Elizabeth
“Ipublish the banns of marriage between William Harold Collins of the Parish of Hunsford, Kent, and Jane Frances Bennet of this Parish. If any of you know just cause or just impediment why these persons should not be joined together in Holy Matrimony, ye are to declare it. This is the third time of asking.” Mr. Simms, Longbourn’s parson for the last twenty years, spoke solemnly, his face a mask as he stared out at the congregation.
Elizabeth longed to jump to her feet and declare an impediment, but she did not. Absence of love was not a valid objection to a marriage, at least not by the law. She glanced toher left. Jane stood next to her, rigid, a placid smile plastered on her face. It did not reach her eyes.
They had not been granted the opportunity to speak privately since the day of her proposal. First, it was because of Mr. Collins’s hovering. He did not leave Jane’s side unless it was time for bed. Later, Mama monopolized her eldest daughter’s waking hours planning the wedding.
“We have no time to dither about,” Mama said. “Mr. Collins wishes to marry in haste, so there is not a moment to waste. It is a shame we shall not be able to have a ceremony worthy of your sister. I did think that Mr. Bingley… well, never mind that. He is a fool for losing his chance.”
Mama mentioned Mr. Bingley at least twice a day within Jane’s hearing. Each time, Elizabeth watched her sister pale a little before donning that dreadful mask of serenity and pretend nonchalance. With but two days before the wedding, there was no time to converse privately. Jane had all manner of tasks to accomplish, from the final adjustments to her gown to packing her trunks for departure. Mr. Collins was due to return tomorrow, and Elizabeth knew there would be no chance to speak to Jane once he arrived.
She came back to the present as the Church services concluded, and Elizabeth lingered in the pew until most of the congregants had left the building. It was cold— far too cold to walk— but she found that she did not have the patience for her mother’s conversation in the carriage. Longbourn was not far; she could bear the cold until then.
Cloak wrapped tightly around her, Elizabeth set off for home. The carriage would be forced to take the wide lane that ran from the manor to Meryton. Elizabeth knew a faster route— a footpath through the trees. She walked briskly, her hands buried in a fur muff and the hood of her clock pulled over her bonnet. As she rounded a bend, she collided with a solid, red-coated figure.
“Oof,” she said, stumbling back. Strong hands reached out and grasped her elbows, steadying her before she fell onto the wet ground.
“Steady on, Miss Elizabeth.” Mr. Wickham’s tone held amusement. Elizabeth did not care to be laughed at. Her mood was dark, and she had no patience for idle soldiers.
She straightened. “Thank you for your assistance, Mr. Wickham. I best be on my way.”
“That is a cold greeting for an old friend.” He tut-tutted. “Pray, let me escort you back to Longbourn.”
“There is no need. I can find my way without assistance.”
Mr. Wickham frowned. “If this has ought to do with my courtship—”
“Believe it or not, sir, not everything revolves around you. My pique has quite another source.” Elizabeth huffed and made to go around Mr. Wickham.
“May I assist in any way?” He practically begged Elizabeth to satisfy him. She found his manner distasteful, in a way. It was as if he could not tolerate her being in the world and thinking ill of him.
“There is nothing you can do for my present relief,” she said, infusing a little more patience into her voice. She hoped that in placating him, he would allow her to pass, but it was not to be.
“It would not be gentlemanly to allow you to go on whilst you are so distressed. Come, allow me to escort you home.” Mr. Wickham gestured to the path before her. Rather than argue, Elizabeth continued toward Longbourn, the soldier falling into step beside her.
“Your sister is to marry in two days’ time,” he said. Elizabeth scowled.
A poor attempt at conversation, though he cannot know how the topic vexes me,she mused silently. “Jane has the dubious honor of marrying my father’s heir,” she said aloud.
“I thought Mr. Bingley made your sister an offer.” Mr. Wickham sounded genuinely shocked. “Many of my fellow officers said the Netherfield ball was held in her honor. Though I was unable to attend, I assumed that her engagement to Mr. Bingley was finalized that evening.”
“Have you not heard the calling of the banns these last three Sundays?” Elizabeth stared at him incredulously.
“My duties have kept me from church, unfortunately. Given it was my desired profession, it is all the more painful that I am kept from worshiping with the other congregants.”
Elizabeth thought his explanation a little too convenient but attributed her cynical thoughts to her general discontent. She said nothing in reply, waiting instead for him to speak.
“I wonder if Darcy had anything to do with Mr. Bingley’s departure,” Mr. Wickham mused. He spoke quietly, almost as if speaking to himself, but his tell-tale glance at Elizabeth spoke his true purposes. He wished to know her thoughts.
“His involvement is something I have contemplated,” Elizabeth confessed. She was relieved to turn her ire in another direction. Her sister could not be blamed for accepting Mr. Collins. No, it was the two vicious harpies and the proud Mr. Darcy who drew Jane’s love away, leaving her at the mercy of their idiotic cousin.
“Darcy always liked to have his own way,” Mr. Wickham continued. “His disdain for Meryton’s society in general would be enough to convince him to ‘rescue’ his friend.”
“Why is it any concern of Mr. Darcy’s who his friend marries?” Elizabeth kicked a rock in her path. “Surely there is no fault to be found in my sister! Our place in society might not be the same ashis,but Jane is a gentleman’s daughter. Marrying her would only improve Mr. Bingley’s prospects.”
“My old friend will not surround himself with those he deems as beneath him. In marrying your sister, Mr. Bingley wouldirrevocably connect himself to those Darcy sees as inferior. In consequence, he would be forced to sever his friendship.” Wickham paused, turning his gaze to Elizabeth’s. “Darcy gets what Darcy wants.” He shrugged and they continued down the path.
Elizabeth fumed silently. Mr. Wickham had more than a passing acquaintance with the arrogant man from Derbyshire, and therefore had more knowledge of the gentleman’s behavior. While she had only suspected that Mr. Darcy had a hand in Mr. Bingley’s departure, Mr. Wickham’s words seemed to confirm it.
