Chapter 20

CHAPTER TWENTY

E ager as Elizabeth was to return home and support Jane as her wedding neared, she was reluctant to abandon the company of Mr Darcy. The price of his proximity was one of constant wariness; she knew Mr Collins was watching her and was uncertain as to whether he may have enlisted Maria to help. She was certain he was reading the girl's letters; whether Maria allowed it happily did not matter.

Perhaps it was guilt or simply loneliness, but since her father had gone back to Meryton, Maria often sought out Elizabeth's company. The girl who had never shown much joy in the out of doors had become her eager companion on walks. Elizabeth hoped it was for the company of Colonel Fitzwilliam, who seemed to have enlisted himself as Mr Darcy's afternoon walking companion. How much more enjoyable their outing to the tree would have been had Mr Collins not determined the importance of his presence and his cogitations on the Great and Ghastly Oak. It meant she and Mr Darcy scarcely spoke until her cousin had fallen asleep, and even then, they always had been in company. He seemed little bothered by it, always polite, often warm, but also careful in her company.

She laughed at herself. Wistful thinking about a man who likely thought her far too forward in her opinions . I told him what I seek in marriage and that I do not wish for a husband? He must think me mad.

She was leaving in two days, and would not see him again until the wedding. She hoped he would be welcomed with civility and that the rumours which had arisen when she was packed off to London would have died off.

What will Mama say when I return home after three months without an offer of marriage? Elizabeth could only hope her own foibles would be forgot amidst the happy business of Jane's impending wedding and the budding romances of Mary and Kitty.

However, the letter she had received from Jane today only clouded her future.

Dearest Lizzy,

I am in great anticipation of your return to us at Longbourn. I need you here, with me, to keep me calm, to lead me away from further talk with Mama of laces and puddings, and Mrs Hurst's questions on wall-papers and fabrics. I thought I knew my own opinions but I have found myself persuaded this way towards yellow florals and that way towards green stripes and I fear I no longer know myself.

Elizabeth laughed. Jane would go from a household where her mother ruled to one where Mr Bingley's sisters would never fail to offer opinions on any choice she made. Oh Jane, you must assert yourself, she thought before returning to her letter.

We are well here, but all has changed. Mary has determined herself unready to commit to even the idea of Mr Smith as a suitor until he finishes his studies; she is scarcely nineteen and he is but twenty-two, and she says his promise must first be to God. Mr Smith agrees and has returned to Oxford.

"Oh Mary." Her sister was true to herself in the worst of ways, but perhaps there was wisdom in their mutual decision. It did show a unity of thought that should be admired.

Mr Nugent has left Netherfield without a proposal to Kitty. I would have thought her heart to be broken but instead, she claims herself, like you, too clever and independent to imagine herself as his wife. I cannot say I am displeased for her. Mr Nugent is enjoyable company, but even Mr Bingley worries his unserious nature is encouraged by his mother in order that she may retain some power over him and their fortune. Kitty understands that I have reeled a little, knowing I would be mistress of a house which remains home to its former mistress, Miss Bingley. If I ensured Kitty understood that a dowager and mother to an only son would likely be at least as formidable, it was because I believed telling her was the necessary duty of an elder sister. You would have done the same far more quickly, I am certain.

"Well done, Jane!" Elizabeth lay back on her bed and pondered the peculiarity of Mr Nugent. Did Kitty see it too, in Mr Nugent's constant mentions of his ‘dear mama'? Had Kitty simply enjoyed a flirtation with him to keep up with Mary? The business of love and marriage was complicated, she concluded, for reason and sensibility played no role when one party's affections could not be trusted. At least Jane had trod a smoother path.

As you imagine, my parents are dissatisfied with both outcomes. They had long assumed Mary would remain at home, and their hopes for a good match with a man likely to be vicar somewhere in Hertfordshire had heartened them—especially Papa. They try not to show their frustration with Mary, and instead reserve it for ‘the caddish Mr Nugent', who was spurned by you and thus seeking revenge on the Bennets by dallying with Kitty. I have told them you are innocent of any injury to him and to any dishonourable feelings he held for Kitty. I am sorry, Lizzy. I look so forward to your arrival home and yet send news that may make you wish to stay away. Please, do come home.

Your loving sister,

Jane

Elizabeth set aside her thoughts on Mary, and even her own suspicions about the feckless Mr Nugent. She did think him capable of such retaliation, if so directed by his mother. You lose, sir. Kitty did not care !

But beyond the awkwardness of Kitty being thwarted in love by the man whom she had thwarted previously, what did it mean for her? Nothing good, apparently. Hence the second letter from Longbourn, addressed in her father's strong, familiar hand. He had not written to her, nor replied to any of her letters, since she had left Longbourn in February. Now that he had, she feared reading it.

Dear Lizzy,

As expected, Longbourn has not been quieter or sillier since you left us in February. To the contrary, in fact. I am pleased that you have kept out of romantic travails while in London and Kent. We have been quite busy with those of your sisters, and as the neighbours report no entanglements for Lydia, I feel blessed indeed. Jane remains your staunchest supporter and tells me that you and Mr Collins have managed to rub along as well as possible at Hunsford. If no other lesson could be taken from living at Longbourn, you have learnt tolerance for those that are foolish, peevish, and incurious. How I do wish you could have applied those lessons and endured your cousin or Mr Nugent when they proposed, for it has set an unfortunate example for your sisters. Neither man was your ideal, nor perhaps mine, but your practice of creating expectations for your mother and for young men—and refusing to meet them—has been followed now by Mary and Kitty. As I no longer enjoy the prospect of being relieved of their company, it is you we again rely upon to do your duty and restore the Bennet reputation, such as it is...

Blinking back tears at his insult, Elizabeth read on as her father reiterated his demand that she, as his ‘most sought-after daughter', accept whatever hand was next offered. Outrage, disappointment, and fear assailed her. How could he make such a demand of a daughter he once favoured? Once at Longbourn, she could not pretend and prevaricate. She would be watched, perhaps forced into introductions. No one came to Meryton. The militia, a traveller resting en route to London...only the Netherfield party had excited any deserved interest.

And only Mr Darcy has excited mine.

She could rely on Jane and Mr Bingley for protection, but after they left on their wedding trip and until their return, she would be at Longbourn. It would be a long, difficult six weeks.

Elizabeth was not formed for melancholy, or the habit of dwelling on the difficulties of her family, or the increasingly mercurial temper of her father. She still had to enact one last vision of a poised, well-behaved lady when she and Maria paid their final call at Rosings. There, with the Collinses, they found Lady Catherine in a particularly foul mood. It was likely due to the absence of her nephews, whom she announced had been detained by business with the steward at the ‘infernally awful Cullip estate'.

Though greatly disappointed by their absence, Elizabeth was not so immodest to think the dowager would miss her company, even though she had taken great pleasure in a pupil as earnest as Maria. The girl had refolded every gown three times as directed, refashioned her hair in the mode Lady Catherine recommended, and pledged to avoid beets and radishes in her diet.

In the more intimate dinner, after bemoaning both the absence of sense and the overly salted tongue, Lady Catherine began a final, and rather sweeping perusal of Elizabeth's failings.

"Miss Bennet, you have been in Kent these five weeks and have spent much of your time out of doors rather than furthering the education you sorely lack. I offered you a place to practise, recommended music to learn and books to read, and have seen no return on my investment of good will. What shall you tell your parents of your time here?"

"I shall tell them how much pleasure I took in making new acquaintances and in seeing my good friend Mrs Collins so happily settled." Elizabeth bowed her head and attempted a humble tone. "Your gestures were kindly meant, madam, and I regret any offence that I did not improve myself by them."

"Well, I must say, you could have benefited much from Anne's company. When next you visit, if your family or employer can give you up, she will be much occupied as a wife."

Elizabeth said nothing to the insult about her future prospects. Miss de Bourgh remained silent at the announcement of her calendar and Mr Collins was quick to support the idea of the glorious union of Rosings and Pemberley.

"Yes, yes, yes. It has ever been planned, Mr Collins. My own wedding was a celebrated union between two great families, just as will be Anne's to Darcy." Lady Catherine waved a dismissive hand before once again peering closely at Elizabeth.

She is enjoying herself, Elizabeth thought, with her nephews absent and thus unable to divert her from her favourite exercises—boasting of Mr Darcy's supposed engagement to her daughter and determining all of my flaws.

"Marriage is the natural state of things. Your friend, Mrs Collins, made an advantageous marriage. Your sister is to be married. Even Mrs Jenkinson—before she won the opportunity to be with my Anne—she at least wed and buried a husband and had her own home. Why are you not married, Miss Bennet? At the very least, you have the advantage of looks and figure. It is surprising you have not received an offer."

Elizabeth set down her fork, realising that in her frustration she might spill her peas. "I have no resistance to the state of marriage."

"Lizzy could be married many times over," cried Maria, looking ever so pleased for supplying Lady Catherine with new intelligence. "My own brother proposed to Lizzy, as did Mr Collins, Mr Goulding, and Mr Nugent."

Elizabeth wished desperately to disappear. The girl had not opened her mouth all evening but to put forkfuls of pheasant and potatoes in it, and now she chose to speak and reveal what she knew Charlotte had told her should be kept from Lady Catherine?

She dared a look at Charlotte, who sat very still, her attention fixed on her plate; only a slight tremble in the hand holding her fork betrayed what was certain to be deep mortification. Mr Collins was pale but paid no notice to his wife or her sister; rather, he looked up and frowned at Elizabeth, as if he were insulted to learn he was not the last of the men she had rejected.

Or perhaps gratified to discover he has more company? The hoyden lecture is certain to come tonight.

Lady Catherine's complexion darkened. "Mr Collins! Is this true?"

He tore his gaze from Elizabeth and looked at his patroness. "I, er, did indeed make an offer to my cousin, but it was refused. She?—"

His hapless flailing only served to deepen Lady Catherine's anger. Her eyes flashed as she hissed, "I believed Miss Elizabeth, like her sisters, was found wanting once you made the acquaintance of Miss Charlotte Lucas!"

"Well, yes?—"

Mr Collins's face was turning purple, and fearing an apoplexy and uncertain whether Charlotte was prepared to be a young widow, Elizabeth spoke.

"It was a curious series of events that led to the proposal," she explained. "Mr Collins and I were among a group taking shelter during a storm in Hertfordshire. He had a slight injury, which I helped tend, and he felt it proper to propose to me and protect my reputation. It was a gentlemanly gesture, but unnecessary, as I was in no way imposed upon." Elizabeth managed to smile at Charlotte before giving Lady Catherine the modest expression she no doubt expected. "I knew his heart had already been captured by my friend."

Mr Collins gave no sign of relief or even understanding that she had prevaricated in order to save his dignity. He merely glanced at his wife and whimpered, "Oh yes. My dear Charlotte."

Lady Catherine's eyebrows rose. "That is scandalous behaviour, entrapping yourself with your cousin, and casting your charms at him."

"That is not at all what occurred, madam."

"Taking shelter together? The two of you? Mr Collins, what say you to this?"

Fear poured off the man. "We were not alone, never alone, Lady Catherine! I-I was escorting my cousin back to Longbourn as a storm began to threaten and we sheltered in the estate's boat-house with, um?—"

"My childhood friend, Mr Goulding, was there as well when the storm became too dangerous for his horse to continue on. There was enough room within the boat-house for all of us to sit quite a distance apart." Elizabeth thought it was a reasonable explanation but Lady Catherine was anything but reasonable.

Mr Collins nodded. "Yes, when the storm ended, Mr Goulding sought help. I was uncertain I could walk the mile to Longbourn on my injured ankle."

Lady Catherine glared at Elizabeth. "This Goulding fellow—a common farmer, I suppose—abandoned you without thought to propriety. You were indeed alone with my vicar, casting your arts and allurements without care for his character or your own reputation."

"No, madam, I did not. Every effort was made to ensure propriety—Mr Collins was sat in a boat, care being taken for his injuries, while I was on a bench some watery distance away."

"He was defenceless, then, as you cast your charms!" Lady Catherine leant towards Elizabeth, her face pinched in anger. "Do you think I have not observed your coquetry with my nephews? Luring Richard to ‘turn your pages' and laughing loudly in company? Compelling Darcy to abandon Anne to come silence your raucous behaviour?"

Desperate to flee lest she speak rashly and injure Charlotte's relationship with Rosings, Elizabeth looked away from Lady Catherine's piercing gaze. The dowager was more monstrous than the gnarled, burnt oak! Taking a breath, she said, "I was asked to play. I made no efforts to charm anyone, only to please you with my meagre efforts on the pianoforte."

"Ha! There you can claim failure as well." Lady Catherine turned to Mr Collins. "I am appalled that you, to whom I have been everything generous with advice and counsel, could have a relation such as this." Her finger shook with anger as she pointed it at Elizabeth. "Are all of her sisters as given to harlotry and beguilement?"

Elizabeth heard Maria's quiet gasp, felt Charlotte's palpable shock. For herself, she could scarcely breathe; never had she been so offended, her very character attacked.

"Do not dare to impugn Miss Bennet's good name." Mr Darcy stood in the doorway, his hands clenched, cold fury on his face.