November 26, 1811
When Elizabeth was summoned to her father’s book-room, she easily—and immediately—went, although she was feverishly adding embroidery to her bodice for tonight’s ball.
Papa often had her fetched when he read something particularly ironic in one of his newspapers, and they both enjoyed a good laugh; while she might share more in his amusement tomorrow than during so hectic a time, she was a dutiful daughter and cherished the marks of her father’s favour.
“Close the door, Lizzy,” Mr Bennet said—rather brusquely, she thought. Elizabeth took her usual chair across from the walnut desk, carved—she had been told many times—from one of Longbourn’s trees which had been struck by lightning and toppled onto the house, nearly destroying it a hundred years past. And yet, here they were, still, Bennets of Longbourn.
“We are resilient, at least,” her father always said.
She glanced up at his profile and saw that he was in one of his impatient moods. They usually proceeded from being forced to perform a duty he found unappealing—which was, in truth, most of them. He much preferred reading about farming methods and scientific means of increasing yields than troubling himself to institute them. However, the black armband he still wore reminded her of the funeral service he had attended last month; his sorrow could not have helped his state of mind.
Strictly speaking, he need not have donned any black at all, much less wear it for so long a period; the Gouldings were distant cousins on his maternal line, once or twice removed. But he and old Mr Goulding had been friends since boyhood, although the latter was his elder by eight or nine years. The accidental death of Mr Goulding’s only son, Reginald, was tragic, and she knew Papa mourned with his friend.
“I shall come right to the point,” her father said, his voice stern. “You are to be married.”
“What?” To Elizabeth, the words sounded as if from a foreign tongue, in no language she could recognise. “What was that?”
“You heard me. I have arranged a match for you.”
At her obvious continued confusion, however, he dropped some of his severity. “You are nearly one-and-twenty. I cannot provide for you in the case of my death and would not have you cast upon the world.”
“My uncle Gardiner—”
“Has four children of his own to provide for. He is prospering, yes, and by the time he is my age, I expect his position to be a good one. But it would be wrong to expect him to care for you, your sisters, and your mother. He would do it, but it would be an enormous burden, and his own family would suffer.”
A terrible feeling crept up her spine, and her voice came out as a whisper. “Mr Collins is ridiculous, Papa. I could never like or respect him!”
“Credit me with more understanding than to yoke you to a fool, if you please.”
Elizabeth could only gape at him. If not Mr Collins, then who? And why, if he had intended to arrange her a marriage, had he never mentioned the fact? She ought to have been preparing her mind to accept the possibility for years!
Confusion gripped her, the number of unknowns almost too alarming to consider.
“Perhaps you did not know that Haye-Park is entailed.”
A sickening possibility crept into her mind, but she shook her head against it.No, no, no.
“ItoldGoulding he and Reginald ought to break it, but he failed to heed my advice. Had a son too early in his marriage to feel the pinch, I suppose. Reginald was equally blind. A young man in his position ought not to have stupidly put off marriage until his thirtieth year.”
“Perhaps Mrs Goulding—”
“They were holding out hope, but as of this morning, it is gone. Mrs Goulding is not with child. There is no heir.”
Elizabeth bit her lip. Mr Goulding had been a widower this last decade; as far as she could tell, he had never considered remarriage. She knew he was well past fifty, but he could easily pass for a man ten years older. A tall, if somewhat stooped man, his grey, bushy eyebrows rimmed deep-set, tiny eyes, and spectacles were always perched on his rather bulbous nose. Constantly afflicted with the gout, his favourite dinner table conversation was speaking—at length—about the various remedies with which he attempted to cure it.
He was no one’s ideal bridegroom, even had she been twenty years older. Her father surely could not mean for her to marry him!
“Papa, you are not suggesting I—”
“Yes, Elizabeth. Goulding and I have agreed that you will wed.”
“You cannot be serious! Without warning or discussion? Without evenaskingme? Perhaps you have not considered what would happen if I produce no male child—or Mr Goulding cannot retain the wherewithal tomakeone? I would be worse off than ever,” she cried. “With an inheritance that does not truly belong to him and all the best years of my life devoted to an elderly man who cannot supply me with the required offspring, upon his death, I will find myself homeless and as helpless as I ever was, with no option but to beg his unknown relations for shelter and sustenance.”
“Nonsense! Haye-Park is a prosperous estate,” he argued. “I would, of course, ensure that your jointure is generous and a dower house provided. You will be able to assist your sisters, even, I do not doubt. Besides, he is not so elderly as all that.”
She only stared at him; surely he understood that she looked upon Mr Goulding as an uncle, or even a fatherly figure. The very thought of becoming his wife caused a nearly uncontrollable bout of nausea.
“I will not do it,” she managed. “It is impossible.” The future, which a few minutes ago had looked pleasant and ordinary, if unexciting, suddenly appeared as a black, gaping hole.Nothingwould convince her to agree to the match; her father might try to convince her it was for the best, but she never would accept it.
