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CHAPTER SIX

Elizabeth

I was sunk in a kind of melancholy upon limping home from the ball at Netherfield.

I had been forced to sit when I would rather dance and be gay, and I had been subjected to three horrible conversations.

Charlotte would throw herself away on Mr Collins.

Jane had feelings for a man with spiteful sisters.

It was discouraging news indeed and preceded by Mr Darcy uttering a sentence of such arrogance, such unholy self-consequence, that I could no longer like him.

But I did. I did like him! I liked the portion of him that engaged me, that took charge of a situation, put me up on a horse, and made Mr Collins go away.

Yet, I deplored the man I saw last night—the man too proud to justify himself to anyone.

Instinct told me Mr Wickham’s charm was too much to believe.

He used his gifts to his advantage, whereas Mr Darcy had no charm at all and would never stoop to the use of an advantage even if it exonerated him from public disdain.

Mr Darcy had disappointed me, and for that, I felt disinclined to ever forgive him. Jane was right. I too wished the Netherfield party had never come to Hertfordshire.

Only after recounting everything said to me fifty times over in my mind as I tossed and turned that night did I finally succumb to a fitful sleep.

Weary, sore, and feeling vulnerable, I limped down to breakfast where I learnt from my giggling sister Lydia that Mr Collins asked Mama to speak to me alone.

Could the day grow any worse? I sat still as a hare while my cousin stood before me and raised a finger as though he were addressing a congregation.

“Mr Collins,” I said, interrupting him before he began, “last night my friend Charlotte Lucas expressed such admiration for you! I wonder if you would do well to court her, sir, for a more estimable and religious young lady I have never known.”

My cousin stood before me with his finger still in the air, but now his jaw hung open, and so, speaking in a strong voice, I pressed on.

“I know you came here with the most generous intent of offering for one of us and thereby negating the sting of the entail. But upon knowing us better, you perceive that none of us would suit the life you so graciously offer—none, save Jane, of course, whom my mother reserves for Mr Bingley.”

He made a gurgle of protest and I continued speaking on top of him.

“I know you perceive that we are none of us made for religious life because a man of your intelligence cannot but see clearly. I am too headstrong to be agreeable to you. You were quite put out with me this week! I cannot change what I am, sir, and Mary cannot be livelier, Kitty more sensible, or Lydia made to behave with propriety.”

Barely stopping for breath, I ploughed ahead.

“I am glad you sought me out this morning so I could advise you. Charlotte Lucas is a woman of character, of modesty, and of sense. You danced with her last night, and you must agree that Lady Catherine de Bourgh would be delighted to have someone like her at her parsonage.” I stood abruptly and hobbled towards the door.

“Miss Lucas has asked me to invite you to dinner, Mr Collins. I believe she is very much in love with you!”

I left my cousin thunderstruck and went to my room where I penned a hasty note to Charlotte to expect Mr Collins for dinner. Then I went to my mother who sat at her dressing table humming and fluttering her handkerchief.

“Well, Lizzy?” Her eyes danced with delight. “What had Mr Collins to say to you, hmm?”

“He told me I should leave Mr Darcy alone, Mama.”

“What?”

“Mr Darcy stood beside me last night for a considerable time, and our cousin only wished to put me on my guard.”

My mother huffed and sputtered. After a moment she decided to be irate. “How dare he warn you off a gentleman of fortune who chooses to stand by you? No wonder he wished to be private. Had he said something of that nature with me in the room, I would have boxed his ears!”

“I believe he will dine with Sir William and Lady Lucas tonight, ma’am.”

“Good riddance! I had hoped he would offer for you and—oh!” she wailed. “Hand me the vinaigrette, Lizzy.”

“You are disappointed,” I said after giving her the little glass vial which she sniffed, “but my aunt Philips is having a card party to talk of last night with all the ladies of the neighbourhood. Will you not go and hear what is being said of Jane? They will all tell you she was the most beautiful girl in the room.”

She sat up. “Yes! Yes, I shall go. Get the girls to come too, will you, Lizzy?”

And thus, the morning was spent with my mother glowering at Mr Collins as she bustled about readying herself and her daughters for an afternoon at cards.

My cousin, oblivious to the snubs of his hostess, went off in a daze to the home of a woman who was reportedly in love with him.

My father retreated to his book-room, and I went to sit in a patch of sunlight in the parlour with my foot on a stool.

I did not read, for I was not inclined to do so.

I fussed the fringe on my shawl and thought of Charlotte and of Jane and of the dark truth of being a woman.

We have no power. We have no safety to call our own unless we are independently wealthy and living in seclusion.

We are kept like objects, and we must be careful—exceedingly careful—to find a man who treats his possessions well.

My mood darkened, my posture slouched, and the edges of my shawl turned into tangles. And who should happen to appear abruptly in the doorway to see me this way but Mr Darcy!

“Forgive me,” he said stiffly. “The door was ajar, and I saw no one about.”

“Mr Darcy!” I gasped sitting upright.

“Pray do not stand, Miss Bennet. Is your father at home? I came only to have a word with him.”

Thankfully, Mrs Hill arrived a little breathlessly, and I asked her to announce Mr Darcy to my father—and for goodness’ sake to close the hall door left wide open by my younger sisters no doubt.

For the life of me, I could not think what to do.

Part of me wished to go to my room so I would not have to see or speak to that man when he left.

Another part wished desperately to know what he was saying to Papa.

Curiosity won the contest, aided by the discomfort of my ankle, and after a quarter of an hour, Mr Darcy stopped at the doorway to the parlour and tipped his hat at me before gravely going down the hall, out the door, and onto his horse.

Papa had followed Mr Darcy out, as he should, and after seeing the man to the door, he came to stand in the parlour.

“Well, Lizzy?”

“What did Mr Darcy say to you?”

“Oh, he came to be civil. He took his leave. Mr Bingley goes to London on some trifling business, and Mr Darcy returns to take his sister to the country.”

My father, I could see, was being coy and trying to make me plead and cajole information from him. This was a game at which he was masterful. The more we tried to make him tell us a thing, the less inclined he was to do it because he enjoyed vexing us very much.

Swallowing my curiosity, I said, “I have to tell you something, Papa.”

“Oh?” he replied with a sparkle in his eye.

I sensed he was hoping I would reveal something with regards to Mr Darcy, but instead I said, “I am afraid I have played a trick on Mama.”

He looked surprised. “Have you? What have you done?”

“I have sent Mr Collins to pay court to Charlotte Lucas.”

“You mean our cousin did not propose to you this morning?” my father asked with a puzzled frown. “He told me he would speak to you.”

This irked me. Had my father been a better guardian, he would have discouraged his cousin out of consideration for me.

“I believe he planned to do so, but I interrupted him and told him Charlotte is in love with him. Which she is not, of course, but she told me last night that she would have Mr Collins if she could get him.”

“Well, well,” he said, deflated.

“You are not put out, Papa. Surely not!”

“I am disappointed. I had a handy rejoinder prepared for when you refused to marry the man and your mother insisted I make you change your mind.” He paused. “Would you like to hear it?”

“No! No, I do not want to hear it! Are we all just a game to you? Have you no feeling? You wished to subject me to an uncomfortable proposal so you could be clever?” I was suddenly as angry as I had ever been with my father, and when he made some conciliatory noise, I savaged him.

“If you had only put as much effort into shaping and supporting as you have in harassing us with your wit, how much richer our lives would be, sir.”

He shrugged, though I could see he was smarting. “I am an indolent parent, Lizzy.”

“Indeed,” I said gravely. “And look where it has gotten us. Lydia will throw herself at an officer and find herself ruined by the time she turns sixteen, and Kitty will harden into a fretful idiot. Nothing has gone into the education of my younger sisters, and only Mary feels the lack of it. She tries to fill herself with philosophy at least, though she is headed in a direction that will make her—has already made her—a pariah to people of sense. And Jane, who is a pearl, could easily attract a man of Mr Bingley’s worth.

Indeed, she has attracted him, but that will all come to naught. ”

“Mr Bingley seems to be making his way with our Jane in spite of us,” my father said with his old irony returning.

“That is so, but Jane will refuse him if he comes to the point.”

This remark got my father’s attention. “Refuse him?” He shook his head. “No, no, Lizzy. There you are wrong, my girl.”

“I am not wrong. She has told me as much. Mr Bingley’s sisters find us deplorable.

We disgust them! Jane cannot marry into a family, she says, who despises those she loves.

” I took a breath and concluded my scolding.

“Do not dare make a joke of that, sir. My sister is torn in two because you are an indifferent father.”

Darcy