Page 3

CHAPTER 3

M rs. Bennet swayed against the door frame. “Is this the withdrawing room?” she called into the dark library.

Miss Elizabeth went to her side, looping her arm through her mother’s.

“Lizzy! I am in need of a chamber pot!” Mrs. Bennet emphasized her statement with a belch.

I held myself as still as I could, as much to spare Miss Elizabeth further embarrassment as to escape her mother’s notice.

“Come, Mama, I will take you.” Miss Elizabeth tugged Mrs. Bennet toward the hall.

One more step and I would be out of their view. Freedom within my grasp, I allowed myself to breathe.

That was a mistake. In my relief, I started to move and tripped over the candelabra we had used as a battering ram. I had not seen Miss Elizabeth set it on the ground, but there it was, catching my boot and clattering on the wood floor at the edge of the carpet.

Mrs. Bennet spun around, dragging her daughter with her. “Mr. Darcy?”

Miss Elizabeth glared at me, and I glared back. She could have placed that infernal candelabra anywhere else but directly in my path.

“Is that you, Mr. Darcy?” Mrs. Bennet repeated with a hiccup.

Unable to pretend she had not seen me, I bowed. “Madam.”

She turned her head to face her daughter, losing her balance in the process. I felt it necessary to reach forward to lend her some steadiness before she toppled over and dragged Miss Elizabeth with her. If only she would cease whipping her gaze back and forth between us like an excited dog wagging its tail.

“You and Mr. Darcy? Here?” She flailed her arms wildly, pulling out of my reach and away from her daughter. “Alone?”

Her mind was clearly steadier than her feet.

Again, Miss Elizabeth looped her arm through her mother’s. “The door locked behind us, but thanks to you, we are free to leave. Now, let me show you to the withdrawing room.”

Mrs. Bennet narrowed her eyes at me, her gaze sweeping over my frame from head to toe. She was not so drunk nor so desperate to relieve herself that she did not recognize a prime opportunity to claim a compromise.

I stood erect, chin tucked against my chest, expectant of her demand. There was nothing to do but to comply, though I was loath to marry under such circumstances. How had I allowed this to happen? I, who prided myself on my caution!

Staggering forward, straining against her daughter’s hold, Mrs. Bennet jabbed me in the chest with her fan. “I will return shortly to discuss this matter. I would stay now, but more urgent matters demand my immediate attention. Lizzy, I need the withdrawing room.”

Without another word, the two ladies retreated down the hall.

Once again, I found myself alone in the library, only this time, I stood by the door, ready to prevent anyone else from attempting to close it. Would Mrs. Bennet remember to return? I still needed to speak to Mr. Bennet about Wickham. How long should I wait? Five minutes?

I decided that if Mrs. Bennet did not return in ten minutes, I would continue my search for her husband. With all the time already wasted, I could not afford to wait any longer.

Every second filled me with doubt and increased my self-loathing. How had I allowed this to happen now when I had successfully survived seven London Seasons since my majority without falling into a trap? I had triumphed over the most conniving, unscrupulous families in all of society but now found myself at the mercy of Mrs. Bennet!

I imagined introducing her to my relatives and the vulgar comments she would make. The spectacle the younger Bennets would make of themselves—their lack of maturity and want of accomplishments. My family would know I had been trapped into a union I would never have entered of my own volition.

Each passing second brought another disadvantage to mind until my chest felt heavy, and it became difficult to draw breath. For my own sanity, I must consider the advantages… if there were any to be found.

My aunt Catherine, who had insisted I marry her daughter, Anne, would never speak to me again. I could not be sorry about that.

And I held few objections against Miss Elizabeth herself. Other than her apparent aversion to me and preference for Wickham, I could say nothing against her character. In fact, I enjoyed her conversation. During her stay at Netherfield Park with her sister, I had found her well-informed and insightful. She was not unpleasant to look at. My face warmed as I admitted to myself that she was, indeed, handsome enough to tempt me.

After eight agonizingly slow minutes, I was prepared to face what was certain to come. Mrs. Bennet reappeared, walking without the assistance of her daughter, who followed behind her mother, her eyes directed toward the carpet.

I braced myself for the matron’s demands. She would claim her daughter’s virtue was endangered. She would insist I make an offer of marriage. As an honorable gentleman, I had no option but to comply.

Miss Elizabeth and I both knew the truth—the only passion shared between us had been sparring and accusations. However, truth and reality did not signify when word got out. People would assume the worst. They always did, and their opinion was all that mattered in the end.

Miss Elizabeth still avoided my gaze. To be truthful, that suited me well, as it justified me in doing the same.

Mrs. Bennet huffed. “You clumsy girl. How could you spoil your sister’s fun like that?”

What was this? I looked at Miss Elizabeth for an answer. She had too many sisters for me to make an accurate guess.

Her eyes met mine even as she replied to her mother. “You did well to send Lydia home with Kitty, Mama.”

Miss Lydia was no longer at the ball! Lord be praised!

“You left her no other option!” Mrs. Bennet did not share in my contentment.

Her daughter did not apologize. “Mrs. Hill will know what to do before the ratafia dries and stains Lydia’s gown beyond reparation, and Kitty will be good company for her.”

With another sister and the housekeeper watching over her, Miss Lydia would cause no more trouble that evening. Relief and growing respect for how efficiently Miss Elizabeth had addressed the problem eased the pressure on my chest.

“They will make you pay on the morrow, Lizzy, and I do not blame them. It is no good to deny younger ones their pleasure just because their older sisters have yet to marry.”

With that, Mrs. Bennet turned her attention to me. Here it would come. The demand. The triumph. I braced myself.

Snapping her fan in front of her, commanding my full attention, she demanded, “Did anyone see you enter the library?” No longer was her speech slurred.

“Not that I am aware of,” I replied cautiously, not wishing to assist her or worsen my fate.

She pinched Miss Elizabeth’s chin with her other hand and locked eyes with her. “Would anyone—anyone at all—suspect you of being alone with Mr. Darcy?”

“I doubt anyone noticed my absence except, perhaps, Mr. Collins.”

“Why might he have noticed?”

“He has been following me all evening.”

“As he ought to do! What I do not understand is why you do not encourage him more!”

“I would rather avoid him.”

“Why in heaven’s name would you wish to avoid him? If he finds out you might have been compromised?—”

“There has been no compromise!” Miss Elizabeth interrupted.

“Absolutely none,” I agreed. It struck me that this was perhaps the first time in our acquaintance we so emphatically agreed.

Mrs. Bennet did not even spare me a look. She was too intent on the cause of her vexation. “Mr. Collins means to propose on the morrow, and you must accept.”

I shook my head, unable to fully comprehend what I had heard.

Before I had recovered, Mrs. Bennet turned to me, poking my cravat in her insistence. “Do you swear not to mention a word of this… incident?”

She was serious.

I had never heard a sensible utterance cross Mrs. Bennet’s tongue, and now she was eager to overlook a compromising situation from which she would have benefited greatly… in favor of an offer from Mr. Collins. Was she mad?! She would rather have Mr. Collins—a pandering clergyman with nary an original thought in his small mind—in her family than me?

My pride demanded clarification. “You do not intend to force a proposal?”

She scoffed. “We all know you to be a disagreeable man, Mr. Darcy.”

More disagreeable than Mr. Collins?

Too stunned to think of a reply, I listened helplessly as she continued. “I would never wish for any of my daughters to marry you, much less Lizzy, whom you insulted at the Meryton Assembly. She has expressed her dislike for you to all and sundry because of it.”

Dizzy from the clash between her poor estimation of me and my own high opinion of myself, I nodded to Mrs. Bennet’s demand. She wished me to say nothing of this to anyone lest I ruin Miss Elizabeth’s chance of securing a proposal from a man thoroughly unsuited to her. I could not comprehend how Mrs. Bennet would judge that buffoon superior to me.

That Miss Elizabeth did not seize her chance to escape such a wretched prospect as Mr. Collins confounded me further. Certainly she would consider me to be the better choice… would she not? And yet, she remained as silent as Mrs. Bennet bid me to be.

I remained in the library for a few minutes after the ladies departed, numb with emotion.

Mrs. Bennet, a woman I had considered devoid of reason, had somehow arrived at a conclusion that was…reasonable. For reasons that were incomprehensible to me.

Never had I been so relieved or so offended.