Mrs Bennet was less sanguine. She knew her daughter well, and coyly playing with a gentleman’s affections was not among the girl’s talents. If Lizzy had said “no”, then that headstrong miss meant it. She did not trust her husband’s assurances that, given a week to think about it, Lizzy would reconcile herself to the necessity of the match. Mr Bennet was a very silly man when it came to guaranteeing their daughters’ futures. If she did not shift on their behalf, they might well end up impoverished spinsters. Even beautiful Jane had not yet secured an offer from Mr Bingley, and word among the servants was that the Netherfield party were leaving for town that very day. No, Mrs Bennet would rely on her own judgement in this, and do everything within her power to bring Lizzy to accept Mr Collins. She did fret to think her least favourite daughter would end up as Mistress of Longbourn, but that was better by far than the lot of them being thrown out of their home on Mr Collins’ ascendency to the position of Master.
Mr Bennet remained ensconced in his study, avoiding both his wife and the parson. Neither could speak sensibly at the best of times, and today neither could not be expected to speak on any topic but that which brought Mr Bennet most pain. To condemn his smartest daughter to marriage with Mr Collins was something he would avoid if at all possible. That he could think of no alternative exposed to Mr Bennet more clearly than ever before, the negligence of his management of his family and his estate. Regret did not change the facts, however: he faced the unpleasant task of breaking his daughter’s heart. It is small wonder, then, that he poured himself a large glass of port, though it was not yet midday, and sat staring morosely into the fire.
Mary Bennet was largely unaffected by the morning’s events. She was an avid reader of Fordyce’s Sermons, and at eighteen years remained untouched by any romantic inclination. She saw all the benefits of Mr Collins’ suit, and thought it would be a fine thing to be the wife of a man of the cloth. She felt no jealousy at that gentleman singling out her older sister – Mary was hardly oblivious to his physical defects, and could certainly wish him less stupid before she might think marrying him anything other than a chore. Her view on the matter was simple: Lizzy ought to wed the man since he held a secure living, was respectable, and he had offered for her hand. The Reverend Fordyce was clear that a woman was not to have desires of her own in regard to marriage, but to be a willing helpmeet to her husband. Surely that included politely accepting a gentleman should he offer? But really, Mary could not care much one way or the other. She spent most of the morning practicing a particularly doleful tune at the pianoforte, unaware of how this contributed to the melancholy of the other occupants of the house.
Kitty and Lydia were in the room they shared, pulling apart a bonnet ready to redecorate it with new ribbons. They had much rather been walking into Meryton to look for officers, but the mysterious absence of their elder sisters and Lizzy’s refusal of that slimy Mr Collins had thrown their mother into such a bad mood that they dared not risk her displeasure by stirring from their room. They made up for this temporary imprisonment by laughing roundly at the look of surprise and confusion on Mr Collins’ face as he had watched Lizzy and Jane march out the front door without so much as a hint of where they were going. Kitty did feel a little remorse at the thought of any of her sisters having to marry the toad, but Lydia soon cheered her by speculating wildly and ignorantly about what it might be like to be kissed by him – a thought so horrible that the girls were soon reduced to helpless fits of giggles.
Mrs Bennet was angry at Elizabeth, not just for refusing Mr Collins, but for then absconding with her elder sister, without so much as a by your leave. That girl was altogether too independent, and needed to be brought down a peg or two. These musings, some of which had been, perhaps unwisely, muttered aloud in the hearing of Mr Collins, were interrupted by the completely diverting sight of Mr Bingley’s carriage drawing up to the front of the house. Sparing another harsh thought for Elizabeth for taking Jane from the house just at the time Mr Bingley called to make his farewells, Mrs Bennet hurried to the porch to greet that gentleman. Her surprise at seeing not only Mr Bingley and Mr Darcy, but her own two eldest daughters alight from the elegant carriage, can only be imagined.
“Mr Bingley, you are most welcome, sir.” Her fawning over Bingley could not but embarrass her daughters, but Mrs Bennet was so relieved he had called on Longbourn before quitting the county that she was oblivious to their pointed glances. “And Mr Darcy, any friend of Mr Bingley’s will always be welcome here.” Her coldness to the gentleman from Derbyshire could not be mistaken. To say he was welcome on his friend’s account and not in his own right might have passed for polite on a first meeting, but was rude in the extreme after having been in company with him several times in recent weeks. It was clear that Mr Darcy understood the slight, and both Jane and Elizabeth coloured in mortification at their mother’s manners. That Elizabeth coloured more brightly than her sister went unnoticed by any but Mr Darcy himself.
They were ushered into the front parlour, where Mr Collins rose to greet the gentlemen. The smirk he directed towards Elizabeth sent cold shudders down both her spine and that of the tall gentleman standing beside her. The parson looked almost predatory, and moved quickly to claim his cousin’s arm and guide her to sit on a two-person couch. To his dismay, however, Mr Darcy swiftly took the second seat before Collins could manoeuvre himself into that coveted place: he had spent a trifle too long bowing over his intended’s hand as she sat. Unwilling to offend so august a personage as Mr Darcy of Pemberley in Derbyshire, nephew to his esteemed patron Lady Catherine de Bourgh and future husband of that lady’s only daughter (and therefore the future Master of Rosings, on whose patronage Collins might one day depend), Collins accepted this setback meekly. He would have plenty of time to woo his reluctant bride once the gentlemen had departed.
Elizabeth was grateful for the temporary reprieve, and turned a smiling face to her rescuer. Darcy responded without thought by smiling openly in return. He had never seen so unguarded a look on Miss Elizabeth’s face, and it struck him that, contrary to his earlier impressions, she was uncommonly pretty. Elizabeth, for her part, was once again impressed by the remarkable difference a smile made to the countenance of the usually dour Mr Darcy.
Their attention was brought back to the rest of the room when Bingley abruptly stood, cutting Mrs Bennet off mid-stream in her offer of the best of her husband’s coveys for his hunting pleasure on his return to the neighbourhood, and asked if he might have a minute of Mr Bennet’s time. Mrs Bennet, still not suspecting more than a polite leave-taking by the gentlemen, was surprised that only Mr Bingley sought to take his leave of Mr Bennet. But the ways of rich and proud folk like Mr Darcy were not for the understanding of such as her, so she merely shrugged at that gentleman and guided Mr Bingley to her husband’s study.
Mr Bennet was a little the worse for wear. He had spent several hours berating himself, and slowly but steadily lowering the level remaining in his port decanter. Nevertheless, he drew himself to his feet with a modicum of dignity and invited his young visitor to take a seat. Bingley was eager to get to the point, but even he could see that the Master of Longbourn was not at his best. He hoped his request would cheer the gentleman, and set it out with all proper delicacy of feeling and warm hopes for the future.
“I have developed the strongest regard for Miss Bennet over the short time I have been in the neighbourhood, sir, and I believe that she holds me in some affection, too. I have spoken with her this morning and requested the honour of a courtship. Miss Bennet is agreeable, subject, of course, to your consent. I have no other entanglements. I am master of my fortune, and am in a position to provide a good home for Miss Bennet, if, on better acquaintance, she should be inclined to accept me. I tell you frankly, sir, that I cannot imagine any circumstances in which my own affections might waver, but I understand the lady is entitled to take time to know me better before she has to decide whether to trust me with her future, as are you, sir, befo
re deciding whether to trust me with such a treasure as Miss Bennet. And so I ask you to consent to a courtship between myself and your eldest daughter.”
Mr Bennet’s eyebrows rose as he listened to the young man’s declaration. By the time Bingley had finished, he was in wide-eyed astonishment. What a contrast to the arrogant condescension of Collins’ “request” for permission to propose to Elizabeth. Already lachrymose from his morning’s meditations, Mr Bennet began to weep.
His tears disconcerted Bingley, who worried that there was some unknown impediment to his suit, or that Mr Bennet was upset to think of him as a future son-in-law. He hurried to reassure the older man: “My family comes from trade, sir, it is true. But it is my firm intention to establish myself as a gentleman. The lease of Netherfield Park is the first step on the path to purchasing my own estate. My children will be two generations removed from trade, and will be raised as befits gentry. I assure you, Miss Bennet would not suffer any disgrace should she be generous enough to accept my hand. I would dedicate myself to ensuring her comfort and joy in all things.”
Mr Bennet snorted through his tears. “You need not worry, sir, that I disdain your links with trade. My own wife is a tradesman’s daughter, and my brother Gardiner is a successful businessman in London. My tears are in happiness for Jane, and in sorrow for another matter altogether.” He mopped his face with a handkerchief and managed to dry his eyes. “I grant your petition, Mr Bingley, most happily. You and Jane seem designed for each other, and I can only hope that your courtship will lead you both to the same conclusion. She has only a small portion, but I suppose you have thought of that before knocking on my study door. I would be honoured to welcome you to the family, but let’s not get ahead of ourselves. A courtship is a time of testing, and no firm proposal. I most heartily consent to you entering a courtship with my dear Jane. I might wish you and she were further along toward wedlock, but the world does not turn to our convenience, it seems.”
Bingley did not know what to make of this last remark, but was so overjoyed by winning his objective that he spared little thought for Mr Bennet’s other comments. He bounced to his feet, suggesting they repair to the parlour to announce the news. Mr Bennet reminded him that as soon as his wife got wind of the courtship, her imagination would take flight and she would be planning the wedding decorations before Bingley escaped the house, but Bingley was undeterred. He would happily weather Mrs Bennet’s excitement in exchange for seeing his Jane’s face when the courtship was announced.
Indeed, the predictions of both men were fulfilled. Mrs Bennet screeched in delight, the more so for having been taken by surprise. Certainly she expected Jane to win Mr Bingley’s heart – she could not be so beautiful for nothing, after all – but had no inkling that it would be today. She fell immediately to speculating on carriages and pin money, dresses and London seasons. It took the combined efforts of her husband and her second daughter to bring her to realise that it was only a courtship, not an engagement, and that it would not be seemly to speak as though a marriage were certain. “Oh, but Mr Bennet, you must see how it will be. We will have wedding bells before the year is out, mark my words. Perhaps we could plan a double wedding – how grand that would be.” And here she looked at Elizabeth, and slanted her eyes meaningfully towards Mr Collins. That man merely preened at the attention, and made some fatuous remark about the benefits of wedlock for an upright gentleman, while Darcy’s agitation at such imputations about Miss Elizabeth were manifest in a look of disdainful hauteur.
Mr Bingley barely noticed any of this, as his gaze was locked affectionately on his beloved. When he entered the room, Jane was sitting demurely in her chair by the fire, eyes fixed on the embroidery in her hands, although it seemed she made precious little progress in that endeavour. At the sound of the door, she directed a questioning look at her father. Before he even spoke, a tremulous smile spread across her face and she turned her gaze to meet that of Charles Bingley as her father announced the courtship. They remained lost in each others’ eyes as the room erupted around them. Mrs Bennet was loud and silly. Mr Collins was pompous and trite. Miss Elizabeth sighed in resignation and turned her gaze to the window, and Mr Darcy watched, perplexed by her reaction.
Bingley announced that he was leaving for London the next afternoon, and would be away for nearly a week. There really was business that needed attending, and he wanted to get it out of the way as expeditiously as possible, so he could return to Hertfordshire for the Christmas season. In anticipation of parting so soon, he invited Miss Bennet to join him for a stroll in the garden. This plan was readily approved, but the couple needed a chaperone, so Elizabeth was imposed upon to walk out with Mr Darcy. Collins was no walker, and readily ceded his place at Elizabeth’s side to Mr Darcy. After all, she could come to no harm in such elevated company.
Thus it was that Elizabeth and Darcy found themselves walking together for the second time that day. Once again, Jane and Bingley were too consumed with each other to pay the slightest attention to their friends, so the chaperones found themselves able to resume the morning’s tête-á-tête. Elizabeth planned to more fully express her appreciation of Mr Darcy’s offer of assistance, while explaining that she could think of nothing he could do to aid her. While she considered how best to open the topic, however, Mr Darcy spoke.
“You may think me impertinent, but I must ask why you seem so unhappy at your sister’s courtship?”
“Whatever do you mean, sir? I am very happy for Jane. How could you think otherwise?”
“It is nothing you have said. It is only that I have noticed a look of sorrow, or perhaps resignation, when you have looked at them. Do you disapprove of the match? They seem well suited to me.”
Elizabeth sighed, realising that her distaste at her future had been noticed by the observant Mr Darcy. Keen to assure him that she had no reservations about Jane and Bingley, she rushed to explain: “If I have looked pensive, it is only because I am selfish enough to regret that they have settled on a courtship rather than an engagement. I know they are following the proper course, and I certainly understand that Jane needs to be confident in the strength of Mr Bingley’s affections, knowing as she does how strongly his sisters oppose the match. They both deserve a courtship before taking the leap of faith that is an engagement. But I cannot help thinking that if only Jane was engaged to Mr Bingley, my parents would not worry about my sisters’ futures so much, and I might be excused from marrying Mr Collins. A courtship is too uncertain a thing to build the family’s hopes upon.
“So you see, I am a dreadfully selfish creature. My sister’s happiness is plain to see – she positively glows. And instead of sharing in her joy, I am fretting about my own problems.” Elizabeth managed a tolerably cheeky raised eyebrow as she spoke, bringing yet another smile to Mr Darcy’s face. She could not remember seeing him smile at all before today, and he had certainly started the day in a towering rage. Yet he had hardly stopped smiling ever since she had confessed her plan to stage a compromise. What a surprising man.
Darcy reaffirmed his offer to be of assistance in any way in order to save her from Mr Collins. “It may not be very charitable, but I cannot see how that man could think he deserves a prize such as you, Miss Elizabeth.” He blushed at the words, realising he had revealed more of his regard than was proper, but pressed on, “You will soon be my best friend’s sister, and I am honoured to offer you my protection if there is any service I can do you in this matter. Do not hesitate to ask.”
Elizabeth seized the opportunity to express those thanks she had planned, and to share her doubt that there was any remedy within his power. That he had called her a prize was surely nothing but gallantry, but it warmed her heart to know that at least one gentleman esteemed her. Mr Collins’ admiration most decidedly did not count. The parson’s proposal had concentrated more on his patron’s expectations and his own eligibility than on Elizabeth’s merits. Indeed, he had concluded by reminding her of her poverty and specula
ting that she was unlikely to ever receive another offer.
As the afternoon cooled, Jane and Bingley turned their steps back toward the house, Darcy and Elizabeth perforce following them into the front parlour, where the gentlemen took their leave, after promising to join the Bennets for a family dinner the next day.
Jane’s news was enough to distract Mrs Bennet for the remainder of the evening from bemoaning Elizabeth’s rejection of Mr Collins. Elizabeth was sure this reprieve would be short, but she shamelessly took advantage of it, steering the conversation to wedding plans, trousseaux and the number of Mr Bingley’s carriages whenever it looked in danger of flagging. If such enthusiasm for fashion and ribbons was uncharacteristic for the Bennets’ second daughter, no one noticed it. Collins himself was content to cast the occasional simpering smile at Elizabeth and offer the reflection that one wedding often led to another, or that love seemed to be in the air.
Thus the evening passed more congenially than Elizabeth had cause to expect that morning, and it was not until she was alone in her bed that she pondered her own problems again. Long into the night, she tried and tested schemes to escape betrothal to Mr Collins, rejecting each as sillier than the last. She finally fell into an unsettled sleep not long before dawn.
The Maiden's Stratagem Page 5
