Chapter Five

CHAPTER FIVE

"AND TO THINK ," said Jane, shaking her head, "that she was in love with you, all along."

Mr. Darcy let out a breath. ‘Well, she says that isn't true." It was afternoon now, and he was in the gardens with Miss Bennet. They'd run into each other only moments ago. Jane confessed she had thought to find Caroline and see if she might mend whatever it was that had gone wrong between them, and Mr. Darcy confessed he'd had the same inclination.

But now, they were only standing together near a large rose bush, in sight of the house, but with neither Caroline nor Louisa anywhere to be found.

"It wasn't very believable when she said that, though," said Jane quietly. "Even I could see that. I don't like to think that people are lying, but I think she was partly lying to herself. We have all been there, have we not, being hopeless for someone who does not even know we exist?"

"You?" he said. "When has that happened to you?"

"He came in the spring. He was the nephew of Mrs. Gateling, but he must marry a woman with a dowry, so I think he trained his eye not to look anywhere except at money." Jane shrugged. "No one knows, not even Lizzy. My sister loves me, but she can be harsh. She would have dismissed my feelings, told me to forget about them, told me it was pointless to dream when such a thing was impossible. I knew all that. I didn't need to hear it from her mouth."

Mr. Darcy was struck by the idea of that, of the difference in the way that it must feel for a woman like Jane Bennet to experience love. She needed a husband in a way that he did not need a wife.

Not that he didn't need a wife, for he did. He would be half a man without one, and he must have children. But if he never married, it would be a different life for him than the life she would live.

And look at her!

Look at this beautiful, sweet woman. She was practically an angel on earth. Why wasn't she married already? "He was a fool for not noticing you," he said.

"No, no, he was not. He knew what was important," she said. "Looks fade, Mr. Darcy. I may or may not be as pretty as my mother thinks I am. Mothers have a skewed view of their own offspring, after all—"

"You are pretty, Miss Bennet, depend upon it."

She flushed. "You will turn my head, saying such things."

He laughed. "I doubt that very much. There are heads that can be turned, and then there is yours."

"My head could be turned," she said, and there was emotion there.

He swallowed. He thought of Elizabeth, last night, saying what she'd said about Bingley.

Suddenly, he was angry. These girls, these Bennet girls, locked up in this country prison—well, he was exaggerating—but truly, why had they never come to town?

Well, he'd heard that they didn't have a house in town and that they had relatives in Cheapside, and he knew that they might not have been invited into his own circle, but even so, there was a circle they could have been invited into, and it was better than this. How were these girls to get married and improve their lot in life if they did nothing but visit those public balls in Meryton?

He was angry, because he realized neither of them, neither Jane nor Elizabeth, had any notion of their own worth. They didn't realize how pretty they were, how pleasant, how intelligent, how disarming.

Maybe it's their humility you like, he thought archly.

And it was true that he sometimes grew weary of the way that women of the ton carried themselves, but it wasn't that, because it made him angry that the Bennet sisters had such low opinions of themselves.

It was as he'd been attempting to say earlier—accomplishments didn't make a woman. Something else did, something that both of these sisters had in spades, something intangible. He wished he could show Jane Bennet what she was worth. He wished he could make it so she'd never sound so wistful and resigned ever again.

"So, your head could be turned." He smiled at her. "Shall I have a go at it? Will you tell me when I've succeeded?"

She flushed again, but she was smiling too. "Mr. Darcy! What a shocking thing to say."

He smiled. "That easily, then?"

She laughed, turning even brighter red. "But you don't… you don't truly… that is…?"

"I wish you understood what a rare sort of woman you are, Miss Bennet," he said to her, all seriousness. "And your sister, too. I don't think either of you have any notion of just how alluring you both are."

Jane pulled back, stunned by this.

"Mr. Bingley, you know, he's quite enamored of your sister."

Jane bit down on her lip. "Yes, I see it."

"And it's quite nice to be in your company, Miss Bennet. I must say that I enjoy it very, very much."

"Thank you, sir," she said. She was bright red all over. "But my mother… my sisters… my family—"

"I know," he said.

"I am not foolish. I see why Miss Bingley might object," said Jane. "If it were me, I would be all kindness and solicitude, simply to make up for it all, but my sister Lizzy, she has such a fierce pride."

"Does she."

"It is not that she thinks more highly of herself than she ought, but I think she feels certain things as slights, and I don't know if she could bear it, bear the constant barrage of Miss Bingley's censure."

He tilted his head to one side.

Jane seemed to realize what she'd said. "N-no, I didn't mean to say that my sister could not bear being Mr. Bingley's wife." Then, she cringed. "Not that Mr. Bingley has even intimated that he—"

"He has," he interrupted.

She looked up at him, stunned, eyes wide.

"Perhaps I oughtn't have told you that, however," he said. "You will likely share it with your sister, I should think, and I imagine Bingley did not wish her to know yet. It is nothing certain, you see. It is only a consideration."

"Of course," said Jane.

"How about this?" he said with a smile. "I shall promise not to relay to Mr. Bingley your concerns about your sister's pride, and you will promise not to tell your sister about Mr. Bingley's declared designs upon her."

"Yes, sir," she agreed readily. "I shall keep the secret." She nodded, very serious.

Was she always so serious, Jane Bennet?

What did it take to make this woman laugh, really laugh?

ELIZABETH HAD NEVER been quite so very bored in her life. Mr. Bingley had come to sit with her on numerous occasions during her illness, and Jane attended to her with ferocious frequency, but she had felt quite ready to get out of bed after the first day entirely bound to it, though everyone had expressly forbidden it.

She had read all of the book that Mr. Darcy had given her, but he had not come back to discuss it with her, and Mr. Bingley had not read it. He didn't even know who William Wallace was. She had tried to explain a bit, but he said it was difficult enough to keep straight any of the history of the British crown, let alone the Scottish one. She said that William Wallace was not a king of Scotland.

"Ah," said Mr. Bingley, nodding. "Shall I read the book, then?"

"Do you wish to read the book?" she said.

"If you wish me to read it, then yes, I do. I wish to please you."

She furrowed her brow, unsure of how to take that. Was it not romantic for a man to wish to please a woman? Why did it therefore make her uncomfortable? She found she had trouble giving Mr. Bingley a direct order, for some reason.

Some princess I should make, she thought. If I were meant to cast my favor from a high tower and tell all the princes in the land that I should marry whosoever found it first, I should be stifled from action by discomfort.

On the other hand, truly, what princess wanted to marry someone on the sole reason that they could find a favor?

It sounded to her like something a man would prize, winning some contest against other men, to win a woman's hand.

Elizabeth was not sure she wanted to be won.

Well, no, that was ridiculous. Obviously being won was romantic, and she was simply being idiotic about it.

"I don't wish to force you to do things you don't want to do, Mr. Bingley," she said.

He laughed. "But that is what women do to men, Miss Bennet."

She grimaced, uncomfortable with that. She only needed to look at her own parents' relationship to ascertain there was truthfulness to his assertion.

At any rate, when Jane came to her to say that they had finally gotten the carriage, and that they were finally heading home, Elizabeth was relieved. She could not spend another day in bed here.

The carriage ride home proved riveting, for Jane had not told her anything while she was abed. She'd spared Elizabeth any talk of the comings and goings within the house in case it would "upset" her, she said. So, now, with Elizabeth feeling better, she could hear the news without upset. Elizabeth was vastly entertained by the idea that Miss Bingley had carried a torch for Mr. Darcy, who was not even remotely interested in her. She chortled in delight as Jane related all the incidents in order.

"And Mr. Darcy?" she asked Jane. "Have you managed to make him fall in love with you, yet?"

"Oh, no," said Jane with a laugh. "I understand him well, Elizabeth. He cannot marry a woman like me. He knows it. I know it. Even so, he finds me attractive and diverting, and I think he even feels pity for me. There is nothing else there."

"Well, he's an idiot, then," pronounced Elizabeth. "Because any man with a brain should be in love with you."

Jane rolled her eyes. "You go and say things like that, Lizzy, but you know they are only true to you, not to everybody else."

Elizabeth wanted to argue that wasn't true, that Jane didn't realize what regard she was held in by others, but Jane interrupted her thoughts to inform her there was to be a ball at Netherfield, that Bingley had been somewhat bullied into it by Lydia.

Elizabeth groaned. "Oh, you have been leaving it all out! When Mama was there, what did she say? Was she terrible?"

"I think it can only be a good sign that Mr. Bingley bore it," said Jane. "He did say something worrying, however."

"What?"

"He seems like a changeable man is all. He says he devotes himself to things but then changes focus at the drop of a hat. I fear he could do it with you, that is all."

Elizabeth nodded, taking this observation seriously. "I see. I shall keep that in mind."

They arrived home to little fanfare, which Elizabeth found confusing, for shouldn't everyone wish to knew everything that had happened? But instead, the household was in a flurry, because a guest was coming.

It took little inquiry to discover that it was their father's heir, the man who would inherit Longbourn, a Mr. Collins, apparently. They were even given the letter that their father had read at breakfast to look over.

She and Jane passed it back and forth, reading it through.

Mr. Collins had written of making amends to Mr. Bennet's daughters, and it took little guessing on their part to determine what he might mean by that. Mr. Collins was coming to their house, to stay a week, in search of a wife.

Elizabeth tried to assure Jane that she needn't marry this man if she didn't wish to, but Jane seemed serene about it, already talking about how much better they should all feel if she were to be the mistress of Longbourn.

"Why, if he continues as parson in Kent," said Jane, "maybe I shall be there with him, even after Papa's passing. Maybe Mama will be able to stay here as mistress of the house until her death, and then, after that, well, maybe all of us will be married, but if one of us isn't, it will all be solved. I think it's quite relieving, if you wish to know the truth."

"But Mr. Darcy," said Elizabeth. "What about Mr. Darcy?"

"Mr. Darcy is not going to marry me," said Jane. "You did not observe us together, Lizzy, and I assure you, I know this to be true."

But then Mr. Collins arrived, and Elizabeth could not bear to allow Jane to marry that man.

Mr. Collins was a heavy sort of man of five and twenty. He conducted himself with an air of heaviness as well. All of his statements were a bit slow, and he was given to punctuating his speech with silences as if he was conveying something very (silence) important (silence) to the gathered. He spoke at length about his mistress Lady Catherine de Bourgh, and mixed up all of their names, which was to be expected—there were five girls—but he seemed quite offended when he was gently corrected, as if it was Elizabeth's fault that she was not Catherine and Mary's fault that she was not Jane.

All of this, Elizabeth supposed, she could have borne, but then there was the interminable knowledge that Mr. Collins never read novels and that his idea of a diverting afternoon was reading Fordyce's sermons aloud, and that—when Lydia interrupted him—he said that young girls were often uneasy to hear the things they most needed to hear.

Elizabeth cornered Jane and said she must refuse him.

Jane only laughed.

"But that man, Jane, you cannot be married to that man ," said Elizabeth.

Jane said she would do it for the family, and that it would not be such a hardship. She said she was pleased not to be marrying someone who was far and away much older than her, and Elizabeth said that made it even worse, for he would not die for some time.

When Jane proved impossible to move, Elizabeth went to their mother, and she tried to make the case that it was possible that Jane had caught the eye of Mr. Darcy.

Mr. Darcy with ten thousand a year, she said pointedly.

Her mother listened, nodding, lacing her hands together, unsure of what to say. Now, for the first time, her mother wished Elizabeth to go through everything she had seen and heard at Netherfield.

Elizabeth explained that she'd mostly been confined to the bed.

But had Mr. Bingley attended to her?

Oh, yes, most prodigiously, Elizabeth replied, trying not to sound a bit annoyed with his attentions—not even understanding why she was annoyed with his attentions—she shouldn't be.

But then she explained about Caroline Bingley. Only, she sort of made it sound as if Mr. Darcy had thrown over Caroline for Jane, which made her mother's eyes dance with delight.

Then her mother went on a long tangent about how Jane was so pretty that even very rich men must fall in love with her at first sight. "Oh," said her mother, "but what are we going to do about Mr. Collins?"

"Well," said Elizabeth, "tell him to skip Jane, I think. Tell him she is as good as engaged."

"Skip to you?"

"No," said Elizabeth. "Heavens no! I cannot marry that man."

"But you are secure in Mr. Bingley?"

She was not secure in Mr. Bingley, that was the problem. Even if Mr. Bingley was far and away in love with her, she was not sure she wanted to spend the rest of her life with him. The more he seemed to fawn over her, the less she seemed to like him, and she did not know why. However, if it were a choice between Mr. Bingley and Mr. Collins… well, there was no consideration needed there. If escaping Mr. Collins was only achievable by securing Mr. Bingley. "I shall secure him," she promised her mother. "He is giving a ball for me, is he not?"

"Yes, it seems so," said her mother. "And honestly, Lizzy, I wish we had not been accosted immediately by Mr. Collins, because I have serious concerns that you can secure Mr. Bingley."

"I can," said Elizabeth, who was not sure how she was going to do it, exactly.

"You and I need to spend some time working on your manners and air," said her mother. "And your responses! You say such things , Lizzy."

"I don't," said Elizabeth, who knew that she did.

"I am to tell Mr. Collins to focus on Mary, then?" said her mother.

"Yes?" said Elizabeth.

Her mother sighed heavily. "I suppose we shall see what he thinks."

Elizabeth thought they should perhaps see what Mary thought, also.

She resolved to speak to her younger sister about it on the following day, when they all walked into Meryton. However, she was distracted from this by a curious interaction that she and her sisters observed.

They were introduced to a young officer named Wickham, who had a fine countenance and figure, a dashing sort of man who seemed all politeness. He had settled his gaze on Jane, Elizabeth had noted, and she had caught that with a sort of thought that she hadn't done wrong to steer Mr. Collins from Jane, for surely Jane would catch the eye of someone-or-other even if Jane was right and Mr. Darcy would never stoop to marry her.

Privately, Elizabeth knew it to be true. She wondered at herself, sabotaging Jane's match with Mr. Collins…

But then one look at the man and she knew that Jane could not be happy with him. She could not allow that to happen to her sister. Mary would bear it differently, Elizabeth thought. Mary had read Fordyce's sermons herself. Mary had a view of the world that would compliment Mr. Collins. They'd be happy together. It was the obvious match of the sisters, if someone had to marry him.

Of course, she had not actually asked Mary what she thought, and she was getting ready to do exactly that, when Mr. Darcy and Mr. Bingley appeared. They were on horseback, but dismounted readily and came to speak to the gathered company.

Mr. Bingley gushed to Elizabeth that he had just been on his way to inquire after her at Longbourn, and Elizabeth's heart jumped, for this must mean that he did indeed feel strongly for her, if he was coming to call.

Mr. Darcy smiled at Jane and said that he could confirm it was so. It was a happy accident to have come across them here.

Mr. Collins was jostling about for an introduction, and Elizabeth thought that Jane was about to oblige him, but suddenly Mr. Darcy looked up and saw Mr. Wickham.

They were but ten feet from each other, but the distance seemed further. Something about the way they looked at each other seemed to make everything stop. All of the sisters went quiet, and the men around Wickham stopped talking as well.

Mr. Wickham touched his hat, careless.

Mr. Darcy's face was red and he touched his own hat, his movements jerky. He immediately mounted his horse, muttering something to Bingley about needing to be off at once and that he would see him later.

Mr. Bingley, however, seemed oblivious to all of it. He was talking, she realized, about William Wallace, of all things. He waved Mr. Darcy off with barely a look and proceeded to tell Elizabeth that he should be quite happy to have her procure a reading list for him, that he found himself much motivated to improve himself when it was in the service of her pleasure.

Elizabeth resolved that she must get Jane to speak to Mr. Wickham or to Mr. Darcy at the next possible opportunity. Certainly, Jane's sweet disposition would mean that no one could help explaining all to her. Also, both of them seemed interested in Jane!

Could it have been that?

No, no, Mr. Darcy hadn't seen the way Mr. Wickham had looked at her.

"I find Scottish history ever so interesting now!" said Mr. Bingley.

"I'm glad you read a book, Mr. Bingley," she said, trying ever so intently to focus only on him. "And that you enjoyed it more than you enjoyed Robinson Crusoe ."

"It helped that it was based on historical fact, I think," said Mr. Bingley. "Even though it was a novel, it was grounded in something real. So many novels today are all about the Tower of This or the Castle of That , and they're just some silly woman wandering around in cobwebbed, dark corridors, wondering if some man is actually dangerous or not. Why would a woman be interested in a dangerous man, I ask you?"

"I don't know," said Elizabeth, shrugging. "Dangerous men are never alluring, in my opinion." She could not help but glance at Mr. Wickham again. Had she ever seen such a handsome man?