Chaos Comes To Kent

by Jann Rowland

  “What do you suppose that is?” asked she.

  “I believe that we are about to be treated to more of Mr. Collins’s absurdity.”

  With a sigh of exasperation, Mary turned to him and said: “Why do you find amusement in this, Papa? I know Elizabeth is very frustrated with Mr. Collins.”

  “Because, my dear Mary,” said Mr. Bennet, affecting a pompous tone, “one must take amusement whenever he can. So much of life is serious that the chances to laugh are scarce.”

  “Perhaps we should repair to the sitting-room, so that we may be of use to Lizzy.”

  “An excellent suggestion, my dear,” said Bennet, grinning at her.

  Mary only rolled her eyes. “I wish to be of use to Lizzy, Papa. I have no desire to simply laugh at her frustration.”

  “I would not dream of doing that, Mary. I promise you that I will do my utmost to protect Lizzy from Mr. Collins, but I rather think that Mr. Darcy has the matter well in hand.”

  The only further response he received from his daughter was a grunt before she stood and watched him with imperious impatience. Bennet rose with alacrity and offered her his arm. He was almost certain they would arrive in the sitting-room first, though given the pace of Mr. Darcy’s stride, it might be close.

  The noise, as soon as the party burst into the sitting-room, was almost deafening, and Mrs. Bennet wished they would all be silent, for they were giving her a headache. For a long moment she could hardly understand what they were saying.

  Mr. Bennet and Mary had arrived a few scant moments before Mr. Darcy’s party and quickly took their seats, Mary with her customary disapproval displayed for all to see, while Mr. Bennet showed his usual diversion.

  Then came the warring parties. Mr. Collins, whom Mrs. Bennet was rapidly coming to think of as “that odious man” again, she could hear from well down the hall, but the others could also be heard, especially Mr. Darcy, who snapped several rebukes at the man, as did Colonel Fitzwilliam. Elizabeth was glaring at Mr. Collins as if he were an insect, and even Jane—Jane!—was looking at him with disapproval. Though she would prefer to have retired to her rooms to rest her nerves, Mrs. Bennet forced herself to listen to them and understand what they were saying.

  “I do not wish to hear it again,” said Mr. Darcy, almost growling at Mr. Collins in his anger. Mr. Darcy guided Elizabeth to a chair and saw her seated before turning to confront Mr. Collins, and Mrs. Bennet was surprised to notice that he seemed very solicitous of her comfort. Strange that she had not noticed it before.

  “Stop, man, before I am forced to act against you!”

  “My position as rector of this parish will not allow me to step aside, sir. You must be brought to see sense.”

  “The world is backwards,” said Colonel Fitzwilliam, but though his tone was jovial, his glare was harsh. “A stupid man possessing not a hint of sense wishes to teach it to one of the most intelligent men I know.”

  Mr. Collins glared at Colonel Fitzwilliam, but he sniffed and turned to Mr. Darcy. “I cannot allow this travesty to take place! I will not allow it.”

  “Allow it!” Mr. Darcy looked as angry as Mrs. Bennet had ever seen him. “How dare you presume to allow anything? You are a fool, Collins! I have half a mind to call you out!”

  “Half a mind is more than this worm possesses,” said Colonel Fitzwilliam.

  “You may insult me as you will, but it will change nothing for me. I will do what is right, regardless of your rudeness toward me, or of your threats of calling me out. I am a servant of Lady Catherine, and she takes precedence in this matter.”

  “You are a servant of God, man! Even if my aunt did wish you to pursue this matter so stringently, though she quiet obviously does not, it is your duty to the church and your flock which take precedence.”

  “And my actions will not offend either. But it will assist my patroness. All I wish for is to be of use to her.”

  “You are not being of use to her by insisting on pursuing this!”

  “I will. Miss Elizabeth is leading you astray. Can you not see this?”

  “Lizzy!” exclaimed Mrs. Bennet, latching onto the name of her daughter. “Lizzy, what is the meaning of this?”

  “Mr. Collins is objecting to Mr. Darcy’s attentions to me,” said Elizabeth. It was the first time the girl had spoken since they had entered the room, strange, as it was usually more difficult to keep her silent.

  “Madam,” said Mr. Collins, turning his affronted glare on Mrs. Bennet. “I caught your Jezebel daughter seducing Mr. Darcy in the woods. She was in his arms, kissing him most ardently.”

  Later, Mrs. Bennet would wonder exactly what happened to her in that moment. It seemed like the world had ground to a halt. In Mrs. Bennet’s mind, all she could think of was the unlikely thought of Lizzy caught up in Mr. Darcy’s arms. How could such a thing have happened?

  They were all ruined.

  Ruined!

  “Kitty! Bring me my salts! Your sister has ruined us!

  Pandemonium erupted in the room. Kitty caught up the bottle of smelling salts, which Elizabeth noted that her mother had not actually used in some time, and rushed to her side. Lydia watched the scene, laughing at the absurdity, and Elizabeth thought to herself she would dearly love to join her sister in laughter.

  And speaking of laughing, her father also was making no attempt to disguise his own mirth, though by his side, Mary looked on with disapproval and more than a little disgust. Even Jane was angry at Mr. Collins. And anger did not even begin to describe the frightening fury with which Mr. Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam regarded the parson.

  “A passionate clinch, is it?” asked Mr. Bennet into the din.

  Mr. Collins, seeming to realize for the first time that Mr. Bennet was in the room, turned expectant eyes on the man and sneered at Elizabeth, expecting him to reprimand her.

  “It was nothing so dramatic, Papa,” said Elizabeth, though inside she winced at the lie. It most certain had been intense.

  “Oh?” asked Mr. Bennet. Though Mr. Collins’s grin grew wider, Elizabeth, who knew her father better than anyone else, knew he was only toying with the parson, though he likely was not exactly pleased that they had been kissing.

  “You have my apologies, Mr. Bennet,” said Mr. Darcy, his manner abrupt rather than contrite. “I will come to speak to you, so we can resolve the matter.”

  “That is likely for the best,” said Mr. Bennet, still affecting his sternness. Mr. Collins, as a result, appeared a little less sure of himself.

  “But in the interim, allow me to congratulate you most sincerely, sir.” Mr. Bennet grinned, which turned to smugness when he looked at Mr. Collins. “I have known for some time that you and Lizzy would suit, but I wondered if you yourself would finally come to the point.”

  “Mr. Bennet,” gasped Mr. Collins. “Your daughter was caught in a most compromising position with one of the most illustrious personages in all the land. Will you not censure her for it?”

  “Are you suggesting the episode was at Elizabeth’s instigation and that Mr. Darcy was not complicit in it? You will forgive my skepticism, sir, but I have learned throughout the course of my life, that one cannot kiss oneself.” Colonel Fitzwilliam snickered and even Jane smiled. “You will forgive me for saying so, but it seems unlikely in the extreme that a young woman of impeccable reputation and character—not to mention a dainty size—should be able to force Mr. Darcy, a large and capable man, with a spotless reputation of his own, into a kiss. Especially when I know my daughter and understand she would never allow such liberties without a good reason.”

  Mr. Collins was at a loss for words, the first occasion Elizabeth had ever seen him thus afflicted. Would that he was affected so permanently! He was silent for some moments, though his mouth worked, and he appeared to be trying to say something. When he was finally able to speak, his words took everyone in the room by surprise.

  Had Mary not already decided against Mr. Collins, his
next words would have sealed her disgust and disinclination for any continued attentions.

  “Then you must marry me, Cousin Elizabeth.”

  “What?” asked Elizabeth.

  “Yes, you must marry me. That is the only way I may be assured that you will not influence Mr. Darcy or stand in Miss de Bourgh’s way.”

  Elizabeth flayed him with a harsh laugh. “I cannot imagine anything in this world that would induce me to accept a marriage proposal from you, Mr. Collins. It is in every way repulsive.”

  But Mr. Collins seemed like he had not heard her. “Of course. I cannot think of why I did not think of the solution before. I do not wish for you as a wife. Indeed, I find your impertinence deplorable and your lack of respect intolerable. But I may change that in a wife, if it is required. You are comely enough and will bear me the children I require, I have no doubt. Yes, that is the answer.”

  “Mr. Collins,” said Mary, interjecting before Elizabeth could shred the man with her tongue, “were you not courting me? How do you propose to suddenly jilt me for my sister when she cannot even stand the sight of you?”

  The parson regarded Mary with lofty unconcern, and his hand waved in the air ineffectually, as if brushing aside a gnat. “Surely, as a servant of God yourself, Cousin Mary, you must understand that some things take precedence. In this case, though my heart tells me to marry according to my inclination, there is clearly a higher calling which beckons, and that is to prevent your sister from ruining a longstanding arrangement between Miss de Bourgh and Mr. Darcy. You shall be sister to the woman who will be mistress of Longbourn. Surely this is enough for you.”

  “Whether you marry my sister or not, sir,” said Mary, “I will tell you now that you will never marry me. I would not have you were you the last man on earth.”

  “I can see you are still disappointed. I understand it will take some time before you are able to overcome your distress. Do not be alarmed—I am sure you will recover tolerably once you have thought on the matter.”

  “It has nothing to do with thought or lack thereof,” replied Mary. “Your behavior has been abhorrent, and I have come to believe you are no fit mouthpiece of God. This is just the last confirmation I required to know that it would be a mistake to accept you. Thank you for making it so clear.”

  A muffled chortle sounded from beside her led Mary to glare at her father. But his mirth-filled eyes told her that his amusement was reserved for her cousin, and Mary was forced to acknowledge that there was more than a hint of humor in the situation.

  “Good for you, Mary,” said Mr. Bennet, and Mary felt warm all over to be the recipient of his approbation.

  “It is nothing more than your loss,” said Mr. Collins.

  The man turned away from Mary and faced Elizabeth again. Though she did not feel like laughing as her father had done, Elizabeth was relieved that she would never share a closer relationship with this oaf than she did now. Even Mr. Collins as a brother by marriage would be far too close for comfort.

  “Now, Miss Elizabeth,” said the parson again, “we must plan for the announcement of our nuptials. The banns will need to be read in Hunsford and your home parish, of course. I believe the marriage should take place as soon as possible, or you may take advantage of the situation and attempt to compromise Mr. Darcy more thoroughly.”

  “You may make all the plans in the world, Mr. Collins,” replied Elizabeth. “But I have not agreed to marry you, and I never shall. You may go to the altar, but I will not be waiting for you.”

  “Of course, you will,” replied Mr. Collins. His manner was distracted, and he appeared to be pondering his plans to the exclusion of much else in the room. “Of course, you will bring little to the marriage, which is regrettable, though Miss Mary would not have brought any more. And I must plan to curb this impertinence of yours which is so unseemly. But a husband may correct a wife’s behavior, by force, if necessary, so I must only wait until you are my wife in fact to begin to educate you.”

  “All the more reason not to marry you,” said Elizabeth, finally drawing his attention to her. “I would not wish to marry a man who plans to abuse his future wife.”

  “Correction is what you require, and that is what you will receive.”

  “I swear, Mr. Collins,” snarled Mr. Darcy, “if I hear one more word pass through your lips, I will not be responsible for my actions!”

  “And I will hold you down while my cousin beats you senseless,” added Colonel Fitzwilliam.

  “It is for your own good, sir,” said Mr. Collins, though his wide eyes told Elizabeth their threats had finally managed to penetrate his thick skull.

  “I was on the verge of accepting a proposal from Mr. Darcy.” Elizabeth looked at Mr. Collins like he was an insect. “Even if Mr. Darcy did not propose, I would never marry you. You are repugnant, sir—in every way contemptible.”

  “And I was just about to propose,” added Mr. Darcy. “In fact . . .”

  Mr. Darcy turned and walked resolutely toward Elizabeth, and she watched him approached with heightened anticipation. Surely, he could not mean to propose in such a scene in front of everyone!

  “Miss Elizabeth,” said he, “I must be allowed to tell you how ardently I love and admire you. From the first days of our acquaintance I have felt there is something different about you. Your joie de vivre, your intelligence and compassion, your beauty and gentleness are traits I could not resist if I tried. Though some have called you impertinent and abused your manners as improper, I find your playful archness intoxicating, and I beg you to relieve my suffering and consent to become my wife.”

  Mr. Collins gasped and attempted to interject his opinion, but Colonel Fitzwilliam stepped forward and stood menacingly over him, the threat written in his stance. To the other side, Kitty, Lydia, and Mrs. Bennet gasped almost as one, while Mary and her father looked on with interest. Even Jane, dear sister that she was, seemed to be shocked that Mr. Darcy had actually proposed to her in such circumstances.

  All these concerns, however, were extraneous, as Elizabeth looked into the eyes of her beloved. The fire and determination she so loved were burning deep within them, mixed with the depth of love for her which left her breathless and speechless. But then she focused on the half smirk which he directed at her, and the frustrations of the past days welled up within her, and she responded in a way she could not have predicted. She laughed.

  It began as a giggle, which escaped when she could not hold it in, soon turning to a chuckle, and then finally an open laugh. For Mr. Darcy’s part, though he was confronted with the sight of a woman laughing after he had proposed, he was not offended—in fact, nothing could be further from the truth. Soon he was laughing alongside her, and within moments the entire company was following suit.

  Except for the odious and affronted Mr. Collins, of course. The man must have suspected that they were all laughing at him, for his face turned beet red, and he sputtered and stammered in his outrage. Soon, however, he managed to work his way around Colonel Fitzwilliam, and he confronted Elizabeth.

  “Bedlam is too good for you, Cousin. To laugh at the proposal of an illustrious man such as Mr. Darcy is beyond the pale, and this after your professed desire to entrap him. Have you suddenly raised your sights? Has Colonel Fitzwilliam’s brother, the viscount, now become your target? Will your avarice never end?”

  “You would never understand why we laugh, Mr. Collins,” said Elizabeth from between giggles which still escaped her lips. “Your performance here is proof that you would not understand. I can only inform you that I am glad Mary has rejected you, for I believe your brand of stupidity would have served her very ill, indeed.”

  “You will not talk to me in that way! You will accept my proposal, and I shall teach you how to behave, if it is the last thing I do.”

  “Mr. Darcy has proposed and I will accept him.”

  “He cannot propose. Every good thing revolts against such a connection!”

 
; “I can and I have done so,” growled Darcy.

  “You have already proposed to Anne!”

  “I have had enough of this!” said Darcy and he grasped the parson by the lapels. “Fitzwilliam, help me take this trash out where I will thrash him within an inch of his life!”

  “What is the meaning of this?”

  As one, the company turned to the door. There stood Lady Catherine, with Miss de Bourgh standing beside her. The mistress of Rosings had finally come.

  Chapter XV

  It had started as a low buzz in Lady Catherine’s ears, akin to the sound of a bee happily going from flower to flower, or perhaps a housefly lazily winging its way around a room. Though she had invited the Bennets to her house of her own free will and enjoyed their company, at times they were a little much for her equanimity. She and Anne had lived alone at Rosings for so long, she supposed it was not surprising that the intrusion into their domain had brought disadvantages. Thus, Lady Catherine had retired to another, smaller parlor, one to which she had not invited any of the Bennets and to which she retreated when she required distance.

  But the room was central enough in the house that she was still able to hear what was happening, and at times she could hear the giggling of Miss Kitty and Miss Lydia—though thankfully there was less of that than there had been—or the murmur of conversation. What she heard that afternoon, however, was far beyond the murmur of conversation. Once she became aware of it, she thought she could hear loud voices raised in anger.

  Such sounds were uncommon at Rosings, and Lady Catherine stood and walked to the window, thinking to investigate what it was. But there was nothing to be seen in the garden—everything in her domain appeared to be calm and peaceful. With a frown, Lady Catherine turned to the door and opened it. That was when she could hear it again quite clearly. It was coming from down the hall toward the sitting-room.