Standard Disclaimer: I am not Jane Austen. I will never be Jane Austen. I can only hope she will eventually forgive me for playing with her toys.

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Thank you all for the kind words and encouragement. I will be trying for a weekly update rate, but can make no promises. Story quality comes before quantity.


Chapter Three

Mrs. Collins was greatly surprised on their party's return to discover lights still burning in the parlor window. While her friend was rarely subject to headaches, experience led her to expect Elisabeth to retire early to bed in hopes of a sleeping cure, rather than resorting to medication. Her surprise increased when opening the parlor door revealed, not Elizabeth, but Mr. Darcy. At once thoughts on an anticipated courtship of her friend rose only to be instantly dismissed. Darcy's countenance, though never particularly open, was as distant and cold as could possibly be imagined. His thoughts were clearly elsewhere and even with her salutation it was some moments before he noted her presence.

He greeted her with much formality, apologizing for his unexpected presence in her home, and begged her indulgence in the further use of her parlor, possibly for the length of the night. "I have a great need for thought you see and much though I respect my aunt, Rosings is not for me the most restful of locations. There is always something that must be attended to without delay."

This unusual request was graciously granted. Confirmation that solitude was desirable was also obtained, and a promise was made to otherwise engage her guests and husband. In this task Charlotte was so successful as to first distract Mr. Collins (much fatigued as he was by the excitement and exertions inherent in attending to his noble patroness) with business in his study where she also supplied him a working dinner, and then to send him off to an early sleep without any knowledge of their unusual lodger. The matter of her other guests were more easily settled as a quick peek bore out her previous assumption regarding Elizabeth (her friend's poor dress would be sadly wrinkled on the morrow), and a carefully hoarded novel now proffered served to distract Maria for the rest of the evening and, Charlotte was guiltily aware, likely late into the morning. Thus Charlotte was able to attend to her nightly rounds in a peace she had not had since her guests' arrival.

It was not till a flicker of candlelight distracted her from the mid-night siren call of the larder that she again gave her lodger much thought. She had sent him the same small cold collation she'd supplied her husband and otherwise ignored him as requested. Now her curiosity was raised. Stepping softly past John, still at his uncomfortable post at the parlor entrance, she quietly opened the door. She found a man shattered. If she had not known his identity she would hardly have recognized him in that moment, so transformed was his countenance by the firelight and whatever grievous vision he saw in its depths.

Charlotte was not by nature a highly emotional being. Her form of compassion lent itself best to practical matters, not the deeper waters of the soul. She had once thought it a good complement to the parson's role. But, perhaps because of her position and perhaps because her husband was the man he was, she was slowly acquiring a greater insight and interest into the cares of others. It was this newfound trait which compelled her, carefully leaving the door wide open for propriety's sake, to enter the room and softly speak.

"Mr. Darcy, are you well?"

His head jerked upward and he blinked before answering, the mask of haughty reserve locking firmly into place. "Yes. Yes, of course."

She paused a few feet in wondering, as she so often did in recent days, how her beloved and infinitely wiser grandmother would have dealt with such a situation. "Sir," she said with some hesitancy, "I realize it is neither my place nor my affair but should you wish someone with which to discuss this matter troubling you so," a gentle shrug, "well, I have discovered of late that it is not only the clergy themselves who receive confessions. You may depend upon my discretion."

"You are very kind, but– No, wait. Perhaps, if you would not consider it a betrayal of friendship, there is a way you could aid me."

"This concerns Eliza?" She sat swiftly, now alarmed.

"Miss Bennet, yes." Darcy glanced down at some papers his lap. He grasped them carefully, as if rough handling might somehow cause the pages to lash out. "She showed this to me in the certainty, I expect, that it would speed my departure. It cannot be concealed long, though I would ask for Miss Bennet's sake that you wait to inform your husband until she is away."

Reluctantly he handed the pages over, rose and began to pace. Charlotte perused the letter and blanched. "Dear Lord above have mercy! This is…There are no words for this."

"Oh, there are. Association with my military minded cousin has taught me many. But they are not, alas, suited to more delicate ears."

The clock ticked quietly in the hall as both were lost to their own thoughts. At last Charlotte began to study the pacing figure. "I note, Mr. Darcy, that you are still here."

"Yes, Mrs. Collins, I'm still here."

"What then are your intentions, sir?"

Mr. Darcy halted to stare bleakly out at the moonlit garden, hands clasped behind him. "I have been asking myself that for several hours now. There is much I'm still conflicted on, but I am certain at last in what my course ought to be. What I do not yet know is if it is possible."

"And that is?" Charlotte asked.

"I cannot abandon Miss Bennet to this fate. Her sisters have my concern as well but I am–" a pause, a deep breath, "–honest enough to admit she is my primary concern. I would gladly support her and sisters without thought of return but…no matter how discrete…" Charlotte nodded her understanding of the point. Silence in such matters could never be absolutely guaranteed and, if discovered, Elizabeth and her sisters would be tried and condemned as courtesans in the court of opinion, regardless of how unjust the charge. "Nor, I think, would she accept charity from me. Perhaps before—but not now. That leaves only one path."

"Marriage."

"Yes."

Silence. Several small details clicked together in Charlotte's mind.

"She has already refused you."

"Yes." His shoulders lowered by a barely perceptible degree, struggling but not quite able to maintain the stoic facade. "I think I must have happened upon her just after she received the letter. In my own agitation I took no note of how still and solemn she was and supposed– No." The hands clenched. "That is not truth. In truth I have seen nothing but my own desires in her for some time now." He fell silent. Charlotte cleared her throat, striving for a neutral tone.

"You proposed?" She prompted.

Darcy laughed softly, the sound devoid of humor.

"Yes, I proposed."

"She did not react well?"

"No, she did not react well. I presumed…far too much."

Charlotte could only shake her head. Oh, Eliza.

"Do you know–" Darcy began, hesitated, "Are matters truly so dire as Miss Catherine believes?"

"Yes and no. Longbourn is entailed upon my husband and Mrs. Bennet was not one to keep her troubles in silence, so I have no doubt the merchants are circling. But they are not immediately penniless. I am aware of a settlement of five thousand pounds." There was a swift intake of breath from the gentleman. "It will not spread much farther between four than five. Their relatives are not in a position to sponsor them in society and their support will be a burden. It will be necessary to marry them off swiftly or obtain them employment—and there are few respectable occupations available a woman, let alone one gently bred. Nor are they often palatable to any woman of spirit. Elizabeth… It will be difficult for her. But it is her sisters that I fear for. Lydia is still at that age when everything is felt to its fullest measure, but nothing is understood. I fear inexperience will combine with impulse to—well, what particular end I know not. But I fear. Catherine, though she is the elder, has always followed in Lydia's wake. And if Mary lives she is likely to need some rather expensive care."

He nodded. "And Miss Jane?"

"Jane has many good, steady qualities but she is as innocent as she is beautiful and cannot bear to think ill of anyone. I cannot imagine anyone more vulnerable than she in a position of employment, and scarcely less so under such great pressure to marry. She will of course act with propriety, but will never think to protect herself beyond. She would, a succulent lamb, walk unhesitatingly into the jaws of the lion and never imagine that it might consume her. It will be dangerous enough for Eliza, but Jane? It will require God's most vigilant angels to safeguard her." Charlotte closed her eyes as if she could deny her own conclusions but there was no relief.

"You speak bluntly," Darcy said hoarsely.

"I am long out of the schoolroom, Mr. Darcy. I prefer to deal with the world as it is. Even did I not, since my marriage and the assumption of my role as a parson's wife, I've become far more acquainted with the evils of humanity than most. My illusions are wholly vanished."

"Would your husband, as a relative–"

Charlotte flinched, shamed and weeping inside for small vanquished hopes. "My illusions are absent there as well. The families were barely on speaking terms before Mr. Collins' November visit to Longbourn. He came specifically to select a wife from among his cousins, knowing their prospects. Perhaps if his eye had settled on Mary– But it did not. Instead he chose the Bennet daughter most able to comprehend and least able to bear his follies."

Darcy glanced at her, startlement briefly cracking his mask of stoicism. She nodded.

"From what I have gathered from his words Eliza was amazingly civil in the face of his condescension and obstinate disbelief of her refusal, of even her ability to refuse. His nature is not one to endure rejection with equanimity, I'm afraid. He tolerates her presence here for my sake and because his self-regard is flattered by the supposition of her regret. It is possible he might be convinced to support the Bennets for a time to supply his own vanity and pride. But soon enough the association would wear thin on both sides and if they do not sally forth of their own accord he will rationalize his Christian charity to an end and congratulate himself for his magnanimity."

"I see." Darcy crossed the room to the fireplace, looking into the flames for some time before raising steady eyes to meet hers. "Mrs. Collins, I have no desire to force Miss Elizabeth into a marriage abhorrent to her. In light of all this, however…do you think she might consider me the lesser of evils?"

Charlotte blinked. "You would reapply for her hand?" She asked cautiously.

"Yes."

Almost, almost a bewildered "Why?"escaped her lips but she caught it back. The same haughty superiority which sparked the question forbade its utterance. After a moment she nodded. "Very well. I will forward your suite with Elizabeth. Given time to consider, I believe Eliza will be too sensible to decline. Do you remain here or return on the morrow?"

Straightening, Darcy rolled weary shoulders. "I will return, I think. I will need to arrange a carriage to take her to her sister and thence to Longbourn at her convenience. Once her acceptance is confirmed, I will head as swiftly as I can to Netherfield myself, if Bingley is agreeable, to forestall the creditors."

"It is still dark, will you take a servant with you? It would be too much to lose you to a footpad at this point." Charlotte asked, rising to leave.

"Yes, thank you. That would be a bitter irony."

Pausing in the doorway Charlotte took firm hold of her courage.

"One final thought, Mr. Darcy. If you do this, for both your sakes, I would ask that you give up any expectations of gratitude or other debt. Not because the Bennets will not feel it, they will. But because I have seen just how poisonous such expectations can become to all parties involved. I would not have whatever felicity you and Eliza obtain tainted by it."

Darcy looked at her for a long moment and Charlotte had the odd impression that he was, for the first time, truly seeing her.

"You speak a good deal of wisdom, Mrs. Collins." He nodded. "I shall take it under advisement."


Notes from my research:

On finances — I will discuss it further in later notes, but Darcy's reaction to learning of a settlement of £5,000 (total, not per annum) is not unwarranted. The Bennet girls are facing at very least a life of genteel poverty (a phrase that at heart seems to mean that while your income is pitifully small you don't have to work for it), and likely worse. This fact Darcy would grasp instantly. If anything, Charlotte is soft-peddling the matter, just a smidgeon, out of delicacy.

On the use of contractions —So, just to start things off, (and to head off the otherwise inevitable point of argument) if you type in 'The Jane Austen Word List' you will find a blog with a list of all the words found in Austen's collected works. Included are instructions for using them to spell-check your own work. (Much praise and gratitude to Ms. Kowal.) But if you're feeling a little more on the lazy side (as I was), or are less concerned about hard-core authenticity, you can search the word list for an apostrophe and come up with all the contractions Jane Austen herself used. Some of them she used quite frequently. They are: don't, here's, I'm, I've, ma'am, o'clock, shan't, there's, they'd, they'll, 'tis, t'other, 'twould, what's, where's, and you'll.

One of the concerns anyone attempting to write with accuracy in a historical setting encounters is an idea that goes something like this: "Always remember that people spoke more formally back then. The current sloppiness of language is our generation's issue, and a blight on the genius of the English tongue." Or words to that effect. Casual speech is anathema. Even those who grudgingly admit that 'translating' the formal speech into more contemporary language makes a text more accessible to modern readers (and books are, after all, written to be read) will often have a particular hatred for contractions.

My findings on this topic could fill an essay, but in sum: This idea is totally false. Even setting aside issues of class differences and local variation, very few if any even among the upper classes would have gone around spouting perfect English literary grammar, and if they did they would have been considered a pompous oddity. (Rather like Mr. Collins.) Yes, grammar drift, like phonetic drift, happens, but it isn't nearly as distinct a change as we sometimes believe.

The reason we fall into this error is not because of language drift so much as idea drift. A principle of writing, which any aspirant to that art today is indoctrinated in when dealing with dialog, is 'write as you speak'. (Which, by the by, is also totally false. If we really wrote the way we talk dialog would be a complete mess.) It's pounded into us that reader immersion requires authenticity. And so when we go back and look at most texts from earlier centuries, especially fiction, we receive a false impression because until relatively recently the way people spoke and the way they wrote were considered two entirely different tasks.

Contractions are just one of the big misunderstandings. They aren't new. From Old English to Shakespeare, contractions were in common use. But beginning in the 1800's the lot of contractions in formal writing (i.e.: anything of greater weight than a shopping list or quick note) became particularly dire. Personally, I suspect part of the reason contractions were so singled out is because, unlike many of the at times subtle 'rules' of formal language, contractions are easy to spot.

There is a lot of misinformation on this topic, and many wax passionate in their certainty, however rightly or wrongly. It has become divisive. Its mere mention brings up a whole host of related issues at the heart of which is the chicken/egg argument of whether good English is English as it is taught in schoolbooks (but whose rules were often arbitrary or biased in their origin), or as it is actually spoken, permitting a more nuanced approach and acknowledging that English is a living language (but whose growing pains can make one cringe). It's enough to give any reasonable person a migraine, yet if one is attempting to write historically it can't be avoided. So how to balance actual authenticity against perceived authenticity? (By the by, we can thank/blame the Victorians for a lot of grammatical silliness and starch. Previous generations were far more comfortable with a loose approach to language.)

Obviously, since I just quoted Jane's own usage of these supposed literary taboos, in general contractions oughtn't (there's a fun one for you) be considered out of bounds. But aside from the amount of research it would require to know which contractions really were in use and by whom, there's the problem of real language drift. Some of these words, though authentic, would be jarring to the modern reader, others are either difficult to know at a glance their appropriate use (grammatically or in terms of character), or sound simply sloppy to our ears (not the impression one wants to leave of Mr. Darcy!). Then there's the occasional phonetic dissonance. As an example I will posit shan't (shall not), which though an entirely innocent contraction in own terms, is today just a little too close phonetically to an Unmentionable to use without an eye out for unintentional humor of the lowest end, ah, brow.

What's a poor scribbler to do?

My own tack is to attempt to use contractions when they're truly needed to improve the flow of the text and it doesn't contradict established character or destroy tone, but I try to be miserly in the measuring. If you find any contractions that seem particularly jarring (and if you notice them at all beyond general historical sensitivity they may be so), please don't hesitate to let me know. Since my brother is trying to convince me to write this with an eye to publishing, I want to be as professional as possible.

(For an interesting article on this topic type into a search – DID ENGLISH SPEAKERS REALLY NOT USE CONTRACTIONS IN THE 19TH CENTURY AS DEPICTED IN TRUE GRIT?, Or for a quick insight into the origin of some of the sillier and more obscure grammar rules – WHAT THE VICTORIANS DID TO ENGLISH GRAMMAR)