"Good day, Mrs. Collins"

I so hate that name! But, at least if nothing else, I had learned to hide all my reactions in the previous year. When I flinched over the title, anyone who did not know me extremely well would see nothing amiss, or anything at all for that matter. A year as a parson's wife had at the very least taught me to be inscrutable, and I doubted even Jane or the infamous Mr. Darcy could hold a candle to me in that regard. I had determined early on that nobody would ever know of my struggles. In our society, my father and Mr. Collins committed the crimes, but should their actions become known, I would suffer the shame and censure. I would be considered a bad wife, a bad daughter, a frigid woman, undutiful, a harridan and all the other accolades our society would heap on a woman who did not act like a not particularly bright sheep. So no, I hated the name but determined that nobody would ever know.

It was absolutely certain Mr. Darcy was not in that select group of people who knew me well, so I had no need to worry about his reaction. Of course, after that first year I doubted anyone could be counted to know me well. My sisters may have known who I once was, but that happy carefree person who laughed was long dead and buried.

I felt that since I was feeding my poultry with a basket of grain on my hip, I could be excused from curtseying or extending any other normal civilities; not that I would be inclined to do so anyway. I really did not care in the least what Mr. Darcy thought. I had been quite satisfied to not see him in the two days after his ungentlemanly bout of eavesdropping except for a brief sighting in church the pervious days. In fact, I was quite looking forward to not seeing him in the next two days as well; or ever again for that matter.

I did however suppose I at least had to acknowledge him, no matter how little inclined I was to do so, since two of my chickens were currently pecking at his bright and shiny boots that probably cost more than my household accounts for a year. I looked at him with no particular emotion at all. Nothing good could come of associating with him, but he was the nephew of my patroness, so I did at least have to speak to him minimally. I need not antagonize him, but I need not encourage him either.

"Mr. Darcy"

I assumed he had something to say, and I assumed it would be something critical as usual. I hoped rather than believed he would just say his piece and leave.

He looked at me more intently than I cared for, and said, "I came to apologize."

That surprised me! Of course, given nearly all of my previous dealings with members of the male sex, I would have been more concerned if he did something that did not surprise. Calculating that a short answer would get rid of him sooner than ignoring him, I exerted myself to be civil.

"There is no need Mr. Darcy. If I conduct my business in the lane, I deserve what I get, and while you were technically on the church's property rather than your aunt's, it is close enough to be of little concern. Should you feel some obsessive need for absolution, you may consider yourself fully acquitted, so long as you keep my confidence. You have done your duty. Goodbye, sir."

With that, I turned back to my poultry, ready to be rid of the man as there was still work to be done, and I had not the slightest inclination to extend the distasteful acquaintance. Considering what he thought of me even before the revelations two days past, it seemed likely he would leave me in peace in short order.

"Mrs. Collins…"

Caught off guard, I flinched slightly again at the use of the name, but was certain he would not have seen it unless he was staring at me like his life depended on it.

He then said something that completely surprised me again, "I beg your pardon, madam! I see that surname pains you."

I wondered how he had done that. Had he resurrected his old practice of staring at me to find fault? Maybe I had more work to do on hiding my reactions if someone like him, who barely knew me, could see through it.

I replied as cordially as I could, just hoping to be done with it, "My apologies, Mr. Darcy. My mask slipped for a moment, but do not fret. It is after all my name, so you have committed no offense."

He seemed a bit dismayed at the casual way I referred to my mask, as if he did not do the same thing all day, every day of his life. He was the only one I had ever known who was as inscrutable as Jane… or myself now. Perhaps he was just embarrassed.

I was a bit surprised when he seemed to be treading carefully, as if he actually cared what I thought, and asked, "Would you prefer I use another form of address?"

By now, I was back to my stony disposition that was not to be shaken. He had caught me off guard twice, but would not do so again! I replied as casually as I could.

"It is of no importance, Mr. Darcy. I can bear it for the remaining five minutes of our acquaintance. Please say what you have to say and leave before word gets out of your visit. I am quite far enough in Lady Catherine's brown books already, and I may need her help soon."

He seemed quite distressed by that. I assumed he did not countenance me asking Lady Catherine for help in anything, but I was surprised by his reaction. To tell the truth, after Hertfordshire, I was surprised to see any reaction at all on his face.

True to form, he just had to know more of my business, probably trying to protect his aunt, as if she needed or desired it. He asked, "Why will you need her help?" almost as if it were his business.

Politeness was not working to get rid of the insufferable man, so I decided to just give him the truth, as I was tired of trying to figure out what he wanted. Perhaps if I offended him enough, he would leave.

"As you no doubt heard, I have four sisters to find husbands for, and Lady Catherine likes to be of use. If I get desperate, I may go crawling to her for help. She loves to be right, and despises me for ignoring her almost entirely for the past year. If I give her something to gloat about, she will help me; but not if she becomes aware of your presence here, which will distress her. Now if we are done, I really have things to do Mr. Darcy, so I bid you good day."

Something about that seemed to pain him, so I surmised perhaps he was the one who had to work on his mask. I started to turn back to my work and he surprised me again by saying, "I would like to offer my help."

I imagine he was having some sport with me, trying to see how much he could discompose me, but I doubt he got much that time. I simply replied as politely as I could, "I thank you for the offer sir, but I shall manage my own affairs."

Apparently, he was more stubborn than I thought, as he tried once again, "Please, Mrs…. Elizabeth. I truly would like to assist you."

With my mask firmly in place, I decided I probably had not been uncivil enough, so I tried another tack. I replied, "Mr. Darcy the Smyth estate is five miles north. The Jones estate is ten miles east. Lord Mawbry has an estate just to the south. They will all have shooting this time of year. Please relieve your boredom elsewhere."

Just in case that was not clear enough, I turned my back on him and returned to spreading my grain. At least that was something that would fill my belly later, and I assumed talking to my back would be enough to finally make him leave.

He surprised me again by asking softly, in almost a whisper, "May I ask why you refuse my help, but would accept Lady Catherine's?"

Becoming slightly alarmed by his persistence, I decided to finish things once and for all.

"Are we still speaking in confidence, Mr. Darcy?"

"Always", he said, as if I should just naturally trust an eavesdropper.

I replied somewhat impertinently, "Lady Catherine is a bit of a nosy busybody, but I understand her enough to know what she will do. In the end, she will not be able to resist the temptation to extract her pound of flesh. I trust her because I understand her. She could not stand the very idea of me believing her incapable of the task, nor could she stand to fail at something as simple as placing a few ladies with husbands. Giving me my comeuppance will just be the cherry on top. So yes, Mr. Darcy, I do trust her, within limits."

He chewed on that for a few seconds, and asked, "I assume this means you do not trust me?"

With a slight shrug, I simply said, "No sir, I do not. I imagine I should soften that with something like 'I am sorry to say', but I no longer care to dissemble simply for politeness sake."

He struggled for perhaps half a minute, looking confused and asked pointedly, "May I ask why?"

Finally starting to lose my carefully controlled temper, I asked, "Why do you care, Mr. Darcy? My trust or lack thereof will in no way affect anything other than your pride, of which you seem to have an adequate supply. Once we finish this conversation we are quite unlikely to ever meet again, so I see little point in the discussion."

His face fell yet again, perhaps not really liking being on the receiving act of someone's indifference, but he seemed a logical enough man to understand such a plain assertion of well-established fact; although to be honest I expected his anger to make a showing sooner or later.

Now that I was looking at him again, he said, "I care what happens to you Elizabeth. Will you not give me at least that?"

So, it was to be Christian names now? I had not given him leave, but perhaps he was more sensible than he seemed. He was going out of his way to avoid either of the surnames I loathed, so I grudgingly had to give him a tiny bit of credit. This bit of impropriety might be his finest moment.

With more charity than I was feeling, I said, "All right, Mr. Darcy, I will give you that. Please just take my word for it that the best thing you can do is return to Rosings and forget this entire episode", and then turned back to my work.

Surprising me yet again, he said, "Elizabeth, please! My cowardice is screaming at me to take you at your word and run, but for once in my life would you allow me to be brave? I have been a selfish being all my life, but let me just this once go beyond that. Will you please tell me why you distrust me so?"

He seemed to be waiting in breathless anticipation, apparently unable to comprehend that anyone could hold a grudge against him.

I sat staring at my pig and my poultry for a few minutes, trying to decide if I should just insist he leave, or give him the honest answer he seemed to crave. In the end, I decided to just put him out of his misery and be done with it, so I told my story to the pig.

"Mr. Darcy, do you know my very last happy memory?"

After a pause sufficient to indicate that he would not guess, I continued, "It was, oddly enough, a year and a day past at Mr. Bingley's ball at Netherfield. After my first two horrible dances with Mr. Collins, which I saw you and Miss Bingley smirking at, I had one with John Lucas. We were old friends with no expectations, and we could just happily enjoy the simple pleasure of a dance done well. That is the very last satisfactory memory I have."

He had the temerity to ask, "You do not consider our dance a happy memory?"

I looked at him and almost could not hold in the tears that were threatening at the very thought of that horrid night, but I was not going to give this man the satisfaction of seeing me cry.

I asked, "Do you know what justification Bennet gave for forcing this…" I just swept my hand around encompassing the parsonage and my entire life, "… on me?"

He just shook his head, so I continued.

"When I rejected Collins' suit the next day, my former father said, 'I used to think I had three silly daughters, but now I see I have raised the five stupidest girls in England. You cannot be trusted to make your own decisions.'"

He looked like he was about to explode, but he simply asked, "Why would he say that?"

I looked at him again. My tears were still threatening, and I had very little strength left to stop them; but I finally decided that if I had to tell one person in the world, it may as well be him. At least I would not have to face him afterward, and it was not as if I had any other confidants.

With little emotion, I said, "My sister Jane fell in love with a very handsome and amiable rake, who abandoned her after assiduously making love to her almost daily for six weeks without even taking his leave. He said he would be gone a few days then disappeared entirely. She got nothing but a nasty letter from his sister. This rake was your particular friend so that does not reflect well on him or you. Then Wickham tried to elope with my fifteen year old sister Lydia the night of the ball, and would have ruined her if Mary had not stumbled upon them. Kitty seemed like she knew about the couple and did nothing. He was yet another rake friend of yours."

I glanced at him briefly, to judge his reaction, and he was staring at me most disconcertingly.

I then continued, "I had previously quite favored Wickham, since he at least had the good grace to refrain from insulting me in the first half‑hour of our acquaintance, and never once called me 'tolerable enough' or 'not handsome enough to tempt him'. When his true nature was revealed; a nature which you could not be bothered to warn us about with anything other than inscrutable riddles; I was seen as just about as stupid as Lydia, and rightly so."

Now he was looking at his own boots, or what was left of them after my chickens were done with them, so I continued.

"When Bennet asked Wickham why he did it; he said it was because I danced with you. He claimed the two of you have a long‑standing rivalry, and frequently went after sisters to see who could succeed faster. Most likely he was lying about that just as with everything else, but coupled with your almost universally bad manners, the fact that you clearly and obviously looked down on myself, my sisters and all our neighbors, and the entire Netherfield party's decampment the very next day with nothing but a letter asserting Bingley was courting your sister, the Bennet sisters seemed well and truly unmarriageable; and your party seemed most ungentlemanly, an opinion that your behavior two days ago did not help."

I paused a moment and continued, "A year later, I imagine the rest of my sisters still are unmarriageable, but since our correspondence lacks any depth whatsoever, I am only supposing. I imagine they have had a very trying year of gossip as well. I distrust you sir because you have well and truly earned my distrust!"

Trying to get it all out, I continued, "I believe Bennet suffered an apoplexy or something of the sort, because he changed completely and abruptly from the amiable but neglectful father of my earlier memories to a vengeful and controlling man nearly overnight. He was never the same after that ball, and I have no idea why."

Giving him the hardest stare I was capable of, I continued, "After the ball and Miss Bingley's letter, Mr. Collins proposed marriage. I rejected him five times in the strongest language possible, yet my former father jumped on the offer like a hawk on a hare. Perhaps they did not know just how bad it would be, but he did know Collins or Lady Catherine or both would most likely try to crush my spirit, yet he played his hand for his own comfort, and retired back to his book room. My former mother spent the next three weeks running around the neighborhood crowing about the success of getting one daughter well settled, while I was locked in Longbourn, awaiting my execution. Bennet even kept my sisters away from me before the wedding to try to prevent anything from going wrong; other than the obvious problem of the wrong bride."

Trying to just be done with Mr. Darcy once and for all, with my mask firmly back in place, I delivered my final word; absolutely certain it would send him running.

"Bennet was only right about one thing. I am quite possibly among the stupidest women in England. I have scars Mr. Darcy, in places only a husband should know about; because I did esteem two handsome and amiable rakes despite ample evidence of their true nature, and I did not have the good sense to decline dancing with a man who despised me."

With that, I was exhausted and well and truly done with him. Without a backward glance I walked back to the parsonage, satisfied to be finished once and for all with at least one of my unpleasant acquaintances.