.
The situation was so bizarre that it struck her as amusing, but sensing some seriousness about his manner, she bit back her laugh, disguising it as a cough.
“Surely...” she paused. “Surely you cannot mean to propose marriage to me, Mr Darcy?”
“I can, and I do.” It was his turn to clear his throat. “I see you find the suggestion a strange one. Here, I will explain my reasoning in the simplest and most straightforward manner I can. It occurs to me that our situations are similar, Miss Bennet. Your family wishes you married - in this instance, to Mr Collins, in order to preserve the family rights to Longbourn.” He held a hand up, stemming her instinctive commentary. She bit her tongue and allowed him to continue. “Have you not noticed the predicament I, myself, am in, which mirrors your own?” He took a breath. “That is: my aunt wishes to fix a marriage between my cousin Anne and I. She has willed it so since we were but children, and every year that passes she becomes more wedded to the idea.” His lips quirked. “If you would pardon the pun. Anne is my cousin, and, I think you will agree with me, a very charming young woman, but I do not wish to marry her. Nor does she care for me in that way. It would be wrong, then, to force her into a marriage solely to appease her mother, although it is not entirely easy to avoid my aunt’s machinations without offering some reason for it.”
