“Why do you not let Mary think on it overnight?” Elizabeth suggested, her voice mild, though she could feel the tension humming in the air.
“What is there to think on?” Mrs. Bennet threw up her hands. “There is an eligible man in our house who wishes to marry one of my daughters. You should all be fighting for the chance. Except you, Jane dear. Your Mr. Bingley is worth ten Mr. Collinses. Your beauty would be wasted on him.”
“He is not my Mr. Bingley, Mama,” Jane demurred, her cheeks faintly pink.
Mrs. Bennet chuckled knowingly. “Oh, but he is. Goodness, any fool can see how the man loves you!”
“Be that as it may, he has not yet proposed, nor even asked for a courtship.” Jane’s uncharacteristic firmness made Elizabeth glance at her in surprise, fearing she might in some fit of generosity offer herself up instead.
“Mr. Collins is not for you!” Mrs. Bennet’s voice pitched high, verging on hysteria.
“Very well, Mama.” Mary’s voice broke the moment before their mother could launch into a full lament about her nerves. “I shall allow Mr. Collins to pay court, but I reserve the right to refuse him if I feel we do not suit.”
Their mother sighed as though the weight of the world rested on her shoulders. “That is precisely whyI did not push him towards Lizzy! I approached all of you in hopes that one of my daughters would be willing to do her duty.” Dropping heavily into a chair, she waved them away. “Leave me!”
One by one, the girls filed out. Kitty and Lydia rushed off, chattering and giggling over the prospect of Mary being saddled with the pompous clergyman. Jane disappeared quietly into her own chamber. Mary fell into step beside Elizabeth, her expression troubled.
“Come,” Elizabeth murmured, and together they entered Mary’s bedchamber, closing the door behind them.
“What should I do?” Mary asked at once, wringing her hands. “It is my duty to protect my family. Yet there is a part of me that rebels against allowing Mama to direct my life. She would place her own comfort above the welfare of her children.”
Elizabeth gathered her sister in a rare embrace. “Do as you said. Allow him to court you, and if you find he is not for you, then refuse him—gently. Men are such fragile creatures. They need a woman to bolster their egos. Mr. Collins appears to bemorefragile than most.”
“We barely know him,” Mary pointed out, her brow furrowed.
“Yes, that is true. Is that not what a courtship is for?” Elizabeth’s teasing wink drew a reluctant smile from Mary.
Bidding her sister good morning, Elizabeth made her way towards her own room to prepare for a walk into Meryton. Passing her mother’s sitting room, she caught voices within and paused.
“Are you certain that Miss Mary is the best choice?” Mr. Collins inquired. “She is…the third daughter, if I recall? And she is not so well-favored as her other sisters. Perhaps Miss Elizabeth?”
“Elizabeth will not suit at all,” Mrs. Bennet replied, her tone brisk. “She is headstrong and willful. I can guarantee she would never show the proper deference to your great patroness. But my Mary! She is a dutiful daughter. And so pious. Why, she studies sermons regularly and is very accomplished. Her talents will serve you well in your parish.”
Mr. Collins sighed, clearly satisfied with her logic. “Very well, my dear Mrs. Bennet. I shall heed your superior knowledge of your daughters. If I find Miss Mary to be suitable, I shall propose before my departure.”
Recognizing the end of the conversation, Elizabeth hurried away, her mind turning over the situation. Mary had her pride, certainly—pride in her moral rectitude, in her learning, in her belief that she lived to a higher standard than her sisters. But she had also known loneliness, caught between the close bond Elizabeth and Jane shared and the mischief-loving camaraderie of Kitty and Lydia.
She did not deserve to be tied for life to a man she could not respect simply to ease their mother’s fears about the future.If Mary decides against Mr. Collins, I shall stand with her,Elizabeth resolved, the thought settling like steel in her chest. Whatever strangeness had beset Longbourn of late, it had forged a subtle new alliance between her and Mary—one she intended to keep.
As Elizabeth fastened her bonnet, tucking in a stray curl, the sound of voices drifted up the hall. Moments later, the door to the drawing room opened and her sisters appeared, cloaks and bonnets in hand, cheeks bright from the crisp autumn air that slipped in through the open front door. The scent of fallen leaves and wood-smoke clung to them.
Any hope of a solitary walk was dashed when Mr. Collins appeared in their wake, his stride purposeful, his expression self-satisfied, as though the very notion of accompanying them was a service for which they ought to be grateful.
“Miss Elizabeth!” he called, puffing out his chest in a manner that reminded her irresistibly of an overfed pigeon. “Your dear mother suggested we walk out today. It isa fine afternoon—quite perfect for an autumn day.” The solemn pride in his voice made it sound as though he had composed a speech worthy of Parliament.
“Mama said we could go buy ribbons and sweets!” Lydia announced with unrestrained delight, waving a small coin purse in triumph. “She gave me some of her pin money!”
“It is not fair,” Kitty pouted immediately, her lower lip thrust out in dramatic fashion. “You have spent your pin moneyandmine, and now Mama has given you hers?”
“That is enough, girls.” Jane’s serene tones, warm but firm, brought the squabble to an abrupt halt. She stood between them with the quiet authority of a queen keeping peace in her court. “Shall we?”
Mr. Collins wasted no time in offering his arm to Mary. Though she hesitated for the briefest moment, her sense of duty prevailed, and she placed her hand lightly upon his sleeve. They stepped out first, moving at a dignified pace, Mr. Collins discoursing on the quality of the autumn sunshine and the invigorating nature of country air.
Kitty and Lydia soon darted ahead, their laughter and chatter carrying on the breeze, leaving Jane and Elizabeth to follow at a more measured pace. The road to Meryton stretched before them, lined with hedgerows turning gold and copper, the rustle of leaves beneath their boots mingling with the distant cawof rooks.
“Do you think Mary will entertain his offer when it comes?” Jane asked in a low voice, glancing at the pair in front of them.
“I do not know,” Elizabeth replied thoughtfully. “Last month I would have answered in the affirmative, but she seemed reluctant when we spoke this morning. I wish for our sister to have happiness in marriage. We have all seen what a strained union can bring. I do think they would balance each other nicely—Mary could, perhaps, soften some of Mr. Collins’s rougher edges.”
