Page 20 of A Most Unfortunate Gentleman

Longbourn/Meryton

Elizabeth

Mr. Lumley called at Longbourn the very next day following the ball at Lucas Lodge. His courteous manner and well-timed compliments rendered him an immediate favourite with Mrs. Bennet, who found endless occasion to extol his good sense and fine appearance.

He returned the following day, and twice more before the week was out.

On three of those occasions, Mr. Bennet was at home and received him with civility, though he did not linger in conversation.

At the dinner table after his visits, Mrs. Bennet would usually wax lyrical on the frequency of Mr. Lumley’s visits and declare, with a look far too pointed, that it was Elizabeth who had drawn him in.

Elizabeth said very little in response to these comments.

She would give a smile here or a noncommittal nod there.

She found that such gestures served to dissuade her mother from further commentary.

Mr. Bennet, for his part, rarely offered an opinion on the subject.

His most generous remark was that Mr. Lumley was certainly polite, and his most withering that Mrs. Bennet must cease assigning matrimonial ambition to every gentleman who dared venture into Hertfordshire.

That week’s Saturday brought with it a heavy, relentless rain, hemming the family indoors.

Elizabeth was, to her surprise, grateful for it.

It meant Mr. Lumley could not call, and for the first time in days, she need not summon her best smiles or fend off her mother’s hopeful glances.

But with the quiet of the storm came the return of thoughts she had tried very hard to bury.

Mr. Darcy’s absence echoed louder than ever, as if the patter of rain upon the windows beat in time with the ache in her chest.

She had not dreamed of him since the night of the Lucas ball, but she had thought of him each day. Each hour, in truth. His absence no longer wounded with fresh confusion, but it lingered like a bruise one could not help pressing, just to see if it still hurt.

If only she could see him, she thought. Perhaps there was an explanation.

But at once she scolded herself for such weakness.

What explanation could he owe? A man betrothed to another need not account for his conduct to a girl foolish enough to let her heart flutter over a few well-placed compliments.

Sunday’s church service brought a semblance of normalcy, but it did not last. That very afternoon, Mr. Lumley returned to Longbourn. He remained longer than usual, speaking amiably with her father, and later, when Mrs. Bennet declared the parlour stuffy, with Elizabeth in a quieter corner.

When he at last rose to leave, Mrs. Bennet’s eyes sparkled with unrestrained encouragement. “Lizzy, dear, do walk Mr. Lumley to the gate,” she said with a smile that brooked no refusal. “It is such a pleasant afternoon.”

Elizabeth complied. The air outside was mild for mid-November, and the lane, though damp, was not disagreeable for a stroll.

They walked side by side, exchanging pleasantries about the garden’s neatness, the orchard’s promise, and the continued excellence of Mrs. Hill’s preserves.

Elizabeth spoke with her usual brightness, though her mind wandered.

As they reached the little gate at the end of the lane, Mr. Lumley paused. Elizabeth stopped too, resting her hand lightly on the familiar latch. She did not look at him immediately, but she felt the change before he spoke.

“Miss Bennet,” he said gently, “I hope you will forgive a certain boldness. But I think it would be disingenuous to pretend my frequent calls have been made without intent.”

Her breath caught just slightly. Not from surprise. That had passed. But from a vague, uncomfortable premonition. And a wish, faint and foolish, that if someone must speak to her with such seriousness, it might have been another.

“I hope,” she replied carefully, “you do not believe yourself unwelcome. We have all enjoyed your company.”

He inclined his head. “You are generous to say so. Though I have been received most kindly by your family, it is the pleasure of your conversation, your wit, and your kindness that has drawn me here.”

There it was.

She could not meet his eyes. Her fingers traced the edge of the gate absently, her thoughts drifting where she did not wish them to go.

Another voice came to mind, deeper and steadier, one that had once spoken in the stillness of a drawing room, then again in the quiet of a library.

He had played a coin game with her before bidding her farewell, leaving her with a promise to visit, spoken with emotion unpractised but almost unmistakable. She tried to banish it.

“You are very kind, sir,” she said at last, her voice even. “And I am grateful for your attention. Though I must confess, the speed of it surprises me.”

He smiled faintly. “Then allow me to speak plainly. I have come to admire you, your conversation, your manner, your mind. I cannot say more than that, not yet. But I would hope, with time, to become better acquainted, if you would permit it.”

Elizabeth lifted her eyes, calm and composed. “I appreciate your candour, Mr. Lumley, and your good opinion. But we are still becoming acquainted, and I would not wish to lead you, or myself, into expectations we may both come to regret.”

He gave a small, rueful smile. “I would not presume to hasten your judgment. If I may be permitted to hope, I shall consider patience a small price to pay for the chance of your good opinion.”

She offered the faintest smile in return. “That seems fair.”

He bowed and took his leave. Elizabeth watched as he walked down the lane, his steps confident, his figure soon lost behind the curve of the hedge. She remained there, her hand still resting on the gate, though she no longer needed its support.

Mr. Lumley was everything proper, well-mannered, respectable, and attentive.

Over the course of his visits, he had spoken with ease about his family, his tastes and aversions, his work and aspirations.

In another life, she might have felt flattered by such openness.

In another life, perhaps, she would have already fallen half in love with his civility.

But her heart, foolish, stubborn and impossible, refused to be moved by sense alone.

It clung still to something else, to someone whose image lingered despite every reason to forget him.

Someone she believed beyond reach, bound by duty and promise to another.

She was trying to let him go, but her heart had not yet learned to follow.

As she turned back toward the house, her steps slow and her expression unreadable, Elizabeth knew that Mr. Lumley would make his proposal soon. And for all her attempts to prepare herself, she had no earthly idea what answer she would give when he did.

***

Longbourn had taken their dinner earlier than usual that day.

The meal had scarcely begun when Mrs. Bennet, with a gleam of satisfaction and a knowing smile, began once more to praise Mr. Lumley’s agreeable manners.

Elizabeth, still very much occupied with her thoughts from his pointed remarks in the day, found her mind unwilling to settle.

Thankfully, Mr. Bennet chose that precise moment to clear his throat. “I have an announcement,” he said, his tone one of mock solemnity. “I received a letter this morning from my cousin, Mr. Collins. He is to arrive tomorrow for a visit.”

Elizabeth turned her gaze swiftly toward him, her brow arching in surprise. The name was wholly unfamiliar to her, but the disruption it posed was welcome enough—if it would spare her mother’s recitations about Mr. Lumley, she would welcome a dozen unknown cousins.

Mrs. Bennet, however, snorted. “Is that not the man who will turn us out of our home when you are dead?”

“The very same,” Mr. Bennet replied with unruffled calm.

Her mother’s hand flew to her cap with great theatrics. “Oh, the cruelty of it! That the law should favour such a man over my poor girls!”

Elizabeth, though used to her mother’s outbursts, could not entirely suppress a sigh. She understood the matter well enough. With no sons to inherit Longbourn, the estate must fall to a male relation. That this Mr. Collins was that relation was, until now, unknown to her.

“Why have we never met this Mr. Collins?” she asked, incredulous.

“Lizzy dear, I have never met him, nor heard more than a passing mention of him in one of my uncle’s letters,” Mr. Bennet said with a smirk. “He only wrote to me for the first time about a month ago, after his father’s death. I responded, and now, he writes again to say he shall arrive tomorrow.”

“Quite a short notice,” Mary observed primly.

“Perhaps the letter was delayed,” Kitty offered, surprising them all. “It did rain dreadfully yesterday.”

Elizabeth turned to her younger sister, almost startled by the reasonableness of the suggestion. “That is rather likely,” she murmured, giving Kitty a rare nod of approval.

Mr. Bennet retrieved a sheet of paper from his coat pocket.

“Now,” he said, glancing toward his wife, “if you would cease lamenting the wicked injustice of Mr. Collins inheriting my estate and attend instead, you may find some amusement in the peculiar manner he has chosen to express himself.”

He handed the note to Jane with a flourish. “It is better read aloud by one with patience.”

Jane unfolded the letter and began, her voice calm though edged with bemusement. “ Dear sir, the disagreement which subsisted between yourself and my late father always gave me much uneasiness…”

The letter continued, a meandering trail of formalities, awkward civility, and frequent allusions to duty and humility. But it was the next line that caught Elizabeth’s attention.

“…Having been so fortunate as to be distinguished by the patronage of the Right Honourable Lady Catherine de Bourgh …”

Elizabeth straightened in her seat, her heart giving a small, unwelcome jolt.