Page 2 of Under Such Circumstances (Desperately Seeking Elizabeth #1)

ELIZABETH BENNET AWOKE in the room she was staying in at the parsonage near Rosings to sunlight streaming in round the draperies, little beams of morning cheer.

And then she remembered, jarringly, that Mr. Darcy had proposed to her yesterday.

She rolled over in bed, pressing her face into the pillow, and she groaned.

Even now, the next day, after she had gone over and over it in her head, and after she had waited up to tell Charlotte about it, and they had both marveled over the oddity of the behavior, she felt it all crash into her with a sensation of foreboding and a bit of dread.

It had been most unwelcome.

She abhorred Mr. Darcy.

He was the worst sort of man, the kind of man who thinks he is so very much better than everyone else, the kind of man who wanders around making pronouncements he thinks sound reasonable but actually make him sound like a priggish blackguard.

For instance, Mr. Darcy had once told her he could only think of a half a dozen proper ladies in all of England.

Or… not proper. What had he said? Accomplished.

Oh, yes, but his notion of whatever accomplishment was had no relation to actual reality. He went on about what a truly accomplished woman was, and he might as well have said that they were women who walked on water and touched the stars at night when they walked. He was ridiculous.

Another time, he’d said that his good opinion, once lost, was lost forever. No second chances from Fitzwilliam Darcy, no! No mistakes allowed.

What kind of name was Fitzwilliam, anyway?

Oh, she knew, actually. It was his mother’s maiden name. Such things were often done, to carry on a family name, and she supposed she shouldn’t poke fun at it.

It was only that he was not the least bit polite himself. She had once overheard him declining to dance with her because she was “not handsome enough to tempt” him.

This was not why she abhorred him, though.

No, there were other, much better reasons, like the fact that he’d prevented a union between her dearest sister Jane and the man she had grown very fond of, Mr. Bingley, and the fact that he had also been very cruel to Mr. Wickham, an amiable man who had been trying to improve his own fortune and had been prevented from doing so because Mr. Darcy had denied him a promised position as a parson in Derbyshire.

This, seemingly, Mr. Darcy had done out of sheer spite.

No, that was not the sort of man she would marry.

Absolutely not.

On the other hand, she kept feeling this odd sense of dread about it all, recalling the proposal and her refusal, and she kept assuring herself it was only because she did not enjoy hurting other people’s feelings, but that was bothering her somewhere, because her picture of Mr. Darcy was not of a man who rightly got hurt feelings.

He was so full of himself he had no care for other people’s opinions of him, after all.

And she had clearly hurt him.

She had seen that.

He’d been so shocked—

Oh, but that was part of it, wasn’t it? His sheer arrogance, that anyone at all could ever deny him!

She rolled back onto her back, glared at the ceiling, and clenched her hands into fists.

Even so, what was the dread about?

She couldn’t feel… regret, could she?

Well.

Here was the fact of the matter. She was being pigheaded. Mr. Darcy had a very sizable income. He owned estates. He was the grandson of an earl. Marrying him, even if he was the sort of man who she could not stand, would have its compensations.

And really, she had little else to look forward to in life, since she had nothing in the way of a dowry—not nothing, but very little—and no other true prospects. Marrying a man like Mr. Darcy would have solved all of her problems.

Certainly, being united to a man like that would have been its own problem, but perhaps she was making too much of that.

With wealth like Mr. Darcy had, a husband and wife might live almost entirely separately.

She could have married him, endured him long enough to produce an heir for him, and then, perhaps, rarely seen him after that.

She could have used his wealth and position to aid her sisters and family.

Had she made a mistake?

She grimaced.

Truthfully, it had been very satisfying to deny him, to be the one person in the entire country who said no to that man.

But then, he’d been hurt.

And that hadn’t felt nearly as satisfying.

Of course, then, he’d been infuriating. He’d defended his actions with separating Jane and Mr. Bingley, the cad. He’d acted as if he had no regrets about doing such a thing!

No, she could not be married to that man.

This is Charlotte’s influence , she thought to herself, sitting up in bed.

And it was true that Charlotte had been a bit surprised that Elizabeth would have denied the man.

She had also tentatively said that if Elizabeth changed her mind, perhaps she could apologize to the man, get him to renew his suit.

Elizabeth had vehemently denied wanting such a thing.

She could hardly imagine it now, in fact, lowering herself, groveling, begging for his affections.

No, absolutely not. Some things, no matter how they might benefit a person, were unbearable.

Thus decided, she determined she would think no more on it.

And in this, she found herself entirely unsuccessful.

It was as if she were helpless against the thoughts that assailed her again and again.

Over and over, as she dressed, as she went down to breakfast, she had the same circular thought patterns.

She thought, again and again, of having to apologize to Mr. Darcy.

She rejected it over and over, insisting to herself that there was no amount of money, ease, or comfort that was worth being tied to that man for the rest of her life.

But if she really believed that, why did the thoughts persist?

She was pensive and preoccupied during breakfast, but this wasn’t very noticeable, for Mr. Collins, the head of the household, had a tendency to monopolize conversation at most mealtimes.

She was no appreciator of Mr. Collins himself, truth be told, though admitting this right on the heels of finding Mr. Darcy unbearable made her feel as if she must be some sort of overly exacting woman with strict standards that none could meet, and this was far from true.

She was typically an accepting person. She had a number of friends. She was amiable. She dearly loved to laugh.

It was only that both Mr. Darcy and Mr. Collins were absolutely horrid.

And it was truly for the same reason. They had no capacity to see their own faults.

So, as usual, Mr. Collins dominated the talk over breakfast.

First, he spoke a great deal on the deliciousness of the food, and he put this down to the cook he kept. “You know how I got this cook, do you not, Mrs. Collins?” he asked his wife.

“I do know, husband, yes,” said Charlotte, with the faintest of smiles, the only thing that let Elizabeth know that this was a well-worn topic of conversation.

Elizabeth could only wonder at Charlotte’s patience, for she herself could not think that she would be able to stand such repetitious conversations, especially if this one were about to go in the direction that she thought it would.

“She was recommended to me,” said Mr. Collins, “and I don’t know if you can guess by whom?”

“I don’t have to guess, my dear,” said Charlotte with a gentle little laugh.

“Well, perhaps Miss Bennet may guess,” said Mr. Collins.

“It couldn’t have been Lady Catherine,” said Elizabeth witheringly.

“Why, it was!” said Mr. Collins. “How astonishing you have guessed that. On your first try! You see, most people would not think that a great lady like herself would have the time or the inclination to worry herself with the affairs of a lowly rector like myself.”

Elizabeth nodded, saying nothing. She was already being distracted by thoughts of Mr. Darcy and his proposal again.

“But you, you see, you have been here long enough to see the demonstration of how very generous her ladyship is with her time and her advice,” went on Mr. Collins.

“So, of course you might guess it straightaway, that it was Lady Catherine who put this cook in my path, so that I might hire her, and so that we might, even as we speak, be enjoying the deliciousness that we are enjoying as we break our fast. I am twice blessed, truly, both with this cook and with the guiding hand of her ladyship, without whom I might be utterly lost and rudderless, like a ship unable to steer.”

When there was no reply to this, Mr. Collins prompted Charlotte, who supplied an agreement readily.

Charlotte had told Elizabeth that her husband only needed to be placated and then he was quite biddable.

He really does as I ask, she had said. It is truly all about knowing how to ask him.

I ask in such a way where he will not refuse.

He enjoys pleasing me, I must say, and that is not true of all men.

I am well satisfied with him. There are a great many worse husbands a woman could have.

And this was all true, but Elizabeth still could not understand how Charlotte could resign herself to this life she had here, with Mr. Collins, who was so badly ridiculous that he set Elizabeth’s teeth on edge.

After breakfast, Elizabeth usually took a long walk on the nearby grounds, but she found herself hesitant to do so now, because of the fact that Mr. Darcy had been following her about for weeks on such walks.

She had told him, pointedly, that she was planning on walking in that direction each day, thinking he would avoid her, but he had not.

Now, she realized, with fresh horror, this was because he had admired her.

Oh, Lord in heaven, what had he said? How much he ardently admired her.

No, no. Ardently admired and loved her.

She shuddered in disgust.