“Absolutely none,” I agreed. It struck me that this was perhaps the first time in our acquaintance we so emphatically agreed.
Mrs. Bennet did not even spare me a look. She was too intent on the cause of her vexation. “Mr. Collins means to propose on the morrow, and you must accept.”
I shook my head, unable to fully comprehend what I had heard.
Before I had recovered, Mrs. Bennet turned to me, poking my cravat in her insistence. “Do you swear not to mention a word of this… incident?”
She was serious.
I had never heard a sensible utterance cross Mrs. Bennet’s tongue, and now she was eager to overlook a compromising situation from which she would have benefited greatly… in favor of an offer from Mr. Collins. Was she mad?! She would rather have Mr. Collins—a pandering clergyman with nary an original thought in his small mind—in her family than me?
My pride demanded clarification. “You do not intend to force a proposal?”
She scoffed. “We all know you to be a disagreeable man, Mr. Darcy.”
More disagreeable than Mr. Collins?
Too stunned to think of a reply, I listened helplessly as she continued. “I would never wish for any of my daughters to marry you, much less Lizzy, whom you insulted at the Meryton Assembly. She has expressed her dislike for you to all and sundry because of it.”
Dizzy from the clash between her poor estimation of me and my own high opinion of myself, I nodded to Mrs. Bennet’s demand. She wished me to say nothing of this to anyone lest I ruin Miss Elizabeth’s chance of securing a proposal from a man thoroughly unsuited to her. I could not comprehend how Mrs. Bennet would judge that buffoon superior tome.
That Miss Elizabeth did not seize her chance to escape such a wretched prospect as Mr. Collins confounded me further. Certainly she would consider me to be the better choice… would she not? And yet, she remained as silent as Mrs. Bennet bid me to be.
I remained in the library for a few minutes after the ladies departed, numb with emotion.
Mrs. Bennet, a woman I had considered devoid of reason, had somehow arrived at a conclusion that was…reasonable. For reasons that were incomprehensible to me.
Never had I been so relieved or so offended.
CHAPTER 4
Icould hardly be expected to enjoy my narrow escape from an unwanted union after Mrs. Bennet’s assault on my character.
Despite the absence of Miss Lydia, I still needed to find Mr. Bennet and describe what I had prevented on the balcony. Unfortunately, the gentleman had seen an opportunity to depart early with his youngest daughters and had seized it, promising to return at dawn for the rest of his family. Mrs. Bennet was not pleased with his abandonment.
To add insult to injury, I felt it necessary to prove to Mrs. Bennet and Miss Elizabeth they were wrong about me; I danced and conversed with my partners the rest of the evening.
Several times, I caught myself thinking irrationally. I felt more resentful over their poor opinion of me than grateful for my escape from a mortifying blunder that would have forever attached me to such an insignificant family. I owned I must strive to be fair. Mrs. Bennet had proved to possess much more sense than I had previously credited her with. Perhaps I had misjudged the others.
When Bingley asked my opinion of Miss Bennet, I took care to say nothing against the lady and instead encouraged him tomake certain of his own affection before giving her more reason to expect his address.
Once the last guest had departed, I retired to my bedchamber, where I tried to count my blessings in light of what had transpired. However, contrary to my hope for a few hours of uninterrupted blissful slumber, I tossed and turned, Mrs. Bennet’s accusation repeating in my mind.Disagreeable, she had called me.Ungentlemanly!
I brooded and considered my actions during the past weeks. Perhaps Ihadgiven her cause to think thusly. Since my arrival in Hertfordshire, I had made my desire not to mix with society evident by avoiding conversation and refusing to dance with anyone outside of my immediate party. To Bingley’s neighbors, I had displayed no interest. Even this night, when he had invited all of Longbourn, Meryton, and the surrounding villages to Netherfield Park for a ball, I had been withdrawn when I ought to have been welcoming.
Furthermore, I had insulted Miss Elizabeth within her hearing at the assembly. To me, she was then just another huntress baiting a trap. I knew better now. What I had said then to discourage unwanted proximity now sounded unnecessary and cruel.
In short, I had acted like a pompous, arrogant dolt. That Mrs. Bennet had only called me disagreeable was generous. As content as I ought to have been from being spared from an unwanted accidental attachment, I could not rejoice when I considered my conduct through the eyes of Mrs. Bennet and Miss Elizabeth. My conscience was too singed.
After a few fitful hours of rest, I knew what must be done. I still needed to warn Mr. Bennet about the danger to which Wickham exposed his daughters, but my own honor moved me to right the wrong I had done to Miss Elizabeth. She had notdeserved my harsh appraisal when she was nothing like the ladies I avoided in London.
The ride to Longbourn that morning was both too long and too short. I was eager to make amends, but I had learned how faulty my assumptions had been regarding the Bennets, which fueled my uncertainty. I did not expect a warm reception, nor did I assume my warning would be appreciated. And yet, it was the right course to take, and take it I must.
I rode along the hedgerow, a thorny bush lining the property leading to the main house. At this time of year, red berries adorned the branches, cheerful bursts of color disguising long, sharp thorns that protected birds, rabbits, and dormice. The house would be over the next rise, and I figuratively girded my loins for the ensuing encounter.
When I saw a young lady running up the path in my direction without a coat or bonnet, I recognized Miss Elizabeth. Equally apparent was her distress.
Eager to be of assistance and change her perception of me by way of apology, I dismounted from my horse, cautious to keep my boots out of the slippery mud.
