by Meg Osborne
“Will you take tea, Mr Darcy?” Mrs Bennet asked, shooting him a cautious look. “And Mr Collins, I have no doubt that you will wish to join us.” Her address to Mr Collins was altogether less enthusiastic, as if she had already made her mind not to like the man, and would not be pressed into wasting her good manners on him. His response, however, changed everything.
“Oh, Mrs Bennet, you are too good, too kind a host to me! I know that we are family, and I hope that soon that will be true in more than one manner of speaking.” A snivelling laugh, a sly glance towards the window. “I think your tea the best in all Hertfordshire. Although it cannot, of course, compare with that served at Rosings.”
“Oh?” Mrs Bennet was touched by this apparent compliment.
“Rosings, you know, the home of my dear patroness, Lady Catherine de Bourgh.”
Darcy sank lower in his seat, but there was no hiding, and in an instant Mr Collins had brought him into the conversation quite against his own will or wish.
“Do you know that Mr Darcy is also well acquainted with my elegant patroness, Mrs Bennet?” He dropped his voice to a stage whisper that had the effect of making his words easier, not harder, to discern, despite the raucous conversation from Mr Bingley’s corner of the room. “He is her nephew!”
“Oh!” Mrs Bennet breathed and turned a brighter, still more welcoming smile towards him. “Oh, Mr Darcy! How wonderful. Then you are almost family too.”
This was such a surprise that Darcy could not readily control his facial expressions, and something of his horror must have been evident in the moment it took him to wrangle himself under control once more. There was another giggle from one of the younger Bennets, and Darcy felt rather than saw Elizabeth herself turn around and regard him with wry amusement.
“Careful, Mama,” she said, smoothly. “Poor Mr Darcy would never make such a connection between us. After all, he is a gentleman.”
“And what are we if not ladies?” Mrs Bennet blustered, her eyes narrowing at Mr Darcy in perception of some slight from his own lips against her and her daughters.
“Oh, you must understand, Mrs Bennet,” Mr Collins interposed, attempting to remedy the solution and unfortunately making it worse by his intervention. “Mr Darcy, and my dear patroness Lady Catherine, are of social strata far above our own. They do us the honour of associating with us, but we could not possibly consider themselves our equals.”
Darcy was poised to contradict him, ashamed at how this assessment reflected on him, making him seem haughty and proud, judging people on the social currency rather than the merit of their characters. That is not true! he wanted to counter Mr Collins’s words, but he himself was speechless. Had he not said as much himself on occasion? Did not he judge Jane Bennet as not “worthy” of his own friend, and judge argue that her sister acted in a manner unbecoming a woman of class? Instead, he hung his head, certain that whatever efforts he might make to address Mr Collins's comment would merely muddy the waters further. The silence was incriminating in and of itself, however, and Darcy felt Mrs Bennet's welcome freeze to ice with one whispered “Well!” and she turned bodily away from him, directing all her attention with much energy and enthusiasm towards Mr Bingley.
Chapter Seven
“I did not realise you were well acquainted with Mr Darcy, my dear cousin Elizabeth!” It was a day later, and Elizabeth and her cousin were taking a walk in the garden.
Elizabeth smiled, self-deprecatingly, before replying.
“I would not call us well-acquainted, Mr Collins.” Her smile fell. “We have met but once before. Our connection lies rather in our shared friendship with Mr Bingley.” Who is entirely the more amiable of the two. This last was not voiced, but it gave Elizabeth some satisfaction to think it.
Mr Collins sighed, and the pair turned towards the house.
“Shall we return to the parlour, Mr Collins?” Elizabeth asked. She had ventured outside with her cousin only at his insistence and had been attempting to return to the safety of the house for the past quarter-hour, with little success.
“Perhaps one more turn around the kitchen-garden, Miss Elizabeth. I would very much like to see your selection of herbs.”
“My selection?” Elizabeth laughed. “Sir, you give me rather too much credit in thinking me a gardener. I assure you, my thumb is entirely black.”
“Indeed,” Mr Collins’s smile froze. “Music, then. I noticed a handsome pianoforte within, and imagine -”
“Clearly it is imagination only with no basis in fact!” Elizabeth said. “Alas, I am no musician either. My sister, Mary, is the most musical of all of us.” And I ever so much wish you would prefer to speak to her about it!
“I see.” Mr Collins features had now fallen still further into a frown. He paused, and Elizabeth waited uncomfortably for him to continue, sure she could take a sensible guess at his next question.
“Needlework!” he squeaked, cleared his throat, and repeated the question with rather less desperation. “You must be quite an accomplished needlewoman, Miss Elizabeth. I wished to remark on the beautiful, erm, cushion covers that were dotted about the house.” He smiled, ingratiatingly. “Your handiwork, I presume?”
“Jane’s.” Elizabeth dismissed him with a vaguely apologetic smile. “Mr Collins, let me put you out of your misery. If there is any ladylike accomplishment you assume me talented at, let me assure you that it is unlikely I possess it. I am not musical, although I love to listen to music when it is played well. I have already confessed my lack of talent with virtually every living thing - I would include horses in that assessment.” She grimaced, recalling the day some years before that the dreadful Pippin had shied from a fence and dropped her most unceremoniously from his back. It had been her first and last attempt at horse-riding. “Needlework is dreadfully dull, and whilst I am capable of sewing a straight line when I must, I would not call myself an accomplished seamstress. No,” she said, cheerfully. “I am afraid I possess little affection for so-called feminine arts but leave me to walk or read and I shall be very nearly completely happy. Shall we return?”
She had managed but two steps closer to the house when Mr Collins’s voice interrupted her progress once more.
“You talk of reading, Miss Bennet. I presume you mean the scriptures, or perhaps some worthy prose like Fordyce’s sermons?”
Elizabeth’s groan had reached her lips before she could stifle it, and she struggled to restrain the laugh it evolved into when she saw Mr Collins frown as if her reaction were a personal affront.
“I have read Fordyce,” she conceded. “Once. And even that was once too many. No, Mr Collins, I much prefer something a little more interesting. Novels, even!” She grinned, to see the sickly pale shade his features turned. “Are you horrified?”
“N-no,” Mr Collins said. “I am sure you are sensible in your tastes and read only those stories that have a good Christian moral to them.”
“Indeed,” Lizzy said, with a sigh. “Well, sir, I see we are almost back to the house. Perhaps you will excuse me, I am rather tired.”
It was not an outright lie. She was tired - tired of making polite conversation, tired of tolerating the obsequious man in her own house, and at her elbow every moment of the day. He had been at Longbourn forty-eight hours, and forty-seven of them, it seemed to Elizabeth, had been spent in vain attempts to engage her in conversation, or - worse! - to flatter her on whatever she might have to hand at any particular moment. He had complimented her penmanship, the grace with which she held a cup of tea, even the way she managed a knife and fork! It was embarrassing, more so because she thought she might know where these tiny interactions were leading.
“Miss Elizabeth!” Collins’ voice arrested her hand on the handle of the door, and she sighed, rueing that she had been so close to escaping before he called her back. When she turned around, her heart sank further, as his posture was one of a man gearing up to do something he was rather nervous about, and she felt certain she could read the words even
before they reached his lips.
“Miss Elizabeth -” he hesitated, then rephrased his address. “Cousin Elizabeth. I have been seeking to speak to you in person this past two days.” He laughed, but the sound was humourless. “Really, has it been but two days?”
“Mr Collins -” Elizabeth interrupted, hoping to forestall the dread conversation or avoid it altogether.
“No, I must speak! I realise I have been but two days in your presence, Miss Elizabeth, but I assure you, you have been forever in mine - in my thoughts, that is, and in my imagination. You see, I wish - or rather, I have been instructed to take a wife and as such offer the fine example of matrimony to my parishioners. You - that is, your family - came to my mind almost immediately, for it seemed to me an eminently Christian thing to do, to offer marriage to one of my dear cousin’s five daughters, and thus take on the concern for her prosperity and wellbeing from those rather less financially secure than I...”
Elizabeth bit her lip so hard to keep from screaming that she was certain it would bleed. Arrogant, ignorant man! To assume that she would be so very honoured at being even considered wife material that she would immediately accept such a bungled proposal - and to imagine that he was in any way superior to the Bennets simply because he had a living and by accident of birth would one day inherit Longbourn! Taking a breath, Elizabeth counted to three before releasing it, certain that sooner or later he would pause for breath and allow her chance to answer.
“I know it is not usual to consider marriage for a younger sister rather than an older, but I was somewhat under the impression that your sister Jane is already close to forming an attachment with another.” He chuckled. “I am not eager to insert myself in the way of true love. To you, then, Miss Elizabeth, I have turned my intention to marry. The matter will, I am sure, be readily accepted and settled by your parents. We might tell them this afternoon, unless you wish to keep our happy news a secret for a few hours, I know how silly and romantic young women are wont to be...”
“Mr Collins!” Elizabeth exploded, no longer caring to guard her tongue. “I have not yet said yes to marrying you - and in fact, I rather fancy you have not yet asked me!”
Mr Collins reeled back, shocked by her volume and anger.
“I felt sure the question was implicit...” he mumbled.
“Well, next time, you might wish to make it explicit, and also be patient enough to wait for an answer.”
He opened his mouth to say more, but Elizabeth held up her hand.
“Wait, please, you must not think to ask me now.” She drew in another calming breath and gave him as direct an answer as she could manage. “I understand such an offer is a noble one, but I am afraid I must refuse. I cannot marry you. Excuse me.”
Pulling the door open, she hurried inside, leaving Mr Collins standing alone, gazing after her forlornly.
***
“Refused? What do you mean refused?!”
“Mr Collins asked me to marry him,” Elizabeth said, collapsing on the sofa, and reaching for one of Jane’s famous embroidered cushions. “Or rather, he did not ask me, but informed me that this is what would happen.” She rolled her eyes skywards. “And I informed him that it would most certainly not happen, because I refuse to marry him, or anyone!” That last was added purely to provoke her mother, because Elizabeth was canny enough to guess that Mrs Bennet must have played some part in encouraging Mr Collins in the folly of that proposal. She might privately declare their cousin a “vile man” but if he was willing to marry one of her daughters, thus securing not only Elizabeth's future but the whole family's chance of staying at Longbourn, Mrs Bennet was certainly mercenary enough to encourage the match.
“Oh, Elizabeth!” Jane cried, her voice shaking a little with the effort to keep from laughing. She took a seat next to her sister, and reached for her hand, giving it a companionable squeeze.
“Do not look too sorry for me, Jane,” Lizzy said, cheerfully tossing the cushion into her sister’s lap. “Your needlepoint caught his eye, so I’ve no doubt you shall be next in his sights.”
“No,” Mrs Bennet replied, automatically. “Because of Mr Bingley - oh!” She clapped a hand over her mouth, but too late, for the proof was out that she not only knew of Mr Collins’s intentions but had spoken to him directly, advising him to pursue Elizabeth in Jane’s stead, on account of the existing connection between Jane and Mr Bingley.
“Mother!” Elizabeth groaned, flopping her head onto the cushion on Jane’s knees. Her next words were muffled into the cushion and she turned her face to the side so that she could be heard. “I cannot bear to see him again. It’s too humiliating.”
“Well I don’t see you will be able to avoid him,” Mrs Bennet said, primly. “He is our guest, and Longbourn is not large enough that you may keep to separate wings and never see one another.”
“Then perhaps I should leave Longbourn!” Lizzy said, glumly. She sat up, suddenly, the idea striking her at that moment as a particularly good one.
“And go where?” Mrs Bennet arched an eyebrow.
“London.” Lizzy held a hand up. “No, Mama, listen! I might go to stay with Aunt and Uncle Gardiner, mightn’t I? They will be coming to Hertfordshire for Christmas and can bring me back with them then. And did not Aunt write to us just last week despairing of her children, and how much a trial they were to her at present? I might help her mind them.”
Mrs Bennet looked as if she might refuse, but Elizabeth was insistent.
“Oh, Mama, please! I can’t stay here, it is too embarrassing, for me and for Mr Collins.” Her mind worked quickly. “And think, if he finds the whole situation too awkward, he may be the one to leave. To leave Longbourn and not return, and perhaps not continue to seek acquaintance with our family.” She shook her head, sorrowfully. “I should hate to think that our misunderstanding might damage the family connection...”
Mrs Bennet pursed her lips together, sure she was being manipulated but unwilling, or unable, to reason her way out of it.
“You cannot go right away, in any case,” she conceded at length. “So you must be on your best behaviour at dinner this evening, and allow Mr Collins all the space he needs.” She sighed in frustration. “Honestly, Lizzy, could you not like him even a little bit? It would have solved everything so neatly!” She stood and bustled towards the door, planning to send word to her brother in London that very evening to see whether he might be willing to take Lizzy for a visit, and determined to mention nothing of Mr Collins or marriage.
The door closed behind her and Elizabeth turned to Jane with a slow smile of satisfaction.
“I dare say that was rather a lot of trouble to go to just to secure a visit to London,” Jane said, with the hint of a smile playing about her lips.
“Oh, don’t!” Lizzy groaned. “You mustn’t tease me, Jane, for I am sure once Lydia gets word of what happened she will be utterly insufferable.”
“Was it really so embarrassing?”
Elizabeth laughed, and relayed Mr Collins’s fumbling proposal, mimicking his compliments, and subsequent disappointments as Lizzy crushed each one with the reality of her habits and hobbies.
“Poor Mr Collins.”
“Poor Mr Collins?” Lizzy shook her head. “What about me? What did I do to deserve such a suitor?”
“You are too irresistible for your own good!” Jane said, with a decided nod. “What a pity Mr Darcy might not be persuaded to ask for you instead.”
“Mr Darcy?” Elizabeth shook her head, emphatically. “Now I know you are teasing me, Jane, and it is most unkind of you.”
“Come, Lizzy! Do not you think him handsome?”
“Handsome, yes.” Elizabeth conceded. “And proud, rude, and utterly certain of his own superiority.” She ticked off Mr Darcy’s worst attributes on her fingers one at a time. “And he is convinced that I have some terribly scandalous past life that he absolutely refuses to acknowledge is an error.”
She explained the last conversation she had had w
ith Mr Darcy, and Jane’s features knit into an elegant frown.
“How strange!” she said. “Well, if you are to be in London for a little while, perhaps you can get to the bottom of what has caused such a misapprehension.” Her frown deepened.
“I do not like to think of people thinking ill of you, Lizzy, especially not people we do not know.”
“I cannot imagine they think of me at all!” Elizabeth said, with a sigh. “It was surely Mr Darcy making some fatuous point that I am too stupid to understand, or too ill-bred to care about. But you are right, it will be good to get to the bottom of it. I wonder if I go about introducing myself as “the scandalous Elizabeth Bennet” I shall discover it all the quicker?”