9 November 1811
I hope you enjoyed your walk, Lizzy. Upon your father’s death, Mr. Collins will turn us out, and I doubt you will have much time for rambling about, gaining freckles and refusing any eligible offer for you. I have suffered enough of your stubbornness. We shall tell Mr Collins after dinner that the matter is settled,” Mrs Bennet declared in the hour before supper.
Elizabeth shook her head and calmly replied, “I will deny it, ma’am, I assure you.”
Mrs Bennet shook her finger at her recalcitrant child. “You must be sensible! You haven’t half of Jane’s beauty nor half of Lydia’s good temper. Mr Collins will do very nicely for you, and we shall secure a home. I insist on this!”
“No, Mama!” Elizabeth cried in a shrill tone, impatient after two days of similar arguments.
Jane’s fingers stilled against her needlework. “My dear mother, please, let us speak of it no more. Lizzy knows your sentiments.”
Mrs Bennet was loath to quit the subject, but Jane’s serenity prevailed until Elizabeth received her summons to the library.
*****
“I always thought to have a son,” Mr Bennet began in an oddly wistful tone. “My only comfort is to think that my little Lizzy may settle here after I have departed from this life.”
Elizabeth responded to his speech as only she knew how, with a whimsical smile and playful words. “That would sound lovely if we were to forget about Mr Collins, sir.”
“I have not forgotten, but you must be sensible. You are not likely to receive many offers – you have too much wit with too little fortune for the average young man.”
“Am I to blame for what I lack?”
“The fault is mine,” replied her father curtly. “You need not remind me of it, but Collins is a prudent match for you.”
Elizabeth felt her face flush in anger and inhaled sharply before the biting words poured forth. “Prudent?! To sacrifice myself to a man whose company you cannot tolerate for a quarter hour? In reason and conscience, I cannot agree with you, sir.”
Her father turned a stern expression upon her, replying, “Listen to me, Lizzy…”
Listen to me, Elizabeth. Her sudden recollection of Mr Darcy’s words and his grave, sincere manner startled her for a moment. He had understood why she could not make this match; he had agreed with her reasons. She glanced up, catching her father’s ironic expression and words. “…unless you are holding out on me, child. Have you hopes of a better offer?”
She pressed her lips into a stubborn line, refusing him the satisfaction of a positive answer. Mr Bennet sighed, saying, “You had better take Collins then.”
Stung, she quietly asked, “Are you so eager to dispose of me?”
Her father abruptly walked to the window, stared outside, then answered, “A father must be eager when he has five daughters to settle. You must marry.”
“I cannot marry him,” came her whispered response.
Mr Bennet frowned and sent for his wife, whereupon her parents took turns threatening, cajoling, teasing and then demanding her submission to their wishes with the same arguments. Ungrateful, willful, insensible, they called her. She was not as clever as she thought, nor beautiful, nor even very charming. If Elizabeth could have been persuaded to believe such descriptions of her character and person, their manner of delivery was ill designed to bring about her change of heart.
Her mother’s mind and scruples were easy enough to understand, but Elizabeth could not understand her father and was deeply, bitterly disappointed as her good opinion of him was overthrown. In addition to his capricious, sardonic and indolent ways, which she had long observed in him with pain, there was also a smallness of mind, a calculated selfishness and ambition which effectively abolished much of her gratitude for his partiality toward her. That sort of partiality she could manage very well without, she determined, holding fast to her resolve.
Her father seemed to give up the cause at last and turned back to the window before announcing in a tone of displeasure, “I shall tell Collins in the morning that you will not consent. Be off with you.”
Elizabeth fled to her room, wishing she could spend the remainder of her life within those four walls. When Jane entered their room, she found Elizabeth flounced upon the mattress, staring at the ceiling with a grim set to her mouth, and inquired after her health.
“A touch of a headache. I think there are too many thoughts not to cause pain.”
“Can I help you, Lizzy?” asked Jane with her native sweetness, struggling with the buttons on her dress.
“Perhaps, but first, allow me to assist you, dearest.”
After Jane stripped to her chemise, Elizabeth began to remove her sister’s hairpins with practised ease. Taking the hairbrush into her hand, Elizabeth said, “I was considering an offer of marriage, Jane.”
Jane twisted to face her. “Not to Mr Collins! Oh, Lizzy!”
Elizabeth laughed. “No, I am determined on that subject. I speak of another offer; Mr Darcy has asked me to marry him.”
Jane stared, then cried, “You must be joking!” The lone candle flickered as Jane fixed her shocked, doubtful gaze upon her sister. After a long moment, she said with less amazement, “Of course, any gentleman would admire you, but I never saw any sign from him. Are you in earnest, dearest? Do not joke now.”
“I am, Jane,” answered Elizabeth in a solemn tone, then smiled a little. “Do you now understand my headache?”
Jane grabbed both of her sister’s hands with cold, unsteady fingers. She seemed unable to speak, then, after opening and closing her mouth twice, she said, “You are serious, are you not? I know you have been made unhappy by my parents, but I also know how you dislike him!”
“I think I was too hasty in my judgement of him. I discovered…”
Elizabeth paused to gather her thoughts, though she had thought of nothing beyond Mr Darcy’s proposals since leaving her father. She could not reveal the substance of her conversation with Mr Darcy to anyone, not even to Jane, but knew not how to explain her own confused thoughts to her sister without it. She had dissected the entirety of their acquaintance, both with the knowledge of his admiration for her and his distress regarding his sister, and determined her conduct deserved reproach. She had searched to find fault with his every word whilst he had borne her teasing and quarrelling with good humour, treated her as a logical, rational creature, and trusted in her character and discretion by revealing his sister’s troubles to her.
His intention to marry and raise his sister’s child revealed a generosity of heart and liberality of mind with which she would have never credited him. How many guardians would cost themselves such trouble and mortification over an errant ward and her unwanted child? Elizabeth suspected that Mr Darcy’s efforts were rather extraordinary, and she also suspected her own father would do as little as possible in similar circumstances.
Jane pressed her sister’s hands. “What did you discover, Lizzy?”
“I think he does improve upon further acquaintance. Not in manner, perhaps, but I better understand his character and disposition,” she replied carefully. Seeing Jane’s bewilderment, she laughed. “He is held in the highest esteem by his friends at Netherfield, including Mr Bingley, which should carry some weight with you.”
“Your teasing mortifies me, but I do have a value for Mr Darcy. As you say, he is esteemed by his friends, and his affection for you speaks very much in his favour.”
Elizabeth bit her lip, unwilling to correct her sister’s assumption, as Jane continued, “But to marry without affection! It is not what I wished for you. Can you be happy in such a marriage?”
Elizabeth withdrew her hands and began to remove her sister’s hairpins. “According to my parents, I must marry. Should I give myself to a ridiculous man or to a proud one? If I refuse Mr Darcy, I shall remain here, left to the tender mercies of my mother and the careful attention of my father. Think of the happiness in that.”
“Lizzy,” Jane admonished in a stricken tone, “I beg you not to give into these bitter feelings. They will ruin your happiness.”
Elizabeth smiled in an attempt to cheer her sister. “Do not worry for me, Jane. I shall have every happiness I deserve. Tell me truthfully, could you like such a brother?”
“I would be pleased to call him brother were it not for your feelings. If you cannot claim much affection of your side, can you admit to respect and esteem at least?”
“Who does not respect Mr Darcy? He seems to demand it with his very presence,” replied Elizabeth in a light tone, only to repent at Jane’s pale, distraught appearance. She took Jane’s hands and replied in earnest, “Jane, I do esteem him. I have come to decide that he is a good sort of man, with elegance, wealth and intelligence in his favour; I do not intend that we should be miserable.”
After many more assurances of her feelings, Elizabeth was allowed to fall asleep.
*****
Early the next morning, Darcy found Elizabeth at the northern gate, her chin resting upon the fence and the yellow ribbon of her bonnet dangling from her fingertips. She was the only young lady of his acquaintance who would be out on such a brisk morning, quite alone, lost in her own thoughts, and entirely lovely whilst doing so. A gentle breeze soon rustled one of her golden locks across her soft cheek, and she tossed her head to dislodge it with a tinkling laugh. The disturbing enchantment which resulted was enough to recall him to his senses. Horrified by the thought of their mutual embarrassment should she catch him staring at her like a starstruck boy, he cleared his throat. “Good morning, Miss Bennet.”
Elizabeth stiffened then turned to offer a small curtsey and quiet greeting before raising her fine, dark eyes to meet his gaze with a slight blush. She was tired, he thought with chagrin, not that he had slept very well himself. A full night’s sleep had eluded him since his discovery of Georgiana’s elopement – there was always a worry, a reproach, a plan or a nightmare to prevent it.
“There is something I wish to ask you, or I should say, I need to ask you,” Elizabeth said with a sudden force that startled him. He turned his gaze on her, watching her blush deepen as she lowered her gaze to the ground. “How do you plan to…I mean to say, why should people think the child is mine a-and yours? I know very little about this sort of thing, but this is no easy task. I beg your pardon; perhaps I should not-”
“No,” Darcy cut in. “You have every reason to desire all of the particulars, and I understand your concerns. I have thought of little else.” He forced himself to conquer his own considerable embarrassment to speak of the thoughts and plans which had occupied his waking and sleeping thoughts.
“Ireland,” Elizabeth repeated, then slowly nodded. “Concealment would be easier there.”
“We shall say it is a delayed wedding trip. We can depart in February, before Georgiana…”
“What a souvenir,” she whispered, dazed. Suddenly realized she had actually spoken aloud, a furious blush spread over her cheeks. “Will it-will it not seem peculiar?”
“Not if we take care. Your health may be our excuse to remain in Ireland until well after the birth. With my word, yours, my sister’s, and a respectable marriage, any idle talk will die soon enough.”
After a little more discussion, it was determined that Darcy would speak to her father that afternoon. Elizabeth turned the scheme over in her mind, finding few flaws with his planned execution of it, yet wishing there was another way.
