"Mr. Collins of course."
"Mr. Collins?"
"Yes."
"Please tell me this is some sort of horribly unamusing jest," I said thoughtlessly. I must really learn to watch my tongue.
"I have never been romantic. He has offered me all I have ever hoped for and I have accepted him," she replied severely, her hard gaze daring me to criticize her.
I checked my rising emotions. "If this is what will make you happy, then I am pleased for you," I said evenly.
"You look as though you are about to weep," she observed with some amusement.
"Would you believe they are tears of joy at your happy announcement?"
"How can you be weeping for me? It is your situation that is dire."
"How kind of you to remind me."
"Mr. Darcy will come back."
With forced levity I said, "Oh, goodness, I hope not. Then I will have to marry him."
"Yes, Eliza, you will have to marry him," replied Charlotte, smiling sadly.
Two
3rd December, 1811
Afternoon
In the matter of one week I have moved from the state of utter ruin to triumphant wifehood. Having accomplished that which is supposed to be the ultimate goal of all women, I ought to feel overjoyed. Or at the very least content. Yet I feel nothing of the sort.
It is true there is a certain relief at being done with it all. Mama has been unbearable since Papa received a letter from Mr. Darcy on the 29th of November stating the particulars of the settlements and Darcy's wish that the wedding should occur on Tuesday. Today.
What followed the arrival of the epistle was four days of Mama shifting between lamenting how little time she had to plan the wedding (and abusing Mr. Darcy for his impatience) and exclaiming how wonderful her future son-in-law was, how rich I would be, and how clever she was for having engineered the whole thing (the last was news to me, but if she wished to claim my foolishness I was perfectly willing to give her the credit).
We visited every shop, called on every neighbor with Mama boasting mortifyingly to everyone she met that I was to be the grandest lady in Derbyshire. So, yes, having the wedding over is a relief. Having the marriage started however gives me no pleasure at all. But I am determined to make the best of it. Mr. Darcy, if his silent brooding is any indication, is not.
My husband has spoken exactly thirteen words to me since we were wed five hours ago.
I imagine the first words most husbands speak to their brides directly following the wedding ceremony are declarations of joy or compliments or at the very least, even in situations where there is little affection between the couple, a conversational remark on how surprisingly pleasant the weather is.
Mr. Darcy, it would seem, could not find solace in the miraculous golden day. Instead, as we stood on the steps of the church surrounded by the well-wishings of my family andneighbors, he heaved a great sigh and said in a tone of resigned despair, "Well . . . we are wed."
I suppose I should forgive him for the obviousness of that observation—it does seem rather extraordinary we should find ourselves eternally bound when can barely tolerate each other—but I must say I expected something better from my new husband. His comment displayed an uninspiring lack of creativity. I do hope it is not indicative of his future conversation. It would hardly be fair for him to be condescendinganddull.
Worse still, he refused to look at me as he spoke, making it more of a general pronouncement rather than a comment to myself in particular, however I am going to count it else my total will be only nine words and that would be simply intolerable.
At the wedding breakfast, he said "I would like to leave by half one." Eight whole words. An absolutely stunning display of verbosity for Mr. Darcy.
This loquaciousness, however, clearly drained him for once we were in the carriage he pretended to read. I can only believe he was pretending because the roads were so terrible he could not possibly have been focusing on the page whilst being jostled so violently and indeed he kept looking up to glance out the window, making a concerted effort not to let his eyes stray my way in the process.
"I do hope the fair weather holds all the way to London," I said.
Banal words, perhaps, but when one is trying to keep things cheerful I find the weather to be a perfectly safe topic, andmost peopleunderstand when one person makes an observation about the weather it is then the responsibility of the other to make some little remark of his own so that the pair might at leastpretendto have a sensible conversation.
My husband is apparently not at all like most people. He said, "Uh-huh."
