Elizabeth blinked and turned. Mr. Bingley stood near Jane, his expression earnest and anxious, while Kitty and Lydia protested with great energy that they had only just arrived and had not yet seen half the shops. Mary looked disapprovingly toward the officers, who were still smiling at Lydia’s liveliness, and Mr. Collins stood beside Elizabeth with an air of significance she had no wish to interpret.
“I beg your pardon,” Elizabeth said. “What was that?”
Jane’s eyes searched hers with gentle concern. “Mr. Bingley has offered to escort us home, if we are too fatigued to remain in Meryton. I asked what you thought.”
Elizabeth drew herself together. “That is very kind of Mr. Bingley.” She looked toward him with what she hoped was a composed smile. “But if you have time, sir, perhaps you might allow Jane a little more fresh air first? I should hate to ruin the pleasure of our younger sisters when they have only just begun their shopping.”
Mr. Bingley brightened at once. “I have all the time in the world. That is, I have quite enough time. I would be delighted to walk with you as long as Miss Bennet feels equal to it.”
Jane’s smile broke over her face with such warmth that Mr. Bingley appeared, for several seconds, to forget both speech and the public street in which he stood.
Elizabeth watched them with weary approval. There, at least, was a kind of happiness that did not hide itself behind duty, fortune, and family calculation. Mr. Bingley’s heart was in his face, and Jane’s, though gentler and more cautious, was not as carefully concealed as she believed. Elizabeth hoped, fiercely and suddenly, that nothing would come to spoil it.
Then she attempted to take a step and discovered she could not.
Mr. Collins had somehow taken her arm.
When had that happened?
She looked down in astonishment at his gloved hand resting upon her sleeve, not tightly enough to be improper in the broadest sense, yet with a possessive assurance that sent alarm through every nerve. He was speaking—of course he was speaking—his voice moving steadily onward as though no interruption, human or divine, could alter its course.
“—and you will find, dear cousin Elizabeth, that Hunsford possesses every comfort which a lady of modest and rationalexpectations might desire. The parsonage is not large, certainly, but Lady Catherine has been so condescending as to advise upon the shelves in the principal sitting room, and I flatter myself the closet space is not inferior to what may be found in many houses of greater pretension. The village itself is genteel, though small, and Rosings Park is within such easy distance that one may enjoy all the advantage of great society without the burden of maintaining it oneself.”
Elizabeth stared at him.
He smiled down at her as though she must be delighted.
She was not.
“Lady Catherine,” he continued, guiding her a few steps toward the nearest shop as if the thing were settled, “has the most exact notions upon every domestic arrangement. She is particularly attentive to the proper width of ribbon for young ladies of discretion. She does not approve of extremes, either in ornament or opinion. I am certain you will benefit greatly from her advice.”
Elizabeth summoned every particle of restraint she possessed and did not jerk her arm away.
“I am sure Lady Catherine’s opinions are very numerous,” she said.
“Most justly observed! Numerous and excellent. You will hear them often, I trust.”
That trust nearly undid her.
She could not cry again. Not in Meryton. Not before Lydia, Kitty, officers, Mr. Bingley, Jane, Mr. Collins, and half the shopkeepers in Hertfordshire. She would not be reduced to tears because Darcy had ridden away and Mr. Collins had attached himself to her arm like an ill-bred burr.
Instead, she turned toward the milliner’s window. “I believe Lydia wished to see the ribbons.”
Mr. Collins, delighted by the turn toward ribbons and already prepared to connect them to Rosings, followed her inside.
The shop was narrow, crowded, and blessedly arranged with counters and shelves that made close progress difficult. Elizabeth moved at once toward a row of trims displayed along the far wall, choosing the tightest passage available. Mr. Collins, after one attempt to keep hold of her arm and nearly overturn a box of gloves, was forced to release her.
Elizabeth breathed for the first time in several minutes.
Lydia and Kitty descended upon the ribbons with happy cries. Mary stood near the door, disapproving of both ribbons and officers, though Elizabeth suspected her disapproval might have softened had the officers been more inclined to admire moral essays. Jane and Mr. Bingley remained just inside the shop, speaking quietly. Mr. Collins, having lost Elizabeth’s arm, transferred his attentions to the harried proprietor and began explaining Lady Catherine’s standards of respectable trimming.
Elizabeth trailed her fingers along a length of blue ribbon and reminded herself, firmly, that she did not have to marry Mr. Collins simply because Darcy did not want her.
The thought steadied her.
She did not have to marry him.
Her mother might rage. Her father might retreat behind a book and leave her to endure it. Mr. Collins might be offended, Lady Catherine might be insulted, and every neighbor in Meryton might speak of her foolishness. But she was not trapped in the way her mother believed.
