Chapter Twenty: Return to Longbourn…and all that that Entails
"Oh, my dears, my dears! How good it is to have you home, especially now that it will forever remain so! But, you look pale. Have you a fever from Annie? Colds are common with the young. Oh, but now I see that it was only the shadow cast by the carriage. What a fine thing it is. Is Mr. Darcy not with you?"
This last query - posed by the iron lady of the time, who had flagged our approaching carriage down with her waving handkerchief - allowed her to draw enough breath so as to replenish her ammunition for the next round of general questions, statements, and disjointed comments. Presently, she peered past a standing Jane and I and into the carriage that had so recently contained us, eyes aglow.
"Mr. Darcy regrets that urgent business demanded his immediate return to Netherfield," Jane spoke for me. She and I shared a look that went unnoticed by mamma – she, who was straining her eyes for a final peek into the carriage as if force of will alone would conjure the gentleman. It had been made very clear by Mr. Darcy that he could not tolerate another second in my company after enduring the unforeseen delay of the broken wheel which in turn had forced us to stop at the coaching house after all. Neither word nor look passed between us throughout the remainder of the journey, save for the one that took place immediately after I had given him my kiss. He had touched me then. Waking from whatever shock I had induced, his arms had found mobility as his fingers clutched at my shoulders in an echo of his embrace from the beginning of the week. But this was not an entreaty for closeness. Steeling myself, I had looked up to see neither Mr. Darcy nor the Roman sculpture. A mask had dropped, veiling his features, and a chill had set in my heart as he pushed me away.
"He wished us to convey his apologies, but to assure you and papa that our time spent in London was successful," Jane continued, finishing her role as messenger.
"I wish I had been abandoned so that I might have lived with a wealthy widow in London," Kitty said by way of greeting. With mamma's exclamations and hanky waving, the spigot was released, allowing for the free flow of family members to encircle us with a dozen conversations as we were slowly herded to the house.
"Kitty, that is a very ungrateful thing to wish," Jane said, just as mamma commented, "Indeed, and what a burden it would have relieved me of."
"It's not half so bad a thing to think as wishing illness on someone," Lydia joined, her tone implying as her eyes cast about to a point over her shoulder.
Behind her, Mr. Collins hovered, his extended arm and half bowed posture indicating that he was either trying to part a gap in order to reach us, or dazzle us all with his imagined oratory skills. Mary was just behind him, an uncharacteristic smile improving her features.
"Mamma?" I interrupted, a tad strained and with one eye on the clergyman. Something she had greeted us with was coming back to me, prompted by the appearance of our cousin. "What did you mean when you said this home would forever remain ours?"
Twin groans emitted from Kitty and Lydia.
"Pray, I beg you not to mention it," the latter said. "How odious to hear of an engagement that is not even your own for hours of the day."
"And for several days," Kitty added, her woe-begon expression identical to her sister's. "It is hardly fair that you two were in London with Mr. Darcy while Lydia and I could not escape the sermonic lovers."
The smile so newly decorating Mary's face slipped off rather easily as she reproached Kitty.
"I would thank you not to refer to the attachment between Mr. Collins and myself as anything less than what it is. He has proposed and I have accepted. Not only does it yourself little credit, but the family, when you lower the terms of our connection to one suited to those modern novels popular with girls of your age."
In the space of less than a second, my heart underwent spasms of a contradicting nature. At once I was relieved that mamma had not taken the initiative in arranging a marriage that would include me as one of the two participants. But quick on the heels of that mental expulsion of a held breath the insecurities came, troubling me over the implications of such a drastic change to the history that I knew. It was perhaps little of me in that moment, when attention should be bestowed on the soon-to-be bride, but my thoughts immediately sprung Mr. Darcy to life. Already so many things had been altered while maintaining a skeleton presence of the original story. I was not meant to be pining over Mr. Darcy, nor was the rejected pining meant to be happening until after Mr. Collins' marriage to Charlotte Lucas! What was to become of Charlotte now?
'Well, actually,' I stopped to consider, 'this is likely the best thing that could've happened to her without her even knowing what she escaped.'
" – indelicate not to think otherwise. Forgive me, for I digress. But I am sure my beloved would agree with me when I mark the generous inclination of Mr. Darcy. To be sure it is an inherited trait, for Lady Catherine de Bourgh is graced with the same benevolence to classes not as highly positioned as her own. As is her daughter, Anne de Bourgh, a distinguished creature in her silent grace."
'A very good thing,' I concluded, catching the tail-end of one of Mr. Collins' remarks.
With my thoughts consumed our progress through the house had passed my notice, for we were now seated in the drawing room and apparently enthralled by whatever Mr. Collins was expounding on. Beside me Lydia sat reclining in obvious disgust at our cousin's prolonged speech.
"Mr. Darcy is the mode of Christian charity whose kindness will be felt by Annie for the remainder of her life. It is a good thing when those with plenty cast their eye to the needy," Mary concurred with her fiancée.
"A finer gentleman there never was – and, of course, Mr. Bingley benefits by the friendship," mamma hastened to add, lest she be seen to neglect Jane's admirer. Mention of Mr. Bingley brought to my attention the possibility of his very soon quitting the neighborhood if that section of the story decided to remain true. It was all very up in the air and I felt my foot tapping with the fidgets due to the unexpected stress of trying to direct something beyond my control. Mr. Darcy and I were in a decidedly different state then we were meant to be; but would that alteration change Mr. Bingley's removal? I supposed if it did I could always tell Jane not to worry. But then, of course, I wasn't sure anymore. The consequences of this new route were only beginning to flash before my eyes and before I knew I had acted, a rising panic surged me to me to my feet, forcing me to make my excuses as I safely vacated to the other side of the drawing room door, out in the hall, before losing my composure utterly. Breathing heavily, I leaned against the door, sudden tears trekking my face.
" – a very tiring journey," I heard Jane explaining, no doubt in response to my hasty removal. "We encountered some difficulty early on when the rear wheel broke. That is why we were unable to make it by nightfall of the prior evening. I hope we did not worry you."
"Worried, dear? Of course not. I knew you would be safe with Mr. Darcy," mamma said, once again singing his praises to high heaven. "In all honesty we have been far too excited over the coming nuptials to spare a thought to anything else! Who would have thought that Mary of all my children would be doing what I had long anticipated from you, Jane. I fear I have never paid you the heed you deserved, Mary dear, but how happy I am that it is you who will make her family proud."
Funnily enough, it was bearable to listen to this talk when a door separated me from the main action of it. Without having to contort my features into an assortment of sympathizing expressions I found some release in listening to their chatter. Apparently Mr. Collins had come to mamma, requesting an audience with Mary, which was granted. In his own words he had, "felt certain of the ladies affections but would not presume to overstep when family is of utmost importance, therefore, Mrs. Bennet was made known to my desires (Mr. Bennet was unable to be found at that time)," – a reluctant smile on my part – " and as this account will be expected in full and with all faithfulness to the unraveling events by my esteemed patroness, Lady Catherine de Bourgh, I could not fail in the decorum of my approach in wooing my dearest."
"Indeed, your manner was that of a true gentleman. You may not share the blood of that family that is so good, but you have about you that presence of being touched by greatness," I heard Mary say.
'Alright,' I lightly snorted to myself, wiping my face, 'I think I've heard enough.'
I pushed off from the door and stepped towards the stairs when the sound of a door opening distracted me.
"Lizzy, is that you?"
Mr. Bennet craned his head out from his study, spying me immediately. With a single motion of his fingers, he beckoned me come, then retreated back into his study. Wiping any residual tears from my face, I fanned my eyes and cheeks, hoping to cool away any lingering redness.
"Close the door behind you, Lizzy."
"Am I about to be scolded, sir?"
"We all shall be if your mother discovers that you escaped the scintillating couple in order to closet yourself up with myself," he pulled his face into what should have been a smile, but was far too sarcastic. "By the by you will find that your mother is not altogether pleased with me presently."
"Lack of enthusiasm?" I suggested, falling easily into our back and forth.
"Lack of approval more like. However, I am a clever man, if not a wise one, and above all I relish peace. There would be none of it if I exhibited my right in forbidding this match," he said, easing himself back into his chair. "Not to mention the irksome fact that Mary actually appears to be fond of the man."
I smiled in spite of myself.
"That she is. Though, in all honesty, father, they are well suited for each other. Their temperaments aside, their love for scripture and daily practice of verses they have memorized would be enough to convince me of their compatibility."
Mr. Bennet regarded me from across his desk; a hidden smile just visible under his naturally unflappable guise.
"Oh, how I've missed you, my Lizzy."
His words struck me unexpectedly, piercing me where I had not anticipated to be vulnerable to him. It would have been enough to know that Jane was still on my side - my sister - but the validation of Mr. Bennet, shown through the simple use of a possessive before my name, showed me how interwoven the two lives I was aware of having were. It showed me also that despite the inconsistencies of personality, I was still enough of the person, recognizable as his daughter, that he need not question it or give me funny looks to hint that I was not acting myself. Granted, Jane was guilty of that from time to time, though she now knew the reason. Mr. Bennet – father – was wonderfully oblivious to past lives and future lives, to the possibility of neighboring dimensions, of floating heads and fainting fits supernaturally induced. Father was perfectly the same as he had always been to me (even when not looking at him through a parental lens) and that alone gave me greater comfort than I knew was possible.
"And I, you," I responded, gulping down my emotion. "You would not have liked town, in fact you likely would have been indifferent to our hostess as well." I paused to think of Mrs. Treggels and the like energy she shared with mamma. "You may have found Mrs. Peach diverting," I came up with at last. "Not to mention the opportunity for character studies. I fear you would have been laughing at them all behind your hand though."
"A very rude picture you paint of your father, though I will not dispute it as you are probably right. I will hear of Mrs. Peach since you seem to think her society bearable."
"On the contrary, I could hardly stand her. She had the oddest habit of seating herself at the edges of drawn windows so as to peek behind the curtains."
"Fascinating. Is that all she did?"
"Not at all. Her sentry duty was accompanied by random bursts of utterances that made sense only to her – and perhaps Mrs. Treggels," I conceded.
"How very peculiar. And you say that she is the one I would have been drawn to for company?" he quirked a brow at me.
"Most definitely. Her acerbic tongue would have made a nice match to the sarcasm inherit in your own speech."
Father chuckled lowly, a mere rumble of his shoulders.
"I am glad that you had a good time, Lizzy."
I glanced away, fearful that the truth would be visible in my eyes.
"London truly is an indulgence – at least for those who can afford it. I am thankful that Annie is now of that percentage. She will have a good life with Mrs. Treggels," I said.
"And all through the goodness and collaboration of yourself and Mr. Darcy," father said. I felt his penetrating gaze. "He has shown you marked attention, Lizzy. I cannot deny my curiosity nor selfish motives in knowing whether his efforts are in vain," his tone was light, though upon looking up I saw at once the shift in vulnerability had carried to him. His normally forthright expression was clouded by the uncertainty of what my answer would be. For him alone, I was happy to report that he had no fear of losing me.
"Mr. Darcy is very good, but I think you will find that you misplace kindness for passion. His interest was always ever for Annie."
"Hmm," he hummed, not looking entirely convinced.
I did not remain much longer after that. I was tired and longed for my own company in which to digest this rather unprecedented pill. Around me there was an abundance of family, yet I had never felt so alone. Thoughts of my mother, my own mother from the twenty-first century, followed me up the stairs and to my room. Her face appeared before me as I wondered what her opinion of my situation would be. I also couldn't help figuring that if she and Mrs. Bennet were ever to meet they would either love each other or hate each other.
I couldn't quite bring myself to smile at the thought for the doors had now opened to that part of my brain and more faces than I knew what to do with were forcing their way in. Jules, with her bombshell looks and cheesy humour she thought was witty; Henry, a glimmer of an expression as I'd only ever really seen him in profile working on Jules' computer; sweet Jax whose fluffy company would be best suited to my present temperament; Dan and Charlie, the inseparable best friends since childhood, and whose friendship faced the rocks once Dan started going out with me. Their faces stayed with me the longest.
"You were right," I said aloud, speaking to Dan. The security of my own room was a cool cloth to a clammy brow and I flopped onto my bed still clothed. "Mr. Darcy was your competition, but you will be pleased to know that I've ruined that too. No, you wouldn't be," I quickly added, frowning at my unfairness. "Oh, Dan, had it been a different time, and I a far less confused person, I could've made you happy."
I fiddled with a loose curl of my hair. Dan's face was right before me.
"I want you to know that I always loved you, even now . . . but now it would never be the same. I've met him, I know him, and I . . . I love him. He may hate me until the ends of the earth, or think me the most immoral woman to walk the planet, but at least he knows."
Slowly, the edges of my inner vision blurred, knitting away Dan's features until Mr. Darcy took his place. His was a complete and utter mask, excluding me totally from his thoughts: fair or foul.
Staring up at the canopy of my bed, I brought a hand to my lips, my fingers dusting over the sensitive skin that had bestowed the kiss. My eyes closed and, if only for a second, I could imagine that it was Mr. Darcy's mouth on mine.
I turned on my stomach, putting an end to that agonizing thought, only to enter into another. If it was possible for Mary and Mr. Collins to become engaged - without either Jane or myself being first pursued – it must surely be possible for the union of Mr. Darcy and Miss Elizabeth Bennet to never occur.
There was a knock at my door.
"Who is it?" I asked, wiping my face.
"It is me," Jane's voice reached me through the door. "May I come in?"
"Yes," I said, not bothering to move into a more receptive position.
The creak of floorboards sounded and then my bed dipped.
"I wanted to make sure you were alright."
"Don't worry, Jane," I replied automatically. I found it a miracle that I had not alienated her as well, and wished to keep it that way. I feared any talk regarding the elephant in the room would spook her a second time.
"I will thank you to leave me to my own worries, Lizzy. Concern for you is as much my right as mamma's. Only . . .you cannot go to mamma - but you can come to me."
I leaned back, rolling partially on my side to see her. How she managed to mingle her kind-heartedness with grim determination would remain one of her charms. Famed for her beauty throughout the county, I thought she never looked better than at this moment; hair disheveled from a long journey and a boisterous reunion, bags of sleep puffing her eyes, hints of delicate crow's feet marring the corners of those eyes, and a ruddy complexion from the excitement and stress of the day.
I met her gaze, tempted beyond reason to share all of my fears.
"That is very good of you, Jane," I said, sitting and resting my hand atop hers, "but it would be too much to ask of you."
"You did not seem to think so before."
"That was different. I had to say something otherwise you and Mr. Darcy would've thought me possessed or some other such nonsense."
"How do you know that that is not what I think still?" she posed to me. I was pulled up short. However, the gleam in her eye let me into her joke.
"Thank you for teasing me," I smiled.
"It is your own brand of medicine. I know that I may always rely upon you to do the same for me - indeed you have."
"Yes, perhaps a little too often."
"I cannot deny that I have noticed a certain increase in the use of your witty tongue."
Again, I hesitated. Would this now lead into murkier waters? Would she begin to list to me the differences in my character she could not come to terms with.
"Would you like to explain your earlier panic," she said instead. "I noted your worry from the moment mamma began telling us of our fate secured to Longbourn. It seemed to have heightened in the drawing room. Did you – had you reason to believe mamma had arranged an engagement between you and our cousin? Is that what happens? Is that how you know it to go?"
Of all the things, I had not expected that.
"No, actually," I said, finding my voice. "There is never an engagement between us . . . er, do you mind my telling you?" I looked at her from under brows furrowed in apprehension. I wasn't sure myself whether I wanted to start down this road, yet I would not ignore it if this was the course Jane was comfortable taking.
"I find myself curious. Perhaps the more I think of that spectre above your head the more truths I see to your story. Our conversations, your behaviour –"
"As you've mentioned," I interrupted.
" – the way in which you somehow understood Mr. Darcy better than any of us when we had only first met him," she concluded. "Were you in love with him from the beginning?" she wondered.
I pressed my hand against hers, watching the length of my fingers splay out.
"I felt a certain . . . attraction to him. There was a closeness to him as I already knew who he was. I know that is an unfair advantage on my part, but I would never use my knowledge against him."
"Be calm, Lizzy," Jane soothed. "I know you never would. And so does Mr. Darcy."
I eyed her critically.
"I doubt that. He has made it abundantly clear that, in his mind, I have betrayed him. How I could've, still remains a mystery."
"He spoke harshly to you, Lizzy. His words were born from the shock of the moment, but I know he cannot mean them. No! Let me finish," she raised a hand to my impatient expression. "Anyone who has seen the pair of you this past month and denies the mutual affection shared there would be a fool. Mr. Darcy is no fool; you know it, I know it, and you can be sure that the gentleman himself knows it.
"It is your nature, Lizzy, to be impatient. I do not fault you for it; more often than not, I admire your vigour, but it will do you no good here. I have heard your story, and in my own way, I am coming to terms with it. It has not been easy, and I do not expect it to become so within the near future. But you are my sister, whichever form you choose to call it, and I have known you my entire life.
"Mr. Darcy has not had that privilege. He can only fathom what is in his power to comprehend. Believe me, Lizzy, I understand his loss. Questions abound with precious little answers in sight, and you at the centre of it all. Are you surprised that he requires more time than you seem willing to give him?"
I digested her words in silence, mulling over the wisdom of her advice and the love given to me in her acceptance. Two flames flickered on their tapers, lit by servants before I had entered my room. The shadows they cast mesmerizing me into deep consideration.
"I'm afraid that he will take too long," I revealed, breaking the silence at last. Jane looked confused. "Downstairs, Mary and Mr. Collins - that never happens. He was first smitten with you, but when mamma told him that – that," I hesitated, not wanting to embarrass her. "That the affections were not returned, he then set his sights on Lizzy - me. Well, I refuse him, which, as you can imagine, sets off an uproar that results in our parents providing me with two choices: don't marry Mr. Collins and never be spoken to by mamma again, or marry Mr. Collins and lose father. I'm sure I need not tell you which was decided."
"No, indeed," Jane said in a low tone.
"It is Charlotte Lucas that Mr. Collins ultimately marries –"
"Charlotte!" Jane gasped. "How on earth did she become embroiled in it all?"
"By being present at the conclusion of our family drama. She lends him an ear and, in so occupying his time, alleviates any awkwardness that would be felt in his remaining in close proximity to me. And that's when he pops the question."
"That is another thing; your new expressions make much more sense now," she commented distractedly. "And you say that Mr. Collins never thought to look at Mary?" Jane went on to ask.
"Mary was always interested in him, but, yes, it was not mutual. But do you see, Jane? That is where my fear lies. So much has changed since . . . since, you know, that how can I be sure that Mr. Darcy will ever come around? I knew of no Annie or Sally or Mrs. Treggels before meeting them myself. Mr. Darcy was never supposed to ask me to dance at his first assembly in Hertfordshire. I was never meant to get sick alongside you at Netherfield."
"For that you have yourself to blame. Following after me in a rain shower," she tutted.
"Yes, that is true. But it doesn't change the fact."
"You still have not answered my question," Jane said after a pause.
"Which one is that?"
"Did you love him from the beginning?"
Images of paperback covers of Pride & Prejudice flitted past my mind's eye; the 1995 miniseries that would always comfort me, if even for a scene; the black lettering of Mr. Darcy's declaration on the faded white pages, worn with adoration for the story; Mr. Darcy himself.
"Yes. In a way – I think I must have always loved him; at least the idea of him when I knew him as only a character. Now I have known him for himself and I cannot bear the thought of his thinking badly of me."
Mr. Darcy quit the village the day after our return. Though, Mr. Bingley, strangely, did not. Both gentlemen called on Longbourn the morning of Mr. Darcy's departure so that one might welcome Jane and I home, while the other bid us farewell. Mr. Darcy's leave-taking lasted just long enough to apologize for his absence the day before and congratulate the family on the upcoming nuptials. To me, he maintained his reticence, offering no hint of his feelings in regards to the kiss I'd gifted him. Ere the striking of the quarter hour could chime, he had gone, leaving us in the far livelier company of Mr. Bingley; and leaving me far less satisfied.
While the cure for heartache might always remain elusive, the following weeks offered a prescription of occupation and enlightenment that had the benefit of soothing some of the symptoms. There had been some debate between mamma and Mr. Collins on who would officiate the wedding. To both parties there was seemingly strong opinion on the side of the vicar and curate, respectively. Mr. Dale, our vicar and member of the community for two score years (or so I've been told) was presently away visiting family in the north. Mr. Collins had just had the opportunity of meeting him for two Sunday services when first he came to Longbourn, and was convinced of his calibre. Unfortunately the same could not be said for Mr. Jethro, our curate, who now assumed a majority of the clerical duties in Mr. Dale's absence. Mr. Jethro, a young man of twenty-five (or five and twenty if that is preferred) was possessed of far too liberal an interpretation of certain scriptures according to Mr. Collins. 'It was not a man's right', our cousin would impress upon us as we exited another of Mr. Jethro's sermons, 'to strive for ambition in order to raise him and his family up, but to be grateful to his superiours, whether that gratitude is returned by love or lash.'
At a time such as this, however, mamma cared little for religion or philosophy. Mr. Jethro was here and ordained. Mr. Jethro had the right and ability to read the Book of Common Prayer for the ceremony. Mr. Jethro was also always polite to Mrs. Bennet. Therefore, Mr. Jethro it would be. The sooner she could subtract her brood, the happier mamma would be.
To Mary, this important decision was asked not of. Her opinion, however, if a guess on my part was allowed, likely leaned in favour of mamma's as she seemed particularly pleased at the prospect of quitting the society of sisters whom had overshadowed her throughout her youth. Though to expose this betrayal to her beloved, just short of a fortnight witnessing their new love, was unthinkable. Therefore, the two natural orators of dubious quality currently inhabiting Longbourn battled it out until the proposal of a letter written to Lady Catherine (the main point of contention for Mr. Collins who could not bear the thought of her discovering he had allowed himself to be married by a man whose morals may not match her own 'high ones') to beg leave of her thoughts on the matter, resulted in a period of waiting – which in turn, resulted in a period fraught with nerves and agitation so great as to make the most depressed creature abiding under the shared roof reevaluate the wisdom in exhausting all her energy in bemoaning her losses.
When at last the lady's response came knocking at the door in the form of an express courier at the unreasonable hour of somewhere between one and two in the morning, grogginess and grumpiness was pushed aside – or at lease expected to – as all due pomp and ceremony was made over the thick letter bearing a rich, red seal and a crest so as to prompt it's summarily being passed around and admired as if the Crown Jewels themselves had decided to quit the safety of their Tower and pay us Bennet's a visit. When all due reverence was made to the scented missive it was opened by Mr. Collins and read aloud for the benefit of all.
It appeared that mamma and whatever twisted connection would soon be hers with Lady Catherine were off to a good start. The first link of the chain that would tie them inexorably represented their shared belief that it was 'favourable for the bride (and by bride, she meant family of) to set the pace of the engagement and have her desires fulfilled of who would stand in that noble office of connecting her to the man that would be her new life'. To his credit, Mr. Collins acceded his stance maturely, though I felt it was less a relinquishing of a defined opinion, and more habit bending him to the wind that was his patroness' voice. Just as I felt certain that the only reason Lady Catherine would submit to allowing her rector be married by a man with contrasting views to her own, was to ensure the swift return of said rector and his bride. Even from the safety of Longbourn, her curiosity was easily felt through her crafted letter that said more in the words left unspoken.
Regardless of manipulation or strength in character present in Mr. Collins and his patroness, the wedding was now a viable occasion. The bans were read for three consecutive weeks, sending mamma into euphoric bliss each time Mr. Jethro announced from his pulpit the intention of marriage between Mr. William Collins of Hunsford and Miss Mary Bennet of Longbourn.
To my surprise, further preparation for the wedding was very minimal; and had mamma known my own expectations of the length and planning of the engagement, I doubt very little that she would have suffered an aneurysm. Unlike the extensive guest lists, the menu, the venue, the flowers, and the all-encompassing dress I was accustomed to regarding as tradition, my perception was once again forced to acclimatize as the days demanded various tasks of me that were far more enjoyable and milder than I had counted them being.
Mary's wedding dress, for one, was not white. It was not even an off-white or pale yellow. Her best dress was an earthy brown of fine quality and decidedly plain. Mamma had wanted to jig it up a bit with some lace trimmings or a silken sash, but Mary had stood firm in her belief that we enter this world bare and are given clothes in order to protect our modesty – not to promote status or vanity through self-decoration. Mamma's distress at her middle child's lack of fashion did some good in that it alleviated some of my worries that brown was required matrimonial raiment. As it was, the dress needed the hem taken in about a quarter-inch to hide a questionable stain that no amount of washing could remove. That was one task relegated to me.
"Mary, I need you to stop moving lest I accidentally pin you," I reprimanded for the umpteenth time. Mary was standing – at my command – on her dresser, book in hand and verse leaping from her impassioned lips, as I worked about her ankles. It was better than hobbling on all fours whilst attempting an even hem line were she to be ground level, yet it was still necessary to bend over. Mary's reading wasn't helping as it only excited her into arm movements she had no idea of executing.
Presently, she dropped her arms (they'd been raised to entreat some deity or other) without breaking her speech, and the portion of dress that had unexpectedly jerked out of my hand, ready for pinning, returned to (momentary) immobility.
From a point behind my shoulder, I heard Jane laugh through her nose. She was employed with her own needlepoint, wishing to gift our sister with monogrammed handkerchiefs. With a glance in her direction I saw that she was stitching up the middle of a 'W', though she paused to meet my exasperated expression.
I'd been around enough needles by now to be competent in handling this simple task I'd been asked to accomplish. Dealing with a Mary intent on taking advantage of the situation by saturating my hearing with sentiments far above my comprehension or interest was another matter entirely.
"…Thou shalt know burden through the fetters cast upon thou mind, yet remedy be willing should honing of spirit be undertaken…"
"Do you not think that rather grim reading, Mary?" I asked, working quickly before her body was moved to express the subject matter once more. Mary sighed at my interruption, dropping her book-arm as she did so. I performed a mental tap-dance as I scurried to pin up the bit of hem I had been eyeing this entire time as being uneven.
"The opening of ones soul to greater understanding is the object of philosophers," she said. "As I stand now, at the threshold of a new life that will bring new meaning, I see no finer text to refresh my conscious with."
She was about to raise her book again, so I acted fast.
"Y-you are right, of course, in what you say . . . this will be a transition unlike any other," I stuttered, latching onto words before I could distinguish whether they had any meaning as a sentence. When I found that they had, I was compelled to continue down this vein of topic for its own merit. Simultaneously, my fingers flew.
"I have noticed in Mr. Collins and yourself a likeness of mind. You will be happy, won't you," I asked, suddenly concerned. I even stopped my pinning to look straight up into the eyes of the sister I knew the least, but who, nevertheless, held a special sort of place in my heart. Would the like temperaments of our cousin and our sister truly have the endurance to last the lifetime that promised their future steps? Or would that similarity erupt into cold indifference; their undeniable arrogance a wall raised against the other?
"Happiness, sister, is irrelevant in the face of duty. Upon moral standing, Mr. Collins and I are equals. Together there is the promise of the Good Work that his sex has already made possible for him to offer. In our partnership we will serve the L-rd righteously, and through our service the happiness that you speak of will be forthcoming."
"That is a very noble ambition, Mary," Jane said from her chair.
"To aid the less fortunate is a commandment asked of us all. I raise myself no higher than any good Christian woman."
"I will always support you," I told her, resuming my pinning. "But I want you to know that even if your own happiness doesn't concern you presently, it will always concern me."
A short silence lingered after this statement.
"Thank you," Mary said at last, a hint of pleasure in her voice.
When her book-arm rose again to its preferred position, I had no complaints as I'd finished the pinning and now required the dress - sans human.
"I'm still at a loss to identify what substance this stain is," I said, rubbing the odd greenish splotch. Mary was returned to one of her more worn gowns and was seated comfortably in her window seat – book still in hand; impassioned lips still impassioned. Though, at my comment, she disengaged from her text.
"Kitty or Lydia may know the answer," she said darkly. Her matching expression was so extreme that it translated comically to me and Jane.
"Why do you say that?" Jane wondered, doing her best to hide her smile.
"I heard them giggling over a gown of mine," was all she said. She turned back to her book, resuming her reading silently. Jane and I shared a glance and a shrug.
No more was said of the mysterious stain, and once I completed shortening the gown, the matter was out of sight and out of mind. Jane's undertaking of the handkerchiefs was an altogether more thorough affair and took her a day or two more to finish the project. Around this time, Mr. Bingley paid us one of his usual visits. We were seeing much of him lately. On Christmas day, he had invited our family – including our Aunt and Uncle Phillips, the Lucas', and one other local family to celebrate the day at Netherfield. Games were played and, for once, the sister snobs were in no position to ridicule since their performance at charades had had the gathering in a state of high merriment. They had even – unwittingly – distracted me from my own moroseness enough to smile at their play-acting. Father was treated close to royalty by our host, no doubt by design, and very much appreciated. I had overheard him comment to Jane in sotto-voce: "If I may, my dear, you may consider keeping the young man in suspense for a little while longer; for once he learns he's in possession of your heart, he will assuredly neglect his attentions towards me."
Presently, Mr. Bingley's easy company that inspired warmth and laughter also represented a paradox, or at least a contradiction. By rights he should be gone, Jane should be miserable, I should be pissed off (which I was, but for completely different reasons), Charlotte should be the soon-to-be bride, and Mary should not be frequenting the kitchen, flustering Hill over the wedding breakfast. Yet - this was the story now.
And I realized with a jolt how every little change that had preceded it was a path of stepping-stones, slowly preparing me for the changes I hadn't even thought possible. Starting from the moment Mr. Darcy had asked for my hand to stand up together at the Meryton assembly, this new life was warning me against my confidence in knowing what was to come. Every alteration, whether by my hand or another's, further drew me away from the story I knew by heart. A pattern evolved, maintaining a structure of familiarity that dazzled the eye, while building a new foundation. These truths, now so intrinsically woven, displayed an unfinished tapestry. Upon further reflection, it came to me that this tapestry would forever remain unfinished as the threads of life it was representing no longer belonged to the flatness of a page, but was alive with the heat and blood of life and all that that entailed. It was then that I realized my dependence on Pride & Prejudice was obsolete. The narration was no longer guidance for me. It was now my story to make.
Assured that Jane was in good company with the ever attentive Mr. Bingley – his praise over her neat stitches clearly opened a window into his mind that yearned for his own monogrammed hankies, made by her hand and bearing their initials - I made my way to the kitchen. Hill was on 'cake duty', as I'd termed it, and the expression proved favourable to the household. The actual cake would not be made until the night before the wedding, but Hill, touched by the giddiness that so often accompanies matrimony, was flexing her culinary skills by adding a hint of flare to her otherwise customary day-to-day meals.
"You are outdoing yourself, Hill," I praised, entering the kitchen with my nose in the air. The wholesome scent of baking bread fanned out of the room and was spreading throughout the house.
"Aye, that's right. You just sit yourself here, Miss Lizzy and take a bite of that."
Already, there were baked rolls cooling on the large, wooden table. Receiving the roll Hill waved in front of me, I broke it in half, reveling in the crackle of the thin crust crumbling and giving way to a soft inside. Hill produced a crock of butter, which melted instantly once applied to the baked good. Truly words were useless as my mouth was otherwise employed in finishing off the roll, and as there was no accolades high enough to describe her talents. And if Hill's smugly satisfied grin was any indication, my expressiveness must have conveyed my approval.
"These will be served at the wedding breakfast," I announced more than inquired.
"That they will, Miss Lizzy, and more besides. Have another?"
I nodded, slathering the second roll with even more butter. When I finished this, Hill encouraged me to take a third. I began reaching for it, when I suddenly grew suspicious.
"Are you meaning to fatten me up, Hill?" I asked, mid-reach, eyebrow raised.
"How very blunt thou are, miss, but seein' as thou has asked it of me, it'll do no good to pretend otherwise. It's no secret thine spirit's been low ever since that toff, Mister Darcy decided the country not good enough for 'im. Well – Oi say what's the loss of another Londoner?"
"He wasn't a Londoner. His home is in the north," I replied blandly, unable to refute her charges.
"His home were in the north, but where's he to be found but back in that dirty city."
"And so," I resumed after a moment's pause, "you think me in danger of wasting away?"
"Oi think it'd take more than that ponce of a man to wither thou up, but Oi won't be denying that Oi've noticed that your plates are none so emptied as the others round the table."
I pursed my lips and then took up the third roll. It served as answer enough, while smoothing away the wrinkles of having to further discuss the painful topic. Correspondence from London was never an uncommon thing; our Aunt and Uncle Gardiner often wrote to Longbourn. However, it had increased with the addition of Sally's letters, a few from Mrs. Treggels, and even a short one from the Arley's who wished to keep me abreast of a very juicy piece of gossip they'd happen to overhear at the theater, concerning a crown prince from some European country who had run afoul of a conman's trick.
News from London frequented the halls of Netherfield Park even more regularly, and from the hand that most interested me. Mr. Bingley would, from time to time, whenever there was anything public to relate, share excerpts of Mr. Darcy's letters that he deemed entertaining for all. Originally, the thought of a token of information, of hearing anything that might give insight into Mr. Darcy's state had thrilled me with anticipation. The reality was far more akin to the sight of a stranger's familiar face; dear features that that held no spark of recognition. In the end, it was a relief when Mr. Bingley slowed and ultimately ceased his transmission of news of his friend.
Embarrassingly, my weeping heart appeared to have an audience. Mamma had taken to abusing Mr. Darcy again, which I could only infer that it meant she had discovered something of our parting; father had taken to giving me looks of a certain brand that didn't quite suit his face, while Lydia ceased her assumptions of a mutual attraction existing between myself and Wickham. She and Kitty were actually proving to possess a gentleness when dealing with me that I found surprising. Their tact in glossing over mention of Mr. Darcy - unlike mamma's vociferous attacks on his character - and in filling me in on any news or gossip that Hill might have missed, was there contribution in keeping me distracted.
I finished the third roll and refrained from a fourth when it was offered.
"I will surely ruin my appetite at this rate, but if a food critic were ever to descend upon us I believe we would have to promote you to Head Chef of L'amour Longborn."
"Lum mour Longbourn? What's that being then? And if thou don't mind me speaking so," she continued without allowing me to answer, "Oi've been due a promotion ages since."
The validity of Hill's statement may have been true, indeed, were my fingers the master of the Bennet coffers, Hill would have been a few coin richer before nightfall. Whether the true master of said coffers would be inclined to agree was a matter best asked under the influence of good cheer, a happily distracted Mrs. Bennet, and copious amounts of sherry. None of which would come soon enough on the day itself.
My first intimation that the day had begun was when mamma bustled into my room, careless of the ricocheting door on its squeaky hinges, as she proceeded to attack my shoulder with excited violence.
"Lizzy, wake up, do! How you can bear to lay another minute in bed escapes me! You must rise this instant, for Jane sits in her room and a terrible knot in her hair. I cannot be expected to untangle it for I must see to the bride – oh! the bride! What a fine sound it is! Do you not think it the loveliest word, my dear!"
Rather than cutting a quick remark – as my tongue was only too willing – I released a tremendous sigh and let her have her fun. This was a moment I could not steal from her.
"Make haste! Make haste! Already the quarter hour is gone and I fear your father will be unmanageable!"
With that parting fear aired between us, she left me as quickly as she'd come, her hair alive with extra bounce from the added cloth used to curl it. My door was left open and down the hall I heard the muffled scream of Lydia, no doubt experiencing the same treatment visited upon me moments ago. Sitting up in bed, I hunkered under my duvet, pulling it well over my shoulders as I slipped my slippers on. The trek to Jane's room was a chilly one this early January morning. We seemed to be waking with the dawn.
"Were you assaulted out of your sleep as well, or had you already been awake?" I asked Jane grumpily as I crossed into her room. She sat at her vanity, brush in hand, and a tangled lock over her shoulder. She glanced up from her work and offered me an apologetic smile.
"I'm afraid we will all be victim to mother's euphoria this day," she said, returning her attention to the knot in her hair. "She has waited long for such an occasion. I will not begrudge her her indulgences – as extreme as they may be."
Another glance away from her hair to the barely lit window suggested to me that Jane viewed this early wake-up call with the same disdain as I.
"Here, allow me," I said, taking the brush from her hands. The knot wasn't huge and would have been out in an instant had I any detangler conditioner on hand. My tender brushstrokes would have to suffice.
We did not talk at first; the natural quiet of the hour hung about us in a thin cloak of active sleep. While our bodies functioned to an automatic routine, our minds were far adrift in an ocean attempting to recall dreams from the night before. My eyes were hooded, and many were the times that I exhaled deep breaths, wishing for nothing more than the return to my warm bed. Not even the distant exclamations of mamma could stun us into wakefulness for long. Alas, those exclamations had a more lasting effect on the household as the thunder of pattering feet all around us soon sounded in a never ending cacophony of the prologue to a long and busy day.
"I doubt father will be as gracious as you in excusing mamma her demands," I said after a time. The knot was finally loosened, allowing me to brush out the rest of her hair.
"I'm afraid papa will find himself between his very own Scylla and Charybdis."
"Why, Jane!" I feigned shock, "you cannot mean to compare our own, dear mother, to a monster that either swallows her victims or plucks them from their vessels! And I cannot think Mr. Collins would approve of the comparison either."
"You will of course be theatrical, Lizzy," she replied, unfazed by my mocking.
"Oh, I must be, yes! This early in the morning, without a proper cup of coffee to be had for at least another century and a half, I must have some way of entertaining myself so as to convince myself to stay awake."
Immediately I grew quiet as I realized what had slipped out of my mouth. The remark was casual, meant to be taken lightly, but I had seen the ever-so-subtle clenching of Jane's shoulders at my mention of things I should know not of.
"Sorry," I muttered quietly, brushing her hair for my own benefit at this point. The golden colour rippled in the single candle propped up by her side on the vanity. The eastern sun was beginning to make its mark on this day of January 18, 1812, peeking into her room in a patient arc.
"No, I am sorry, Lizzy. I do not want you to fear your tongue when speaking with me, as I have said. I regret that you have had to do so for so long already."
"It is not so very bad," I remarked after a pause. We caught the others eye in the mirror of the vanity. "I have made my share of slip-ups, but, of course, no one would have known as it would have made no sense to you."
"Hmm, that is a curious notion. I wonder now how many times you were speaking sensibly and I mistook it for silliness?"
"If I was a betting man," I said, putting on a deep voice, "I'd say more times than can be remembered."
We smiled; a comfortable endearment between us as silence overtook us once more. Somewhere in the house we heard a door slam shut, then open, then shut again. It was then followed by a holler from Kitty.
"Poor Charlotte," Jane remarked suddenly. I quirked my brow, instantly following her train of thought and reading her mind.
"Poor Charlotte? Lucky Charlotte, more like! Allow me to put you at ease by informing you that there was never any love between them, and I feel that she occasionally regretted her decision. Mary on the other hand has always been attracted to the gentleman in question. Do not ask me why, for that I truly cannot offer any explanation."
Jane giggled at my exasperation at such a thought of finding our cousin the least bit winsome. Of course it was at this moment of levity that we were discovered by the iron maiden of the time – her hair now somewhat deflated from her exertions of playing major general.
"What do you mean by brushing her hair still! What is it – Gordian's knot? Oh! and you're not even dressed! How will my nerves ever manage this day! Oh! Kitty, Kitty! Come here, my child. Help your sister into her gown. No! Not that one, the one I've already laid out for her. Just there!"
Poor Kitty scrambled to do our mother's bidding, herself in a state of half-dress, as she unceremoniously bumped me out of the way to fit our eldest sister into the gown mamma had thought would temper Jane's natural beauty. It would not do for Mary's charm to be usurped by her most beautiful sister on her most important day. Nevertheless, the silent consensus was that it mattered not whatever we forced Jane into, she would be lovely regardless.
Father, as expected, was nowhere to be seen for a large part of the morning, and once again, I envied his ability to sneak off. He would hardly be expected to lace up three and a half corsets, navigate an impromptu scavenger hunt for a missing petticoat, insist on cold water for washing out a pin-prick of blood on one of Lydia's gloves (a needle was, again, the culprit), and all without a bite of breakfast to help make sense of this rush of madness.
Funnily enough, Mr. Collins had spent the night at Lucas Lodge, providing a small miracle in freeing us from his notions of helpfulness. More likely than not, he would've caught sight of his bride, thus driving mamma into spasms of superstitions. The bride herself was hardly affected in manner. No effusions of happiness or excitement, no whispered fears of what might be expected of her once she was alone with her new husband (ugh! That alone had me internally gagging), she displayed no signs of nerves. In fact, she was ready long before the rest of us and decided to spend her remaining time as the middle Bennet child by playing on her piano. The awkward trills and heavy pedal work drifted up throughout the levels of Longbourn, agitating mamma greatly and leaving me to absently wonder if Lady Catherine's ideas of musical proficiency would extend to include the soon-to-be Mrs. Collins.
The wedding was to take place at the tenth o'clock. Mamma had earlier striven for an hour or two earlier, but the church, it seemed, had been booked. There was a christening and a funeral that preceded our use of the holy building and its caretaker. I happened to agree with mamma at the unfavourability of having a wedding right after mourning services had been held, but since the bride and groom took it in their stride, declaring that all transitions are natural courses of life, there was nothing more to be done. It was also unacceptable for the wedding to be delayed any further, having already put off a week whilst waiting for that letter from Lady Catherine.
As for the events that would be taking place after we'd had our use of the church, I couldn't say what they were. Though, I had learned that anything regarding a wedding could not take place after the noon hour. It was linked with honour and pureness of heart. If you had nothing to hide in a match, than you would have no problem in uniting yourself during daylight. Why noon was the cut off time and not, say, half past three remained a mystery to me, and when I questioned Jane over this, she merely shrugged a shoulder stating that it was how it was done. That strain of conversation inevitably led to her curiously wondering how different weddings were from what I knew of them. She never said the future – it was always, 'what I knew,' or my, 'knowledge.' While leaving out Vegas weddings, and most other scandalous unions, I recounted the few weddings I'd experienced, detailing the length of planning, the cost, and the general tears that accompanied the stress of trying to pull of the shin-dig. It was agreed between us that mamma's exuberance over Mary's wedding was stress enough, and how thankful we were that it didn't entail anything more.
The ceremony itself was simple in attendance; something I had anticipated, yet could not help being taken aback at in actuality. Alongside our family were Sir William Lucas, Charlotte, and Maria. They had come with Mr. Collins. It became known to us that Sir William would be acting as groomsman for our cousin, since he had no friends of his own here to perform this service. Mr. Bingley and his sisters would attend the wedding breakfast, as would most of our friends and neighbors who wished to impart their well-wishes, or simply to enjoy free food in a merry atmosphere.
Neither passion nor affection could I detect in the looks shared between bride and groom once father had handed Mary to the fore. Mr. Collins expressed himself in the manner of one bestowing great honour to one below him; his features aligned with forbearing pomp that, more than once, was directed at our curate. His coiffed hair was at its peak of coiffness, nearly starched by his substantial use of whatever substance he preferred to achieve his perpetual, 'caught in a windstorm,' look. Mary did not seem displeased by this, if her fluttery state was anything to go by. Her eyelashes may have very well been the perpetrator of the heavy winds that so affected Mr. Collins' hair. Jane and I, closest to the couple as we were Mary's bridesmaids, did not dare look at each other for we both knew I would be the one to expose our mirth. Mamma, very in tune with her children, and even more so with the ceremony, was quick to catch my eye to deliver such a withering reprimand that put the fear in me. This was the one thing I knew not to cross her in. Turning back to the couple and the droning of Mr. Jethro's reading from the Book of Common Prayer, I bit my tongue.
The curate looked impossibly young. His age, superiour to mine by a year or so, was hardly believable with his boyish looks. That being said, he was not terrible to look at, indeed far more appealing than the groom or the groomsman (apologies, Sir William) and I was content to focus my attention on him for the remainder of the service. In so doing, I caught onto an interest of the curate's by following a point his gaze seemed magnetically drawn to whenever the ceremony required involvement from the couple – namely the vows and the rings, which Mr. Collins dropped . . . twice. Kitty and Lydia sat close together and somewhat apart from mamma whose attitude was a trifle overbearing at present. Their bowed heads were restricted to whispering, as giggling would draw too much attention. However, Kitty's red cheeks spoke of her withheld hilarity. I smiled in sympathy. I was somewhat surprised to see that it was they who had captivated Mr. Jethro's flickering interest. While his views were not of that strict brand that Mr. Collins adhered to, Mr. Jethro was still a man of the cloth and bore a seriousness about him that did not seem to encourage the antics of young girls. Perhaps he meant to catch their eye to sign for quiet, though, there was no severity in his looks towards them. They were pretty girls; Kitty even more so than Lydia, though it was sometimes overlooked with the latter's engaging spirit. Regardless, I watched him and allowed that he would be far more agreeable to have hanging around than Mr. Wickham.
As with the preparation, there was a simplicity to the service that made the affair tolerable, and at the conclusion, Mr. and Mrs. Collins followed Mr. Jethro and the parish clerk into the vestry where the marriage lines would be signed; Mary's proof that this wedding had taken place and that she was a respectable woman. For some reason, it was not required for the groom to prove that he was a respectably married husband. Jane and Sir William trailed at the end of this short procession to bear witness to this legal document.
Outside the church many of our friends and neighbors were gathered, erupting into an uproar of applause and cheering when the married couple emerged into the brilliant morning. Flower petals and rice rained down upon us and I was glad to see Mary smiling. Mr. Bingley was there suddenly, offering his arm to Jane as our party began the short walk back to Longbourn where Hill anticipated us. Kitty and Lydia bounced around behind me, laughing and chortling at their leisure, now free to do so.
"Oh, L-rd, what a joke that was!" Lydia puffed, grabbing my arm, as Kitty attached herself to my other one.
"You disapprove of our new brother?" I queried with a smile.
"It is impossible not to! We are forever attached to him. I fear many a holidays and visits between Longbourn and Hunsford will be taken up with sermons and ghastly lectures," Kitty bemoaned.
"You're right, I am sure, but do not discredit your ability in disappearing when the rest of us are forced to suffer."
"We are rather good at slipping away, are we not," Lydia preened.
"Hmm," I hummed in agreement. "Perhaps you will have pity on your sister and include her in your escapes when the times call for it."
"We cannot promise anything, Lizzy, for, you know, you do not always approve of us. It may provide us the greatest pleasure to see you stuck between Mr. and Mrs. Collins. Besides, I plan to be married before any visits take place between the two households."
"What do you mean?" I asked, careful to keep the sharpness out of my inquiry.
"Never you mind, Lizzy."
"Come, Lydia, it is unlike you to hold secrets overly long. Have you a suitor?"
"That she does not," Kitty chortled.
I felt myself breath as Lydia shot Kitty a glare.
"Well, do not be too impatient, for any rash decisions may see you stuck with an undeserving man," I said with emphasis.
"Then again, do not wait too long," Charlotte said, joining our conversation, "for then you will be stuck with only yourself."
The others laughed and I forced a tight smile. Did she have to step on my point?
Maria was behind her and in an instant my younger sisters transferred their attentions to the young Lucas girl, leaving Charlotte and I to walk together.
"Your mother is in good spirits," she remarked, smiling and nodding her head at mamma just up ahead. Mrs. Bennet's voice was ever increasing in pitch while her body radiated happy energy. I chuckled through my nose.
"She ought to be. Her very worry has transformed into a blessing."
"Very true."
The dining room in Longbourn in all its uses and purposes had never been so close to bursting by the time Charlotte and I wound our way through the front door and sidled into the designated room of where the feasting was to be. The table served as centre piece to a host of people, all on amiable terms with mamma, and whom she had made specific care in ensuring their attendance. There was my Aunt Philips conversing with the groom, a self-assured grin plastered on his face. Beside him, his bride attended to the conversation, though every so often her attention was distracted by the cake Hill had sculpted beautifully and set deliberately in the centre of the table. It was nothing at all in comparison to the white, multi-tiered cakes I was familiar with; rather its appearance leaned more towards the fruit cake variety with almond icing, while being substantially soaked with brandy. I was assured it would last a long time.
Mrs. Lucas, with the rest of her children, sat by mamma, the pair talking with utmost absorption. A few flashes of red caught my eye. The faces of Denny and Saunderson appeared above Kitty and Lydia, smiling and leaning over the seated girls. In turn, my sisters stuffed their admirers' mouth with hot rolls and giggled hysterically at the outcome.
"Really?" I muttered at this display. I found father sitting a little away from this scene and quirked my brow at him when I caught his eye. He looked in the direction I was canting my head in and raised his own brows in an exasperated sort of way. He turned back to me and shrugged his shoulders with a shake of his head, his gaze flicking heavenwards. Before I could convey anything more to rattle him from his indifference, Charlotte led me to an open chair.
"Where shall you sit?" I questioned once she had sat me down.
"Do not worry over me. You are family to the bride and must be accommodated."
"Nonsense! You're the guest and cannot be allowed to stand," I countered. "I propose we share the seat. It will be awkward, but will hold us I think."
After adjusting ourselves, we managed almost comfortably. It was far preferable than standing whilst trying to eat. What was even better, was when a gentleman noticed our sharing a seat and immediately relinquished his own chair for our benefit.
"I will miss Mary once she has gone. Though I suppose this is only the beginning," Charlotte commented after a moment's pause between us as we both delved into Hill's cooking.
"What do you mean?"
"Only that we are each of us reaching the extent of our usefulness as daughters and will be expected to make the transition Mary has done this day. Who knows where are husbands will take us, and how far it will be from each other."
"Do not make it sound so dreary or we'll never wish to quit our families," I laughed, amused by her philosophy. My curiosity was also piqued. There was any number of possibilities for Charlotte now. I had a moment of guilt that this was not her wedding, but when I remembered her stoicism from the novel, her acceptance that she didn't need anything more than platonic happiness, I was glad that she had escaped a boring fate.
"But we will quit our families – when he offers to lead us away. Only . . . we will write, won't we Lizzy? I pray correspondence between us shall never be broken."
"Why, Charlotte, you are acting as if it was I being married and carted off to Kent," I exclaimed, turning to her as she looked truly worried. "What has brought this on?"
"This may not be your wedding day, Lizzy, but it is no secret the affection held between yourself and Mr. Darcy. I have observed how he watched you when he was here. His looks could not have conveyed his emotions clearer."
"But Charlotte you forget, Mr. Darcy and I are not speaking. In fact, we may never come to terms."
"You remain elusive as to the cause of that sudden rift – it only provokes the imagination, you know."
"I'm sure it does, but I cannot help it."
"It matters not your present discord with Mr. Darcy; it will be mended, I know it. And when it is, he will take you away from Meryton, and I will have lost my dear Eliza! That is why you must promise that we will always maintain a correspondence," she insisted. I could only nod my head, touched by her faith and her affection for me.
"Of course, Charlotte. You will be welcome to wherever I call home."
"As you shall also be," she returned, smiling at last.
"It was good of Sir William to aid Mr. Collins in the way he did. I felt almost sorry for my cousin and his lack of friends here in Hertfordshire," I said after a pause in dialogue. The wedding cake had finally been cut by the couple and pieces were being handed around.
"Father was happy to be of use. In truth, he was simply glad to be part of the wedding ceremony," she admitted. A grin tickled the corner of her mouth.
"Has he a liking for being part of wedding services?"
"I am surprised you have to ask," she laughed, which hinted to me that it was well known. I brushed it off by stuffing my face with buttered toast and a sip of hot chocolate. Hot chocolate, I had learned, was a specific treat served at one end of the table on such days. It made me realize how wealthy Mrs. Treggels truly was for Jane and me to have had a cup on an odd night in. Not so odd, considering the events that followed - nevertheless.
"He was especially happy to be able to attend today as he wasn't sure whether he would be," Charlotte remarked.
"Oh?" I raised my brows in invitation to elaborate.
"Lord Hanbea was taken with father apparently and wishes for his company again."
I was not so indelicate in my reaction as I had been upon first hearing that man's name from Charlotte Lucas, though I will admit to scalding the back of my throat just a tad. I recovered quickly, however.
"Is that so?" I said tightly, hoping that my small voice covered up my need to cough.
"He and father share an interest in genealogy and family history. They have both been working at separate charts, connecting persons to larger families –"
"A family tree?" I cut in.
"An odd expression, though I can appreciate the symbolism. In any case, Lord Hanbea has an excellent memory, just fitting for his hobby in documenting what he has seen. Father has told me it is near perfect in its ability to recall every minute detail, even to its positioning of how Lord Hanbea initially viewed it."
'Photographic memory.'
I did not say it aloud.
"So Sir William will be returning to his friend then; to finish their charts?" I asked. My thumbs rubbed against the lip of my glass. It always made me uneasy when this man was brought up. Something lurking that I was loathe to face.
"The details of their particular activities are unknown to me, though I am sure they will be continuing their endeavors in completing their charts. He leaves tomorrow week."
"And do you think Lucas Lodge will ever open its doors to the illustrious Lord Hanbea?"
"Likely not, Eliza. His resources, I am told, are extensive. No use would come of his coming here."
With much to meditate on, I let our conversation lag into companionable silence. Absently, I noticed Jane still in the verbal embrace of Mr. Bingley; their eyes seeming to never have left the other's since stepping out of the church. His sisters and Mr. Hurst had arrived. They did not look too taken with our humble fare and boisterous merry-making. I smiled. Mary was content with a piece of cake on a plate before her, her head tilted in a show of wifely devotion as her husband spoke of something too distant for me to hear. Mamma was now joined by father. Their hands were clasped and resting on his lap. I smiled at this subtle show of affection. Father may not think highly of Mr. Collins, but he knew his daughter and his wife were happy. He may just have a calm evening.
Our time spent as a family in this moment struck me with poignancy as I faded out of the numerous conversations, satisfied with watching. There was something in this moment that I wanted to capture, a memorized picture that I could summon whenever I wanted – like Lord Hanbea's photographic memory. My usual indifference to technology was shaking its bum in my face as I would've given anything to have my camera phone in this instance.
To Kitty and Lydia I next went in search of and froze upon locating them. Mr. Wickham had decided to join our festivities. While Denny and Saunderson still stood behind the girls, Wickham had found a chair and sat cozily beside Kitty, leaning over her to wipe a smudge of cream from Lydia's cheek. My fists clenched at his familiarity, and before I knew that I had decided on a course, I had stood and was pressing my way through the guests to reach my wayward sisters.
"Lizzy, look who has decided to join us," Lydia announced happily when she noticed my approach.
"Mr. Wickham," I greeted, as cordially cool as I could be. Immediately he stood, taking my hand in his and bowed over it. His eyes bore into mine as he brushed his lips against my bare hand. My gloves I had left beside my plate. He flashed me a smirk meant for my eyes alone. My mouth curled downwards.
"Miss Elizabeth, how very glad I am to see you again. You have not been to the village much since your return from London. Your sisters have kept me abreast of the happy news, however. How wonderful that Annie has settled so nicely with the widow."
As he spoke, he motioned for me to take his departed chair. I did so, and was displeased by Kitty's pouting lip. He had been extremely close to her after all and the poor girl was probably thinking herself in love – at least for that second. Mr. Wickham remained behind me, leaning forward in the way his fellow soldiers had been doing to Kitty and Lydia. As intolerable as his breath was on my neck, I endured it for the sake of keeping him away from my sisters.
"No Mr. Darcy?" he questioned quietly against my ear. I grit my teeth.
"No."
"Oh dear, has there been a squabble? He can be frustratingly stubborn, you know."
"And you, egregiously impertinent."
He chuckled, forcing the hairs at the back of my neck to stand.
"Am I not right when I claim you moved this way for me?"
I turned my head slightly towards him, about to rebuke him. I caught myself, however. If I cemented my fears before him of his mingling society with Kitty and Lydia then I could be sure he would continue in that pursuit.
"You may not," I said simply, dissatisfied with the weak answer. He leaned in even closer.
"But I have been watching you. Only when you noticed me did you come over. Is that not proof enough. You mean to watch over your sisters."
I bit my tongue at a loss of how to counter him.
"Kitty, Lydia! Why are you not dancing? I would have thought you the first to start the jig. Listen – is that not Jenny's Market playing? We must have a full celebration and satisfy your mother in her demands."
Above us, father stood; his face genial while his eyes flashed. Indeed, a fiddle had struck up a tune from somewhere in the house (likely the drawing room where it opened to the music room), and the girls wasted not another second in dragging away their more 'innocent' redcoat friends.
"I must offer you congratulations, sir." Wickham straightened as he offered his felicitations. Father remained with his hands clasped behind his back, his eyes roaming up and down the scoundrel with a hard, assessing look.
"Yes, I suppose you must, only take care of the mode in which you express them. Come Lizzy, your mother is asking for you."
And with that, I was away from the villain, as were Kitty and Lydia. And the villain himself had been given fair warning by the master of the house. On impulse, I raised myself up to peck a kiss on father's cheek. He hummed a laugh.
"Do you approve, my Lizzy? Have I done well?"
"Perfectly."
"Your mother mayn't think so. She has a particular fondness for a man in uniform."
"Apparently not enough to marry one."
"No fiercer battle would that soldier have fought than in the daily skirmishes of Mrs. Bennet's nerves."
I laughed, throwing my head back.
"That is too wicked," I tried to chastise.
"No, indeed, it is not. It is the absolute truth. I am never more exhausted than at the conclusion of one of her bouts."
Unfortunately, and against popular belief, one of those bouts was due sooner than any of us had expected. It was a fortnight since the wedding; the Collins' had departed after the breakfast as Mr. Collins was eager to return to his patroness. Mamma had been teary-eyed, clinging to her middle child in the biggest show of affection Mary was likely to receive from our mother, and who looked to be out of her depths in how to handle it. Father, too, was affected by this severance. I heard the quaver in his voice that might have easily been missed under the wailing of mamma. Jane and I had held Mrs. Bennet in our arms as we watched the carriage drive down the lane. She was happy, but it was hard for her nonetheless.
Now, two weeks past, and I was sitting in the drawing room composing a letter to Sally, telling her of the wedding and the wonderful feast. Mamma sat hunched in her chair, waking every so often to pronounce to the room that she was not asleep, before slipping back into the Land of Nod. It was a cold day, the crackling hearth insufficient in keeping us warm. Copious amounts of shawls and blankets were in use – less so on Lydia, however, as she sat dangerously close to the fire. Jane was occupied with a book, while Kitty cuddled up beside her, reading over her shoulder.
A knock sounded on the front door, startling mamma awake and we each of us straightened just a tad in case it was a caller come to see us. Mamma grunted as she adjusted herself, her lids drooping heavily. Hill entered the room not long after, bearing a platter with a single letter on it. It was addressed to Jane. I glanced curiously over, wondering what this invitation to Netherfield was for.
"Well, Jane, what does it say?" mamma entreated, perking up a bit. Correspondence from Mr. Bingley tended to work as stimulants for her. I quit the scratching of my quill when I noticed the prolonged silence. Usually Mr. Bingley's missives were short and to the point, allowing Jane to quickly relay his messages to the room.
"Jane," I prompted, feeling uneasy.
"It is not an invitation, mamma. Mr. Bingley writes that he is sorry to quit Netherfield abruptly, but that business takes him to London." It was Kitty who answered, seeing the letter clearly in our sister's hands. Lydia crawled away from the fire and came to sit on Jane's opposite side, meaning to read this impossible news for herself.
"Quit Netherfied? Oh, what can he mean by it! Business in London! Does he not say when he will return? Does he mean to break my poor girl's heart!" mamma demanded.
"He does not say, though he impresses that he does not intend it to be a long visit," Jane finally responded, answering the only question of mamma's she could.
Jane looked to me then and I recognized the silent question that could not be asked in company; the plea to know whether he returns or not.
I set my quill down, my fist encircling it.
Already, Mr. Darcy has proven his capability in wounding hearts; I was not surprised by his proficiency. It was my ire that startled me in its intensity. I would not allow him to meddle with hearts separate from our own quarrel. His disregard for Jane spurred me into motion in working out exactly how to outmaneuver his aim, as I was sure he blamed her for having any association with me and feared it to 'taint' his friend.
Perhaps the course of this story was not so altered after all.
A/N: Hello all! This is the longest chapter I think I've written for this story, though I can't be certain. Certainly it's the longest I've written in a while, at least. We covered a lot here, while getting peeks into what's to come. That Lord Hanbea is an interesting fellow...hmmm.
And yes, I did it. I married Mr. Collins off to Mary. I actually had fun in probing their characters and wondering what sort of pair they would make, which I touched a bit upon through Lizzy's wonderings. They are alike, and sometimes that similarity is hard to manage. However, I've always seen them as a pair that it was an obvious course for me to follow in my endeavors to deviate from the original work. I'm sure some of you will be like, '. . . umm, no.' And if you are I'd love to hear your thoughts. I'm a sucker for analyzing characters and seeing how far they can be pushed off the path we know them to take.
I enjoy writing Jane for that reason, in exploring a depth to her beyond beauty, kindness, and gentleness. She is all those things, but I don't see why she has to be limited to it. She is shy, but shyness is not immune to strength. I also like to imagine that, while Mr. Bennet is often exasperated with his wife, there has to be some amount of affection that has seen them through all their years of marriage and five daughters.
I learned so much about weddings in writing this chapter, not to mention the dip of research I did into the English Church. The weddings of that day seem a dream in their simplicity - as Lizzy has noted. Unless you were rich of course, weddings were close, intimate affairs with only the people that really mattered in attendance. And I do have to admit that I enjoyed a sentence of artistic licence in promoting the superstition of the groom seeing the bride before the wedding. Apparently the Regency era did not yet view this as a faux pas. I just wanted to have it in there. The cake being soaked with rum, brandy, or other strong alcoholic drink, however, was true, and often pieces of cake would be sent home with guests and delivered to neighbors, and even sent great distances to those who couldn't make it.
It has also been brought to my attention that some of my grammar and punctuation is faulty. Guilty as charged. Believe me, I do reread what I write before I post it, but some things just slip through. If it has taken away your pleasure in reading, I apologize. I am considering going back with a narrow-toothed comb to spruce up some of my mistakes, but don't hold your breath on the expediency on that endeavor. Commas confuse me, I think I might be overly fond of semi-colons, and the lack of apostrophe's in 'its' frustrates me for some reason. Nevertheless, perhaps over time, I will get all the kinks out (or as much as I can). I have been toying with the idea of getting a beta for a second pair of eyes to catch things that I let slip. Would anybody be interested? It would mostly be for grammar and punctuation, but I might want to bounce and idea or two off. If that sounds interesting, PM me; and if there are crickets, I'll just slough along with my misused 'theirs' and 'there's'.
Again, thank you for your wonderful reviews.
To Pp: Actually my intention for Darcy's interest in Annie was purely to showcase how far he was willing to make Lizzy happy. Of course he had concern for the welfare of an innocent, but his strongest motivation was to see Lizzy's frown turn upside down! And as for the attraction felt by lawyer Longshadow for Sally, I agree that their match will likely be rocky or amount to nothing. But when first creating his character, I had been reading 'Our Mutual Friend', by Dickens and was influenced by Lizzie Hexam and the lawyer, Eugene Wrayburn. It would not be uncommon, especially since Longshadow is part of Mrs. Treggles' little group, to use that as his means of seeing Sally often.
To Colleen S: thank you, again. I am so happy that you approve of this story.
To Guest 1: Thank you for taking a chance on this story. As you can see, the modern bits are kept to a minimum and I try to use Lizzy's insights into the future more as footholds for the next part of the story (or comic relief) rather than modern for modernity's sake. Aww, shucks, I'm blushing at your compliments.
To ryu akai: I updated! Woo-hoo!
To Guest 2: I'm glad you love it. You stay safe as well. I know, if something happens to me, you'll never know how this story ends ;) Don't worry, I wash my hands frequently.
Again, the next chapter has already been started, and I can tell you that we will be in Mr. Darcy's head for some of it.
Take care and...
'Till next time.