“So he is, after all, a man of politeness,” observed Mr Gardiner.
“Politeness?” cried Elizabeth, vexed by the notion. “Who cares for politeness when he has insulted our whole family and brought unhappiness upon Jane? Besides, how can anyone declare love whilst casting mud upon the family of the woman he professes to love?”
“That is indeed incomprehensible. Who could suppose such honesty would ever be rewarded?” murmured Mr Gardiner, rather speaking to himself than to the ladies.
“So, my dear uncle, I have indeed received two proposals of marriage: one from a man who sought a wife without caring what woman he led to Hunsford, and another from one who loved me sincerely yet despised my family.”
“Still, they are two refusals,” persisted her uncle.
“And who knows if a third is not on its way?” she said mysteriously, but this time her family could draw no further word from her.
Chapter 12
She did not speak to Mrs Gardiner or to Jane of Mr Clinton, for there was in truth little to relate. It had been rather her impression than a certainty that he had shown her particular regard. Yet she was far from imagining, when her aunt announced, a few days later, that a gentleman was asking for her, that the visitor in question should prove to be Mr Clinton. As she descended the staircase, her heart beat violently, for until she entered the drawing-room, she was persuaded it must be Mr Darcy. Her astonishment was extreme when she beheld her uncle conversing with Mr Clinton, who presently withdrew without a word.
“Mr Clinton!” Elizabeth exclaimed, her surprise evident in her voice.
“Miss Bennet,” he returned with a smile. “I perceive that my visit astonishes you. Yet I told you I should call upon you.”
“When persons meet during a season of leisure, they make many promises,” she answered, smiling likewise. Yet inwardly she was far from tranquillity. Already she wonderedhow she might refuse the proposal she expected, and what she ought to say to a gentleman who might well have been her father. Still, the words of refusal would not form themselves clearly. For one brief instant, she even thought of accepting—of saying yes to his offer of marriage, and, as her uncle often advised, of looking upon life with greater practicality. Five daughters without portion might at any time find themselves turned out of their home by Mr Collins, who would think little of claiming Longbourn once her father were gone.
This gentleman, at least, might satisfy her desire for occupation and usefulness, since he would undoubtedly require that the Margaret Clinton Academy should be directed by her.
When he began to speak, she was still uncertain what her answer ought to be.
“I do not suppose you suspect why I am here, nor why I have come in such haste. I took the liberty of enquiring of Lady Catherine whether you remained in Kent, and learnt only this morning that you had returned.”
“Mr Clinton—” Elizabeth endeavoured to interrupt, hoping to express, politely yet firmly, her want of inclination for marriage at that time. But the gentleman made a decisive motion with his hand.
“I shall be very brief. I come to ask your—”
From the height of her agitation, Elizabeth, for the first time in her life, nearly lost consciousness. She did not faint nor fall, but her sight grew dim, and she heard nothing of his following words.
She returned to herself on hearing her name spoken with some vehemence—“Miss Bennet!”
Mr Clinton stood before her, smiling as ever, though plainly surprised by her silence. He seemed unaware that she had not heard his question. Yet, as she looked at him, sheknew she could never marry him, whatever misfortunes might threaten her family.
“Allow me to state my proposal more fully.”
Elizabeth, distressed, feared that her silence had been taken for acceptance.
“I have managed, since my wife’s death—until two years ago—with but one lady.”
Elizabeth felt the colour rise to her cheeks. Did he mean to ask her to be his mistress? How else could he manage with one lady? Yet she was not a woman to lose her composure.
“Mr Clinton, I am not sure I understand correctly what it is you desire of me,” she said with studied coldness. But even that did not discourage him.
“That is because I have not yet been clear. My wife died twelve years ago, leaving behind a very well-organised academy under the direction of Mrs Talbot, who, alas, died two years ago. Since then, I have endured much difficulty, for three ladies have succeeded her. If one proved unsuitable and had to be dismissed, the other two married within months of their arrival. And I must confess that I had chosen them precisely because I believed that, though still comparatively young, the ladies in question would not marry. Being around thirty years of age, they appeared rather disposed towards a single life…but I was mistaken. As though our academy existed to arrange matches rather than to educate young ladies.”
“When I met you at Rosings, it seemed to me a divine ordination—or rather that, from above the heavens, dear Margaret took pity on me and led me to Lady Catherine’s, that I might meet you.”
Elizabeth at last smiled, though she had not yet entirely understood his meaning. As she remained silent, Mr Clinton went on:
“The Academy stands in need of a young lady like you.”
“The Academy?” she repeated.
“Yes, and I also, for during these two years, I have been distracted from my pursuits, and above all from my purpose of promoting education beyond the great centres of Oxford and Cambridge.”
