“But you do,” she argued, very matter-of-factly. “You have such longing in your eyes that I think your heart will break.” She paused, looking off into the distance. A small smile touched her lips. “And then there are other times when I think you are the happiest you have ever been in your life. Love is very strange,” she finished, shaking her head.
Elizabeth nodded in agreement. “That it is. I am afraid I cannot answer your questions. If that is what you have observed,there is little I can say to bring clarity. All I know of love is that it is at once exciting and agonising. I wish I could tell what he is thinking, what he is feeling. It is this guessing game that has been the most difficult.”
“Perhaps he will make his sentiments known soon,” Mary said encouragingly.
“I hope so,” Elizabeth said softly. “You are not wrong, Mary. It is delightful to love him and to think the world of him. But it is painful — sometimes very painful — to doubt how much he might feel for me.”
With much-appreciated tact, Mary said nothing in reply. She only nodded and reached over to pat her sister’s hand. After a long moment, Mary rose and excused herself. “I want to go practice something from the Highlands, just in case Papa wants me to go to Scotland with him soon. You did say Mr Campbell likes the pianoforte?”
“As he is an accomplished player, I am confident he does.”
Mary smiled and left her alone with her book. But Elizabeth could not focus. She stood and slipped out the back door and went for a little stroll through the garden. The birds that were still in the area were chirping lazily in the trees. Soon, they would all vanish to places unknown. She found her favourite little bench, tucked behind one of the overgrown hedgerows, and tried to begin again.
For several minutes, she did her best to shut off her thoughts and picture what she was reading in her mind’s eye. Something about a young woman lost in a Gothic castle and a mystery that she must solve…
She sighed in frustration and started over at the top of the page, since she had not comprehended anything she was reading.
“Is the damsel in distress?” came a voice from behind the hedgerow.
Elizabeth startled, then closed her book as Mr Collins appeared around the corner of the tall shrub. “Ah, no. I am not in distress,” she replied.
“No, I mean the heroine in your book,” he corrected. He came to stand in front of her, bow-legged and slouching as always, as though he feared the redoubtable Lady Catherine de Bourgh might suddenly appear and reproach him if he dared to stand up straight. “Surely there is always a damsel in need of rescue in these little novels of yours?”
Elizabeth did not care for his contemptuous tone, but decided to ignore his question and go to the real reason he had interrupted her solitude. “Is there something I can do for you, Mr Collins?” she asked. She set her book aside but did not bother to keep her place marked. She would likely have to restart the book from the beginning, anyway.
“There is, indeed. How perceptive you are, Miss Elizabeth.” He cleared his throat in the maddening way that set her teeth on edge. Hopefully, his request would be quickly delivered and quickly achieved, so she might go back to pretending to read.
“I must first say that your mother sent me, and she has approved of everything I am about to say to you.”
“That is good to hear, Mr Collins,” she said, a little confused about why her mother would have to approve of anything Mr Collins had to say to her.
He gave another clearing of his throat and a deep and awkward bow, during which he unnerved her by keeping full eye contact all the while, as if she might get up and run away at any moment if he looked down.
On second thought, perhaps Mr Collins had good reason to be worried, if he was indeed thinking she might run away. Had it not been the height of rudeness, she would have done so without delay.
“Miss Elizabeth,” he began. “It will come as no surprise to you, surely, when I say what I have come to say. I do not believe in masking one’s feelings, especially as a rector. One must always be above board, and never lead anyone astray to the best of one’s ability.”
Elizabeth had difficulty following him, but nodded in assent.
“I believe my feelings have been too marked to go unnoticed. You will doubtless remember how I made them known at the Netherfield Ball —”
Elizabeth’s heart raced. Not from the flutterings of amorous love, as Mr Collins no doubt would have hoped, but from horror. She was beginning to have an inkling of what he had come to say and fervently wished she had taken the opportunity to hide when she heard his voice.
“I have come to ask for your hand,” he blurted out. “But before I am run away with my feelings, I think it important to note my reasons for marriage and that they are not all founded in —” he paused, and she held her breath, wishing she could run wildly into the woods and never see him again. “Propagation of the human race, shall we say?”
Elizabeth looked away in silent horror.We certainly shall not say!
He plunged forward, however, each sentence worse than the last. “First, I am greatly convinced that marriage will contribute to my happiness. Second, I am possessed of a fine cottage and grounds off of the Rosings Estate, but it lacks a woman’s touch to make it a home. And last, my esteemed patroness, Lady Catherine de Bourgh, demands that I find a wife. It is unseemly, you know, for a rector of my standing to remain single if I am to be an example to my parishioners.”
Elizabeth wished for the earth to swallow her, but the earth remained sadly unmoved.
“Mr Collins —” she tried to interrupt him, but Mr Collins would not be stopped.
“Now, there is nothing further but to assure you I will do my best to ensure no one will think ill of you when you move to Kent, though it may be difficult. As my wife, no one will speak of your dubious past, and I least of all.”
“My past?” Elizabeth asked, dumbfounded.
“Yes, indeed. I will forget your wild and unladylike behaviour and your adventures in Scotland — that savage land. A woman cannot expect to act with decorum when she is without a husband, for he must lead her in all things.” He mistook her silence for maidenly doubt. “I assure you that once we are married, you will never hear the name of that savage place cross my lips again. Nor will I inquire into any indiscretions that may have taken place while you were there. If you were led to engage in Sunday travelling or even — Heaven forbid! — read coarse Scottish poetry, which is so apt to inflame the mind of a weak woman, I forgive you.”
