“Four hundred pounds per annum, besides several other advantages which he has listed for me—do you think it an offer to refuse?”
Elizabeth drew forth the paper she had barely had leisure to peruse before their arrival. It contained not trifles, but privileges of the highest order—one hundred pounds yearly for apparel, an apartment at the principal house on Devonshire Place in Marylebone, and another at the estate near London, in Hampstead, both belonging to the Academy; a personal maid; and, above all, the liberty to direct the institution according to her own judgement—to reform, or to continue, as she thought proper. Every idea, he had said, would be welcomed.
She read the list aloud and smiled at their countenances. It was a life few women might command alone; only unmarried heiresses and widows enjoyed such freedom to govern both life and fortune as they pleased.
“I shall now go and write to my father,” she concluded.
Jane followed her at once, eager to understand what their lives might become should Elizabeth indeed remove from Longbourn.
“Do not be sad, my angel. You shall marry,” said Elizabeth, as soon as the letter was sent.
“Perhaps,” replied Jane, thoughtful yet calm.
Elizabeth cast her a searching glance. Indeed, Jane was at last recovering; for even a month earlier, such an alternative would have brought her to tears, persuaded that her affection for Mr Bingley would never fade, and that she could never accept another man in marriage.
Closely embraced, they seated themselves upon the small bench at the head of the bed. They both felt the need to talk—to chatter easily as they had been used to do at Longbourn—for each, in her own way, required that a sense of normality should be restored.
Jane murmured that her heart was mending and that she hoped, in time, to be her former self again. She lamented Elizabeth’s departure, yet rejoiced for her, knowing that hersister desired to make a life of her own far more than to seek a husband.
Elizabeth then spoke of Charlotte and her new life, recalling in the end every particular that came to mind of that day at the Parsonage.
“Do you think you would have accepted, had it been a gentle offer of marriage?” asked Jane.
“No, I do not think so,” answered Elizabeth. “Indeed, I believe I should have declined his proposal—though in a civilised manner.”
“Do not imagine that I feel no remorse,” she added after a pause. “Never ought I to have spoken to him in such a tone, whatever his offence. If I begin work at the Academy, that shall be the first matter to amend—this failing of mine to think before I speak, and to lower my voice by two degrees in every answer. My father would scold us when we made mistakes, but never when he was teaching us. Education, I now perceive, must be firm yet kind. I have learnt so much from him—not only knowledge, but conduct.”
“I hope that, once I am engaged in the affairs of the Academy, my life shall gain a sense entirely different from what it has been, and from what I ever dreamt of—but infinitely satisfying and full of animation.”
Mr Clinton had allowed her until after Easter, when the pupils were to return from their vacation. That gave her some days to speak with her family, to persuade them that she was acting rightly for herself and, in the end, for them all. She already imagined how she might assist her father, take Kitty to be educated, and even have Mary join her at the Academy.
“You shall not believe what has happened!” cried Elizabeth in a lively tone at dinner, on the evening when Mr Bennet arrived in London accompanied by Mrs Bennet and the three younger daughters. At the table were likewise the twodaughters of the Gardiners, Hannah and Emma, whom Mrs Gardiner already delighted to imagine among the first pupils of the Academy conducted by her niece, Miss Elizabeth Bennet.
A solemn silence fell upon the party, for all were eager to hear Elizabeth’s story.
“When Mrs Gardiner told me that Mr Clinton desired to see me, I had for a moment the wild notion that he had come to make me an offer of marriage. I was terrified—terrified at the mere situation of being proposed to for the third time, after having already refused two. I could still hear my uncle’s laughter at so strange a record, yet there was more to my alarm than amusement. Mr Clinton is a gentleman of my father’s generation… How could I refuse him without committing some dreadful act of impoliteness? I knew not what words to use. And when he began, ‘I come to ask your—’ the pressure grew so great that, for several seconds, all went dark before my eyes, as if I were fainting, and I did not hear the end of his sentence.”
“No!” cried Lydia in astonishment, and the whole company burst into laughter, for she had spoken precisely what everyone felt. “You thought he came to offer for you?”
“Yes,” Elizabeth replied, looking affectionately at her sisters.
“And?” continued Lydia, ever the one to ask the most numerous and indiscreet questions—yet upon this occasion all depended upon her to learn more from Elizabeth.
“Fortunately, I said nothing, and Mr Clinton took my hesitation for shock and continued to explain his errand.”
“Only imagine how ridiculous it would have been for Lizzy to exclaim, ‘I shall not marry you!’” cried Lydia, and again laughter rang round the table.
“Exactly! I should have died of shame. But I soon recovered, and guessed rather than understood what he proposed.”
“We have already been to see the house,” confessed Mr Gardiner, betraying the secret he shared with Elizabeth, who had been dying of curiosity to behold it before the visit arranged with Mr Bennet.
“Clinton Academy for Young Ladies, Devonshire Place, Marylebone, London… Grandiose, impressive,” Elizabeth said, with a pride she had already begun to feel. Mr Bennet looked at her with deep affection. He had received a long letter from Mr Clinton containing every particular that a father might require. Yet he knew the decision was already made, for it was all his daughter had ever dreamed of. The meeting appointed for the morrow was intended chiefly that the two gentlemen might become personally acquainted, each foreseeing in the other a friendship soon to be formed.
“Exactly as Lizzy says,” continued Mr Gardiner. “A house of six levels, with a white-stucco façade, columned doorways, fanlights, and wrought-iron—”
“And so much more,” interrupted Elizabeth, cutting her uncle short in her eagerness. “The Clinton Academy occupies two adjoining houses in Devonshire Place, their façades identical and united by a single flight of stone steps—”
“Grand indeed!” cried Mrs Bennet, probably the only one to give her full approval the instant she heard of the advantages of such a position.
