“Miss Bingley,” Darcy said cautiously, “by her teasing, can at times prompt me to say things I would not have said.”
“Ah,” Elizabeth said, “so the insult it is to be laid at Miss Bingley’s feet?”
“No,” Darcy said hurriedly, “I do not wish to excuse myself in any manner, nor did I mean insult by my words. I only wished to say that I should have been more circumspect, regardless of her needling. It was an egregious lack of self-discipline.”
Elizabeth turned and stared into the darkness. She really could not fathom Mr. Darcy. Was she to find her feelings relieved to know that Mr. Darcy had only spoken his opinion because Miss Bingley had provoked him to it? Was she to approve of his opinions if only he had not spoken them? Did he not see that the insult was not in whether his opinion was voiced or left silent, the insult was in the opinion itself.
“In any case,” Darcy went on, “it is not as if there might not be a circumstance where even I hear such about my own place in society. I am under no illusions about my importance in the world and would not be shocked to hear a duke dismiss my own standing. It is only the way of England, after all.”
“I see,” Elizabeth said slowly. “I suppose it is my mistake. I had only thought that gentlemen and gentlewomen might find themselves on equal footing.”
“Yes, truly, that is correct,” Darcy said hurriedly. “But there is rank. You cannot deny that there is rank.”
“And your own rank would be?” Elizabeth asked.
“My own? Well, it would be…there is Pemberley,” Darcy said.
“There is money, is what I believe you mean to say, Mr. Darcy,” Elizabeth said. She paused, turning to him. “My mother once said that she did not understand where England was going if money was to be the sole arbiter of society. I quite agree.”
Darcy stiffened. He bowed and said, “I only meant to apologize, Miss Bennet.”
That was an apology? Elizabeth wondered what Mr. Darcy might say if he set out to insult, if this was his idea of making amends. She was to be cheered by imagining a duke dismissing Mr. Darcy’s standing. The way of England, indeed.
“If an apology is what you meant, Mr. Darcy, then it was badly done.” Elizabeth curtsied and hurried past him into the drawing room.
Darcy paced the veranda. Badly done? She had the audacity to tell him his apology was badly done? How had the conversation got away from him as it had? He’d meant to make quick work of it so his conscience might be clear. He had expected that she would be gratified that he’d made such a marked effort and been considerate of her feelings. Now, he was to know it was badly done?
The lady was outrageous.
Darcy stopped his pacing. There might have been one instance in the conversation where a thing he had thought, and had made such sense, did not sound quite as reasonable when spoken. That comparison of how a duke might dismiss him was meant to provide comfort, and yet when he said it, it hadn’t sounded precisely what he meant. Then, when she had asked him about his own rank, he’d only owned to Pemberley. He might have laid claim to being the son of a titled lady and the nephew of an Earl.
He paused. As he thought of it, he was not certain that would have swayed Miss Bennet’s opinions. It held some weight in London, but he was not at all sure it would have held any weight with Miss Bennet.
Still, badly done? No, he would not accept that. The truth of the matter was that rank existed. It existed in strict form in town. It had always done and ever would. He did not create such a system, he must only work within its confines as must everybody. He could not help that the Bennets were not highly placed.
He could only conclude that Miss Elizabeth Bennet was a contrary sort of lady.
And yet, he found himself dissatisfied that he had failed to capture her good opinion. He supposed that was nothing to do with the lady, herself. Fitzwilliam Darcy must always be dissatisfied to discover that he did not garner the esteem he thought his due. Fortunately, it was not likely to happen often.
Elizabeth had gone back to the drawing room, searching for a place she might use as a barrier to further conversation with Mr. Darcy. Seeing Emma’s look of desperation at the hands of Mr. Mallory’s lectures, she crossed the room and sat with them. She very much doubted that Mr. Darcy would consent to being told what to do with his cows.
Emily Mallory had joined her father and watched him describe how one ought to maintain proper fences with deep admiration.
“You see, Miss Woodhouse,” Miss Mallory said, “my father takes such a keen interest in how the estate is run to ensure that I am well taken care of.”
“Yes,” Emma said, “having heard so much of the estate’s doings, I could not fail to comprehend it.”
Elizabeth suppressed a smile. Mr. Mallory said, “What my daughter so delicately implies, Miss Woodhouse, is that I have taken care to set her up with a very attractive dowry. Very attractive.”
“Indeed?” Emma said.
“Now papa,” Miss Mallory said, “do not brag of our good fortune. Not everybody has such a father.”
Elizabeth slightly raised her brows, as bragging of good fortune was precisely what Miss Mallory was in the habit of doing. She had heard of Miss Mallory’s dowry often, and usually from Miss Mallory herself. The implication always being that Mr. Bennet had not exerted himself enough on behalf of his daughters.
“Well, girl,” Mr. Mallory said indulgently, “no reason to let that good fortune go to waste. Perhaps you ought to help Mr. Darcy choose a book, as I have watched him open and close three in a row.”
Miss Mallory promptly rose. Elizabeth glanced behind her and saw Mr. Darcy appearing stern and opening and closing yet another book. Jane and Mr. Bingley had moved to a window and Mr. Bingley pointed at it, which was delightfully silly as it was pitch dark and there was not a thing to be seen.
Miss Mallory joined Mr. Darcy and appeared to natter on about something. Elizabeth wished her well at the attempt. Perhaps Mr. Darcy and Emily Mallory were well-suited—they both were in possession of so very much money.
Mr. Mallory, not to be daunted, launched into an examination of various vermin to be driven off a well-run farm.
Emma determinedly sought to catch Elizabeth’s eye, and then expressively glance at Mr. Bingley. She was quite unwavering about it and there could be no doubt of her meaning. At least, no doubt for Elizabeth. Mr. Mallory was somewhat mystified by it and even paused at a crucial moment in the life cycle of rabbits to inquire of Emma whether she’d got something in her eye.
Elizabeth had a great urge to laugh—it was the most absurd evening she’d experienced in quite some time. She was insulted for a second time by Mr. Darcy when he ought to have left well enough alone, lectured by Mr. Mallory on a variety of subjects, once again taunted by Miss Mallory and her sizable dowry, and finally, prodded by Emma to go and interrupt what appeared to be a promising conversation between Jane and Mr. Bingley. She felt, at this very moment, as if the world had gone mad.
Emma had silently congratulated herself during the carriage ride home. Lady Lucas might complain of the odd seating and lack of gentlemen at table, but it could not have been any better arranged for Emma’s plans. She’d been able to set the stage beautifully. Now she must just drop hints on the other side of the couple to bring Mr. Bingley and Lizzy together.
It was imperative that both parties hear of the other’s regard. It was particularly important for the lady to hear of the gentleman’s regard. A gentlewoman would be loathe to give her heart to that which was not certain and secured. No woman would set herself up for derision upon being found the victim of disappointed hopes. As the saying did go, ‘many a slip between the cup and the lip.’ A lady required firm encouragement before allowing herself to scrutinize any feelings that had, in fact, been there all along.
Emma had communicated Lizzy’s interest to Mr. Bingley. Now, she must just do the same for Lizzy. That Mr. Bingley had not declared himself in any particular manner did not seem much of an impediment. After all, h
ad he not participated in their conversation with marked interest? Had he not said that Miss Bennet looked exceedingly well? A compliment such as that did nobody any good unless it was repeated.
Now, they had arrived home and the last candle had been taken above stairs. Elizabeth, Jane and Emma crowded together on Jane’s bed, just as they had often done at Hartfield in Emma’s bedchamber.
“I fear you did not have interesting conversation through the dinner,” Emma said, “as you were seated in the middle of the table between people you already know so well.”
Jane did not answer, which did not surprise Emma—dear Jane would rarely admit a fault in anybody or anything.
Elizabeth laughed and said, “I only comfort myself that if I very suddenly decide to take up farming, I have been well-schooled by Mr. Mallory.”
“Still,” Emma went on, “I cannot be sorry for the arrangement. I was fortunate to be placed by Mr. Bingley and he did undertake to communicate some very interesting opinions.”
Silence descended, as Emma waited to be pressed on the aforementioned opinions. Jane only looked away. Laughing, Elizabeth said, “Out with it, Emma. You are determined to tell us a thing, so proceed with all haste.”
Emma leaned in confidentially. “It is only this: Mr. Bingley was particularly struck with Elizabeth Bennet’s looks tonight. He said she looked exceedingly well.”
Much to Emma’s consternation, Elizabeth appeared unmoved.
Jane only said softly, “Of course he would be. Anybody must be struck by Lizzy.”
“Indeed, he would not be at all struck,” Elizabeth said. “Dearest Emma, Mr. Bingley is no more struck by me than he is struck by lightning.”
“He did say so, Lizzy,” Emma said. “He did say you looked exceedingly well.”
“I am very tired,” Jane said suddenly. “Perhaps we might continue talking in the morning?”
Elizabeth nodded and kissed her sister’s forehead. Emma was not at all satisfied with the conversation. Her two cousins were willfully looking away from that which was directly in front of them.
“You shall see, Lizzy,” Emma said. “And Jane, do cheer yourself. In six month’s time you will be married to Mr. Darcy and will look back upon this interlude in high good humour.”
“Mr. Darcy?” Jane asked, the alarm in her voice evident.
“Of course, Mr. Darcy,” Emma replied with extreme confidence. “Who else would do for exquisite Jane Bennet? It must be Mr. Darcy.”
Emma hopped off the bed and blew kisses at her cousins and ran from the room.
Elizabeth looked toward Jane. “Mr. Darcy will not engage with anybody from this neighborhood, despite what Emma says. That, I know from his own words. Further, it is my own observation that Mr. Bingley is struck by Jane Bennet and no other. As for Emma’s matchmaking…Jane, she is well-intentioned, but she has got it all wrong.”
Jane gave a small shrug and said quietly, “In any case, I am very tired, Lizzy.”
Elizabeth lay in bed, unable to sleep. She did not like the feeling of being at odds with another, and she was at odds with Mr. Darcy. She had felt rather justified when she’d pronounced his effort at an apology as badly done. It had been badly done, that was not a question. However, she knew her words would never have been spoken by Jane.
She counted on Jane to be her guiding light, to show her how to conduct herself and withstand her own feelings. Jane Bennet had a dozen times the self-control of Elizabeth Bennet. Jane would have graciously nodded and taken her leave, keeping her real thoughts to herself. Very few people were let into Jane’s real feelings on anything.
Why could she not have been as Jane on that veranda?
Elizabeth supposed she should not dwell on the mishap. It was done and she was certain that she and Mr. Darcy could meet in future with cool civility.
And yet, she was not satisfied with herself and she could not understand why Mr. Darcy had the ability to vex her as he did. He was only one man, rich as he was, with his own opinions. Those opinions should not materially affect her.
So why did they?
The Bennet’s breakfast table was lively, as it always was when the family had been out in society the night before. Lydia and Kitty insisted on recounting the evening in detail, though everybody at table had been present to see for themselves. Lydia liked to add her own judgments to the event, as she maintained a frightfully high regard for her own opinions. Kitty generally followed Lydia’s lead, nodding and saying things like, “I thought so as well.”
Among the comments on this particular morning were vast complaints about the lack of officers, which they felt was mean and small of Miss Bingley, the horror of Mary’s playing, which Mary calmly ignored as she thought her sisters brutish heathens, the foolishness of anybody allowing themselves to be trapped by Mr. Mallory and his tedious farming advice, and how little either sister cared for dull Mr. Darcy.
Mr. Bennet, growing tired of the conversation, said, “It is well that you do not care for Mr. Darcy. It is my observation that he views you both as two of the silliest girls in England, and he is not wrong.”
“I am sure Mr. Darcy admires all of the Bennets,” Emma said, “though of course he must admire one in particular.” Emma looked meaningfully at Jane, who quickly looked away.
“Ah hah,” Mrs. Bennet said, “I see how it is. What shall you do, Jane? I always knew it would come to this—two gentlemen admiring and only one to be chosen. Well, my advice is Mr. Darcy, he’s got twice the income. You would not want for anything and might find yourself in a position to help your sisters. And your mother, of course.”
Mr. Bennet cleared his throat. “I wonder that you have convinced yourself that I could not possibly outlive you, Mrs. Bennet,” he said.
The lady studiously ignored her husband’s comment, as it was well-known that Mrs. Bennet did assume she would outlive Mr. Bennet. “Jane?” she asked.
Before Jane could answer, Hill entered with the post. Though Hill was generally well-versed on everything that occurred in the house, Elizabeth and Jane did make an effort not to speak of personal matters in her presence, unless they wished those matters discussed all over Meryton.
Mr. Bennet picked up a letter and gazed at it wonderingly. “Mrs. Bennet,” he said, “I may outlive you yet, as you are sure to experience apoplexy in mere moments. I hold in my hand a letter from Mr. Collins.”
“Mr. Collins?” Mrs. Bennet asked. “What can he want? I suppose he’ll wonder if we might not move out now, as that would be more convenient. Or does he ask for an inventory of the furniture? Or perhaps he’s paid some highwaymen to come and shoot you to hurry the thing up and writes a gentlemanly letter to give you a running start away from the place.”
Elizabeth did not know anything about Mr. Collins other than he would take the estate after her father’s passing, and that her mother painted him as a near devil intent on spending every minute of his day thinking up ways to harass Mrs. Bennet.
Mr. Bennet tore open the letter and scanned its contents. He laid it down and laughed heartily.
“Papa?” Elizabeth asked.
Composing himself, Mr. Bennet said, “Pray do not die early upon my next communication, Mrs. Bennet. Mr. Collins proposes to visit, and his plans are exceedingly interesting.”
“I knew it!” Mrs. Bennet cried. “He will try to get us out before our time! How can he do it, Mr. Bennet? Has he launched some underhanded legal maneuvering? I shan’t let him get away with it!”
Mr. Bennet handed the letter to Elizabeth, then leaned back comfortably and listened to his wife outline precisely what sort of reception Mr. Collins could expect from her. Gunshots out the window were not to be ruled out.
Elizabeth read the letter with interest.
My dear Mr. Bennet,
Punish not the son for the sins of the father. Now, whether the sin was on your side or my father’s side is perhaps better left unexamined at this late date. As well, it need not even be mentioned that you have no son of your own who mig
ht be unfairly blamed for the sins of the fathers. That has left me with the heavy burden of carrying all the blame alone. As I reflect on the circumstance, I have decided that all blame must be cast aside. My benefactor, the illustrious Lady Catherine de Bourgh, quite agrees with me on this matter and has even pronounced the situation ‘stuff and nonsense.’
It is with that hopeful idea that I propose a visit commencing on the 14th. I am not unaware, sir, of your preponderance of daughters, though I am unclear if there are five or seven of them. How ever many you have in your possession, I assure you that I will duly consider if one of them might be a suitable helpmate for my future. Yes, you understand me correctly. I will look toward marriage. One of your own daughters may very well become the future mistress of Longbourn. I strive to walk in the grace of God and hope that I do so in this matter.
I presume this is welcome news, Mr. Bennet. Lady Catherine assures me that it must be and I have no reason to doubt her superior judgment.
Warmest Regards,
William Collins
Elizabeth laid the letter down. “Goodness,” she said, then happily listened to Mrs. Bennet discuss the possible placement of shotguns. It was determined that Mary’s room was best situated for firing upon Mr. Collins as he descended his carriage.
The fourteenth was certain to be a trying day, it was not only the day that Mr. Collins would arrive, but it was also Mrs. Bennet’s dinner.
Chapter Six
Elizabeth, Jane and Emma had planned to live quietly until the fourteenth. They did find, though, that they had more company than they had expected.
Mr. Bingley took to calling on a regular basis. Usually he came with Mr. Darcy, who wore an expression of having been pressed to be there. Occasionally, he came with Miss Bingley, who wore an expression of having been dragged there.
Mr. Darcy maintained his serious reserve in the Bennet’s drawing room. Miss Bingley occupied herself by casting withering glances at the furniture and talking about London and its many entertainments.
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