by Sophia Grey
“You are being dramatic,” Jane said, but she did not sound convinced.
Elizabeth lit her candle from the lamp on the vanity they shared and then turned down the wick to extinguish it. She could hear Kitty and Lydia talking in their room and held out her candle for Jane to light hers. “And if Mr. Collins does not marry one of us, then what?” Elizabeth asked. “Will you be the one to tell Kitty that she will have to be a scullery maid, or shall I?”
Jane set her candle down upon her beside table and crawled beneath her coverlet. “It will not come to that,” she said gently. “I am certain of it.”
“Indeed, I hope you are correct,” Elizabeth said, “but I will not be the one to save Longbourn from Mr. Collins’ grasping fingers…”
“Oh, Lizzy, you are impossible,” Jane said with a smile. She blew out her candle and settled herself upon her pillows. “All will be well, you will see.”
Elizabeth did not believe for a moment that all would be well, and she wished that she had the same convictions as Jane seemed to possess. But, perhaps, Jane had much less to fear. She was well on her way to securing an advantageous engagement, and it was clear that their mother had put great stock in Mr. Bingley’s affections. As Elizabeth slid into her own bed and blew out her candle she could only hope that her sister’s optimism would be rewarded, and that her own pessimism was misguided.
But as her eyes adjusted to the darkness in the room and she listened to the sounds of the house settling into sleep, she could hear the faint rasping of a masculine snore that inspired a soft murmur of laughter from her younger sisters’ room.
“Insufferable,” she muttered.
If she were Mrs. Collins, she would be sure to insist upon a separate bedroom for her own comfort and peace.
But such a thing was never to be spoken of. Of that she was certain.
6
Unfortunately, by midday on November the twenty-ninth, Elizabeth was certain of the fact that Mr. Collins was, indeed, in Hertfordshire in search of a bride.
He had mentioned it casually over their breakfast scones, while in the process of delicately picking the raisins from the pastry with his fork. “It is the particular advice and recommendation of the very noble lady whom I have the honour of calling patroness that I choose a wife. And where better to search than among my own cousins.” His smile was meant to be pleasant, but Elizabeth could not help the feeling of revulsion that crawled up her spine as his eyes lingered upon first Jane and then herself. “I am convinced, as is her Ladyship, that it will add very greatly to my happiness,” he continued blithely, seemingly unaware of the barely suppressed giggles coming from the younger girls.
Ever serious, Mary blinked at the gentleman and pushed the jam closer to him. “I do agree, Mr. Collins. It is impossible to believe that any clergyman who is advising married couples on their happiness should not be married himself. It seems a logical provision.”
Mr. Collins smiled broadly at Mary’s agreement and took the jam she had offered. “Quite right, Cousin,” he said as he spread the jam upon his denuded scone, “Lady Catherine de Bourgh has, in her generous condescension, come to a similar conclusion. I can think of no better way to serve my parishioners than by presenting an example of happiest matrimony.” Mr. Collins looked at Elizabeth pointedly and she did her best to keep from dropping the cup she held. “Do you not agree, Cousin Elizabeth?”
“Indeed,” she managed to gasp around her scalding tea.
“A very practical choice,” Mrs. Bennet echoed. “And how good of Lady Catherine to suggest that one of my daughters should be an appropriate match for such an endeavor.”
Elizabeth did not like the tone of her mother’s voice, but there was nothing she could do about it now. She took a sip of water to cool her burning tongue, but it did nothing to calm the painful twisting of her stomach that took away her appetite for the remainder of her breakfast. She stared, instead, at the forlorn raisins on Mr. Collins’ plate and the crumbs left on his jacket as he consumed his mangled scone.
“Mama,” Lydia interrupted the quiet conversation with her strident voice and Elizabeth looked up suspiciously. “Mama, may Kitty and I go into Meryton? Denny will be there, and I should very much like to speak to him.”
Elizabeth narrowed her eyes at her sister, but Lydia did not notice. She was eager to see the young man that had occupied so much of her chatter lately. Elizabeth had lost count of the amount of times the unsuspecting officer had been the object of their little game. Mrs. Bennet appeared to consider her daughter’s request carefully, but just as Lydia was about to open her mouth to demand an answer, Mrs. Bennet picked up her fan and tapped it upon the table.
“Lizzy,” Mrs. Bennet said suddenly. “It is a beautiful day, I daresay it would be a wonderful thing for you to walk into town with Mr. Collins.”
“Mama,” Lydia cried indignantly. Kitty look as though she were doing her very best not to burst into tears as she pushed her tea away, but Lydia did not bother to hide her distaste for the situation and crossed her arms over her chest and let out a furious huff as she sat back in her chair. It was decided, and there was nothing any of them could say to change their mother’s mind. Mrs. Bennet beamed happily and ignored Lydia’s scowl while Jane and Elizabeth exchanged a look of what could best be described as dread.
* * *
Their party set off for Meryton soon after Mrs. Bennet’s pronouncement, and though Mr. Collins did everything in his power to convince Mr. Bennet to come along, his invitation was soundly declined. Elizabeth waved to her father as they walked past the window of his study, and Mr. Bennet raised a hand in farewell. His expression was one of exhausted annoyance, one she had seen often when Mrs. Bennet was caught in one of her ‘nerve spells.’
Their mother had been oddly cheerful since Mr. Collins’ arrival, and Elizabeth could not help but wonder what that might mean for her and her sisters. Mr. Collins’ pronouncement of his intent to acquire a bride had unsettled her, and that feeling had only increased when Mr. Collins pulled Mrs. Bennet aside before they left for Meryton.
As they left the courtyard, Mr. Collins ran to catch up with Elizabeth and Jane, his hand planted firmly atop his head to keep his wide-brimmed hat in place. Elizabeth bit her lip to keep from laughing at the gentleman’s ridiculous approach and she looped her arm through Jane’s to have something solid to keep her focused on the task at hand, which was to be polite to the man who would one day be forced to make a decision regarding the fate of the Bennet women.
Elizabeth’s smile was thin as Mr. Collins came to them, breathless from his exertion.
“My fair cousins,” he panted, “I commend you for your daily walks. A young lady should always be mindful of her constitution, fortified by long walks and fresh air. Lady Catherine de Bourgh, herself, can often be found walking the grounds of Rosings Park when the weather is fine. I only regret that her daughter, Miss Anne de Bourgh is of poor health and cannot join her Ladyship on such invigorating outings.”
“Indeed, a great calamity,” Elizabeth said.
“It is my belief, and her Ladyship agrees most wholeheartedly that the young lady I choose to be my wife should be fond of walking outdoors.” Mr. Collins smiled broadly at Elizabeth and she did her best to return the sentiment, although half-heartedly, a fact which Mr. Collins did not register.
As they walked, Mr. Collins maintained a steady stream of one-sided conversation which threatened to overpower anything that might be said to steer the conversation in another direction. He had an opinion on the plants and wildflowers that grew upon the side of the road, and remarked upon the position of houses and estates in relation to Rosings Park and how Lady Catherine de Bourgh’s condescension was so generously bestowed upon his own gardens at Hunsford. Lady Catherine, he explained, would stop by the parsonage often to examine the progress of his gardens and offer her opinions upon the decoration of the house, right down to the contents of his meals. She had even sent down her third cook to assist Mr. Collins until a s
uitable wife could be found.
“How wonderful,” Jane murmured.
“Ah, how rude of me to forget,” Mr. Collins exclaimed suddenly. “My dear cousin, Jane, I am most remiss in offering my congratulations upon your impending engagement. Your dear Mama tells me that you have made a most fortuitous match.” Mr. Collins beamed with pride as though he had made the arrangement himself, and Elizabeth watched her sister’s cheeks burn with embarrassment as she murmured her thanks.
Elizabeth’s lips pressed into a thin line at Jane’s discomfort. Their mother was too cavalier with her fantasies. Mr. Collins should not know this information, unless—unless Mr. Collins had asked if any of her daughters was spoken for. Trust Mama to take the easiest route, Elizabeth thought bitterly. If one of them were to accept Mr. Collins’ offer of marriage, their future was assured. And though it would be many years until Mr. Bennet’s death, when the inevitable came, there would be support and understanding. And as far as Mrs. Bennet was concerned, that meant a roof over her head and an allowance to sustain her until the end of her days.
Elizabeth kicked at a rock and increased her pace slightly. Mr. Collins hurried to keep up, and resumed his observations of the local flora and fauna. Why, even the cattle in the farmer’s fields did not escape comparison to the herds of fine black and red angus that roamed the fields of Rosings Park’s estate farms.
As they always did, as soon as the edge of Meryton’s white-washed buildings were sighted, Kitty and Lydia shouted aloud and broke into a run. Jane gave her sister a desperate look as she chased after the younger girls, looking for all the world like a kitchen maid chasing a pair of wayward geese.
With a tight-lipped smile, Elizabeth maintained her pace as Mr. Collins continued his steady stream of observational conversation peppered with exclamations about how her Ladyship would find Meryton very quaint, “she prefers London, you see—” he was saying, but Kitty’s shout interrupted him and Elizabeth’s focus snapped to her younger sister. She and Lydia were standing with two young men. She recognized Mr. Denny’s blond head, but the other man she did not know. He was taller than Mr. Denny, with a quick smile and pale eyes. Handsome, to be sure, and he looked very well in his regimental jacket.
“Lizzy! Lizzy come here, you must meet Mr. Wickha—ow!” A moment later Kitty cried out in surprise as Lydia slapped her sister’s arm. Elizabeth glared at Lydia, but her youngest sister was more concerned with talking to the officers at top speed.
It had been almost a month since the Meryton Assembly, but Lydia had not tired of telling and re-telling anyone who would listen how well she had danced, and how many songs the musicians had played at her request.
Mr. Wickham smiled gamely at every one of Lydia’s stories, but when Elizabeth approached, the pale gray eyes found hers were tinged with mischief, and his smile was nothing short of infectious.
“Another Bennet sister?” the gentleman asked Mr. Denny.
“Ah, yes, indeed, George,” said Mr. Denny warmly. “May I present Miss Elizabeth, the second eldest of the Bennet daughters.” Mr. Wickham inclined his head. “Miss Bennet, this is my good friend George Wickham, newly arrived for his commission with the Meryton regiment.”
“You are most welcome to Meryton, Mr. Wickham,” Elizabeth said. “It is a shame that you arrived too late for the Meryton Assembly.”
“Indeed, I have been so entertained by Miss Lydia’s recountings.” Lydia looked exceedingly put out at having her elder sister steal away the officer’s attention, but Elizabeth was not as concerned with that for the moment. “So many sisters,” Mr. Wickham said with a smile. “I regret that I never had any sisters of my own.”
“You may borrow some of mine,” Elizabeth laughed ruefully. Behind her, Mrs. Collins cleared his throat and Elizabeth was reminded of his presence in an uncomfortable jolt. “Mr. Wickham, Mr. Denny, this is my cousin, Mr. Collins. He is visiting from Kent.”
Mr. Collins opened his mouth to say something but Mr. Wickham’s pale eyes were drawn over Elizabeth’s shoulder and she followed his gaze curiously.
“Oh, Jane, look, it is Mr. Bingley and Mr. Darcy!” Kitty exclaimed.
“Mr. Bingley has only just arrived in town,” Lydia said. “We should ask him to have a ball, do you not agree, Kitty?”
“Lydia, be quiet,” Jane hushed her sister, but Lydia would not be silenced.
As all eyes turned to the approaching men on horseback, Mr. Wickham’s gaze found Elizabeth’s. “I fear I must take my leave,” Mr. Wickham said quietly.
“Is something wrong?” Elizabeth asked. She sensed that there was something wrong, but could not quite place the expression in his eyes.
“That gentleman there—”
“Mr. Darcy?”
“Do you know him?”
“Not well,” Elizabeth replied. “He has only just arrived in Meryton with Mr. Bingley.”
Mr. Wickham nodded. “I know the gentlemen very well,” he said with a sigh. “And I must confess we did not part on the best of terms. Nothing good can come of my meeting him here today. You will forgive me?”
“Of course,” Elizabeth murmured. Mr. Wickham bowed his thanks and strode away from their group as Mr. Bingley and Mr. Darcy reined in their horses and greeted them warmly.
“Mr. Bingley!” Lydia exclaimed, “I was just saying to Mr. Denny that it would be very grand of you to host a proper ball at Netherfield Park.”
Jane’s mouth dropped open in surprise at Lydia’s daring words, but the youngest Bennet sister grinned up at Mr. Bingley unashamedly and the only response the gentleman could muster was a laugh of delighted surprise. “Why, Miss Lydia, I was just speaking to my sister this morning about my wish to host a proper ball at Netherfield Park!”
“Truly?” Lydia cried happily.
“Truly,” Mr. Bingley agreed with a genuine smile. “I do hope that you shall all attend.”
“Mr. Bingley, this is my cousin, Mr. Collins,” Jane said as the clergyman pushed his way through the crowd to present himself to the gentlemen still mounted upon their horses.
“Mr. Collins, you are most welcome to Meryton, I do hope you will attend the festivities as well.”
“It would be my pleasure,” Mr. Collins replied grandly as he peered up at Mr. Bingley and Mr. Darcy. His eyes lingered upon Mr. Darcy for quite some time, uncomfortably so, and Elizabeth found herself wanting to fill the space, but Lydia jumped in instead.
“When can we expect our invitation?” she asked boldly.
Mr. Bingley smiled broadly and reached into the inner pocket of his finely tailored jacket and produced a cream-colored envelope sealed with dark red wax. “We were just on our way to call upon Longbourn to deliver it in person.” Jane blushed a deep scarlet as he leaned down to give her the invitation, but Lydia snatched it out of her sister’s hand and tore open the envelope.
She and Kitty exclaimed over the calligraphy and the fine grade of the paper, and Elizabeth shook her head in embarrassment. “Mr. Bingley, I am sure that you can expect the full contingent of Bennets to attend your ball.”
“Most heartily!” Lydia cried.
“And will you invite the officers?” Kitty asked suddenly.
“If you do not, there will be no one to dance with!” Lydia laughed.
“You are quite correct, Miss Lydia,” Mr. Bingley laughed. “In fact, Mr. Darcy and I have just come from Colonel Forster’s office, and you will be very pleased to know that all of the garrison’s finest officers will be invited.”
Lydia squealed with delight and Kitty clutched at her sister’s arm with a giddy smile upon her face.
“That is more generous of you,” Jane said.
Mr. Bingley touched his fingers lightly to the brim of his hat, and smiled down at her. Elizabeth could see the affection in both of their faces, and was thankful that, for once, their mother had been correct in her usually far-flung assertions. Perhaps they would see an engagement before Christmas.
Mr. Darcy had said nothing, and Elizabeth regarded
him with critical eyes as he sat uncomfortably on his horse while his friend spoke to Jane. He seemed entirely out of his element, and Elizabeth wondered kind of society would have to be present to make Mr. Darcy feel at ease. Surely he was too proud and from too privileged an upbringing to properly appreciate what Hertfordshire had to offer.
But what was more curious to her was how Mr. George Wickham knew the gentleman, and knew him ‘very well.’ What kind of situation could have brought two very different men together. Mr. Wickham seemed entirely too charming and genial to ever have run in the same circles as Mr. Darcy… she resolved to discover Mr. Wickham’s secret, and perhaps learn more about Mr. Darcy in the process. She was already predisposed to dislike him, and Mr. Wickham’s words had inspired a need to be reassured that she was not the only one who had felt slighted by the proud-eyed gentleman.
Lost as she was in her own thoughts, Elizabeth did not hear Mr. Bingley make his farewells and was jolted out of her self-imposed trance by Jane tugging her out of the way as Mr. Darcy nudged his horse forward with his spurs and the pair trotted off down the cobbled street to fulfil their next errand.
“Finally!” Lydia crowed as she brandished the invitation. “We shall have a proper ball… but that means I shall have to have a proper gown.” Lydia gasped. “We must go home at once! Mama must ask Papa if we are to have new dresses. I shan’t be seen at Netherfield Park in one of your old dresses!” She tugged on Jane’s arm and pulled her in the direction they had just come.
Jane gave her sister an imploring look, but allowed herself to be dragged by Lydia and Kitty. Mr. Collins looked decidedly lost, and Elizabeth beckoned for him to follow her sisters. With a heavy sigh she brought up the rear of the group. New of the ball would, no doubt, fill the house for the entirety of the week leading up to it, but at least it would be a distraction from Mr. Collins.
