Page 3 of Body and Soul (Darcy and Elizabeth Variations #8)

Chapter Three

November 27, 1811 Longbourn Elizabeth

H er solitary moment ended when her father entered the room. Elizabeth smiled widely at him as she did every morning, only to be met with a confused expression. He shook his head, scoffing, and filled his plate. Grimacing, she recalled she was not herself, and that her father saw only his wife. His reaction made sense; Mr. and Mrs. Bennet had not got on well in many years. Father, far too intelligent for his foolish and nonsensical wife, could hardly be blamed for avoiding her company. Fanny Bennet’s histrionics and nervous flutters were enough to drive anyone insane.

Another sound came from the doorway, and Elizabeth looked up to see herself walking through the door. This will take some getting used to, she mused as the shock settled into understanding. Her mother had dressed in one of Elizabeth’s more elaborate gowns, one of her least favorites. The gauzy pink fabric was overly adorned with lace and ribbon and had been a present for her last birthday. Elizabeth had hated it on sight and, rather than hurt her mother’s feelings by tearing it to pieces and adorning it anew, she had put it in the back of her wardrobe. Of course, her mother had discovered it and put it on immediately.

“All dressed up and nowhere to go this morning, Lizzy? Pray, what is the occasion for donning such a fashionable gown?”

Elizabeth could hear the sarcasm in her father’s voice, but her mother, trapped in her daughter’s body, still lacked the ability. “Oh, Mr.—Papa, you are such a tease. I do not need anywhere to go to look pretty.” Mama giggled inanely, sounding very like Lydia, and Elizabeth put a hand over her eyes in despair.

“Elizabeth? Are you quite alright?” She opened her eyes and noted Mr. Bennet’s concern. Nothing of the sort had been present in his demeanor this morning when she had been distressed. How could he show his daughter more care than his wife? Shaking away the disturbing thoughts, Elizabeth focused on her mother’s reply.

“Never have I felt more rejuvenated—I feel remarkably well after our late night. Much better than I have fared in a long time.” She bustled to the sideboard, and Elizabeth watched in horror as her mother filled a plate with scones, bacon, eggs, and fruit. She then took her plate to the end of the table where Elizabeth sat, and realizing another had taken her seat, she sat to the right of the mistress’s seat.

Mr. Bennet watched it all with confusion—Elizabeth usually sat next to him. Obviously, Mama had not anticipated that such strange behavior would be noticed. Elizabeth cleared her throat. “I would like to speak to you after the meal, Lizzy,” she said in her best impersonation of her mother.

“Can it not wait?” The whine emanating from her mouth made Elizabeth frown in displeasure. Did she often sound so like Lydia, or was it because her mother’s soul was trapped in her body that made the difference?

“No!” she snapped, her patience waning. “I have a matter of great importance, and you will attend me directly.”

“Neither of you are yourselves this morning, it seems.” Mr. Bennet stood and tossed his napkin onto his now empty plate. “I believe I shall retreat to my library before something else happens to disturb my equanimity.”

As soon as they were alone in the breakfast room, Elizabeth turned to her mother. “You need to act more like me,” she hissed. “Papa has already noted a difference.”

“And what of it? I shall behave precisely as I always have.”

“You will ruin my reputation whilst you are at it!” Elizabeth snatched the second scone from her mother. “And have a care what you eat! I would wager you will not walk out as often whilst you are me, and I shall lose my figure if you continue to consume more than I usually do.”

“What a novel idea, to eat without consequence!” Mama picked up a piece of bacon and bit into it, her eyes twinkling mischievously.

“Your stomach is already too soft,” Elizabeth huffed.

Mama froze, and Elizabeth’s heart squeezed at the hurt look on her face. “I have born five children, Elizabeth,” she muttered. “When you have done the same, you may judge my figure.” With that, she stood and left the room, leaving her daughter alone with her thoughts.

Elizabeth felt strangely guilty for her words. Never had she picked at another’s appearance as she had done to her mother’s that morning. Or rather, her appearance, for she was trapped in her mama’s body. Yet, she had had no issue picking and prodding and muttering about Mrs. Bennet’s disregard for her health. Clearly, it was a sensitive subject, and she resolved to apologize immediately. How often has my mother been subjected to similar remarks from my father? she wondered as her mind drifted to Mr. Bennet’s complete disregard for her wellbeing that morning.

Before Elizabeth could depart, Mr. Collins entered the room. She immediately groaned internally before remembering he would pay her no mind, since she did not look like Miss Elizabeth Bennet. Now was her chance to turn him away from proposing.

“Good morning, sir,” she said carefully. “You are an early riser despite our late evening.”

“Yes, I cannot escape my schedule, no matter how hard I try. I should have liked to lay abed, but duty calls and I wish to secure my happiness as soon as may be.” He grinned idiotically, and she almost rolled her eyes.

“I am afraid I must tell you that Elizabeth is not herself today,” she replied. “I would not recommend proposing just yet. Perhaps wait until your next visit.”

“My next visit? My dear Mrs. Bennet, it cannot possibly be so, for my noble patroness has instructed me to marry as soon as possible. To go against her wishes would not do at all! No, I had best ask Miss Elizabeth for her hand as soon as I finish my meal.” Mr. Collins came to the table with a plate nearly overflowing with food and promptly began to stuff his face.

Elizabeth grimaced, but attempted to persuade him to her way of thinking. “No, sir, you are certain to be refused if you make your proposal today. Pray, allow that I know my daughter better than you do at this time. I only wish to prevent your embarrassment.”

“It is my understanding that ladies will sometimes refuse a man in order to increase his love by suspense. A refusal will not deter me in the slightest.”

Of all the idiotic, nonsensical ideas! “Wait until Friday, I beg you,” she said imploringly. “Would it not be more flattering to secure her acceptance of your suit on the first asking? What man would wish to tell his friends that he had first been refused?”

Mr. Collins frowned as he chewed, clearly considering her words. He swallowed and took a sip from his teacup before replying. “I see sense in what you say, Mrs. Bennet,” he finally said. “I shall delay until Friday. Perhaps my leaving might be put off for a few more days as well. I should like to receive congratulations from my future neighbors.”

Elizabeth smiled and nodded, pleased he had been made to see sense. “I believe I shall go see to the household accounts,” she said to excuse herself. Standing slowly, she made her way from the room, disliking how her back hurt after sitting for so short a time. Her hands also ached. Did her mother feel this dreadful constantly?

At least she had no fear that Mr. Collins would propose today. Her mother may play the coquette all she wanted. Elizabeth would be safe from an unwanted marriage. For now.

The benefits of being Mrs. Bennet had yet to be realized. Mama usually ate breakfast and then retreated to the parlor for the morning. Elizabeth did not know what she did during that time, for she usually went on a walk or saw to her own pursuits until the noon hour. She wished to maintain her mother’s schedule as much as possible, and so went in search of…well, herself.

She found Mama/Lizzy in the sitting room with a work basket at her feet and a torn shirt in her hand. “Your father tore this the other day,” she said quietly as Elizabeth took a seat next to her. “He is always tearing things. His shirt, his breeches… Once he managed to tear a perfectly good cravat because he did not remove his pin before tugging on it.”

“Do you always see to the mending first thing in the morning?” Elizabeth asked. “I wish to keep to your schedule. As I noted earlier, Papa is already suspicious.”

“I visit Hill to discuss the menu right after breakfast.” Mama was subdued and did not look up from her work. “As you know, my days at home are Tuesday and Thursday. Wednesday and Friday are calling days. I would not go out the day after a ball, however—remember, the Lucases always come to call after such an evening of entertainment.”

“What do your Mondays entail?” Elizabeth asked.

“You—my daughters, rather—do tenant visits in the afternoon,” Mama huffed and stabbed the fabric with her needle. “I usually look over the household accounts on that day whilst you are out.”

She frowned. “I did not realize Papa allowed you to—”

Her mother cut her off. “I am mistress of this estate, Lizzy! The household accounts are in my purview and I take that responsibility very seriously.”

Elizabeth bit her tongue to prevent the reply that wished to spew forth. She wished to accuse her mother of frivolous spending and a lack of economy. Mrs. Bennet spent money as if they had an excess, and they did not. Instead, she simply nodded. “I shall see that I keep to your schedule,” she murmured. She had known most of what her mother’s week looked like. It was the little things that concerned her. What did Mama do in her free time?

“I take a walk every morning,” she told her mother. “My breakfast is usually simple—an apple or a scone. Correspondence and sewing takes up the rest of the morning, playing the pianoforte, or assisting my sisters where needed.”

“I think I can manage that,” Mama replied. She sounded odd, part sad and part sarcastic. Elizabeth shrugged it off and stood. Mrs. Hill likely awaited her. As she left the room, Mr. Collins shuffled past, and she groaned. There was still a slight chance she would end up engaged before the day was out, and she would need to rely on her father to refuse his consent.

Mama did not know that she had already discussed the issue with her father. When Mr. Collins’s attention became clear, she had come to him asking for his aid. He had only promised that if the man proposed, he would refuse his consent. It had relieved Elizabeth, and the same knowledge did so now, until she realized she did not know how her father would respond if Mr. Collins came to him with an agreeable Elizabeth at his side. Her heart squeezed, and she forced herself to continue walking.

Providence must surely be punishing her for some sin, and she resolved that she would discover what she had done to deserve this immediately.

Fanny

“It is good to see a woman so industriously engaged.” Mr. Collins sat down heavily next to her and examined her work. “Such fine, even stitches,” he remarked. “I have never seen the like. Well, except for my noble patroness, Lady Catherine de Bourgh. None could compare to her except those who might outrank her. And there are not many, at least in Kent, who can compare to her in any way.”

Fanny blinked, confused at his ramblings. Did he mean to flatter and compliment or make her feel wanting? It felt strangely like the latter, and she did not like it. It reminded her too much of her feelings every time Mr. Bennet said something cruel. She might not fully comprehend the insult when her husband was unfeeling, but his remarks always stung, anyway. He found her wanting, and she despaired she would ever have his good opinion again.

Her husband may not have seen to the future, but she would not be so lax. She would secure Mr. Collins and marry him—as Elizabeth, of course—as soon as she could manage it. All she needed to do was induce him to propose.

“You are too kind, sir,” she said, trying to put as much feeling into her words as she could. She smiled charmingly and batted her eyes. He swallowed hard in response, his gaze roving her face.

“My patroness would approve of you,” he said firmly. “Yes, that is in your favor. Tell me, have you any skills of a practical nature?”

“As you see, sir.” She held up the shirt again, wondering if he was daft. A stupid husband is preferable to a witty one, she told herself. More easily led and less offensive.

Mr. Collins shook his head. “I mean beyond that, my dear cousin. As a parson, I have a modest income. Lady Catherine has commanded that I take a wife who is capable of making my income stretch. We will have limited staff, of course. Have you any skills in the kitchen?”

Fanny’s mouth dropped open in shock. “Mr. Collins!” she said shrilly, “I thought I—I mean my mama made it clear when you first arrived that Longbourn is able to keep a cook. My daugh—I mean, I and my sisters have nothing to do with the meals in our house besides helping to plan them.”

The man frowned, clearly disappointed. “I understand that cookery is not a ladylike accomplishment, but if I am to extend an olive branch, then you will need to learn the skill.”

Aghast, Fanny stood. Her hands shook and her heart dropped. She had worked too hard to overcome her roots in trade and be a proper gentleman’s wife. Never would she or any of her daughters slave away in the kitchen like common women. Like the Lucases! No, it would not do. “You cannot keep a cook on your income, sir?” she asked desperately.

“Perhaps your fifty pounds a year would be enough to hire one,” he mused. “I confess I have no notion of what a cook would cost. Lady Catherine has graciously employed the parsonage servants. I have a maid of all work and a man for heavier chores.” He puffed up. “Her condescension knows no bounds.”

“That sounds very much like interference to me,” she snapped, heedless of how her words might affect his suit. “A woman likes to manage her own household, sir.” Fanny began to see Lizzy’s perspective. Such oversight of her every action would drive her most willful daughter mad.

“Not to fear, dear cousin Elizabeth.” Mr. Collins stood and came toward her, taking her hand in his. “We shall resolve it all when matters are settled between us.”

His hand felt strange in hers, and she tugged it away. “I am afraid I have a headache,” she murmured. “Pray, excuse me.” Without a backward glance, she hurried from the room and upstairs. She opened the door to the mistress’s suite out of habit before remembering that she ought to go to Lizzy’s room.