Nevertheless, she inclined her head in acceptance. “As you wish, sir.” Her voice was quiet, clipped, yet Mr. Collins heard only consent, and beamed.
Elizabeth rose from the table, her mind already racing ahead—through the upcoming ball, through Wickham and the schemes he might weave, and most of all through the tangled path to Fitzwilliam Darcy, whose regard she had once earned, and whose trust now stood on a trembling edge.
How she longed to clear it all away—the lies, the suspicion, the shadows of things not yet come to pass. But for the moment, there was nothing to be done but endure Mr. Collins, and the slow, deliberate waltz of pretense that society demanded.
Chapter 18
Three days of rain confined the inhabitants of Longbourn within doors, and to Elizabeth, who possessed knowledge none other could, it was a period of rising dread. She knew—sheremembered—what these days would bring. Her family, in their usual manner, would parade their absurdities before Mr. Bingley, mortify Mr. Darcy, and ultimately drive both gentlemen from Hertfordshire. Worse still, Mr. Collins, unrelenting in his self-importance, would propose. She must prevent it. Shewouldprevent it.
On the first morning, with a resolution born of desperation, Elizabeth sought her father in his library. She found him reclining in his chair, spectacles perched low on his nose, and a book in hand that seemed of more interest to him than any daughter’s crisis.
“Papa,” she began, with as calm a voice as she could manage, “I wonder if I might speak with you on a matter of some urgency.”
He looked up slowly, arching a brow with the sort of bemused patience he reserved for storms he deemed would pass. “By all means, Lizzy. If it does not concern the price of lace or a neighbour’s cow, I shall do my utmost to remain attentive.”
She sat opposite him. “It concerns Mama—and my sisters—and the behaviour I fear they shall display before our guests.”
“My dear child,” he said with a dry chuckle, “your concern is noble, but you may as well try to train a flock of geese to curtsy before royalty.”
“Papa!” she protested. “It is no laughing matter. You know as well as I do that their behaviour may drive Mr. Bingley away and with him, all chance of—of happiness.”
He waved a languid hand. “Let the men run if they are so faint-hearted. If Mr. Bingley is frightened by your mother’s exuberance or Kitty’s coughing giggles, he is perhaps not made of husbandly mettle.”
Elizabeth rose, pacing. “You could speak to them, ask them to exercise restraint.”
“I could,” he agreed amiably, “but it sounds dreadfully like work. Your mother is impervious to sense, and your sisters take after her. You, Lizzy, were our only sensible investment.”
She halted, vexation tightening her brow. “Then what is the use of your intelligence if you will not employ it where it may do good?”
At this, Mr. Bennet stiffened. “That is unjust, Lizzy. I have provided this family with a library and the occasional witty observation. What more can a man offer?”
She stared at him, disappointed beyond words, and he, catching something of the depth in her look, turned back to his book with a muttered, “You grow too earnest. It does not suit you.”
She left the room with her heart heavy and steps slow. But she had not given up.
Later that afternoon, she found Mr. Collins by the parlour window, extolling the virtues of the rain for nourishing Lady Catherine’s favourite hedgerows. She approached him with forced civility.
“Mr. Collins,” she said, “as a man of propriety, I thought perhaps you might caution yourself before becoming too familiar with any young lady under this roof, lest misunderstandings arise.”
He turned with alacrity, folding his hands across his breast. “Miss Elizabeth, I assure you, I am the soul of discretion. When I consider matrimony, I do so with every regard to propriety. But until a gentleman makes his intentions clear—and seeks the permission of her father—I can hardly act or restrain another’s actions. It would be most presumptuous.”
She swallowed a retort. “But surely, some vigilance—some forethought—”
“Miss Elizabeth,” he interrupted with a pained expression, “you must excuse me, but I think your manner borders on disrespect. I am not accustomed to being chastised for the faults of others. I believe it best you take your leave.”
She blinked, half in astonishment, half in fury. As she turned away, her hands clenched, she wondered if indeed Mr. Collins and her mother might share more than household proximity—perhaps some strain of willful deafness to sense.
Thus concluded the first day.
The second began with renewed determination. Elizabeth had spent a restless night, haunted not by the wind that battered the panes nor by the thunder that occasionally growled in the distance, but by the certainty of impending humiliation. She could not, would not allow Netherfield to be lost to folly. That morning, with Jane occupied in attending to their mother’s minor complaints, Elizabeth found an opportunity to speak plainly.
“Mama,” she began carefully, yet firmly, “might I beg that you take some care, particularly before the ball? I fear that if Mr. Bingley is too early convinced of his consequence with Jane, he may be frightened away rather than drawn closer. Gentlemen of sense are often cautious.”
Mrs. Bennet, comfortably seated with a shawl around her shoulders and a cup of negus in hand, blinked at her daughter. “What nonsense you speak, Lizzy! Frightened off! As if any man would turn from Jane, the most beautiful creature in Hertfordshire. If he has sense, he will be glad to have her. And I shall say so to all who ask it, for I see no harm in being proud of my girl.”
Elizabeth pressed on. “Indeed, Mama, but there is a delicacy in courtship. And Lydia and Kitty—perhaps their liveliness might be better tempered? It could be mistaken for… for want of propriety.”
Mrs. Bennet bristled at once. “You sound just like your father. Always ready to scold the younger ones. They are merely spirited! And what is the use of daughters if they cannot dance and laugh and enjoy a ball? As for you, Lizzy, you may be dull as you please, but do not drag the others into it.”
