Charles Bingley had no allies, and Elizabeth was not certain that his character was strong enough to stand alone. His closest friend also appeared against the match, though Mr. Darcy had been surprisingly kind to herself lately. She never ceased to be surprised by him, though she had attended the same ball more than a dozen times now.
She realized with a start that she didn’t know how long it had been since this all began. She wondered idly if she would age with all this repetition of time while the people around her remained static, or if she would be twenty forever. There were worse ages to be stuck at, she thought wryly. She had looked particularly gangly at fifteen, and even Jane had been awkward when her height matured before the rest of her. Elizabeth didn’t think it was too vain to believe herself to be in very good looks at the moment. Her figure was formed but still firm, her hair was full and soft, and her skin was brilliant and clear. She would always be outshone by Jane, as nearly everyone was, but she knew she was pretty in her own way and thought there were worse things than being perpetually twenty years of age.
But alas, she was no longer stuck, as her plan seemed to have worked. She made her way into the house and was caught by her mother in the entryway.
“Lizzy, Mr. Collins would like to speak with you.” She shoved Elizabeth into the drawing room and closed the door quickly behind her.
Elizabeth looked around the empty room and flinched when she saw her cousin standing by the fireplace. She had forgotten this happened the day after the ball. Oh, well. She would just have to suffer through his insulting proposal and refuse him once again. Then she would think of something to prevent the Netherfield party from leaving the following day.
Mr. Collins began speaking, she knew not what of but it was clearly not a proposal yet. She caught the name of his noble patroness in his rambling speech and decided she would try her newfound talent for changing the course of events on her cousin.
“Mr. Collins,” she interrupted.
He stuttered to a halt and looked at her in surprise, as if he had forgotten she was there.
“Yes, Cousin?”
“It is impressive that you know just how to behave with Lady Catherine. I’m sure I would not know how to speak to such an exalted person.”
“Oh, her nobility will inspire the utmost decorum, I am certain, my dear,” he said condescendingly.
She snorted loudly as she had heard Lydia do. It hurt her nose a bit, but the look on Mr. Collins face was well worth it. “La! What a good joke!” Why had she not thought of imitating Lydia sooner? It was sure to repel any man even mildly respectable. “I’m certain she would find me impertinent and headstrong. You know my mother is always complaining about me.” She rolled her eyes and flopped into a chair, slumping against the seat and stretching her legs in front of her.
Mr. Collins looked appalled. “Cousin Elizabeth! What are you, I, you,” he spluttered and she laughed again.
“Thankfully I shall never meet the grand lady and we shall all be spared the mortification,” she said, in something of her usual tone.
He continued to look at her in shock, as if she were a barn cat who had suddenly begun speaking to him.
“She is much too grand for the likes of me, I am sure,” she said, in case he was too thick-headed to understand her point. “I wonder if she will get along with your wife, whomever she turns out to be. I could never be a vicar’s wife. I would be absolutely horrid at it!” She laughed gaily. “What a joke! Married to a vicar!”
Mr. Collins turned a deep shade of red and she worried for his health for a moment, but then she remembered that he was a young man, and an insulting one besides, and she continued on her chosen path.
Elizabeth rose from the chair and bounded toward the door. “I should like to walk to Meryton and see if there are any officers about. I wouldn’t want them to forget me after last night.” She smiled mischievously and skipped out the door, leaving an open-mouthed Mr. Collins behind her.
Her mother appeared after she had put on her cloak but before she could make it out the front door.
“Well, what did he say?” asked Mrs. Bennet impatiently.
“He only told me about Lady Catherine, Mama. I cannot imagine why you thought he should have anything else to say.”
Her mother gaped at her for a moment and Elizabeth took the opportunity to rush out the door. She walked in the direction of Netherfield, wondering what she could do to make the party remain, at least until Mr. Bingley returned and offered for Jane. Then they could go wherever they liked.
She stopped walking and stared blankly ahead. She was an idiot! Why had she not thought of it before! If Mr. Bingley proposed to Jane at the ball, he could ask Mr. Bennet for his consent and they could announce it that very night. Even if he didn’t speak to Mr. Bennet that night, he would surely return to his betrothed! Why had she not tried to get Mr. Bingley to propose before?
She continued walking and wondered how one went about inspiring a man to propose. She knew a lady was supposed to encourage a man she wished for, and discourage those she was uninterested in, but how was that accomplished by someone outside the couple? Could she convince Mr. Bingley to propose? For that matter, why hadn’t he already? He had been showing Jane an inordinate amount of attention for two months. Surely he realized he had raised her hopes and the expectations of the neighborhood.
She stopped again. Was that why the entire party followed him to London? They knew he was about to propose and wanted to stop him? Or did Mr. Bingley himself realize he had raised expectations he had no intention of fulfilling and wanted to escape an awkward situation? No, she couldn’t believe it of him. Mr. Bingley loved Jane, she knew he did. He simply must!
She shook her head. It didn’t matter what she believed. Mr. Bingley had already departed for Town, the spell was broken, and tomorrow would be Thursday and the Netherfield party would depart. She briefly considered sabotaging their carriage again, but besides not thinking it would work for more than a few days, she had barely survived the last effort. She had no desire to relive an experience that brought her so close to having an apoplexy.
Elizabeth wandered towards Netherfield’s borders but saw no one about. She wondered what she had been expecting. Did she think Miss Bingley would be walking in the woods and she would beg her not to go because Jane was desperately in love with her brother? She couldn’t imagine a scene less likely.
She returned to Longbourn and prepared for dinner, where she sat as far away from Mr. Collins as possible. That man stole wary glances at her the entire evening that she steadfastly ignored. Mary watched Mr. Collins watching Elizabeth with a puzzled expression on her face, and Mrs. Bennet looked between her second eldest and their guest in confusion, wondering what she could do to bring about a proposal if he didn’t take the chances she gave him.
Elizabeth was exhausted after having remained awake all night and excused herself shortly after dinner. She put on a soft nightgown and climbed into bed and was asleep in minutes.
She woke early the next morning and decided she would pay a morning call at Netherfield. With Jane. What she would actually do is walk perilously close to the estate and use some excuse to go into the house before the acceptable time to call. She could say she just realized she had left something there when she tended Jane and wanted to get it before they left. Once she was there, she would think of something. Maybe she would secure an invitation for Jane in Town or make plans for them during the festive season. Something, anything!
Once her hair was neatly pinned up, she tiptoed to Jane’s room and woke her sister.
“Jane, wake up, dearest. Come for a walk with me.”
“Lizzy?” Jane said groggily. “What time is it?”
“It is early, but the day is bright. Let’s walk toward Oakham Mount.”
“Oh, Lizzy, not today! I am sleepy. And I don’t want to tire myself before the ball.”
Elizabeth went cold. “What did you say?”
“I said I want to go back to sleep. A
nd we will be up late dancing; we shouldn’t tire ourselves out before we even get to the ball.”
“Jane,” Elizabeth spoke in a thin voice, “what day is it?”
“It is Tuesday, of course.” She sat up and looked at her sister. “Are you ill, Lizzy?”
“I feel suddenly unwell.” She sank heavily onto her sister’s bed.
Jane slid over and opened the blanket to her sister. Elizabeth kicked off her shoes and lay down, her face pale and her eyes blinking frantically.
“Is there anything I can do?” Jane asked, feeling her sister’s forehead for a fever.
“No, nothing. I just need a moment. I shall be well soon enough,” she said. She stared at the ceiling for several minutes, too shocked to think or plan or speak.
“Sleep will set you to rights,” Jane said soothingly. She stroked Elizabeth’s hair and hummed softly in an effort to comfort her sister.
There was no comfort to be had, but sleep welcomed Elizabeth into sweet oblivion.
Chapter 7
A Despondent Heart
Elizabeth awoke with a sore heart and a muddled mind. It had not worked. It was once again Tuesday. Wretched, wretched day! She pulled the pillow over her head and decided she would stay as she was for just a little while longer, and feel terribly sorry for herself, then she would get up and do what needed doing.
By the time she dragged herself to the breakfast table, her family had already eaten. She vaguely thought about forming a new plan to break the spell, but she had neither the heart nor the energy for it. She entered the ball that evening looking perfectly dressed and pinned and coifed, but her eyes were dull, and she could find no joy in repeating the same event for the eighteenth time—she had counted the days as she lay in Jane’s bed. It was an awful number—eighteen. Had she truly thought just the other day that there were worse days to be trapped in? Or worse ages?
Tosh! At twenty, she had no legal power, and was under the management of her father. And a country ball! At least it was not a public assembly, that was a small mercy, but to spend every evening for the rest of her life dancing with Mr. Collins! Watching her mother brag about her eldest daughter’s impending marriage! It was not to be borne!
The music began and she danced the first with Mr. Collins, ignoring everything he said and merely moving away from him when he turned the wrong direction. She considered walking away from him entirely, but she didn’t want to deal with her mother’s histrionics if she attempted it. Captain Carter, her usual partner for the second set, had yet to ask her, and she took the opportunity to escape. She looked at no one, said nothing, and slipped out a side door. She was familiar enough with the house to find her way to Mr. Bingley’s library. It was on the opposite side of the house from the ballroom and card rooms, and she slipped into the dark room silently, grateful for the lack of light and the solitude. She sat gingerly on the sofa near the window and leaned back to look at the night sky through the glass.
Finally, she heard voices in the hall moving toward the dining room at the center of the house. She rose from her comfortable seat and reluctantly left her sanctuary behind. She was coming to the end of the short corridor when she nearly ran into Mr. Darcy.
“Miss Elizabeth!”
“Mr. Darcy.” She dipped into a brief curtsey and moved to walk past him.
“May I escort you?” He turned to stand beside her and offered his arm.
She stared at his arm blankly for a moment, then mechanically threaded her own through his crooked elbow.
“Are you well, Miss Elizabeth?” he asked quietly as they approached the dining room. The hall was filling with people and he leaned down to speak in her ear.
To her great mortification, her eyes filled with tears and her throat tightened. He deftly steered them into a side corridor and around a corner, and suddenly they were back near the library again, its door open in front of her.
“Come,” he said. He led her into the library and delicately assisted her onto the sofa. “I shall return in a moment.”
Before she could respond, he had left the room. She looked about for something to dry her eyes and saw Mr. Darcy’s handkerchief on the seat beside her. She wiped her eyes and nose and refolded the fine cloth so the embroidered ‘D’ was visible. It was nice handiwork. She idly wondered if his sister had stitched it for him, or perhaps an aunt or a cousin. She couldn’t imagine Mr. Darcy having a paramour, but she admitted it was a possibility.
She looked up to see Mr. Darcy coming through the door, his features stern. He carried a glass of wine and a plate of food.
“Drink this,” he said and handed her the glass and set the plate before her. “You may not feel like eating, but it could help.”
“I thank you,” she said in a small voice.
He lowered himself slowly into the chair across from her. “Miss Elizabeth, is there anything I might do for you?” he asked softly.
Surprised by his tone, she looked up and answered, “There is nothing anyone can do, I believe. But I thank you for the offer.”
He nodded and continued to watch her, and she was struck by how different he looked in the moonlight with his face wreathed in concern. She paused. He was concerned, wasn’t he? She chided herself. Of course, he was. He found her, offered his arm, asked after her wellbeing, and led her to privacy when she was in danger of losing her composure. Though she rather enjoyed disliking him, she must admit that he was being very kind to her at the moment.
She was too tired and heartsick to give anything much thought, but as she nibbled on a biscuit from the plate he had brought, she let her mind sort through the many feelings she had towards Mr. Darcy. It had been one thing to dislike him when she only saw him every few days, but it was quite another to maintain such ire on a daily basis. It was exhausting her, that much she could admit.
“You are being very kind to me,” she said, unable to keep the surprise out of her voice.
He furrowed his brow for a moment. “Does that surprise you?”
“Yes.”
Now he looked shocked. “Why?”
“You don’t like me,” she said simply. She turned her eyes to her plate and selected a bite of cheese and washed it down with wine.
She finally looked at Mr. Darcy, who was staring at her in what was clearly shock and no little consternation.
“Miss Bennet, I must ask that you tell me where you ever got such a notion.”
She shrugged her shoulders, feeling much better for the food and wine. “You were right, the food is helping.” She took another bite of cheese and he looked at her incredulously.
“Miss Bennet!”
She returned her attention to him and saw a wildness in his eyes she had not seen there before. She felt odd, as if she were watching herself have this conversation from the other side of the window. She was aware of everything that was happening, but she couldn’t bring herself to care overmuch about the outcome of this strange meeting. It would be forgot tomorrow, after all.
“Very well, Mr. Darcy. I have long known you disliked me, from the first moment of our acquaintance at the Meryton Assembly and it was confirmed in subsequent meetings. But I should not speak of such. You have been very kind to me this evening and I thank you.”
He looked at her in utter confusion, and she wondered if he needed the wine more than she did. She pushed the glass and plate of food towards him.
“Eat something. It helps.” She smiled and he mechanically reached for her glass and sipped out of it, then returned it to the table. She nudged the plate further in his direction and he took some cheese, and then a biscuit.
“Miss Bennet, I like you a very great deal. It astonishes me that you have no notion of it.” He spoke calmly but his eyes were bright in the moonlight.
“Forgive me, Mr. Darcy. I must have taken your refusal to dance with me and your disdain of the general neighborhood as marks against me. My mistake,” she said lightly and sought out another biscuit.
Darcy bristled. “Miss Bennet, it
is you who has refused to dance with me, on two occasions, and I had planned to ask you to dance tonight but you were nowhere to be found.”
She was struck silent by the edge in his voice and took a moment to study him. His posture was stiff, and his jaw flexed tightly behind his pursed lips. He was breathing so harshly she could see his nostrils flaring and relaxing in time.
“You are correct, Mr. Darcy, I did refuse you. I believed you to have asked me at Lucas Lodge because Sir William forced the issue, and I assumed you did not truly mean it when you spoke of dancing reels at Netherfield. I apologize for offending you.” She spoke dispassionately, in stark contrast to his barely contained emotion. She spared a moment to think on the oddity of the situation, but she truly could care about very little tonight. Her life stretched before her in long, monotonous days and she could not be bothered by something as trivial as Mr. Darcy’s feelings about prior dance requests.
“Why would I ask you if I did not mean it?”
“Did you truly ask me? Or did you suggest dancing a reel would be enjoyable, then wait for me to agree with you?”
He replayed the conversation in his mind and finally said, “While I must give credence to your retelling of events, I believe the invitation was clear.”
“Was it? I assumed you had meant only to mock me.”
“Why would I wish to do that, Miss Bennet?”
“Why indeed, Mr. Darcy?”
He looked at her quizzically and she leaned back on the sofa to look out the window again. “It is a remarkably clear night. We usually see much rain this time of year.”
The 26th of November, a Pride and Prejudice Comedy of Farcical Proportions Page 5