“Oooh, Charles!” Lydia called out in a sing-song voice.
“—pulled me into the room—”
“How scandalous!” Mary cried, just as Kitty said, “How wonderful!”
“I should have protested, but my heart was beating wildly—”
There was a collective sigh at the table. Only Elizabeth abstained, for she was too busy wondering aloud, “Was it the music room?”
“I hardly know,” Jane replied, “for I saw only Mr. Bingley.”
Another collective sigh, though Elizabeth’s sigh was more forlorn than the others’, and her eyes were directed not at her sister but at the window.
“He said, ‘I know I should find a more proper occasion for this, but I cannot wait another moment. I knew, from the moment I met you, that I would love you always.’”
“That is very unlikely,” Mary said, earning glares from all but Jane, who was too happy to glare at anyone, and Elizabeth, who secretly agreed with Mary’s observation.
“He then took my hand and said, ‘Miss Bennet, will you make me the happiest man in the world?’”
Mrs. Bennet brought a hand to her chest. “Oh, how lovely!”
“Then…” Jane bit her lip, lowered her eyes, and whispered, “he kissed my hand.”
“I hope you wore your gloves,” said Mary.
“I hope you did not!” said Kitty.
Though she tried to concentrate on the romance of her sister’s experience, Elizabeth could not help but think of other, less chaste, kisses.
“Lizzy appears quite captivated,” Lydia observed with a giggle. “Perhaps she is imagining Mr. Collins kissing her hand?”
Elizabeth would have told Lydia exactly how ridiculous such an idea was had the object of said ridicule not presented himself at the table.
“Good morning, dear Mrs. Bennet, dear cousins, and—” He bowed deeply. “—dearest of all, Miss Elizabeth.”
Elizabeth glanced back at the window. If Mr. Darcy were going to make an appearance, now would be a very good time. Naturally, the scene outside the house remained as peaceful and unpopulated as it had been the moment before.
She then looked to Jane, who rose quite suddenly and said, “Lizzy, could you possibly spare a moment? I need your assistance.”
“I will help you with whatever you need, Jane,” their mother said before Elizabeth could answer. “Come along girls, you may help us, as well. Lizzy, you stay here. I am certain Mr. Collins has something he wishes to say to you.”
“Indeed I do!” Mr. Collins affirmed with a smile for Elizabeth, who grabbed the hand of the sister nearest her.
“Do not leave me,” she whispered to Mary, whose hand was beginning to turn an awful shade of purple.
Mary pried her sister’s fingers from her own. “We must bear our hardships as best we can.”
Watching all but Mr. Collins depart, Elizabeth tried to console herself: it was best to get this over as quickly as possible; his address was bound to be amusing; the experience could hardly be any more unsettling than the previous night’s proposal. While each of these points had some merit, none of them could make her forget that, at the end of this silly speech, she would have to give Mr. Collins an answer.
“Almost as soon as I entered the house, I singled you out as the companion of my future life.”
Was it a requirement for suitors, she wondered, to claim they had always known that their objects of affection were, in fact, objects of affection?
Of course, Mr. Darcy had not pretended to love her from the very beginning; this was likely due to the fact that he did not love her at all, but subjected as she was to the admiration of Mr. Collins, Elizabeth found herself much preferring Mr. Darcy’s version of a marriage proposal (unlikely as it was to come to fruition).
“Before I am run away with by my feelings on this subject,” Mr. Collins continued, “perhaps it will be advisable for me to state my reasons for marrying—and moreover for coming into Hertfordshire with the design of selecting a wife, as I certainly did.”
As she listened to him explain how his patroness had encouraged him to marry, Elizabeth could not help but smile at the idea that Mr. Collins had chosen her because of Lady Catherine’s wishes, while Mr. Darcy had chosen her—if he had chosen her at all—in spite of Lady Catherine’s wishes.
“But the fact is,” Mr. Collins was saying, “that being, as I am, to inherit this estate after the death of your honored father (who, however, may live many years longer), I could not satisfy myself without resolving to choose a wife from among his daughters, that the loss to them might be as little as possible, when the melancholy event takes place.”
That sentiment sobered her. Had her father been in good health, she might have thought it amusing, though vulgar, of Mr. Collins to raise such a subject; as her father was soon to die, she thought it quite vulgar indeed—but she also could not deny the point of the matter. Her family would suffer less if they did not have to remove from Longbourn.
Yet with Mr. Collins in front of her—with the prospect of marrying him so very near and so very real—Elizabeth knew that she could not accept his proposal now. No doubt it was because Mr. Bingley’s engagement to Jane had lessened the pressure for her to marry; and perhaps she had always been a selfish creature who, no matter how desperate her family’s situation, could never have brought herself to marry a man she did not respect.
She suspected, though, that it had just as much to do with Mr. Darcy and the vain hope he had ignited.
“And now nothing remains for me but to assure you in the most animated language of the violence of my affection.”
Glancing up in alarm, Elizabeth hoped that Mr. Collins’ methods of expressing affection were nothing at all like Mr. Darcy’s. She need not have worried; her cousin’s hands remained at his sides as he proceeded to discuss her lack of fortune. When Mr. Collins began to speak of their marriage as a settled thing, she decided that enough was enough.
“You are too hasty, sir! You forget that I have made no answer. Let me do it without further loss of time. Accept my thanks for the compliment you are paying me. I am very sensible of the honor of your proposals, but it is impossible for me to do otherwise than decline them.”
After blinking twice, Mr. Collins smiled and assured her that he understood her need to refuse him for modesty’s sake and that he looked forward to her certain acceptance at a later date.
“I do assure you that I am not one of those young ladies (if such young ladies there are) who are so daring as to risk their happiness on the chance of being asked a second time.”
At this, she paused, realizing that she was, in fact, one of those young ladies.
“I am perfectly serious in my refusal,” she continued before he could speak. “You could not make me happy, and I am convinced that I am the last woman in the world who would make you so.” At least that was the truth.
“Nay,” she added, seeing that he was about to protest, “were your friend Lady Catherine to know me, I am persuaded she would find me in every respect ill qualified for the situation.”
And this, too, was the truth, but only if she had been answering Mr. Darcy instead of Mr. Collins.
It took her another five minutes to escape from the room; even as she fled, Mr. Collins called after her, claiming that she was only attempting to increase his love “by suspense, according to the usual practice of elegant females.”
Elizabeth felt the sting of this accusation; had not Mr. Darcy called her coy, as well? She had to own that her situation was, if not humorous, at the very least ironic: having refused the man she wanted, she could not refuse the man she wanted absent.
*
Darcy had hoped Bingley would not notice him, but just as the younger man walked—or perhaps skipped, for his stride was too cheerful to be a mere walk—past the open doors of Netherfield’s breakfast room, he stopped dead in his tracks.
“Darcy?” Bingley stuck his head into the room. “Have you moved at all since I saw you last?”<
br />
“You have only been gone—” Darcy checked his pocket watch. “—an hour. Did Mr. Bennet turn you away so quickly?”
“My proposal was accepted with eagerness!”
Whatever he thought of Bingley’s choice, and however badly it had damaged his own, Darcy could not help but smile a little at his friend’s enthusiasm.
“But why are you still here?” Bingley asked again, coming into the room. “Should I call a doctor? I am truly beginning to worry.”
“This is as good a place as any to read,” he responded, hoping that Bingley had not noticed that the newspaper in front of him was still neatly folded.
“How can you read on a morning such as this?”
“I am surprised that you did not spend ‘a morning such as this’ with your new family.” Darcy could hear the bitterness in his own voice and regretted it instantly.
Bingley, too happy to take offense, only laughed. “If I could have spent the entire day with Miss Bennet, I would have. Indeed, I am to dine with the family this evening. However, I felt it best to allow them some time to themselves; the household was in a bit of an uproar.”
“Your soon-to-be mother-in-law was in rare—or perhaps not so rare—form.”
“For sure, but not due to my presence. Naturally, she was content—” At Darcy’s skeptical glance, Bingley conceded, “Very well, she was euphoric at the news of our engagement. Yet, no sooner had Miss Bennet, her parents, and I had gathered in the parlor to celebrate, than the fuss over Miss Elizabeth began.”
Darcy breathed in sharply. “Elizabeth?”
“Yes,” Bingley said, frowning. “Miss Elizabeth burst into the parlor, followed closely by her cousin, Mr. Collins, who was insisting—”
“Tell me she did not accept him!” Darcy said, jumping to his feet.
“She did not. That is exactly why Mrs. Bennet was overwrought.” Bingley stopped, his countenance screwed up in confusion. “Wait one moment: how did you know that he had asked her to marry—”
“Excuse me,” Darcy said, paying no heed to his friend’s sputtering as he hurried from the room.
It was only after he had urged his horse halfway to Longbourn that it struck him: Elizabeth’s refusal of Mr. Collins had in no way changed the likelihood that she would refuse him, as well. Still, the news had made him realize that he was achieving nothing by stewing in his own, pitiful indecision. If Mr. Collins could accept a refusal (though, by the sounds of it, perhaps he could not), then certainly Fitzwilliam Darcy could stand the pain of it.
Resolved as he now was to face her refusal with pride, Darcy dismounted from his horse, handed the reins to a servant, and strode to the front door. He paused before knocking; he needed a moment to piece together what he would say, first to convince Mr. Bennet to allow him a private interview with his daughter, then to convince Elizabeth to accept him. (Perhaps something along the lines of, In vain I have struggled…?)
Before he could compose himself, however, the door swung open.
He felt this was far too easy, her coming out to meet him on the front stoop when he should have had to brave the disapproval of her parents, the giggles of her sisters, and the stupidity of Mr. Collins.
Then she began speaking, and he realized that this would not be so easy after all.
“I have two matters I need to discuss with you before you speak a word. The first is that my mother is watching us from an upstairs windows.”
Darcy glanced up and, sure enough, he spotted a frilly cap outlining a face pressed rather indecorously against a pane of glass.
Elizabeth closed the front door to the house and then leaned back against it. “She has sent me out to meet you; she believes you are here because you mean to break Jane’s engagement to Mr. Bingley.”
“Why would she think that?” Darcy asked, offended. As if he would interfere so officiously in Bingley’s affairs!
“She can think of no other reason that you would visit our household, as you have made your disdain for us so very clear,” Elizabeth responded with a hint of a smile. “As her least favorite daughter, I have been appointed the task of dealing with one of her least favorite people. You, sir, are to be my punishment for refusing Mr. Collins.”
His smile, so rarely shown except in her presence, was broad. “Am I to feel insulted or pleased by this information?”
She shook her head. “Oh, I wish you would not smile so. It makes the second thing I am to say very difficult.”
Holding up a hand, he said, “Then do not say it. Elizabeth…” He stopped and frowned. “Do you think she can hear us?”
“No, all of the windows are closed. But do keep gesticulating, as she will be likely to think that we are arguing about Jane and Bingley.”
His smile returned.
“Oh, such an expression will never convince her.”
“Then we are fortunate that she can likely see little more than the tops of our heads. Now, you must allow me to tell you how ardently I—”
“Please,” she interrupted, “please, do not say another word if you only mean to—”
“You are so determined to refuse me that I may not even ask?”
“I am not at all determined to refuse you,” she admitted, eyes fixed on her hands. “That is the trouble. If it were my happiness alone that mattered…I do not wish to take advantage of your sense of honor; you may feel that, after our rather improper discussion last night, you are obligated to ask me. If that is the case, I have no wish to continue this discussion.”
“Can you think of no reason other than my honor that I might be here?”
She raised her eyes—those fine, expressive eyes—to his. “I have come to agree with your assessment of me. I am coy.”
He laughed. “Yes, but you wear your flaw with more sincerity and wit than any other woman of my acquaintance.”
“Oh, you are besotted.”
“Was there any doubt of that?”
She lifted an eyebrow. “Well, it is past two, and you said you would be here in the morning. You were also very distant last night at the ball. I thought perhaps you had regained your wits, after all.”
“I had no idea how to behave at the ball. As for my failure to come this morning, I must admit that I began to have doubts about my proposal.” He paused. “I still have reservations.”
“Yet you are here, attempting to propose a second time?”
“I am. When I did not come this morning, it was because I assumed that you would no longer consider my offer, not after Bingley’s engagement to your sister made it unnecessary for you to marry.”
“Did you think,” she asked, smiling sadly, “that I would accept you for material reasons alone?”
“No. If that were the case, you would have accepted me without question last night. I supposed that you would accept my offer because I presented a more palatable choice than your cousin.”
“Had Jane’s engagement not given me some assurance about our family’s well being, I do not know what I would have done.” She looked away. “I might very well have accepted you as a means of escaping Mr. Collins.”
“I do not fault you for that. After all, it is the very case I made for myself last night.”
“Well, I have refused my cousin, and am free to choose as I will,” she said with as shy a smile as he had ever seen her wear.
“Ah,” he replied, barely repressing a smile of his own, “but I have not, as point of fact, asked you again.”
Her eyes sparkled. “Indeed you have not. You did not, as a point of fact, ask me last night, either. It must be that you have more misgivings than a fear of being refused.”
He glanced back up at the second floor of Longbourn; Mrs. Bennet had not moved. “That is true.”
“My family,” she said, sighing. “That is the very case I made against myself last night.”
“Both of our families will make this exceedingly difficult, though perhaps for different reasons.”
“Yes,” she said, raising her chin, “but I wi
ll have you know that, for all of their foibles, I have great affection for my family. They may be silly, and they may cause embarrassment from time to time, but they do not mean harm, and I—”
“Elizabeth,” he cut in softly. “I am not asking you to disown your family.”
“You are not asking me anything at all,” she reminded him with a half-hearted laugh. “We are talking in circles, Sir. To think, I used to pride myself on speaking plainly!”
“As did I.” He shook his head. “When I spoke with Bingley this morning, I envied him. His affection for you sister seemed so effortless.”
“I wonder if he would use that word to describe it.”
“Perhaps not, but he appeared to have no doubts at all. I asked him how he could be certain that he was making the best decision.”
“What was his response?”
“He said that he simply knew it was so.” Darcy held her gaze for a long moment. “I cannot say the same for myself. I know my own mind—I am in love with you, Elizabeth—but I cannot be certain that my affection for you will lead to happiness for either of us.”
She flushed, and he wished he knew if it had been his words of love or his lack of conviction that had caused her blood to rise.
“If I have learned anything from my father’s illness, it is that we can expect few assurances from life.”
“And so it stands to reason,” he said, his heart beating faster, “that we must do what we think best now, whatever the consequences.”
“Whatever the consequences,” she agreed, a little breathlessly.
“Elizabeth Bennet.” He swallowed, paused, and then met her shining gaze. “Would you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”
It was, in many ways, a typical November afternoon: the wind had picked up, a weak sun shone through patches of grey, the trees were nearly bare, and migrating geese squawked from the sky above.
Her words, too, were commonplace: “Yes, yes I will.”
Strange, then, how it all felt extraordinary, as if there had never before been a man who had looked upon a woman with bright eyes and flushed skin and thought: we have changed everything.
This Disconcerting Happiness: A Pride and Prejudice Variation Page 12
