“I can handle Mr. Collins,” she assured him. “You must know that he, above all men, has no power to wound me or influence my opinion.”
“He has power to insult you.”
“All the better that you do not hear it, then.”
“Do you think I care nothing for insults against you as long as I don’t hear them?”
“Of course not, but I am sure that you would be far more disturbed by anything he says than I. Please, Mr. Darcy. Let me go. I shall not enjoy talking to Charlotte if I know that you are waiting for me.”
He consented, reluctant and relieved at the same time, and handed her into his carriage. Mrs. Bennet was vastly pleased to be paying calls in Mr. Darcy’s carriage. For the sake of everyone’s sanity, he had ridden his horse, which then carried him back to Netherfield as Elizabeth, Jane, and Mrs. Bennet proceeded on to Lucas Lodge.
Everything there was much as Elizabeth had expected: Mr. Collins was as displeased and gregarious as Sir William was affable and gregarious. Mrs. Bennet merely sniffed at his laments and turned her attentions back to describing Elizabeth’s prospective grandeur to her ladyship.
“Lady Catherine is most seriously displeased, Cousin Elizabeth,” Mr. Collins fretted. “Most seriously displeased indeed.”
“I believe she informed me of that when she was here,” replied Elizabeth calmly.
“I cannot believe that you would repay all her condescension, and ignore the authority I possess as the future head of our family, by entering into such an unsuitable match! You are marrying outside your sphere, cousin, and while some might view it as a very great match indeed—a far superior match to any you might reasonably have been expected to make—my gracious patroness has informed me that it will by no means be looked upon with favor by those of his circle. You must realize that it is not your place—that you would be wise to put an end to—”
“Mr. Collins, are you really suggesting that I jilt Mr. Darcy? That I break my word to an honorable gentleman who has done nothing to deserve it?”
“Well—well—,” he sputtered. “I am sure he would be agreeable—”
“And I am sure that he would not,” she answered decidedly. “I do not suggest you mention it to him, either, unless you wish to make him very angry indeed.”
At this point Charlotte intervened and after only a few minutes’ maneuvering was able to carry her friend off to walk in the garden with her. She had greeted Elizabeth very happily, showing none of her husband’s resentment, but it was their first opportunity to speak privately.
“Well, Eliza,” she began, threading her arm through hers in the old familiar way, “I would say I told you so, but I’m far too pleased.”
Feeling all the embarrassment natural to a person who has contradicted her own oft-repeated and vehement opinions, Elizabeth avoided answering directly. Instead she said, “I am sorry that you were forced from your home because of me.”
“She will calm down soon enough, I am sure. Once she accepts that the match cannot be undone, I do not believe she will wish to remain estranged from her favorite nephew. But come, Lizzy, let’s not speak of them; let’s speak of you! I have forgiven you, you know, for being so sly about it while you were there, but now you have no reason not to tell me everything.”
“There is not much to tell,” she said. “I was utterly shocked by his proposal. You know what I thought of him, and his opinion of me. He entirely overthrew my pride in my own discernment.”
“I thought as much. I always believed that your dislike of him would vanish if you but knew him to be in your power.”
Elizabeth flushed at the term, even knowing how close to the truth it was. “It wasn’t that,” she insisted. “It was rather that I realized that I had not understood him. I did not accept him immediately. I took time to consider it.”
“But ultimately, you were too wise to let your past prejudices stand in the way of such an excellent match. I’m proud of you, Lizzy, for not letting your romantic sensibilities override your common sense.”
Charlotte’s praise distressed her more than criticism would have. How much she hated proving the truth of one of her odiously practical maxims! And yet . . . and yet Elizabeth thought of the man she had pledged her life to, and her feelings softened in response. If she were honest, she also was glad she had not let romantic sensibility rule. Practicality, in this case, had served her well.
As the wedding drew nearer, their days grew busier. It was not yet time for Elizabeth to pack up all her belongings or to make the final round of farewell visits, but there still were many people to see and endless rounds of fittings. Darcy saw less of her than ever, and when he did see her, they were nearly always in company. Their social engagements had also increased, and even family dinners at Longbourn were fewer. Darcy tried his best to make conversation and be civil, determined to undo what he could of the bad impression he had made, but it wasn’t easy for him. She helped him, staying nearby and taking the burden of most conversations, but while he was grateful for her assistance, it was at times like these that he felt the least like the man he imagined Elizabeth would really have wanted to marry. Despite her forgiveness, he could not forget that he had hurt and disappointed her, that he had denigrated her family and embarrassed her before her friends. Instead of her bringing shame on him, he had, he thought, brought shame on her.
Beyond that, he had other unhappy business. While Elizabeth was standing for hours to be pinned and pulled, he was grimly following through on his promises to Wickham. There were letters to be written, information to be gathered, debts to be bought. He did not visit the shops himself, wishing to keep his name—and therefore Elizabeth’s—out of the matter, but he employed some men to do it for him.
He hated this. He hated doing business with men whose living was scandal and misfortune, hated tainting his hands with Wickham’s filth, hated stooping to bribes and secrets. Yet he was absolutely determined to do, if not what ought to be done, then what must be done to protect everyone: to protect his sister, to protect his wife, to protect all the innocents of society on whom his childhood friend might prey. And, ironically—he sighed, rubbing his forehead—to protect Wickham himself. He thought he had given up hoping he would reform himself years ago, but still a part of him hoped for it, hoped against every hope that Wickham would finally grow sensible enough to serve his own interest in a prudent way; hoped that he would not, in the end, have to end by hauling his father’s beloved godson off to prison.
On a happier note, Mr. Bingley and Jane were progressing nicely in their courtship. There was no saying but that Mr. Bingley might have proposed already but the impending nuptials. It might have seemed a little indelicate to announce an engagement when everyone’s attention should rightly be on the other couple. He was fairly confident of Jane’s feelings, and the fact that Darcy offered no further murmur of discouragement was heartening. Not that Bingley would have been dissuaded by him, not now, but he thought that had Darcy found out through Miss Elizabeth that Miss Bennet did not wish for his attentions, he would have tried to warn him somehow.
He received two letters from his sisters. Just because Mr. Darcy insists on marrying beneath him does not mean that you should too, penned Mrs. Hurst. You cannot afford to ignore connection and fortune as he can, for you are neither as rich nor as well placed in society.
You must consider our feelings as well as your own, Charles, read Miss Bingley’s perfect copperplate. You cannot be so cruel as to make us keep company with the Bennets for the rest of our lives! Miss Eliza I may have no choice about, but I refuse to let you inflict Mrs. Bennet and the younger girls on me or poor Louisa! Jane does not love you; she did not make any attempt to see you in London. Come back, and I will introduce you to half a dozen girls who are just as pretty and sweet as she is, who will make excellent wives.
He read the letters, thought for a moment, essayed to pick up his own much neglected quill, and proceeded to write, with many blots, the following:
My dea
r sisters, I have entirely made up my mind on the matter. Have you not always wished to be connected to the Darcys by marriage? Next time Miss Bennet calls on you in town, I am sure you will receive her more politely than you did last winter.
Sincerely, your brother, C. B.
Chapter Twenty
One evening about three days after the regiment left, the occupants of Lucas Lodge came to dinner. Elizabeth had suggested the invitation based on Darcy’s desire to make amends to Sir William for his former rudeness. She was dubious as to the probable success of the evening, but how could she dispute his right to atone for his errors? Mr. Bingley was of course to come, and Mr. Collins was not. The latter was still eschewing the Bennets on principle, and while Elizabeth was sorry that his wife was forced to do likewise, she could only count his absence a blessing.
It occurred to her for the first time how willing Darcy had been to put up with the obsequious parson to be in her company in Kent. It was easy enough, now, to realize that he had borne Mr. Collins with so much equanimity because he was not her near relation—because they would have little to do with him. Her family had been worse precisely because they were near—because the emotional, social, and legal ties to them were so much stronger.
It was an odd group, heavy on the females, especially young ones. Elizabeth was never entirely sure just how the choosing of seats took place, but by the time everyone was seated, she was across the table from Darcy, with Lady Lucas, Mr. Bingley, Jane, and Maria on her side and Darcy, Sir William, Lydia, Kitty, and Mary on the other. She caught Darcy’s eye and smiled at him; he gave her a flicker of a smile in return.
The conversation began benignly enough. Lady Lucas asked Mrs. Bennet about her preparations for the wedding, and Darcy, with determined civility, asked Sir William some question pertaining to his knighthood.
“Why, everything is coming together very well, thank you,” said Mrs. Bennet. “Did you know that Mr. Darcy has offered to have anything I need delivered all the way from London?”
“Well, it was a little speech I made when I was mayor of Meryton,” began Sir William. “Farmer George himself came through, you know, sir. It was my honor to address him, since I was the mayor after all, and those of us who have been placed above others ought to lead the way, eh?”
“London!” exclaimed Lady Lucas. “Well, I am sure that was very generous of Mr. Darcy, although I’m sure I don’t know what London has that we don’t.”
“And so I said at first, but now I’ve begun to think that there are several things I might like to have. Specially imported chocolate, for instance. It’s a pity you could not have chocolate at Charlotte’s wedding, seeing as you didn’t have a wedding breakfast.”
“I do not suppose you’ve ever had opportunity to make a speech to the king, have you, Mr. Darcy?”
“I have not,” said Darcy.
“Maria!” Lydia leaned over the table. “Did you see that new bonnet in the window at Wilson’s shop in town? It’s the ugliest thing I ever saw in my life!”
“Chocolate is overrated, I assure you, my dear Mrs. Bennet. Drinking too much of it causes spots on the face, you know.”
“Well, it’s not half as ugly as the one you bought last month,” put in Kitty.
“That’s not a problem any of my girls has ever had to worry about, dear Lady Lucas. We can drink all the chocolate we want. However, if you prefer that your girls abstain, I shall certainly understand.”
“A splendid man, the king! Quite the superior figure he used to cut, don’t you think, Mr. Darcy?”
“What do you know of bonnets?”
Mr. Darcy muttered something unintelligible.
“Sir William, should you not tell Mr. Darcy just how your presentation to His Royal Majesty went?”
Elizabeth shot her father a furious look, which he ignored.
“I should like to hear it!” piped up Mr. Bingley. “Come, Sir William, tell us what the king said to you.”
“Mr. Darcy, do you think you could procure some Babylonian chocolate for me for the wedding breakfast?”
Mr. Darcy swallowed. “Babylonian chocolate, madam?” he repeated carefully.
“I think you mean Barcelonan chocolate, ” put in Elizabeth with a blush. “We were speaking of it the other day.”
“Babylonian, Barcelonan, what’s the difference, really? It all comes from the same vine after all.”
“It was a splendid day that the king came through Meryton! I shall never forget it. He wore a very fine puce coat—very fine indeed! I had one made just like it, you know. Wore it until the elbows gave out. Didn’t I, Lady Lucas, now?”
“My dear madam, chocolate comes from cocoa beans. They grow on trees.”
“What’s that, Sir William?”
“That coat I had just like the king’s. I wore it until the elbows went out.”
“Well, I know that chocolate comes from beans, Lizzy; I’m not stupid. If it does grow on trees, then I’m sure I do not know why we don’t plant some in our orchard.”
“Oh, you and your silly coat! You would have thought you were the king himself by the way you pranced around in it.”
“Lizzy, do you think you shall get to see the king?”
“A very fine coat indeed!”
“Gracious, no, he’s mad now; don’t you know that?”
“Oh, Mrs. Bennet, if I were you, I would consult with my daughter Mrs. Collins before I decided to plant any new trees. Trees take so long to grow, you know, she’ll likely be the mistress of Longbourn by the time they begin to produce.”
“I really do not know if I shall be introduced at court. If I am, it shall be the queen I get to see. And I shall have to wear feathers. Would you like to see me in feathers, Mr. Darcy?”
“When I was young, we wore feathers all the time! I had one particularly magnificent set—they had been dyed this heavenly turquoise blue to match my gown. I was wearing them the night I met Mr. Bennet.”
“Let that be a lesson to you, young men. Never be led astray by a pair of waving blue feathers.”
“I’m sure you looked perfectly splendid, Mrs. Bennet, and I’m sure your daughters—Miss Elizabeth and Miss Bennet—would look lovely wearing them, or anything else for that matter.”
“King George was most gracious, if I do say so myself. I promise you, Miss Lydia, he did not look the least bit mad. In fact he said that Meryton was a fine town and my address quite gratifying.”
“You are quite right, Sir William. That does prove his sanity.”
“I meant to say, Lady Lucas, that my daughter, the Mistress of Pemberley, will have chocolate trees growing in her orchards, I’m sure—not that I need anyone’s permission to plant trees on my own property, I’m sure.”
Elizabeth paused a moment, wide-eyed, then abruptly said, a bit too loudly, “Has there been any more news concerning the disaster in the Felling coal mine?”
Silence fell over the table, everyone looking surprised at the interruption; then Darcy said quietly, “I believe the number of the dead continues to rise.”
“It’s igniting quite a debate concerning the safety conditions in mines,” contributed Mr. Bingley quickly, “and whether it’s possible to design a safe lamp, one that won’t set off explosions.”
“Oh, let’s not talk of that,” begged Kitty unexpectedly. “It makes me feel awful, any time I see a chunk of coal now, to think of all those dead men.”
“The news lately seems full of nothing but disaster. First it was rebellions by all those nasty Lovites—”
“Luddites, my dear,” murmured Mr. Bennet.
“—and then Mr. Perceval shot dead, and now it’s exploding coal mines! Cannot the papers ever report anything cheerful for a change?”
“You are perfectly right, Mrs. Bennet!” declared Bingley. “I wish they would tell us what is right with the nation instead of only what is wrong.”
“But perhaps the things that are wrong must receive public attention if they are ever to be corrected. We might pr
efer to think of England as a country where no great injustice or tragedy is ever allowed to take place, and such ignorance would likely make us happy, but if we ever expect to actually have such a country, rather than merely the illusion of it, we must face our faults and learn how to correct them.”
“You speak like a radical, Mr. Darcy. Are you interested in politics?”
“No more than any responsible citizen should be, I believe, Mr. Bennet.”
“Don’t get my friend started on political subjects! We shall be here all night.”
“I have a nephew who has gone into politics. Capital young fellow. I’ve told him that I expect to meet him in St James’ Court before I die.”
“I do wish you would take me to the palace with you if you go, Lizzy. I should love to meet the queen.”
“I think the king would be much more interesting. I’ve never seen a mad person before.”
“It is not respectful,” announced Mary in her first remark of the evening, “to speak of our sovereign in such a fashion, even if he is mad.”
“I’m sure he’s not really mad,” said Jane.
“Well, it’s his son the prince regent whom you might see if you went to St James, Miss Lydia. Now there is a striking figure of a man! Not that I’ve ever seen him myself, but I understand he is quite the superior sight! Eh, Mr. Darcy?”
“I’m sure you’re eager to hear the details of Lizzy’s trousseau, Lady Lucas. Her needs, of course, are quite different from what your Charlotte’s were!”
Elizabeth’s heart fell, and she closed her eyes as the conversation around her sank back into the morass of folly from which she had tried so valiantly to rescue it. Her humiliation was complete indeed. What possible redemption could any of them find in Mr. Darcy’s eyes now? Around her, bits of conversation floated and collided like flotsam on a restless sea.
“Why, we trimmed one of Lizzy’s dresses with lace that cost fifteen shillings a yard.”
“The state of his mental capacities does not affect the deference that—”
Unequal Affections: A Pride and Prejudice Retelling Page 29