Chapter 3

Three

"Mama." Elizabeth was tilting alarmingly to one side on the settee, her eyes nearly crossed. "I want to find my bed now, I think."

Mrs Bennet understood her daughter perfectly, despite the fact that she dropped approximately a third of her syllables. Mr Collins, too busy composing the next sentences to his foolish, drawn-out offer of marriage, failed utterly to comprehend.

"What was that? What did she say?"

It was the fifth time he had asked it. One would think he would pay more attention to the utterances of the recipient of his protracted proposal—but one would be as wrong as it was possible to be. She felt, again, a heavy measure of guilt for inflicting him upon Lizzy. But what else was there to do? Their prospects were a fathomless unknown, beholden to this very fool!

Without Mr Bennet to provide support for the marriage, she had about as much chance of convincing Elizabeth to marry the idiotic Collins as she did of persuading her husband to buy a house in Mayfair. Lizzy was her most intelligent daughter, yet the girl was frustrating in her inability to secure her own future!

"She says she cannot wait to be wed, she thinks," Mrs Bennet interpreted.

Mr Collins's brow furrowed as he seemed to notice, for the first time, that his hoped-for bride was listing to one side. "I say. She seems to be a bit off this morning, does she not?"

Her daughter went off into a fit of giggles. Mrs Bennet was required to hold her phial of salts beneath Lizzy's nose, to transform it to a fit of sneezing instead.

"It is not every day that a young lady receives a marriage proposal from a handsome, eligible gentleman," Mrs Bennet reminded him, once the sneezing was past. "It is unsurprising that she is nervous."

His brow smoothed. "Oh. Why yes, believe me, my dear Miss Elizabeth, that your modesty, so far from doing you any disservice, rather adds to your other perfections."

Elizabeth's voice dropped several notches—and in unfortunately clear tones, began quoting one of Mr Bennet's favourites. "‘But pain is perfect misery, the worst of evils, and excessive, overturns all patience.'"

"I have always loved Shakespeare," Mr Collins opined, smiling approvingly at Elizabeth. "Not long ago, a very notable lady—my esteemed patroness, you know—particularly advised and recommended that I commit Shakespeare's sonnets to memory whilst in the pursuit of a bride, and I cannot help but believe that your knowledge of his works, especially when tempered with the silence and respect that her rank will inevitably excite—will ensure her approval of my choice of bride. I compliment you."

Even Mrs Bennet knew—not through any interest of her own, of course, but from the endless ruminations of her husband—that it was Milton which Lizzy quoted, not Shakespeare. She wondered whether, within all these words Mr Collins had thus far uttered, she could presume an actual proposal of marriage had already taken place. If so, she could proceed with Lizzy's response.

Unfortunately, in the absence of any question, there seemed no space to provide an answer.

"My reasons for marrying are, first, I think it is a right thing for every clergyman in easy circumstance…"

Heavens above, would he never bring himself to the point?

"Mama, the sound of his voice is making me sick," Elizabeth mumbled.

Mr Collins stopped his monologue on the excellence of Lady Catherine de Bourgh and looked again to Mrs Bennet for interpretation.

"She says she has always wanted to marry a cleric."

He smiled benignly, and began another soliloquy upon the subject of Elizabeth's lack of fortune and his own generosity in ignoring it. "And now nothing remains for me but to assure you in the most animated language of the violence of my affection. I deem it appropriate to declaim using Shakespeare's poetry such as young ladies are prone to admire, in demonstration of my regard." He cleared his throat and began to recite:

Take all my loves, my love, yea, take them all.

What hast thou then more than thou hadst before ? —

It was at this juncture that Mrs Bennet noticed Mary standing in the entrance to the parlour, very near her own chair, looking on in some amazement. Mr Collins continued with his performance, oblivious to anyone else's presence—including his intended bride's.

"What is he doing, Mama?" Mary whispered.

"Have you no sense of romance? Have you never before heard poetry recited?" Mrs Bennet hissed.

"Really? But why would he choose Shakespeare's verses about a friend's betrayal with his own mistress?"

"Hush, noisy girl! Your father and sisters are abed. Out!"

Mary, fortunately, obediently departed, but if Jane waked, she would not be so easily put off. It was all too much, and Lizzy was in danger of collapsing.

"Mr Collins!" she called loudly, interrupting some lines which did, unfortunately, sound much as though he were scolding a disloyal friend and deceitful lover.

He peered at her in some irritation. "I have three more stanzas learnt."

"But you have missed my dear Elizabeth's bestowal of her hand and heart upon you. And now, in her excitement to be your bride, she wishes to be taken to the church immediately and have the thing done."

"I did? She will? She does?" he asked, staring at his bride-to-be. Elizabeth had laid her head upon the arm of the settee and was laughing to herself, glassy-eyed.

"Can you not tell excitement for a wedding when you see it? We shall use the carriage. I have already ordered it brought round. Mr Palmer will have witnesses available. Do you have the licence?"

"Why yes. Yes, I do. Right here in my pocket." He fumbled around with three different pockets before finally producing it. He glanced at Elizabeth again, and this time there was no mistaking the gleam of admiration in his eye as he realised he was to be a married man before noon.

Forcibly quelling her conscience once more, Mrs Bennet heaved her daughter to her feet. "Come, my poppet," she said, keeping her arm about Lizzy's waist. "It is time to be wed. Your future is secured."

Darcy galloped up the long drive just as a party of three emerged from the house. One of them was obviously the hulking form of the cleric, Collins. His jaw could be seen flapping, a never-ending stream of discourse reaching Darcy as a tuneless whine. Mrs Bennet walked by his side, plainly and heavily supporting Elizabeth. Even from this distance he could see the poor girl would probably collapse onto the pavers, were someone not holding her up. He could hardly believe his eyes; the plan to ruin Elizabeth's life depended upon a scheming mama, a witless groom, and a doddering vicar—and yet, it appeared to be proceeding apace.

He managed to manoeuvre his mount between the group and the carriage before they reached it, leaping from the horse to land practically upon their toes.

"Mr Darcy!" Collins beamed at him with his usual vapidity, bowing low. "You honour us with your presence. In fact, it was the only thing lacking on an otherwise perfect morning. I do not believe that I presume too much when I and my cousin invite you to join us on a brief journey to the village church, to thereby witness our nuptials. The distinction of having so fine a testator would be a compliment to myself and my bride, and I do not hesitate to add, nearly as great a commemoration as the presence of Lady Catherine de Bourgh herself."

"I am certain it is an impertinence to ask," Mrs Bennet snapped, appearing more impatient than guilty. "Pray forgive him for his insolence, sir. As you can see, we are just departing. We will be on our way, and trouble you no further, Mr Darcy."

Elizabeth giggled.

"Miss Elizabeth," he said in firm tones, ignoring the other two, "can you understand that you are being taken to a church to be married to this man?"

At the sound of his voice, she looked at him and smiled her wide, lovely smile. "You are very pretty," she said in the too-careful tones of the inebriated. Reaching over, she touched his mouth. "It is such a shame you are vermin. Scoundrel. Rat. Ch-churl." She peered up above his head, as if searching for more invective in the sky, swaying a little. "Brute. Mig-headed piscreant. No, that was not right. Never mind." She shook her head, causing another sway that her mother only just prevented turning into a tumble.

Mrs Bennet was sweating now with the effort of keeping her daughter upright.

"Toad," Elizabeth pronounced carefully.

"Miss Elizabeth!" Collins screeched in horrified tones. "I assure you, Mr Darcy, she means none of it! Perhaps in her excitement for her wedding?—"

"Lizzy, come with me, now!" Mrs Bennet pulled her daughter to the side, attempting to get around him. "Mr Collins, forget this nonsense and help her into the carriage!"

"Miss Elizabeth is going nowhere with the two of you," he said, stepping in front of the pair of women, effectively blocking their path forwards. "Anyone can see she is not in her right mind."

"Simply because she does not care for you—and had the courage to say so to your face—does not render her irrational. I daresay women have been lying to you for a chance at your fortune for years," Mrs Bennet snapped, clearly furious.

Elizabeth was searching the sky again. Taking another step forwards, Darcy firmly tugged her away from Mrs Bennet's hold, placing his hands on either side of her face so that she was forced to look directly at him.

"Do you understand that your mother is attempting to force you into a marriage with your cousin, Mr William Collins?"

As she gazed into his eyes, her own beautiful dark ones filled with tears. "You were unkind," she whispered, and though her speech was not pristine, and she tripped over some of the syllables, he understood well enough what she said next. "Why not…simply say…in no mood to dance?" A single tear spilled over, and he slid his thumb across it, his heart aching. How he wished he had never attended that stupid assembly! But she was not finished tearing his integrity to shreds. "I love to dance," she sighed, still swaying to an invisible rhythm, still peering up at the clouds. "Dance with the…clumsy. The ugly. The awkward. No matter. To twirl, to whirl. Freedom, for an hour. But you…" Her eyes rested again directly upon him. "You ensured I knew I…no better than something scraped off your shoe. You, sir, are no mentalgem. Genmaltem."

"Gentleman," he said, helping her. He forgot their audience, and even his purpose in being there, only wishing he could feel the delicate skin of her cheeks through his gloves, longing to kiss away those tears. "I am sorry," he said softly. "I have regretted those words many times. You are correct. I am a brute."

"Mr Darcy," came a somewhat frantic cry from Collins. "I apologise if my cousin, in a moment of forgetfulness, neglected to demonstrate all the respect due your consequence. I beg your forgiveness and can assure you that, as her husband, I will ensure such insolence never occurs again." He cleared his throat and drew his bulky form up even taller. "Miss Elizabeth, I order you to proceed at once to the carriage. You may regard my instruction as a command."

Darcy gave him a sour look, but the interruption did remind him of his purpose. "Miss Elizabeth is plainly out of her senses. Taking her to a church in this condition, with intent to wed, is not simply illegal, it is immoral. It is depraved."

"There is nothing the matter with her that a wedding, with its accompanying joy, would not resolve. This is none of your affair, Mr Darcy," Mrs Bennet retorted.

"Now, now," Collins reproached, "we none of us wish to cause offence in so illustrious and honourable a person as the nephew of Lady Catherine de Bourgh. He simply misunderstands the situation. Mr Darcy, Miss Elizabeth has given me her assurances that she wishes for the marriage to take place. I have a licence! A licence!"

To Darcy's amazement, he extracted a piece of paper from his pocket and fluttered it before them both like a banner, continuing his chatter.

"Possibly you mistake my bride's liveliness and high spirits for conduct instigated by less flattering motives. However, I can reassure you that nothing such as you imagine is the source of her behaviour. Once she is my wife, I shall assist in refining her comportment to match that exhibited in the higher circles which I have the good fortune to inhabit regularly, and which, naturally, she shall wish to emulate."

"I do not criticise her , you dolt," Darcy snapped. "How can you not see that she is out of her head? Miss Elizabeth," he said, more sternly this time, desperate to direct her attention to the offence in progress. "Do you understand that your mother is trying to wed you to this buffoon, right now, at this very moment?"

Instead of answering, Elizabeth laid her head on his shoulder. "I am very sleepy."

Both Collins and Mrs Bennet made their moves—Mrs Bennet attempting to pull her daughter back, Collins trying to shove her away from Mr Darcy and gasping at her effrontery in touching the ‘great man'—but Darcy blocked them both. At that moment, his carriage thankfully turned up the drive. It was plain to him that the only recourse was to carry Elizabeth away from these reprobates until she was in her right mind. If he had to drive all the way to London and back to gain time enough for her to regain her sensibilities, that was what he ought to do.

"Miss Elizabeth," Darcy asked, "shall I take you for a drive in my carriage?"

She smiled at him. It was answer enough.

"Come," he said, and lifting her in his arms, strode to meet his oncoming brougham, which stopped beside them several yards away; one of Bingley's stablemen sprang out to put down the step. As he helped her into the carriage, Darcy glanced back. Collins's mouth was an ‘o' of surprise, while Mrs Bennet, her fists clenched and very red in the face, called for him to bring her back this instant. Ignoring them both, he climbed in after Elizabeth, leaving the stableman to return Bingley's hunter. Settling himself, he knocked on the roof. Moments later, they were off, Elizabeth curled up beside him, a contented smile upon her face.

The situation was, of course, absurd, ridiculous, even offensive.

How was it, then, that it struck him as so oddly right, so impossibly perfect that she be exactly where she was?

"I do not understand," Mr Collins said, still gaping like a fish. "What has happened?"

Mrs Bennet looked at him with some contempt. During the entire interlude, he had done naught but accuse Lizzy of misbehaviour. Obviously, he worshipped at the altar of the aristocracy and made excuses for every insult. How Mr Darcy had learnt of the morning's scheme, she could not guess; perhaps it was coincidence. Probably it was. He was departing Netherfield, or so it appeared, and likely come to pay his respects—only to have that fool Mr Collins announce his immediate marriage to Lizzy who acted, to anyone with eyes to see, completely soused. Mr Darcy was arrogant, but hardly stupid.

On the other hand, Mr Collins was the most credulous fellow she had ever had the misfortune to meet. Nevertheless, he had influence, of a sort—with Mr Darcy's aunt, no less. Perhaps something could be salvaged of the situation. She may have failed to gain the heir of Longbourn estate for Lizzy, but perhaps a marriage was still possible. Mr Darcy might be no worthier, but he was certainly wealthier, more intelligent, and better looking than Mr Collins. She turned to face him.

"What has happened, my dear Mr Collins, is this: Mr Darcy has eloped with your bride."