by Jann Rowland
“That is because we are quite different, Elizabeth. If I am being honest, no, my feelings do not go beyond the duty of a wife to her husband. What you do not take into account is the difference between us; I have never been a romantic like the rest of my sisters. When presented with Mr. Collins’s proposal, I knew there would be difficulties to endure as his wife, but my primary concern was for my family and our protection should our father pass. I will also not scruple to assert the notion of managing Longbourn was appealing, for it was apparent to me then that Mr. Collins would never be anything more than a figurehead.”
“Then you are content?”
Though she was uncertain why it was so important to her to know, it was. Mary did not hesitate to give her assurances.
“There are many benefits to my situation, many of which outweigh the evils inherent in it. Do not concern yourself for me, Lizzy, for I shall be well.
“In fact,” continued Mary after a pause so brief Elizabeth almost did not recognize it, “there is another reason for cheer. I have not even told Mr. Collins this yet, but I suspect that I am with child.”
“That is wonderful, Mary,” said Elizabeth, embracing her sister, wondering if this was what struck her as different about her sister when she arrived from the north.
“Thank you, but please keep it from the family for the present.”
“Then you shall have a little one to occupy your time.”
“And I anticipate it very much,” replied Mary. “As you know, the entail ended when Mr. Collins inherited, so I shall not concern myself if I have only girls, as our mother did.” Mary grinned: “Mr. Collins, however, will likely lament if we do not have five boys.”
Elizabeth laughed at her sister’s faithful portrayal of her husband. “Yes, I can imagine he would at that. Please accept my congratulations, Mary, and my wish that we shall not grow apart, though the miles will separate us.”
With eyes misty, Mary embraced Elizabeth once more and went away. Watching her leave, Elizabeth reflected that she had never felt closer to her sister than she did at that moment, which was incongruous, given the events of the previous day. The feeling was welcome, nonetheless, and in the back of her mind, she plotted how she might contrive to be in Mary’s company without the odious presence of Mr. Collins to cast a shadow over them.
Chapter XXXII
Before the Collinses appeared that evening, another party arrived, including one perhaps as little welcome to Darcy as the husband of his future wife’s sister. Of more curiosity was that the Hursts accompanied Miss Bingley, given that Mrs. Hurst was now six months along in her pregnancy.
When the carriage arrived, the travelers descended, Bingley and his wife welcoming them, and they went straight to their rooms to change from the dust of the road. Darcy, having heard some of Hurst’s accounts of Miss Bingley’s recent months though his friend, owned to a hint of curiosity about how she might behave herself. Whatever he had expected, it was not a largely silent creature who regarded the company with a hint of apprehension, though he noted an enquiring look at Mrs. Bennet, seeming to wonder why she was there. Bingley disseminated the news that the Collinses were to come for dinner that night, and other than a grimace of distaste—for which Darcy could not blame them—they made no other comment.
“I have heard I am to congratulate you on your recent betrothal,” said Miss Bingley after a few moments in company. Though she offered her words with little pleasure, still they were civil, lacking most of the woman’s usual derision. “Please accept my felicitations, Mr. Darcy, Miss Bennet, and my hope for your future happiness.”
“Thank you, Miss Bingley,” said Elizabeth. “I have heard that you have also been the recipient of a gentleman’s calls.”
“I have,” said Miss Bingley, her glance at Hurst showing her apprehension. Hurst must have been firm with her to have provoked such a change. “Though I do not know if anything shall come of it, I am hopeful.”
“Caroline wished to spend time with Charles,” added Mrs. Hurst, “and as I am to be entering my confinement before long, we thought a brief stay with them would be beneficial for her.”
“That is understandable,” said Elizabeth. Then she grinned and added: “My sister’s husband would suggest that increasing your suitor’s love by suspense can only help your quest to secure him.”
The company laughed at her jest, though Miss Bingley’s response was sickly at best. Darcy could not determine whether she was receptive to this man because she wished for it, or because of some apprehension of what would become of her if she was not. Hurst was not a man without a heart, though she had provoked him enough in London that he may have made some uncomfortable truths known to her, together with several demands. Whether Darcy had the right of it, he was uncertain, for Hurst gave nothing away.
“Then do you mean to stay with us long?” asked Jane.
“Only for a few days,” said Mrs. Hurst. “The time is swiftly coming when I must enter confinement, and I would not impose upon you.”
“It is no trouble if you would like to stay with us,” said Jane.
“Thank you for your offer, Mrs. Bingley,” rumbled Hurst, “but I believe it would be best if we returned to Norfolk, for my mother is anticipating the birth of our child. Perhaps you might visit us after our child arrives?”
“I believe Jane and I should like that,” said Bingley, though his gaze caught Mrs. Bennet and Elizabeth. “It will depend on the timing, for we have a few unexpected matters to consider.”
At the Hursts’ questioning looks, Bingley explained how they would host Elizabeth until her wedding and that Mrs. Bennet was now living with them. Though it was clear they suspected some extraordinary events had preceded that change, no one asked further, and Bingley did not volunteer the information.
“Mrs. Bennet would be welcome to join you,” said Hurst, “but it would be difficult to host both Darcy and his betrothed.”
Darcy shared a glance with his fiancée. “Perhaps we could arrange a visit after the wedding. As we have not yet even decided on the date of the wedding, it is difficult to plan such things.”
“If you are able, we should be glad to have you,” said Hurst, acknowledging the point with an unconcerned air.
It was soon after they gathered with the Hursts and Miss Bingley when the Collinses appeared. The trepidation with which the gentleman regarded them was matched by Mrs. Collins’s unconcern and the welcome she received from her family, which did not include her husband. The recent arrivals provided a complication to the matter at hand, for while Darcy did not esteem Mr. Collins, he also did not think it was right to force him to apologize before those who were uninvolved.
Mrs. Bingley proved her worth by inviting her husband and extended family to the music room, suggesting her sisters play for them while they waited for dinner. While several curious looks resulted from this invitation, no one demurred, and the combined Hurst and Bingley family, along with Georgiana, left the room, leaving Darcy with Elizabeth, her sister, her odious cousin, and her mother. When they were left alone, Elizabeth invited the Collinses to sit, and then fell silent, waiting for Mr. Collins to speak.
“My dear cousin,” said Mr. Collins, his usual ostentatious way of speaking absent in the face of his nervousness, “my dear wife has brought certain . . . facts which I did not consider to my attention, rendering my words to you yesterday inappropriate. I have come today to beg your forgiveness for my words in the hope that we may put this family strife to rest.”
Elizabeth listened to him and did not reply at once, perhaps suspecting more from him than his succinct statement. For Darcy’s part, it surprised him that Mr. Collins’s words were not at once more flowery and designed to forgive her despite her unfortunate determination to act against his wishes. When Mr. Collins dabbed at his forehead with a handkerchief, the act spoke to his agitation.
“Thank you, Mr. Collins,” said Elizabeth. “But I have a question for you. Do you apologize because Mary opened your eyes to some
benefits you would receive from an association with us, or because you misbehaved? And what of your continued insistence that I not only obey your edicts but that you are, in fact, my guardian, when we all know you are not? Do you confess your poor behavior there as well?”
Mr. Collins’s jaw dropped, and he stared at Elizabeth with open astonishment. Then his eyes shot to his wife, as if in surprise; Darcy wondered if the woman had informed him such a tepid apology would not be sufficient. If so, Mrs. Collins was proving herself perceptive, understanding not only her husband but Elizabeth and Darcy as well.
“Well . . .” stammered Mr. Collins. “I have . . . You see . . .” Then the gentleman pulled himself up and glared at Elizabeth, saying: “I have offered an apology, Cousin, and you would be wise to accept. I am not in the habit of explaining myself to petulant girls.”
“I think Elizabeth has proven herself to be anything but petulant and childish, Husband,” said Mrs. Collins.
Acknowledging her words with a scowl, Mr. Collins did not attempt a more conciliatory tack. Instead, he glared at Elizabeth, as if daring her to refuse his apology. Though Darcy thought to intervene, he waited, interested to see how Elizabeth would handle him.
“If you believe that,” said Elizabeth coolly, “then you know nothing of me, Mr. Collins. In that case, your apology is worth nothing but the breath you have used to make it, and I cannot see why I would bother with you any further.”
Again astonished, Mr. Collins looked to Elizabeth, perhaps not understanding or not believing she would dare to speak to him in such a way. Darcy was proud of her; she had, in a few succinct words, informed her sister’s husband that she was not about to put up with his treatment. Mrs. Bennet sniffed with disdain and Mr. Collins flushed. For the first time, it seemed he understood he was not amongst friends and knew they would not allow him to bully his way to forgiveness.
This knowledge seemed to hit Mr. Collins with the weight of a blacksmith’s anvil, and he collapsed in upon himself. The way he hung his shoulders suggested defeat, and while Darcy did not like to see another man brought so low, he knew it was necessary in Mr. Collins’s case. Should the man come to an incontrovertible understanding of his culpability, it may lead to an improvement of his manners. He could not grow many degrees worse than he was now, so any improvement would be welcome.
“It . . .” Mr. Collins swallowed thickly and tried again. “It is difficult to contradict Lady Catherine in anything. I have been so . . . accustomed to agreeing with her every word that it is nigh impossible to consider any other viewpoint.”
“That much is clear, Mr. Collins,” said Darcy. “You are not beholden to my aunt any longer. What can her opinion mean to you?”
“As my wife has reminded me,” said Mr. Collins, directing a look at his wife. “It appears I have been wrong to put so much importance on her ladyship’s opinion.”
“And what of these other matters?” asked Elizabeth. “Considering how much you have wanted us all gone from Longbourn, your insistence on treating us—Jane and me, until her wedding—as if you were our guardian was difficult to understand.”
Mr. Collins had the self-consciousness to appear shamefaced. “For that, I was angry that your father did not leave your guardianship to me, for I am the only male of his family remaining.”
“But Mr. Gardiner is a man of much longer acquaintance with us. Can you not understand he is better positioned to understand our needs and desires?”
Once again Mr. Collins scowled at the mention of Mr. Gardiner’s name, but Elizabeth would not allow him to speak on the matter. “This disdain you have for Mr. Gardiner is beyond the pale, Mr. Collins. Not only is he educated and intelligent, but his income is double yours, regardless of his profession.”
“Why should I remain burdened with your maintenance while Mr. Gardiner had the privilege of your guardianship?”
Petulant though his words were, Darcy supposed the man had a point, though it was not Christian to complain about such things. It was his wife who responded.
“If you recall, Mr. Collins, it was I who insisted on my sisters and mother remaining at Longbourn. Should you make Elizabeth miserable for something that I did?”
“And that cannot be the only reason for your contempt for Mr. Gardiner,” said Elizabeth. “If you dislike him and feel he is beneath you, that is your prerogative, though I will note it is not the behavior expected of a man who is still an ordained minister.” Mr. Collins winced at Elizabeth’s plainspoken reprimand. “Regardless, I do not believe open disdain is necessary—I do not think a little politeness is too much to ask, regardless of your feelings for my uncle.”
“Yes, I suppose you must be correct,” acknowledged Mr. Collins. “As are you, Mrs. Collins. It appears I did not consider matters as a should have, and for this, I cannot but apologize. My failings, it seems, are heavy, indeed.”
“No one here wishes to see you publicly shamed, Mr. Collins,” said Darcy, though the way Mrs. Bennet sniffed yet again suggested she, at least, would have not protested if Mr. Collins was brought low before the entire neighborhood. “All we ask is that you moderate your behavior and not take upon yourself that to which you have no right.”
Mr. Collins gave a slow nod. “Yes, I can see that, Mr. Darcy.” The gentleman paused and then said in a halting tone: “I have heard it said that your uncle, the earl, approves of your betrothal to my cousin. Is this true?”
“Would it matter if it was not?”
A spasm crossed Mr. Collins’s countenance, but he gathered himself at once. “No, it would not. However, it occurs to me that when Lady Catherine comes to call on us that will help deflect her, though I do not suppose it will induce her to leave the matter alone entirely.”
“No, I do not suppose itz shall,” replied Darcy, now feeling a little amusement, and not at this sorry man’s expense. “Regardless of how poorly my aunt behaves, I would ask you to remember that she can do nothing against you. She will rail and screech, and she may even promise to bring suit against you, me, her brother, and whoever else enters her mind. Frivolous lawsuits, however, are a serious matter; Lady Catherine understands this, though she will only recall it after the first heat of her anger has passed.”
Mr. Collins nodded, but he did not speak. After a moment of regarding the gentleman, seeing an unexpected level of actual contrition hovering about him, Darcy was induced to speak again.
“The decision of whether to accept your assurances lies with Elizabeth, Mr. Collins. I will only say in the future, if you have opinions about such matters, you practice circumspection, and that you refrain from interfering again.”
“Yes, Mr. Darcy, I understand. That would be for the best.”
Mr. Collins then turned his attention to Elizabeth, and he said: “Let me allow to once again state my regrets for my behavior. It was unconscionable, and I apologize without reservation.
“And to you, Mrs. Bennet, I offer the same. Though I suggested you did not raise your daughter properly, I realize now that I have misjudged the matter.”
Mr. Collins fell silent in expectation of their response, having delivered the most sensible speech Darcy had heard from him in all the time they had been acquainted. Mrs. Bennet, it seemed, was still incensed by the gentleman, and only gave him a tight nod. Elizabeth, however, was more capable of forgiveness than was her mother.
“Then let us forget about this matter, Mr. Collins. I offer my forgiveness and ask that we speak of it no more.”
“Thank you,” replied a humble Mr. Collins.
Soon they stood to rejoin the rest of the company. Mrs. Bennet left the room, her head held high and haughty, while Mr. Collins stood and moved to the door, though he waited there, not knowing what he should do. Darcy’s attention remained on the sisters who tarried behind, for they shared a low conversation while the gentlemen waited.
“It seems there is little chance of inducing Mama to return to Longbourn,” said Mrs. Collins. “I had thought to offer to have her return to us.�
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“Perhaps it is best to allow her temper to cool,” replied Elizabeth. “Mama does not forgive with alacrity. If you allow her some time, she may return.”
Mrs. Collins nodded. “Yes, that is likely for the best. If she does not wish it, I will not belabor the issue.”
“It is best to allow her to choose the situation in which she will be happiest.”
With a nod exchanged between them, the ladies turned to Darcy, who took it as a sign they were ready to join the rest of the party. Mrs. Collins went to her husband, who offered his arm, while Darcy did the same for his betrothed. As they departed, Darcy considered Mrs. Bennet, knowing that they may host her at some time or another. Of her company, he was certain, a little would go a long way, but he could not refuse to allow his beloved wife’s mother to live with them. Perhaps they might persuade her to live in the dower house. That would be a much more comfortable situation for them all.
The situation with the family had begun to right itself when a problem of another kind made itself known. This was not unexpected, Elizabeth knew—William had suggested the previous evening after dinner that he had half expected his aunt to appear during the soup course and berate them all for partaking in defiance of her coming. That she did not was welcome, but not proof she would not appear.
That other time proved to be a little after luncheon the following day. The first sign any of them had of anything amiss was the sound of a loud voice echoing through the halls of Netherfield, followed by approaching footsteps, the voice growing louder. Then the door burst open, and a woman entered the room.
Elizabeth’s first sight of Lady Catherine de Bourgh was not one to inspire confidence. The lady was several inches taller than Elizabeth herself, but she carried as much weight, making her spindly and thin like a scarecrow in appearance. Her face was likewise narrow, her jaw coming to a point, her hair dull brown mixed with steel gray, her lips thin and curled into a sneer. She was dressed in a heavy gown with a pelisse over top which seemed too warm for the late summer day. Whatever else this woman was, there was no denying the power of her voice, for if they had not heard it as it approached, her first words rolled through the room like thunder mixed with the turning of a carriage wheel on a gravel road.