by Jann Rowland
“Might I inquire of how you intend to spend your morning, my dear?” asked Mr. Collins.
Elizabeth regarded him with some mixture of exasperation and disbelief. Did he truly think that fawning over her and courting her good opinion would change her mind about his attentions? If he did, then he had a far higher opinion of his own charm than was warranted. Elizabeth fancied that a charging boar held more charm than William Collins.
“I believe that I shall attend to some sewing,” replied Elizabeth after a moment. “There are a few articles which I would like to complete for the Smith children as soon as may be.” What Elizabeth did not tell the parson was that she wished to complete them before her annulment was ready to be heard, as she knew there would be no peace for her to pursue such things after Mr. Collins was made aware of what she was planning.
“Marvelous!” enthused the parson. “It is as I suggested to Lady Catherine herself. She advised me, before I left for Longbourn, to choose a useful gentlewoman who would be active in the community and work towards its betterment, and I dare say that I have chosen one who will do me credit in that respect. You are to be commended for your eager interest in the children of Hunsford and for your diligence in doing that which our Lord commands. I am heartily glad of having you in my life.”
The parson paused, and though he did not say anything more, Elizabeth was certain that he had forced himself to refrain from referencing her refusal to allow their marriage to become any more intimate than it was.
“I believe that I shall join you in the parlor, my dear,” was all he said.
“Do you not need to work on your sermon, Mr. Collins?” suggested Elizabeth.
“Indeed, I believe that my sermon is already complete,” said Mr. Collins, though the look in his eye—smug and knowing—suggested that he knew something that she did not. “I find myself wishing to know my good wife better, and I am assured that our marriage will proceed in a much more . . . felicitous manner if we will only take the time to know one another better.”
And nothing Elizabeth said on the matter would deter the man; he was determined to press his suit. Privately, Elizabeth was beginning to wonder if she should simply stay in her bedchamber and refuse to emerge.
“Really, Darcy, you are pacing about, growling and snapping like a menagerie lion. Shall you not sit for a time?”
Darcy turned and scowled at his cousin, but he did not cease his stalking about the floor. The wind and rain made a visit to the parsonage difficult, and should he go out in the inclement weather, he would arrive looking like a vagabond.
Still, he would have braved all that and more for Elizabeth, who was worth everything he owned. But Fitzwilliam and Anne had persuaded him against the scheme, arguing that there was nothing which could be done and that he would only make matters worse should he barge into the parsonage like a vengeful spirit.
The thought of his cousins’ arguments deepened Darcy’s scowl, and he turned and directed it at Fitzwilliam. The colonel was unimpressed by his display of displeasure.
“You know very well that it is not proper for you to spend every waking moment with Mrs. Collins.” Surprisingly, it was Anne who had spoken up. Though she had been amused at his discontent, she had not said anything until now. “Mrs. Collins will be very well, I assure you.”
Stopping and leaning against one of the large windows, Darcy gazed out at the sodden landscape, though he saw none of it. His mind was at the parsonage, and he could not help but imagine that fool Collins attempting to make Elizabeth his once and for all. Darcy swore to himself that marriage or no marriage, he would run the man through if he so much as pulled a hair from Elizabeth’s head.
“You did not see the pair of them, Anne,” rasped he. “That idiotic parson whining to your mother that his wife would not give him his due was akin to the sight of a child being denied some amusement. And Lady Catherine continually berated the woman I love for not doing her duty, as if her wishes in the matter were of no consequence.”
“In my mother’s defense, she is unaware of the circumstances of the Collins’s marriage.”
“Even if she knew of them, do you imagine she would empathize with Miss Bennet?” demanded Darcy, as he turned to stare at his cousin.
Anne sighed, gesturing with an open palm. “No, I am certain she would not. You do not need to explain my mother’s faults to me, Darcy. I am intimately familiar with her character.”
“I do not mean to disparage your mother, Anne,” said Darcy with a regretful sigh.
“Come now, Darcy!” cried Fitzwilliam. “Of course you do. There is so much, after all, to work with. She and Collins are made for each other—each more ridiculous than the other.”
“Have a care, Fitzwilliam,” admonished Darcy, though he could not disagree with his cousin’s sentiment.
“It is my mother to whom you refer, cousin,” said Anne with a frown.
“Of course it is,” replied Fitzwilliam with a smug grin. “No one is more familiar with her foibles than you, dear cousin.”
“I hardly think this is cheering Darcy.”
By this time, Darcy was not even paying attention to them, as his mind had returned to the parsonage. “The worst part of the whole disgusting display,” continued he with an absentminded frown, “was after Miss Bennet left the room. Lady Catherine stood there, holding court with that sniveling toad, telling him that his wife would now accept his attentions gratefully, as if the great Lady Catherine de Bourgh had changed Elizabeth’s mind with nothing more than her displeasure. I am certain that had I not been in the room, she would have instructed him to force the matter.”
“You are so much more critical of my mother on this visit, Darcy,” said Anne. “You have almost always refrained from voicing such thoughts in the past, though I am certain you have harbored them. How can you account for it?”
Exasperated, Darcy rose and began to pace the floor again, even as Fitzwilliam snorted and said: “Can you not account for it yourself, Anne? The enchanting Mrs. Collins is in danger, and as Darcy harbors such feelings for her, his outrage is roused in her defense, which in turn has dulled his inhibitions.”
“That is not all, Fitzwilliam,” said Darcy, passing a weary hand over his face. “Meeting Miss Bennet indeed changed me substantially, but I have begun to realize just what my aunt’s pretentions of breeding are. They are nothing more than a vain attempt to aggrandize herself and rationalize her need to feel superior.
“And the worst part of it is that I have realized these very traits within myself,” said Darcy, so quietly that he was not even certain his cousins could hear him.
“Come now, Darcy,” cried Fitzwilliam, “you can in no way compare with our aunt in that respect. No offense to you, Anne.”
But Anne just waved him off. “Are you speaking of anything in particular?”
“I have not told you of how I met her,” said Darcy, a quiet introspection settling over him. “It was at a coaching inn north of London on the way to my friend Bingley’s rented estate. She had just emerged from the inn and had stopped there, closing her eyes and basking in the light of the golden sun overhead. Had I not known better, I might have thought the light radiating around her like a halo indicated the presence of some heavenly personage. I have never been so affected in all my life.
“And yet subsequent events led me to believe that had she lived all her life in Hertfordshire with her improper family, then I might not have given her a second glance. She was dressed in fine fabrics, and her mode of dress has always been more fashionable than her sisters. And her uncle, who I first mistook for a wealthy man of status—what might I have thought of him had I met him and known in advance of his situation in life?”
“But Darcy, unless I am very much mistaken, you have only met the man once,” protested Fitzwilliam. “Are you suggesting you know his character after so short an exposure?”
“Of course not. But I could tell that he is a good man, and he would have to be, to have raised such an estima
ble woman as Miss Elizabeth.”
Fitzwilliam conceded the point with a nod, and Darcy continued. “But the thought of how I might have behaved and what I might have thrown away with that behavior has caused me to examine my feelings and interactions these past weeks, and I cannot say that my self-examination has pleased me. I am a prideful being. I am only glad I was given a chance to amend my character before I betrayed my flaws to her. I doubt I would ever have claimed her good opinion had I not changed first.”
“Surely you are too harsh on yourself, Darcy,” said Anne.
Looking up, Darcy caught the eyes of both of his cousins, noting that they were regarding him as if seeing him for the first time. “Are my words so surprising?”
The cousins exchanged a look, and Fitzwilliam spoke up, though hesitantly. “We have always known of your fastidious nature, Darcy. You are a credit to your family, your heritage, and all with whom you come into contact. If you were a little prideful in yourself or your heritage, well, it is a less serious flaw than it could have been.”
Darcy sighed. “Which answers my question.”
“Do not take it to heart,” said Anne. “You could have been blessed with my mother’s brand of pride, so it could be much worse.”
A slight smile fell over Darcy’s face. “It speaks well to the fact that you are able to maintain a sense of humor.”
But inside, Darcy was already brooding again. If that idiot Collins laid one finger on his Elizabeth, Darcy would not be responsible for his actions. But at the same time, his cousins were correct. Elizabeth could handle the man. He merely needed to have faith in her.
By the time evening fell, Elizabeth was at her wit’s end. A full day stuck with the company of Mr. Collins was intolerable, and through it all, Elizabeth had not known whether she should laugh, cry, or simply break a bottle over the bore’s head. If she had thought the parson’s pathetic attempts at wooing her that morning were laughable, the sheer heights of ridiculousness to which the man was capable of ascending had not even been reached. His attentions continued throughout the day, and nothing was beneath his notice. He complimented her on her hair and dress, flattered her skill with a needles as she sewed the clothes for the children, waxed long and—in his mind, at least—eloquent about her beauty and accomplishments, and tried to convince her of his undying love and devotion.
But underneath it all, Elizabeth thought she saw something else in his manner. He was not a sensible man, nor was he clever. While another man might be content to woo with subtlety and persistence, Elizabeth could sense in his manner an ill-disguised impatience which he was only barely able to suppress. It was unsurprising, considering the man had convinced himself of his love for her on the strength of naught more than a day’s acquaintance.
Convinced as she was that Mr. Collins thought himself ill-used and denied his right as a married man, she was certain that this phase of wooing could not last, and she soon learned she was right. She simply had not imagined how little patience he actually possessed.
It happened as dinner was ending. Mr. Collins had continued his monologue almost without consideration for his need to breathe when he said something so ridiculous that Elizabeth’s finely tuned sense of the absurd overcame her good judgment.
“Felicity in marriage shall be ours, my dear,” said he in his pompous manner. “I am convinced that your liveliness and vivacity shall do me a world of good, as I tend more toward gravity and silence.”
Unable to help herself, Elizabeth let out an unladylike snort, and Mr. Collins’s eyes narrowed.
“I am sorry, my dear, but I was not aware that I had said anything humorous. Perhaps you would like to share whatever thought happened to cross your mind.”
His glare was pointed and his displeasure certain, and Elizabeth, frustrated to the point of incivility, could no longer hold it back.
“Silence?” demanded she with a tone fairly immersed in scorn. “When did you mean to display this silence, Mr. Collins? By my count, you have not allowed more than thirty seconds to pass in silence this entire day.”
His glare deepening, Mr. Collins said, “If I was not already convinced of the violence of your affections, then I might think that you were mocking me.”
“You have only just detected it?” asked Elizabeth with a raised eyebrow. “On the contrary, I thought that I had been quite open in my disinclination for your company and my disdain for your ridiculous pomposity and idiotic statements—and from the very first moment of our acquaintance, I might add.”
“I shall not put up with such . . . such . . . such insubordination!” The parson shot to his feet and glared down at her. “I am your husband, and you shall show me respect!”
“Respect?” jeered Elizabeth, rising to her feet herself, sensing that he was on the verge of some more physical response than he might normally contemplate. “You are a being who is worth nothing more than contempt, Mr. Collins, and that is a feeling which I hold for you in abundance.”
His mouth working silently, Mr. Collins gazed at her in wonder, and Elizabeth almost laughed at the man again. It appeared that he truly was blind and had not been able to see her disdain for him, though it was almost incomprehensible that he could have missed it.
Then his face fell into an ugly scowl, and he stood up as tall as his slightly hunched form would allow. “This is unseemly, Mrs. Collins,” said he, apparently attempting to inject a measure of authority into his voice. “The time has come for you to submit to me, your rightful husband. You will do so tonight, and I will never again hear such disrespect from you!”
“I shall never submit!” cried Elizabeth. “Not if I should be tied to you for a thousand years!”
“Do you wish for me to seek an annulment, woman?” demanded he. His rising voice made it obvious that he was no gentleman. “Are you insensible as to what that will mean to you in your future?”
“If it means freedom from you, then I accept,” said Elizabeth. “There is nothing I wish more than to be free of you.”
Purpling in anger, Mr. Collins seethed for a few moments before he stepped toward her, saying, “You will submit to me!”
He reached for her with both hands extended, but Elizabeth was ready for him. She dodged to the side, avoiding one of his hands while the other became entangled in the skirt of her dress. Elizabeth turned and, in a smooth motion, kicked him in the shin. Mr. Collins howled and released her, shouting imprecations which should never have been heard by a woman of gentle breeding while hopping up and down on one foot.
Taking the opportunity to escape, Elizabeth darted from the room, making for the stairs and the comfort and security of her own room. But as she climbed, Mr. Collins’s voice followed her, crying:
“Run away, demon woman! I shall see this marriage annulled! Then you shall receive your just desserts.”
But Elizabeth kept moving until she had reached the safety of her locked room, all the while chuckling at the ineffectual dolt. He had done more than she had expected in trying to assert his authority, but she was confident that the worst was now over. With any luck, Mr. Forbes would return soon, and she could throw off the bonds of this travesty of a marriage.
Chapter XXIV
It was in fact the next morning when Mr. Forbes made his appearance. The night had actually been comfortable for Elizabeth, for though she had heard Mr. Collins’s petulant stomping to his room and the jolting thud of his door closing behind him, she had heard nothing more from the man the entire evening. The following morning at breakfast, Mr. Collins made a concerted effort to ignore her, the effects of which were made somewhat ineffectual by the petulant glare he would often focus on her when he thought it least likely that he would be observed.
After breaking his fast, the parson retired to his study, where Elizabeth did not see him until an unexpected visitor—unexpected in Mr. Collins’s eyes, at least—arrived late that morning,
“Mr. Forbes,” greeted Elizabeth as the man followed the maid into the room. Though she had known
he would return at some point, his sudden appearance sent Elizabeth’s heart racing at the thought that her deliverance might finally be nigh.
“Mrs. Collins. I trust you are well?”
“Tolerably well, sir.”
He looked at her closely, as if attempting to confirm for himself the truth of his words, and then nodded. “That is good to hear, madam. Now, if you will have Mr. Collins summoned, I believe it is best to get this business completed as soon as possible.”
Though Elizabeth was eager to know the results of Mr. Forbes’s investigation, she understood that Mr. Collins could not be excluded from these proceedings. And due to their argument the previous night, Mr. Collins was already aware of her disinclination for the marriage. While the news that she wished the marriage to be annulled would almost certainly cause consternation, he had stated his intention to seek an annulment himself, so it should coincide nicely with his own desires.
Elizabeth was soon proven correct, for after Mr. Collins had entered the room and given his somewhat perfunctory greetings to his superior—perfunctory for a man as verbose as William Collins—he announced his intentions in a most direct and abrupt manner.
“It is truly a sign from God that you have arrived this morning, Mr. Forbes,” began he with a hateful glare at Elizabeth. “I have come to learn the most grievous and indelicately sinful nature of this woman with whom I have had the most unfortunate happenstance to be joined in holy matrimony. I must inform you that I will directly seek a most expeditious annulment and will further recommend that this . . . this Jezebel be excommunicated and cast from the church with alacrity. She has greatly wronged me, and her sinful and lascivious state is such that she has no business worshipping in any holy place of God.”
Elizabeth stared at the parson, wondering that he was so angry as to make such statements to his superior. For his part, Mr. Forbes frowned, and Elizabeth could tell from his set jaw and the fire in his eyes that he was not impressed by Mr. Collins’s rather improper statements.