Page 20 of Elizabeth is not a Bennet

Darcy’s Sitting Room

Netherfield Hall

Two deep wingback chairs had been drawn up before the hearth, and now two men sat relaxed in the plush mahogany-brown upholstery. A brandy decanter waited, abandoned on a side table, the cut crystal glasses untouched as yet. Dark brown velvet curtains hung over the windows, blocking out the night and absorbing the light thrown merrily their way from the leaping fire.

“Certainly I am willing to escort Miss Stowe to Pemberley,” Colonel Fitzwilliam said, “but I confess to some surprise. You are the one interested in the lady. Why are you not planning to take her to Derbyshire?”

Darcy sighed and said, “I want nothing more, of course, but we all feel it is wise to keep Miss Stowe’s movements a secret. If she and I left together, it would be obvious to some where she was going. If we spread the word that you are escorting her to London, and you instead go to Pemberley, I am confident no one will guess her true destination. I do plan to leave for Derbyshire at the beginning of December to spend the Christmas season with Georgiana, and then I will join Miss Stowe.”

“That seems reasonable. When do you imagine Miss Stowe, her companion, and I will begin the journey north?”

“As soon as possible, but I need to summon a carriage from Darcy House in London, and I will send a servant along the road to arrange for lodging one night. If you start early, you will reach Pemberley by the second day.”

“I much like the sound of one of your carriages, Cousin. There is nothing like excellent springs to improve a journey!”

/

The Dining Room

Longbourn

Monday, 11 th November, 1811

There was no doubt about it – Mr. Collins was a buffoon. Elizabeth watched in heightening incredulity as the man bumbled his way through an endless stream of chatter, interrupted only by him partaking liberally from the veritable feast spread before him by a mildly flustered Mrs. Bennet. She had scrambled to prepare for the unexpected visitor, seeing to the preparation of the guest room herself and ordering a massive dinner to be ready when he arrived. Mr. Collins would not, she was determined, arrive and find himself unwelcome.

Elizabeth thought uncharitably that he could do quite well to arrive and find himself unwelcome – were he even to notice, which she suspected was doubtful. He had been full of compliments towards the lovely blue-eyed, blonde-haired Bennet daughters, though he had bestowed only a cursory greeting on Elizabeth herself, his eyes flitting once in horror to her bright red hair before sliding dismissively away, for which she was eminently grateful. He also offered cloying flattery for the house, the furnishings, and the stables. It all seemed to be in very poor taste to Elizabeth, considering that it would all be his one day, and from the occasional tightening of her aunt’s smile, she suspected Mrs. Bennet felt much the same. Still, the girls accepted his fulsome compliments graciously, and Mrs. Bennet played the perfect hostess.

Mr. Bennet, more taciturn than his wife, allowed Mrs. Bennet to take the lead in the conversation. But Mr. Collins required little prompting to speak, chattering on at great length about anything and everything. Only once the servants had vacated the dining room did Mr. Bennet’s evil genius prompt him to ask about Mr. Collins’s patroness, Lady Catherine de Bourgh.

Elizabeth was already tired of hearing about Lady Catherine de Bourgh. She had learned far more than she ever wished to about that lady’s condescension and wisdom and patronizing kindness and attention to detail and unhandsome daughter who would be greatly accomplished were her indifferent health to permit such pursuits. Mr. Bennet caught her eye with his own twinkling, and it was with difficulty that Elizabeth did not laugh aloud.

He was unbearable, she thought dismally as Mrs. Bennet rose from the table, collecting her daughters and niece for the requisite separation of the sexes after dinner. Surely Mary would not accept him? Though, Elizabeth could admit, the lure of a steady income and keeping Longbourn within the family was certainly a strong one. But to be wed to such an idiot and have to endure his prosing day in and day out – it was not a thought she could bear with equanimity.

/

Elizabeth’s Bedchamber

Ten O’clock in the Evenin g

The wind whistled outside the window, but inside it was pleasantly warm, especially since Elizabeth and Sally were hurrying around the room packing a trunk for Elizabeth’s journey north to Pemberley. They would not be departing for at least two days, but she did not wish to put off this task until the last minute. Moreover, she had used this necessary undertaking as an excuse for leaving the drawing room early. Mr. Collins had succeeded in annoying her even more than at dinner by condemning a novel from the lending library, and then insisting on reading from Fordyce’s Sermons .

“That dress will go to Kitty,” Elizabeth said to Sally, eying a blue dress critically. She had liked it very much when she first acquired it a year previously, but now she realized that as much as she loved the shade, it did not suit her coloring in the least.

“Oh, are you certain, Miss?” Sally asked, looking over the gown reverently. “The lace is beautiful!”

“Quite sure. It will suit Kitty far better than it suits me, and she is, of all my cousins, the most like me in height.”

Sally nodded and carefully folded the dress, just as the door opened and Mary, her mien that of a hare escaping a fox, slipped into the room .

“Lizzy, may I speak with you?” the second Miss Bennet asked.

“Of course. Sally, that is enough for tonight. Would you please carry that gown to Kitty’s room?”

“Yes, miss.”

The maid left, shutting the door behind her, and Elizabeth took two strides closer to Mary and wrapped her arms around her.

“Is it Mr. Collins?” she asked tenderly.

“Oh, Lizzy, yes!” Mary exclaimed, and then released a slight sob. “He is absolutely dreadful! Not cruel, I think, but so foolish! And he never stops talking!”

Elizabeth released her cousin and took a step back. “You need not marry him, Mary.”

“I know, but I wonder if perhaps it is my duty. He has a good income now and will one day be master of Longbourn. It would make my mother and sister more secure if one of us were to marry Mr. Collins, and the younger girls are not yet of marriageable age.”

Elizabeth sighed and thought hard. She knew that Mary was the most pious of the Bennet daughters and might well feel it her duty to wed the tiresome parson to secure her family’s future .

“Mary,” she said, “do you remember the verse from the fifth chapter of Ephesians, ‘ Nevertheless let every one of you in particular so love his wife even as himself; and the wife see that she reverence her husband .’ Do you think you can truly reverence and respect Mr. Collins in the way that God desires in a Christian wife?”

Mary frowned and wandered over to the fire, where she held out her hands toward the warmth, and said tentatively, “I can, possibly, respect his position as husband, parson, and eventually master of the estate.”

“Perhaps, but truly my dear cousin, there is no reason for such self-sacrifice. You know that Jane is being courted by a wealthy man, and … I am as well.”

Mary turned a startled gaze on her, and then her expression cleared. “Mr. Darcy?”

Elizabeth felt herself blush, but she kept her voice steady. “Mr. Darcy, yes. There are no guarantees, of course, but he has expressed interest in a possible relationship. Moreover, I will soon gain control of a fine estate in Scotland, and I have a substantial dowry. You know I would never let any of you starve, dear Mary!”

The girl stared at her, and then her entire body relaxed noticeably. “Thank you, Lizzy. If you truly do not think it my duty – I would like to come with you to avoid Mr. Collins. ”

“I would greatly appreciate your companionship,” Elizabeth said, smiling in relief.

/

Longbourn

The Next Morning

Elizabeth was knitting slowly, a shawl taking shape beneath her hands as she listened with half an ear to Mr. Collins’s ceaseless declaiming. Mary, seated closest to their guest near the fire, was the object of most of his pontification, her expression placid and her responses always polite. Mr. Collins required little in the way of encouragement, and he pontificated at length about his wise patroness, his fine parsonage in Kent, his condescending patroness, his charming garden behind his fine parsonage, his clever patroness, and the income from being the shepherd of his little flock around Rosings.

Elizabeth thought that if she were to endure many more days of such inane chatter, she would be reduced to screaming. But Mary sewed serenely along, secure in the knowledge that her father had given his blessing for her to accompany Elizabeth to a place of safety as soon as it could be arranged. Kitty and Lydia, both busy at their own pursuits at the table beneath the window, would occasionally glance at each other incredulously at their guest’s most absurd comments. Even Mrs. Bennet, herself no great wit, and deeply hospitable, was looking at their wearisome cousin with scarcely veiled weariness.

Elizabeth bent to pick up another ball of yarn, and her shawl slipped. She lifted it back into place swiftly to hide the slight bulge of bandage beneath her dress sleeve. It was not wadded up as it had been before, and the pain of the injury had subsided greatly, but it would not escape the notice of a keen observer that she still slightly favored that arm. Not that Mr. Collins could remotely be called a keen observer, but Elizabeth nonetheless preferred not to be ostentatious about the healing injury.

At that moment, the Bennets’ butler entered the room with a three visitors in his wake.

“Mr. Bingley and party,” Mr. Stanley announced and retreated out of the door.

Mr. Collins and the ladies stood up, and Mrs. Bennet introduced Mr. Collins to Mr. Bingley and his sisters. Elizabeth, searching in vain for Mr. Darcy, was disappointed to discover that he was not present.

“Mr. Collins, it is a pleasure to meet you,” Bingley said cheerfully. He glanced at Elizabeth and then returned his attention on his hostess. “Mr. Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam are here as well, but they are speaking with Mr. Bennet; something to do with books, I daresay.”

“I have no doubt that Mr. Bennet is enjoying their conversation very much,” Mrs. Bennet said, beaming. “He is a great reader. But please, do sit down and I will call for tea.”

The company arranged itself around the room, with Bingley next to Jane, of course. Before he could say a word, however, Mr. Collins, who was wearing a wrinkled brow, said, “Mr. Bingley, I apologize if this seems a forward question; is it possible that the Mr. Darcy you speak of is the master of Pemberley in Derbyshire?”

Bingley looked startled and said, “Yes, that is my friend, Mr. Darcy.”

“Oh, how very marvelous! For you must know,” and here Mr. Collins looked around the room with an air of importance, “that my revered patroness, Lady Catherine de Bourgh, is the aunt of Mr. Darcy, and Miss Anne de Bourgh, heiress of the grand estate of Rosings, is engaged to Mr. Darcy!”

Elizabeth felt as if she had been kicked in the chest. For a moment her vision swam, and she saw Mary turn a horrified look on her. Not ten seconds later, reason asserted itself. Mr. Collins was a fool, and Mr. Darcy was an honorable man. There must be some mistake; Mr. Darcy would not make romantic overtures to her if he was in fact engaged.

“Mrs. Hurst, Miss Bingley, I must say that your dresses are exquisite,” Mrs. Bennet said hastily, leaving Mr. Collins with his mouth open, surely about to resume his monologue. She had no intention of allowing the man to dominate the conversation when Mr. Bingley obviously wished to speak to her eldest daughter.

“Why thank you,” Miss Bingley said with spurious gratitude. “I suppose that to those accustomed to the dressmaker in Meryton, our gowns must seem remarkable indeed. We obtain all our clothing from Madame Francon in London, of course; she is an émigré.”

Mrs. Bennet was not a clever woman, but she knew disdain when she heard it. Elizabeth, seeing her aunt’s face turn pink, said quickly, “I am in agreement with my aunt; the work is remarkable, and the colors flatter you both.”

She rose from her seat and walked over to another chair nearer their female guests, and Mary, to her very great credit, reengaged Mr. Collins in conversation, thus paving the way for Bingley to speak to Jane.

Ten minutes later, Mr. Bennet, Mr. Darcy, and Colonel Fitzwilliam entered the room. Elizabeth, looking up, noted that Darcy’s gaze moved immediately to her, and she felt her chest warm. She was no expert on love, but there was definitely admiration and concern in that look.

“Mr. Darcy?” Mr. Collins cried out, lurching to his feet. “Sir, I must make myself known to you, for I am Mr. Collins and have the honor of serving as parson under the generous auspices of your aunt, Lady Catherine de Bourgh, in Kent. I saw Lady Catherine and her daughter, Miss de Bourgh, only five days ago, and am gratified to inform you that they are both in excellent health!”

Darcy looked startled, as well he might; he was, as Mr. Collins’s social superior, the one to grant an introduction. However, one quick glance at Elizabeth, who was obviously embarrassed, encouraged him to produce a slight smile. “I am pleased to hear that. Mr. Collins, may I introduce you to my cousin, Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam, nephew of Lady Catherine, and son of the Earl of Matlock.”

Elizabeth’s distress gave way to wry amusement as Mr. Collins immediately began speaking at length to Colonel Fitzwilliam, which permitted Darcy to make his deliberate way over to where Elizabeth was seated across from Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst on a long settee.

“Miss Stowe, good morning,” he said solemnly.

“Mr. Darcy, it is pleasant to see you,” she replied .

“Please, do sit down,” Miss Bingley said, patting the open seat next to her. “Miss Stowe was just expressing her admiration for my gown; not that it is any great thing, of course, but I fear that the Bennets and Miss Stowe have not had the advantage of enjoying the services of the milliners and dressmakers of Town.”

Darcy looked shocked at this remark, but Elizabeth turned dancing eyes on him, and he calmed himself.

“I do not pretend to be an expert on ladies’ clothing,” he said gravely, “but I think Miss Stowe looks particularly delightful today.”

“Why thank you, sir,” Elizabeth said. “Did you enjoy your discussion with my uncle?”

“I did,” Darcy answered. “It was a very useful discussion.”

“I am certain he enjoyed it,” Elizabeth replied and turned her attention on Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst, who were both wearing sour expressions. “May I ask about your usual plans for the Christmas Season? Do you generally spend Christmas in Town?”

“We do,” Miss Bingley remarked, her nose pointed upwards. “Indeed, I fear that December will be entirely dull here in the Country. I cannot imagine what we will do. ”

“What do you do in London in December?” Elizabeth asked, pasting on an innocent expression. “I actually will be leaving for Town in a few days, and while I will be living quite retired, perhaps I will have the opportunity to venture out a few times.”

“You are going to Town?” Mrs. Hurst demanded.

“I am.”

Miss Bingley glanced at Darcy, who was sitting stolidly at her side, and her countenance lightened. “Why Miss Stowe, I must give you some advice, then! Of course, there will not be much company, nor would I expect you to be invited to any gatherings … but the Little Theater will probably be open…”

Elizabeth allowed Mr. Bingley’s sisters to wax eloquent about the delights of Town, most of which they insinuated were out of reach for a mere Miss Stowe of Longbourn, but whenever she glanced at Mr. Darcy, it was to find his admiring gaze upon her.