Page 44

Longbourn – Entrance Hall – Jane

T he moment the front door closed behind Mr Bingley, Mr Darcy and Mr Collins, Lizzy slipped into the drawing room and seated herself beside the window.

Her posture was tense, her expression unreadable.

She did not look at anyone-only outward, through the rain-streaked pane, toward the gravel drive where Mr Collins had just followed the gentlemen.

Jane quietly sat down next to her, concerned.

Lizzy had not been herself since breakfast. From where she sat, she could hear them speaking outside.

She could not make out every word, but the tones and fragments that reached her were enough.

When Mr Collins said something about a spring wedding and Miss de Bourgh, Lizzy’s hands tightened in her lap.

And then Mr Darcy turned, saw Lizzy through the glass, and she stood as if struck .

She left the room without a word.

Jane had seen it - the shift in her sister’s posture, the almost imperceptible recoil at Mr Collins’s words. There had been no outburst, no exclamation. Just a quick, tight glance and the soft tread of retreating footsteps.

Now she stood by the window in the corridor, watching Mrs Bennet flurry about with questions.

“She went straight out the back, I tell you,” Kitty said, appearing breathless from the staircase. “And then Mr Darcy followed her - I saw him!”

Mrs Bennet blinked, torn between outrage and confusion. “Followed her? But why? What could he possibly have to say to her?

Mr Bennet appeared a few moments later, summoned by the rising volume in the corridor. He glanced around with mild interest. “Is there a reason we’re all assembled here like players awaiting our cue?”

Lydia had drifted in moments earlier, munching absently on a slice of bread and jam, her attention caught by the raised voices. She leaned against the doorway, watching them with bright-eyed interest.

“I do not see what all the fuss is about,” she said, mouth full. “Maybe he’s gone after her because he’s already engaged to Lady Catherine’s daughter.”

That earned a chorus of startled looks.

“Engaged?” Mrs Bennet repeated. “To Lady Catherine’s daughter?”

Lydia licked a bit of jam from her thumb and looked pleased. “That Mr Darcy-” she paused dramatically, clearly relishing the attention, “-well, he was not very honourable. About a living or something. Mr Wickham told me. And… and he’s meant to marry his cousin, that Miss de Bourgh.”

Kitty made a face. “Miss de Bourgh? Is not she sickly?”

Mary added without looking up, “It is often unwise to speculate on the constitution of others. ”

Lydia shrugged. “Maybe. But he’s also been… sort of… making Lizzy think he liked her. Mr Wickham said it was all very improper.”

She took another bite, chewing thoughtfully. “Alice Higgins and Louisa Lucas were here yesterday,” she said. “They were talking about Lizzy and Mr Darcy - they said they would not be surprised if the two of them were secretly engaged already.”

Mrs Bennet’s mouth fell open. “Secretly engaged? Lizzy? With that man? I knew he was trouble from the first moment he came into the neighbourhood - looking down his nose at everyone! And now he’s gone and promised to Lady Catherine’s daughter, but still pursuing my Lizzy as if nothing is amiss?

It’s disgraceful - utterly disgraceful! I always said he was not to be trusted. ”

Kitty gave a delighted gasp. “Do you think it’s true?”

Mrs Bennet clutched at her cap. “Secretly engaged? Why did not anyone tell me? And what about that other girl - if he’s to marry Miss de Bourgh, what business has he chasing after our Lizzy?”

Mary looked up from her book at last. “This is why consistency in moral conduct is so important,” she intoned.

Mr Bennet made a sound between a laugh and a sigh. “Perhaps we should let the young man explain himself before we assign him two fiancées and a scandal.”

Jane turned back to the window. She had said nothing through Lydia’s speech, though each word had settled heavier in her chest. She could not believe all of it - not Wickham’s tale, nor the gossip - but she could not dismiss it either.

Not when Lizzy had looked so shaken. Not when Mr Darcy had followed her out.

In the garden, she could just make out the figures moving toward the edge of the orchard.

Elizabeth limping slightly. Mr Darcy at her side.

Bingley still sat on his horse near the drive, clearly uncertain whether to follow or wait.

Mr Collins lingered near the front gate for a moment longer, casting one last look after Mr Darcy and Elizabeth before turning abruptly and striding down the lane - off, it seemed, to call on the Lucases.

Jane pressed her hand lightly to the window frame. She could not hear the words - but the silence from outside was as loud as the voices within.

Behind her, the house was alive with noise and questions. She listened with half an ear - Lydia speculating wildly, Mama growing more indignant by the moment, Kitty adding flourishes to every rumour. But her eyes remained fixed on the garden.

She had never seen her sister look quite so alone.

A flicker of motion drew Jane’s eye back to the lane. A figure was approaching - bonneted, purposeful, and trailing a flurry of skirts.

Mrs Phillips.

Jane’s stomach turned. If her aunt had come directly from Meryton, she would bring more than an umbrella and questions. She would bring news.

And gossip, Jane suspected, was about to arrive on their doorstep with a brisk knock and damp hems.

She waited just long enough to see Mrs Phillips reach the gate before she turned from the window. The house was too loud, too tight. Before anyone could stop her or ask where she was going, Jane slipped out the side door and crossed the gravel drive.

Mr Bingley was still mounted, his expression unreadable. He straightened slightly when he saw her approach, and dismounted without a word.

Jane offered a small, steady smile.

“I thought you might like company,” she said.

“I would,” he replied, with a warmth that made her throat tighten.

And for a few moments, the corridor and the chaos, the rumours and the orchard - all fell away as Mr Bingley offered her his arm and they walked through the rose garden.

* * *

Lucas Lodge – Sitting Room – Charlotte

The rain had stopped, but the air outside still smelled damp and sharp, carrying the scent of wet leaves and churned soil through the open window.

Inside, Charlotte sat at the writing desk in the drawing room at Lucas Lodge with her youngest sisters.

The room was warm with the sound of Louisa, fourteen and eager to share every rumour, chattering at her needlework, and Anne, only twelve, flipping noisily through a novel she had no intention of reading.

Maria was out with their mother and youngest brother.

Charlotte’s pen resting on the page of an unfinished letter. She had not written more than a sentence in twenty minutes. Her eyes drifted to her sisters as Louisa let out a peal of laughter.

“I am telling you, Alice Higgins said she heard it from someone in town - that Miss Elizabeth Bennet and Mr Darcy are secretly engaged! And that he’s to marry his cousin too!”

“That’s absurd,” Charlotte said before she could stop herself.

Anne looked up. “She said Miss Elizabeth blushed when she mentioned it after church on Sunday.”

Charlotte set down the pen. “You cannot believe every whisper passed over a bonnet ribbon. And if she said that, she was mistaken. Alice Higgins did not speak to Elizabeth - not in the pews, not in the yard, not once.”

But her stomach twisted. She had seen Mr Collins’s attentions begin to drift.

He was not subtle, though he believed himself to be.

And Lizzy - Lizzy had never encouraged him.

Charlotte doubted he had exchanged more than a handful of sentences with her since church on Sunday.

But Charlotte also knew how quickly the man could form attachments based on convenience and proximity.

She could only hope her mother had not begun to hope otherwise.

A knock came at the door. A moment later, their maid entered, breathless. “Miss - Mr Collins has called. He’s on his way to the parlour. Sir William is in the parlour already.”

Charlotte rose at once, smoothing her skirts. “Thank you,” she said, voice steady.

But inside, her thoughts were anything but calm.

She crossed the hall with careful steps, pausing only once to check her hair in a mirror and to pinch her cheeks for a little more colour before entering the parlour.

Her father was seated near the hearth with a newspaper folded across his knee, already deep in conversation with Mr Collins.

Mr Collins, all self-importance and flustered grace, rose from his seat and bowed low, expressing his delight at finding Miss Lucas in such good health and spirits.

Charlotte took her seat, heart beating steadily but not fast. She had expected awkwardness. She had not expected determination.

After a few pleasantries, Mr Collins turned to Sir William with great solemnity and asked if he might speak to Miss Lucas alone. Her father, blinking with only faint surprise, rose with his usual good-natured smile and made a polite excuse to withdraw.

Within moments, Mr Collins began a speech - full of praise for her character, gratitude for her family’s hospitality, and a meandering account of his duties in Kent.

When he reached the part about the influence of Lady Catherine and the advisability of matrimony, Sir William conveniently excused himself to see about the footman.

Charlotte sat still, her hands folded in her lap.

She could not say she was surprised. Not truly.

Mr Collins, having failed to make significant progress with one daughter, was clearly ready to secure another connection before leaving Hertfordshire.

He had no great passion, only purpose. And now, she realised, he must believe himself increasingly unlikely to succeed at Longbourn - or perhaps even believe that Elizabeth had already made her own, more exalted match.

She wondered - just for a moment - if Lizzy knew that.

Mr Collins cleared his throat and looked directly at her.

“Miss Lucas, I hope you will not consider me precipitate,” he began, with a measured solemnity, “but it is the particular advice and recommendation of the very noble lady whom I have the honour of calling my patroness - Lady Catherine de Bourgh - that every respectable clergyman in easy circumstances, such as myself, ought to marry as an example to his parish.”

He folded his hands with solemn satisfaction.

“It is upon this excellent counsel, combined with my own increasing conviction that domestic felicity is the surest path to a virtuous life, that I find myself compelled to make you an offer of marriage. I have observed in you, Miss Lucas, qualities most suitable to such a purpose - a practical disposition, a respect for duty, and a calm, agreeable manner. And though our acquaintance is brief, I believe our mutual understanding may be rapidly cultivated into true affection, or something closely akin to it.”

He smiled as though the matter were already settled.

“You are, of course, aware that I had previously entertained intentions elsewhere, but that connection was not to be. It was, I believe, a misjudgement on my part - rectified by reflection and improved understanding. And I am confident that Lady Catherine herself, when apprised of your merits, will approve the match.”

Charlotte took a breath and answered with care.

“Mr Collins, I am honoured by your attention,” she said calmly. “And I believe I understand your position - as well as your urgency.”

She folded her hands more tightly in her lap.

“You are not a man to waste time on sentiment, nor do you seem inclined to pursue what cannot be encouraged. I respect that. And I believe that our acquaintance, though short, may be sufficient to form a basis for something… practical.”

He blinked, then beamed with such unguarded satisfaction that she had to look away.

In his mind, he was likely already composing a letter to Lady Catherine, declaring the match a prudent and excellent arrangement, and professing his admiration for Miss Lucas in terms of dutiful esteem and profound gratitude.

“I would be pleased to accept your offer,” Charlotte said. “So long as you believe it is made in earnest, and not in haste.”

When Mr Collins eagerly promised that he did, she inclined her head again - not out of bashfulness, but to steady herself. She would not delude herself into expecting romance. But she could, she hoped, expect civility. A home. A life of reasonable contentment. These were not small things.

And perhaps, in time, they would suit one another well enough. It was not love - but it might be something survivable.