Page 2 of A Cleverly (Un)contrived Compromise (Love’s Little Helpers #3)

CHAPTER 2

E lizabeth Bennet scraped her boots, untied her bonnet, and shook out her damp skirts. Checking her reflection in the mirror placed in Longbourn’s entrance hall, she smoothed her fingers over her untamable hair and prayed that the high color in her cheeks was due to exercise and not too much exposure to the sun. Not that Elizabeth minded. A sun-kissed complexion was the mark of a hale constitution and a healthy regard for nature, but her mother would not be convinced of its merits.

Outside the walls of her childhood home, over the sprawling fields, Elizabeth was at liberty to roam and dream. It was her only time alone, free from the constant reminders of everything she was powerless to change about Longbourn and its residents. Today must be perfect, and Elizabeth had devised a plan.

First, she found Jane, the eldest of the five Bennet sisters and Elizabeth’s dearest friend. Jane was often praised for her beauty, but Elizabeth found her graceful character, sweet nature, and calm strength far more admirable. Her sister sat by the window in the drawing room with a basketful of lace, ribbon, and trimmings on one side and a pile of muslin gowns on the other.

At the other end of the room, Mary, the third eldest of the Bennet sisters, was playing a grim tune. Poor Mary. If only Papa would allow her to study with a master. But unless a miracle moved their father to do something to improve his daughters’ unfavorable prospects, Elizabeth’s subtle hints would have to suffice. “Mary, dear, perhaps a livelier song would suit the occasion best.”

“But I only know the one, and it has no singing to accompany the melody.”

Perfect. “Why draw attention away from your technique with song?” Elizabeth turned to Jane before Mary replied, hoping the seed she had planted would take root and lead to a more agreeable performance at the ball that evening.

Mary began a piece over which she had labored and now played to perfection: Bach’s Minuet in G Major. An uncomplicated air. No lyrics and therefore no moral message or notes beyond the comfortable reach of Mary’s limited vocal range.

Plucking a wad of knotted ribbons from the basket, Elizabeth sat in the chair opposite Jane and began untangling. “Are Kitty and Lydia still asleep?” If the two youngest sisters begged Jane to alter their gowns, they should be helping. More likely, they were lingering in their bedchambers to avoid Mr. Collins. As Papa’s heir apparent, he would inherit Longbourn, and he had already threatened that he intended to marry one of them.

“They have departed for Meryton,” Jane replied.

Of all the ungrateful, selfish… Elizabeth pinched her lips together. Saying her thoughts aloud would only upset Jane, but if those two did anything foolish to spoil Jane’s night, Elizabeth was tempted to lock them in their rooms and bury the key or lace their afternoon tea with some of Mama’s sleeping tonic. There was only one reason Kitty and Lydia would venture into Meryton so early in the day. It wore a red coat and shiny, black boots.

Mary stopped playing. “They told Mama they would purchase shoe roses for our gowns, but they shall waste their money on sweetmeats and flirt shamelessly with the officers.”

“Who accompanied them?” Surely not Mr. Collins. Elizabeth cast a wary glance about. Where was he? She would give him no opportunity to importune her with an unwanted offer of marriage.

“Sarah.”

Elizabeth sighed. The first thing Kitty and Lydia would have done is ditch the maid.

Mary added, “Mama sent her to the apothecary to fetch more nerve tonic.”

Good. At least there would be a sufficient supply if it came to that. “How long ago did they leave?”

“Not a quarter of an hour ago.” Mary turned to the instrument and resumed practicing. She might not mind receiving Mr. Collins’ attentions, but Elizabeth could not wish such a match for any of her sisters.

She would concern herself with the annoying man later. Right now, she needed to prevent her family from ruining Jane’s chances again. She stopped chewing on her lip. “We shall not overtake them, but we can ensure they do not get into too much mischief before we arrive.”

Jane pinned the needle into the bodice of the gown on which she worked. “I do not know how I shall finish these gowns in time without a walk into Meryton, much less with one.”

“They can do without new lace,” Mary called over her shoulder without losing her rhythm.

Elizabeth felt little sympathy for her youngest sisters. “I saw to mine days ago. Besides, more hands make for light work. They should help stitch their own gowns.”

Mama’s voice drifted into the room before she rounded the corner. “Has Lizzy returned yet? So much to be done and the ungrateful child dashes off to Lord-knows-where! She has no respect for my nerves. Just like her father.” Her caps fluttered around her face. “Oh, there you are. Just in time to help Jane. My girls must look their best for Mr. Bingley’s ball. I am convinced he will announce your engagement tonight, Jane.”

“Mama, he—” Jane tried, but their mother was like those heavy steam engines Elizabeth had read about: impossible to stop once she got going on her favorite topic.

“A ball to celebrate my Jane’s recovery!” Mama clapped her hands under her chin and swayed. “I knew you could not be so beautiful for nothing.”

As though Jane’s chief accomplishment was no more than the pleasing features with which she had been born—features which their mother was quick to point out were similar to her own in her youth. Next, Mama would lament their precarious position without a male son to inherit Longbourn, and then she would bemoan Mr. Bennet’s imminent death, proclaiming they would all be cast into the hedgerows when Mr. Collins took possession of their home. She would not-so-subtly imply that it was Elizabeth’s duty to marry that oaf, and then she would repeat the one thing that never failed to make Jane cry herself to sleep at night: “If only my beautiful Jane was married already.”

Elizabeth grabbed Jane’s hand and tugged her toward the door. “It is for that reason we shall see that Kitty and Lydia return with our shoe roses. Jane cannot manage alone, and if we all help, she will have sufficient time to rest before the ball.” And now the clincher. “You do wish for Jane to look her best tonight, do you not, Mama?”

“Oh, I had not considered that, but of course she ought to look her best if Mr. Bingley is to propose. How clever you are, Lizzy! Let me ask Mr. Collins to accompany you and you may be on your way.”

After several frustrating lost minutes, during which Mr. Collins kept them waiting in the hall, Mr. Hill finally approached, hands clasped in front of him, face downcast. “I regret to inform you that Mr. Collins’ boots are nowhere to be found.”

“Nowhere to be found? How can that be?” Mama fanned her face, a sure sign of her increasing agitation.

Elizabeth reached for her coat. “‘Tis no matter. We shall not be long.”

Mrs. Hill helped her and Jane into their warm clothing, and Elizabeth saw Mr. Hill share a look with his wife as he crossed the hall to open the door. What was the pair up to? A subtle wink from the faithful manservant confirmed that he knew more about the disappearance of Mr. Collins’ boots than he let on. Elizabeth would have kissed him on the cheek, but her mother was watching.

Neither the chill in the air nor the mud squishing under the soles of her half-boots dimmed Elizabeth’s resplendent humor. Thanks to the efforts of the Hills, she had successfully evaded Mr. Collins, Mary was practicing a pleasant tune she would perform to advantage, and they would snatch Kitty and Lydia away from Meryton before any harm could be done. It was a beautiful, perfect day. “I think I shall buy the Hills a sugar plum before we return,” she told Jane.

“That is thoughtful of you, Lizzy. They shall enjoy a well-deserved free evening, though I daresay they will have Sarah stay up to receive us.”

Elizabeth looped her arm around Jane’s. "What of you, dearest? To have Mr. Bingley host a ball in your honor...?"

Jane blushed. "You would have me believe he arranged it for me when it is no such thing."

"Is it not?" Elizabeth peeked at her askance.

"I dare not flatter myself so much."

"But do you not wish for such a marked display of his favor?"

Jane collected her thoughts, then replied slowly, deliberately. "Of course, I do. Mr. Bingley is a kind gentleman and an attentive host."

"Then what is the problem?"

“It is so painful to have one’s expectations dashed. I would rather not have any. You heard him say that he is just as happy here as he would be anywhere else, and his sisters are accomplished in ways I shall never be—”

Elizabeth hugged her arm tighter. “And their money comes from trade! Do not convince yourself that you are undeserving of his attention, Jane. By birth, you are his superior; in temperament, his equal; in the heart, his perfect match. You must believe me. You are worth a hundred Miss Bingleys."

Jane looked down. She was too modest to admit what Elizabeth knew in her bones to be true, and it made her angry that anyone should make Jane doubt her worth. Had she not suffered enough superior airs during their week-long stay at Netherfield Park to last a lifetime? From that, Mr. Bingley must, of course, be excused. He was the perfect gentleman and an exceptional host. But his sisters’ airs and condescension offended all convention.

And then there was Mr. Darcy. That such intelligence should be granted to such a proud, disagreeable man was a grave infraction of justice. Every opinion Elizabeth gave, he challenged. Every conversation, he turned into a debate. Every time their eyes met, he frowned and crossed his arms. The pompous, insufferable…

“Ouch, Lizzy, you are pinching me.” Jane tugged her arm.

Elizabeth loosened her hold. “Sorry, dearest. My thoughts took a sour turn.” She would not waste another moment on Mr. Darcy. He was not Mr. Bingley’s guardian for his opinion to be of any consequence. Smiling at Jane, she shared one of the conclusions she had pondered during her morning ramble. “In truth, love is a great equalizer. It cares not for station, fortune, or connections. Its only requirement to thrive is to be returned in equal measure. Mr. Bingley loves you, Jane. Of that, I am certain.”

The uncertainty in Jane’s eyes made Elizabeth more determined to prove her point.

Unfortunately, that was the same moment the confectionery came into view, and who should be blocking passage into the shop but Lydia? And that was not the worst of it. Not by the least. Mr. Wickham held something out of her reach, and Lydia shamelessly leaned over him, hopping, squealing, and draping herself all over him to fetch whatever the source of her desire was.

He, at least, attempted to pull her off, though Elizabeth feared that his forbearing smile only encouraged Lydia rather than conveying embarrassment.

Kitty was too busy batting her eyelashes at Mr. Denny to be of any assistance.

Glancing about to see who of their neighbors witnessed the mannerless display, Elizabeth's lungs seized when she saw Mrs. Hurst and Miss Bingley riding through Meryton atop their fine mounts, sporting their fashionable riding habits, and looking down their noses at Elizabeth’s sisters.

Drat!

Before Jane's dreams burst into flames, leaving nothing but charred hopes and despairing ashes, Elizabeth crossed the street to pry her shameless sister off the poor man. "Quick, Lydia, you are expected at Longbourn."

"Not until he gives me my sweetmeat! It is mine!" Lydia lunged for the treat.

Elizabeth clenched her jaw. All this trouble over a sweet?

“You said you did not want it,” Mr. Wickham replied, graciously handing the wrapped treat to her petulant sister.

Giggling, Lydia allowed Elizabeth to lead her away, calling over her shoulder and waving wildly. “I shall save my first set for you at the ball, Wickie!”

Wickie? As though throwing herself at the gentleman were not enough, Lydia called him by a pet name on the high street? With Mr. Bingley’s sisters watching? Oh, the shame!

Elizabeth tugged her forward, keeping her eyes level and her chin up as they passed the impatient horses and their gloating riders. She could practically feel the ladies’ sneers, and Elizabeth hated how her face burned despite her best effort to keep a placid expression.

“Lizzy, slow down! You walk too fast!” Lydia complained.

Only once they had reached the edge of the village and were out of earshot of the gossips did Elizabeth slow her pace. “Have you no sense? Did you not think that your blatant flirtations with the officers would be noticed by others?”

Lydia shrugged and pulled the brown paper off the sweetmeat. “Sugar plum.” She twisted her face and stuck out her tongue before handing it to Elizabeth. “Here, have a sweetmeat. You are just jealous Mr. Wickham was flirting with me instead of you.”

That it had not even occurred to Elizabeth to be jealous struck her. She had believed that she favored Mr. Wickham, but here was undeniable proof that she thought no more of him than the sugar plum Lydia was so eager to cast off.

The hoof-beats behind them grew louder. Elizabeth prayed that the pernicious pair would ride past them without so much as a by-your-leave, but the wind had shifted to the east, taking the last of Elizabeth’s good fortune along with it.

Jane and Kitty curtsied.

Miss Bingley towered over them, the ostrich feathers in her hat billowing in the unfavorable wind. “A glorious day, is it not? So much to see.”

Mrs. Hurst smirked beside her.

Elizabeth dropped a token curtsy. “Good day, ladies.”

“Shall we see you at the ball?” Miss Bingley asked.

Lydia beamed. “We would not miss it for the world!”

Not if Elizabeth could help it. She watched the messengers of doom ride away, her forced smile pinching her cheeks, and she planned her checkmate. She must be persuasive if she was to convince Papa to forbid Lydia and Kitty from attending the Netherfield Ball.