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CHAPTER SEVEN

Elizabeth

L ife at home turned tiresome. The Bingleys had decamped, taking Mr Darcy and his provocations away, as well as dampening any hope for an advantageous marriage for my sister. Mr Collins’s head was turned by Charlotte’s unrelenting attentions, and my mother was furious.

One evening, she went so far as to bring up a testy subject which distressed me, for I had told her the lie that Mr Collins warned me off Mr Darcy, and I thought my moment of reckoning had come.

“Mr Collins, I understand you remonstrated with my daughter Elizabeth with regard to her friendship with Mr Darcy,” my mother said in a voice of injured dignity.

How startled I was when Mr Collins replied with a sanctimonious sniff!

“Indeed, ma’am. Mr Darcy is to marry his cousin, Lady Catherine de Bourgh’s daughter, Anne. I do not think it seemly that my cousin Elizabeth should cast out lures to a man already affianced.”

A hot flush of dismay flooded my face, and I sat helplessly exposed in front of my family.

First, my mother had said plainly that Mr Darcy and I had been universally seen as friends, and then I learnt that Mr Darcy was spoken for.

Only at that awful moment did I realise I had fostered some hope of a union in the dark recesses of my mind.

The man’s pride and taciturn nature, his unvarnished sense of superiority notwithstanding, even his harshness , were unbearably attractive to me.

These contrary traits coupled with his intelligence, his confidence in the world, his supreme independence, and his unapologetic male power had been irresistible.

And yes, we had been friends in the making.

I could easily see myself teasing and provoking him even in old age.

As though this moment of self-realisation were not a form of crucifixion in itself, my father thought to add to my dismay.

“Of whom are we speaking?” he asked with an air of distraction which did not fool me.

“Of Mr Darcy,” Mama said. “He paid a great deal of attention to both our oldest girls. Lizzy in particular seemed to capture his interest.”

“Ah yes, Mr Darcy,” he mused as though trying to recall the man. “Did I mention he came to see me?”

“To see you, Mr Bennet? But what did he have to say?”

“He came to tell me that our daughters’ favourite beau, Mr Wickham, is a vicious character.” My father spoke casually, though he glanced at me with pointed interest.

My reaction was no less than anyone else’s in the room. We sat in shock.

Lydia cried out in protest. “Surely not, Papa!”

“I am afraid so. The least of his shortcomings of character is that he is pursued for debts unpaid. If the bailiffs catch him, which I expect to happen any day now, he will abscond from here on the run or be taken to Fleet Street.”

“But that is because Mr Darcy did not give him the living for which he was groomed!” howled Kitty.

“That tale was a fabrication. Mr Darcy settled three thousand pounds in lieu of the living Mr Wickham claimed he did not want. A tidy sum your favourite spent in dissipation which led him to seek shelter in the militia.”

“And the worst of his character, sir?” I asked coldly, for I knew the answer already. Such smoothness of address and such intimate knowledge of what is flattering to a woman spoke volumes to me.

“He is a danger to young ladies, and I hope, Mrs Bennet, you will never allow the lecher proximity to your daughters again.”

“Well!” huffed Mama. “Well! He is a scoundrel you say, Mr Bennet? But his manners are so very engaging.”

“A villain, my dear, has taken tea in your parlour a dozen times at least.”

Lydia burst into noisy tears, Kitty put a handkerchief to her nose, and Mary looked poised to say she had known the man was evil all along. Mr Collins meanwhile smirked at my family who had been blind to wickedness, and so I picked up my book and my candle and went to bed.

The next morning after breakfast I went to my father.

“Well, Lizzy, your Mr Darcy is spoken for. Have you recovered from your heartbreak?”

I knew what tack to take with my father. “You know me very well, sir. I have a weakness for enraging men.”

“I hope I am one such man.”

“You are, but if you want an apology from me, I shall give it. I do not care to fight with you.”

“I shall ask for no apology from you, if you demand none from me.”

“I did not come for that, sir. I came to ask if you would do me a great service.”

“I am inclined to hear you, Lizzy. I like a girl who has been crossed in love.”

“Indeed, I am very happy to be in love with Mr Darcy. I have no hope of getting him, you see, and so I can be comfortable as I pine my youth away. But in truth, Papa, I have no stomach to see my dearest friend being courted by our mortifying relative. And with Mr Bingley gone and Netherfield closed, I am made miserable by Mama’s fretting. Will you send me to London, sir?”

“You wish to be spared what the rest of us must endure?”

“Papa, my ankle pains me still,” I said in deadly seriousness. “I cannot, as I used to, make my escape out of doors.”

He frowned a little. “I shall ask your uncle to have a doctor see you.”

“I would be very grateful, but that is not the only boon I ask.”

His brow cleared and he regarded me with a wry look. “I see I am not to apologise for the faults of my parenting, but I shall be made to pay regardless.”

“I wish you would send Jane with me. Mama harasses her day and night to marry Mr Bingley, as though my sister could conjure him on bended knee.”

“Both sensible daughters are to go? A heavy penalty, Lizzy. Well, if you must go and take Jane, you must. But I shall not sit still for what is left. I believe your mother should have a holiday in Bath, at least until our cousin has married her rival’s daughter.

Mr Collins can batten himself on Sir William,” he said, sitting comfortably back in his chair with his hands folded over his belly, “and I shall have peace for once.”