Page 34 of Companions of Their Youth (Pride and Prejudice “What if?” Variations #9)

L ong after the last glimpse of the carriage vanished beyond the hedgerows, Elizabeth remained at the window, her eyes fixed on the empty road.

A gray hush had settled over the afternoon, and the fading light did little to warm the hollow in her chest. Mark was gone.

It was not forever, she reminded herself—only until Christmas—but knowing that did little to ease the ache. The house felt quieter already.

Dinner that evening was a glum affair. The Bennet family sat about the table in unusual quiet, each of them pushing food around their plates with little appetite.

Even Lydia, so often the source of noise and liveliness, seemed unusually subdued. “The militia is still coming this week,” she offered after a lull, her tone more hopeful than triumphant. “Aunt Philips told us after church on Sunday that they will be settled in by Friday.”

It was a valiant effort, but the remark dropped heavily, with no real conversation to follow.

Elizabeth glanced toward her mother in concern, but to her relief, Mrs. Bennet did not startle at the news as she had done before.

Instead, she set down her knife and fork and offered a brief, steady reply.

“Remember what I told you, girls—bravery and a fine red coat do not make a true gentleman. While most officers hold the title, the sad truth is that many are common men serving in place of those wealthy enough to purchase their way out.”

Lydia looked down at her plate. “Oh,” she said faintly.

“There are good men among them, of course,” Mrs. Bennet said, softening her tone. “But you must not assume that a uniform guarantees virtue. If you are to grow into women of sense, you must learn to observe, and to judge wisely. That is all I will say on the matter for now.”

Silence followed her words, then Mr. Bennet cleared his throat, his tone deliberately light. “Well, that should be enough gloom for one evening. I believe I have just the thing to revive our spirits.”

He reached for a letter from his coat pocket. “A correspondence from our cousin William.”

1 November 1811

Oxford, Michaelmas Term

My dear and most honored Cousin,

I hope you will pardon the liberty I take in writing you a letter before you have had a chance to respond to my last, but could not proceed with a recent development without first consulting the gentleman to whom I owe both my education and my future.

Your generous forgiveness of my youthful transgressions, and your decision to provide for my path in the Church, are debts I can never hope to repay.

I am ever mindful of the weight of my obligations to you.

As you are aware, I am now in the final year of my studies here at Oxford and have devoted myself with diligence to both theological scholarship and personal reformation.

It is with the utmost humility that I inform you of a most unexpected occurrence: I have made the acquaintance of an elderly rector, who wishes me to take his place upon my ordination.

The parish is located in Hunsford, which is in Kent.

The patroness in question is none other than Lady Catherine de Bourgh, of Rosings Park, whose name is held in the highest esteem in both the ecclesiastical and aristocratic circles, according to this rector.

Her ladyship has expressed a desire to support young clergymen of promise, and through a mutual acquaintance, my name was submitted.

The living is of respectable value and would afford me the stability and independence so essential to the discharge of my future duties.

However, it is Longbourn—and your continued kindness—that remain my ultimate goal.

Therefore, if it meets with your approval, I would humbly propose that I accept the living in Kent for a few years—no more than three or four at most—and then return to assume the benefice at Longbourn when the living there becomes formally available.

My intention would be to install a suitable curate at Hunsford during my absence so that the parish does not suffer.

In this manner, I might enjoy a modest dual-income, and continue the work you first envisioned for me without ever having work as a curate.

Please believe that I make this proposal only with the deepest respect and full willingness to defer to your judgment. If you believe such an arrangement would be improper or displeasing in any respect, I shall, of course, withdraw my acceptance at once.

I remain your most obedient and grateful servant,

William Collins

Elizabeth raised her eyebrows. “As obsequious as ever, I see.”

“What will you tell him?” Jane asked.

“I see no reason why he should not accept the living,” Mr. Bennet replied, folding the letter and putting it into his pocket.

“It would definitely put him in quite a comfortable position, and at such a young age. Plus, a few more years of him away would allow Mark time to establish himself here as an adult before Cousin William’s arrival. ”

Further discussion was prevented by the sound of loud knocking at the front door. They all turned to one another in confusion. “Who can it be at this hour?” cried Mrs. Bennet.

“As none of us have been granted the gift of clairvoyance,” Mr. Bennet replied dryly, “I suppose we shall have to await the announcement together.”

“Maybe it’s a highwayman,” Elizabeth said with a twinkle in her eye and a small wink in the direction of her younger sisters. “Or else a tax collector, perhaps?”

“Let us hope for the former,” responded Mr. Bennet, “as it would prove to be more diverting.”

A few moments later, the maid Polly came into the room. She bobbed a curtsy while saying, “Mr. Darcy is at the door for you, sir. He asks to speak with you—says it is quite urgent.”

Elizabeth’s heart leaped from her chest and into her throat, nearly causing her to choke on a piece of ham. What on earth could have happened?

Mr. Bennet stood at once. “Please show him into my study,” he said, his tone calm but alert. He cast a meaningful glance at Elizabeth before leaving the room.

Her heart leaped into her throat. She longed to follow, to ask , to know , but propriety forbade joining them without an invitation.

Knowing her mother would not permit her to eavesdrop, she looked to Mrs. Bennet and said, “I believe, Mama, that there is little point in trying to finish supper now.”

“I believe you are correct,” Mrs. Bennet sighed. “Come, girls, let us move to the drawing room.”

The four Bennet daughters obeyed, trailing dutifully behind their mother with hesitant steps. Upon entering the room, Elizabeth took her usual seat by the fire. She perched on the edge of her chair and folded her hands in her lap in an attempt to keep her nerves steady.

Jane joined her, and almost immediately leaned in to whisper. “Do you think something has happened to Mr. Bingley?” Jane asked, eyes wide with worry. “Is he ill? Or—” She broke off, her voice trembling.

“I am sure Mr. Darcy would not be sent to deliver such news,” Elizabeth said, though her own stomach twisted. “He would send a note with a servant.”

“To think he came here alone,” murmured Kitty.

“It must be love,” sighed Lydia, flopping into a chair. “You will see—he is going to propose.”

“Propose?” the remaining four ladies chorused in unison.

“To whom?” demanded Elizabeth, doing her best to squelch the rise of hope fluttering in her breast. “What do you know? What have you heard?”

“Why, to me, of course!” cried Lydia, a mischievous look on her face. “He is quite tall, after all, and I am the tallest of you all.”

This response was so ludicrous, Elizabeth could not help but to burst out in a peal of laughter. “Do not be so ridiculous, Lydia!” she exclaimed once she had composed herself sufficiently to speak. “I am sure it is quite mundane—perhaps a tenant matter.”

Before more could be said, the door creaked open and a servant appeared. “Miss Elizabeth, if you please—Mr. Bennet requests your presence in the study.”

Mrs. Bennet squealed. “Oh! It is a proposal!”

Elizabeth turned crimson. “It is not , Mama.” She hurried from the room as her mother began instructing the others on how best to receive a future son-in-law.

The hallway seemed unusually long as she made her way toward her father’s study. Her heart fluttered with a mixture of nerves and something dangerously like hope. What could Mr. Darcy’s purpose be in calling at such an hour—and in such haste?

A thrill ran through her before she could suppress it. Could he truly be…?

No.

The rational part of her mind dismissed it outright. Men as wealthy as Mr. Darcy did not propose marriage to women like her without first establishing a courtship. And he had not asked for one.

But perhaps—perhaps he had come to ask her father first? A man as traditional and upright as Mr. Darcy might very well consider such a course honorable. That would explain his coming alone, and in such apparent urgency…

Her steps slowed. If that were the case, why not wait until tomorrow? There had been no crisis, no prompting incident that might make such a decision immediate. It made no sense. And yet—

She placed a hand to her chest to steady her breathing. Well , she thought, there is only one way to find out.

Knocking softly before turning the knob, Elizabeth opened the door and entered her father’s study.

“Come in, Lizzy,” Mr. Bennet said, waving her toward a chair.

“Mr. Darcy is here because he needs our help. I thought you might be able to contribute some useful ideas.”

She turned to Darcy, brows raised.

He sat forward, hands clasped between his knees, his face pale and tense. “It is my sister,” he said. “Georgiana. She arrived at Netherfield today—without warning. There has been a… situation.”

He explained everything. Her sudden arrival. Her scandalous flirtation. Her vile treatment of Mrs. Younge. Her tantrums, and the shattering sounds that had echoed through the yellow room as he had locked her inside.

Elizabeth sat back, stunned. “She threw a chamber pot at her?”