Thanks so much for all your encouragement this week! I really appreciate it :)
Thanks to my betas, Sara and Dawn, who have continued to work on this story, despite the months it has taken!
As always, please let me know of any mistakes you notice. It makes the story better for everyone :)
Copyright 2020 Elizabeth Frerichs
With a heavy heart, Elizabeth made her way back to Longbourn. She was late for breakfast; hopefully, her mother would still be so thrilled about the ball that she would not be unreasonably cross. The thought of sitting at a family breakfast and watching her family show no awareness of their wretched behaviour the night before was more than she could endure at this juncture. Perhaps it would be better to merely slip in through the kitchen—Betsey would likely give her a muffin or something—and then retire immediately to her room. She could claim a headache for the rest of the day and spend the time deciding what to do now that Mr. Darcy had failed her.
Should she expose Mr. Wickham? She had no proof beyond the man's manners, and the knowledge that he had indeed lied about the preferment. At least Mr. Darcy had confirmed that. He had also said something about how Mr. Wickham had not been content with attempting to take Miss Darcy's dowry and now desired to obtain his fortune—clearly, something had occurred with Mr. Wickham and Miss Darcy.
None of the young ladies in Hertfordshire possessed a large dowry and thus were unlikely to become his next target. Still, Mr. Wickham would likely be a danger to the tradesmen and servants. She might suggest that the tradesmen in Meryton not extend much credit to the regiment lest any of them leave without paying their bills. Surely, Betsey, the kitchen maid, could pass along such concerns to the tradesmen when she did the marketing. Word would spread.
Her thoughts remained a jumble as she slipped into the kitchen.
"Miss Elizabeth!" Betsey cried, nearly dropping a pan of dirty dishes. "Your mother has been up in arms requesting you all morning."
Elizabeth grimaced. "Do you know why she desired my presence?"
Betsey shook her head.
"Very well," Elizabeth said, suppressing a sigh. Breakfast would have to wait. "Where is she now?"
"In the sitting room," Mrs. Hill called as she hurried in.
Elizabeth gave her a forced smile. "I shall attend her there."
As she made her way to the sitting room, Elizabeth wondered why in the world her mother was looking for her. Mrs. Bennet did not understand Elizabeth's need for solitude and movement and often scolded her—most often when she was late to breakfast. But rarely did Mrs. Bennet seek Elizabeth; she was content to await her return to complain.
Elizabeth took a deep breath and opened the door to the sitting room. Only her mother was seated within.
"Lizzy!" Mrs. Bennet cried, wringing her hands. "Where have you been? Never has there been such an inconsiderate daughter! How could you have missed breakfast this morning? I am sure I do not know what Mr. Collins thought of such discourtesy! He has requested a private audience with you this morning, which I have granted, and now that you are returned I shall inform him," she said, standing up with alacrity.
Elizabeth shook her head. "Mr. Collins must excuse me," she said with alarm. "He can have nothing to say to me that anybody need not hear. I have necessary tasks to attend to—"
"I insist you listen to him, Elizabeth Bennet. The most inconsiderate daughter—if your father could see half the misbehaviour I see every day—oh, my nerves!" Mrs. Bennet wailed, one hand pressed to her chest. "I shall be glad to wash my hands of you, my girl. Now, do not forget what you owe your family."
Elizabeth opened her mouth, but Mrs. Bennet glared at her and bustled away. Elizabeth considered returning to the outdoors—she was so weary in body and soul and had no desire to deal with Mr. Collins, least of all if the man was going to offer for her. For the barest fraction of a second, she contemplated marrying Mr. Collins for the good of her family before casting the thought from her. She could not accept his offer, could not. Even in the face of Mr. Bingley's likely desertion, she refused to marry him. It would kill her to marry someone like Mr. Collins.
But . . . perhaps it would be better to get this out of the way now—she could not avoid him for the entirety of his visit, probably, and at least her refusal would give her mother a more immediate target than Jane's disappointed hopes.
Before she was ready (not that she could ever be ready for such a thing), Mrs. Bennet reappeared with Mr. Collins in tow.
"I desire you listen to what Mr. Collins has to say, Lizzy," Mrs. Bennet said warningly. She smiled up at Mr. Collins. "I am certain you will find her agreeable."
Elizabeth repressed a shudder.
"My dear Miss Elizabeth, I am glad you have returned," Mr. Collins began. "It was highly irregular that you did not come down to breakfast, and I must confess that I was concerned; however, your father said that you often indulge in a morning constitutional, and Lady Catherine has long expounded the benefits of regular respectable physical exertion. Indeed, I myself walk when going to Rosings and when I visit my parishioners so that I am benefitting my health even as I benefit the souls of those under my care. And how very industrious of you to have arisen early despite a late night due to the ball."
Mr. Collins took a step towards her. "You can hardly doubt the purpose of my discourse, however your natural delicacy may lead you to dissemble; my attentions have been too marked to be mistaken. Almost as soon as I entered the house, I singled you out as the companion of my future life. But before I am run away with by my feelings on this subject, perhaps it will be advisable for me to state my reasons for marrying—and, moreover, for coming into Hertfordshire with the design of selecting a wife, as I certainly did."
Despite her distress, the idea of Mr. Collins, with all his solemn composure, being run away with by his feelings brought Elizabeth so near laughing that she could not use his short pause in any attempt to stop him, and he continued. What followed was a run-on discourse that covered precisely why he had chosen to marry (at Lady Catherine's instructions) and why he had chosen to propose to her (some slight guilt over the entail) and assurances of the violence of his affection, which Elizabeth found ridiculous as he managed to include slights against their financial status with a promise that he would never hold it against her. She had not been able to interrupt him throughout his speech, but she took the opportunity of his (finally) breathing to interject.
"You are too hasty, sir! You forget that I have made no answer. Let me do so without further loss of time. Accept my thanks for the compliment you are paying me. I am very sensible of the honour of your proposals, but it is impossible for me to do otherwise than decline them."
Mr. Collins, however, did not accept her refusal, glibly putting it down to feminine wiles.
Elizabeth glared at him. How dare he insult her intelligence on top of everything else? After declaring that she was in entirely in earnest, a happy thought struck her—perhaps the man would accept her rejection were she to cast doubt upon Lady Catherine's approval. "Nay, were your friend Lady Catherine to know me, I am persuaded she would find me ill-qualified for the situation in every respect."
"Were it certain that Lady Catherine would think so," said Mr. Collins very gravely, "I would, of course, have chosen another, but I cannot imagine that her ladyship would at all disapprove of you. And you may be certain that when I have the honour of seeing her again, I shall speak in the highest terms of your modesty, economy, and other amiable qualifications."
Elizabeth huffed. Mr. Collins appeared unable to hear other opinions than his own—or Lady Catherine's. She continued her refusal and finally, after several more exchanges where he continued his firm belief that she refused him out of some misguided form of modesty, she left. At least the hubbub of convincing him would distract her mother from Jane's predicament.
It was not a comfort to have been proven right. Far from accepting the rejection, Mrs. Bennet had followed Elizabeth around, demanding she change her answer, and had even enlisted Mr. Bennet. After her mother declared that she would never again see Elizabeth if she did not marry Mr. Collins, Mr. Bennet had merely announced that Elizabeth faced a difficult choice—if she did not marry Mr. Collins, her mother would never see her again, but if she did marry him, he would never see her again.
His eyes had sparkled throughout the entire conversation despite his grave expression, and his amusement pierced Elizabeth's heart. Despite her discomfort, he had treated the entire situation as entertainment of the finest sort, like a fine wine, perfectly aged. Her mother had flounced away, screeching about his favouritism and Elizabeth's lack of care for her family.
Unable to share in her father's amusement, Elizabeth had merely thanked him before escaping to her room. His unwillingness to enter into her mother's anxiety, or to address the truth underneath her concerns, had led them here, and she could not enjoy it.
Nor could she suppress a pang of hurt at her mother's unconcern regarding her happiness. Her mother did not care that Elizabeth would be miserable with Mr. Collins because "it was her duty to ensure her family was well-cared for." Yet, with some economy, they could turn Longbourn into an estate that produced more or they could save the funds against the day when Mr. Collins took over Longbourn. Her parents had failed to provide for the future, and now her mother demanded that Elizabeth sacrifice herself to fill that void.
Not content with complaints, Mrs. Bennet had alternated between stony silences and expressions of distaste for the misfortune God had visited upon her when he had given her such a wretched daughter. Though Elizabeth knew well that she was not Mrs. Bennet's favourite child, her mother's wishes for another child in her place (preferably a son, but if not that, then a better daughter) was a pain she could not seem to ignore.
Fortunately, Charlotte arrived not many hours after the ill-fated proposal and proceeded to make herself agreeable to Mr. Collins, thus sparing Elizabeth from further interaction (save the resentful looks he occasionally sent her).
The next day a letter arrived for Jane. Watching Jane's countenance fall, Elizabeth felt certain it was news of the Bingleys' departure.
Standing, Jane signalled for Elizabeth to accompany her and led the way to her room. Once ensured of privacy, Jane took out the letter.
"This is from Caroline Bingley; what it contains has surprised me a good deal. The entire party has left Netherfield by this time and are on their way to town with no intention of returning."
Elizabeth suppressed a sigh. "I am sorry, Jane."
"You shall hear what she says," Jane said. She read the first sentence aloud, which comprised the information of the sisters having resolved to follow their brother to town directly, and of their meaning to dine that day in Grosvenor street where Mr. Hurst had a house.
"I do not pretend to regret anything I shall leave in Hertfordshire, except your society, my dearest friend," she continued. "But we will hope at some future period to enjoy many returns of the delightful intercourse we have known, and in the meanwhile may lessen the pain of separation by a very frequent and most unreserved correspondence. I depend on you for that," Jane read, a minute frown creasing her brows.
Elizabeth did not know what to tell her sister. If Mr. Darcy and the man's sisters had anything to say about it, Mr. Bingley would be separated from Jane forever. She did not wish to encourage Jane's hopes when it would only result in future pain. Nor did she wish to disclose the nature of her conversation with Mr. Darcy.
"If Mr. Bingley does not return, then he is not a man worthy of you," Elizabeth offered.
"His willingness to listen to his sisters' wishes shows his worth—and," Jane took a short breath, "perhaps I misunderstood his friendliness to be more than it was."
Elizabeth shook her head. "No, Jane, Mr. Bingley was not merely being friendly; however, from my interactions with him at Netherfield, I do not believe he has the fortitude to gainsay his sisters or Mr. Darcy."
A pained expression flitted across Jane's face. "It must be his own doing—he is his own master. But you do not know all. I will read you the passage which particularly hurts me. I will have no reserves from you."
And so Jane read of Miss Bingley's affection for Miss Darcy and her fervent hopes of becoming the young lady's sister someday. Elizabeth could not help thinking that Miss Bingley had been a bit overly honest—though her wishes were more probably for Georgiana to become her sister via Miss Bingley's marriage to Mr. Darcy than that of Miss Darcy's marriage to Mr. Bingley. But where one marriage occurred, another was just as possible.
"What think you of that, my dear Lizzy? Is it not clear enough? Does it not expressly declare that Caroline neither expects nor wishes me to be her sister, that she is perfectly convinced of her brother's indifference, and that, if she suspects the nature of my feelings for him, she means (most kindly!) to put me on my guard? Can there be any other opinion on the subject?" Jane said, a hitch in her breathing the only sign that Miss Bingley's words had stabbed her to the heart.
"I agree that Miss Bingley does not wish you to be her sister. I must confess that her apparent distaste for the idea has been one of the primary barriers to me wishing for an alliance between you and her brother. If Mr. Bingley cannot stand up to his sister (which, from what I have seen, appears to be the reality), you would certainly be miserable marrying into a family who would oppose the union. However, I do not believe it likely that Mr. Bingley will marry Miss Darcy—Miss Darcy is an heiress of the first circle and Mr. Bingley, though amiable and wealthy, is but one generation removed from trade. Regardless of how much Mr. Darcy cares for his friend, I do not believe he would allow his sister to marry any but a gentleman of pedigree."
Jane sat in silence for several moments, her gaze fixed on the bedclothes. "Perhaps you are right," she finally admitted. "It does seem unlikely. Poor Caroline must be mistaken."
Elizabeth huffed. "If she is deceived, it is only self-deception. Miss Bingley doubtless hopes that one union between the two families will make a second more likely, but Mr. Darcy will likewise marry none but a gentlewoman. She may wish as much as she chooses, but it will not change reality." She reached out and clasped Jane's hand. "I am sorry that Mr. Bingley has deserted you. Were it not for his lamentable lack of resolution and his family's determination for him to marry far above their station, I would believe him to be an ideal match for you."
"You must know that, though I should be exceedingly grieved at their disapprobation, I could not hesitate—I believe the advantages attached to marrying Mr. Bingley would far outweigh any familial discontent." Jane drew in a shaky breath. "But it is not to be."
Elizabeth moved to hug her sister. "I wish that it was otherwise."
"You warned me from the first that you were concerned for his dependability."
"I do not find solace in being right; I would prefer that Mr. Bingley had proved me wrong."
"As would I."
Elizabeth sighed. Nothing she could say would comfort a broken heart. For such, she now saw, her sister bore. Jane had been even more attached than she had realised. Better that Mr. Bingley showed his true character now than that Jane's affections grew further before the break. It would take time, but eventually, Mr. Bingley would be nothing more than one of their mother's anecdotes.
Eventually, Jane untangled herself from Elizabeth's arms and assumed a cheerful expression. "Well, I shall always be glad to have his example as that of a fine young man." The furrow reappeared. "What do you think it wise to tell Mama?"
Elizabeth bit her lip. "I do not know. Perhaps it would be sufficient to merely inform her of the party's return to London, rather than to tell her that it is likely they will never return." She frowned. "I do wish that if he was not going to return, he would relinquish the lease so as to allow another to let Netherfield—it would be better for the neighborhood." And better for them. Jane deserved to find happiness, and, as Netherfield was the only home in the area where new neighbours might move into, it was their only hope in attracting a suitable gentleman into their corner of the world.
Her frown deepened. Perhaps someone from Mr. Bingley's social status was the right idea for Jane. As the Bennets were minor gentry and had no estate or funds to bring to a marriage, they were unlikely to attract the attention of someone from the upper echelons of society. The Bennet pedigree would, however, be an asset to a family attempting to escape their tradesmen roots. Really, it was ridiculous that Miss Bingley could not see that. Perhaps Mr. Bingley's friendship with Mr. Darcy had sent her expectations soaring like Icarus. In the end, Mr. Bingley would likely marry someone like Jane or perhaps from an even lower social status since only his wealth made him acceptable among landed society, and even then, only to gentry who already possessed connections to trade or who were suffering financial hardship.
Her Aunt and Uncle Gardiner had connections in the world of trade, and might know of another man in Mr. Bingley's situation able to see the benefits of marrying a poor, but gentle, woman. She would speak to her aunt when they came for Christmas. Perhaps Jane could visit them during the Season next year.
Jane nodded. "It is not really our news to share, and if the Bingleys do return, I would not wish them to find the neighborhood believing their absence to be permanent."
"And there is no need to throw Mama into a tizzy," Elizabeth added with a slight smile. "She informed me just this morning that her nerves are worse than they have ever been."
"Poor Mama. She is only worried about our future, but I am sorry that she has been so harsh on you."
Elizabeth shrugged. "It is not unexpected."
"That does not make it right," Jane said sympathetically.
"True." Elizabeth forced a smile. "Well, shall we announce their departure?"
"Engaged to Mr. Collins! My dear Charlotte—impossible!" Elizabeth exclaimed. The man had only left that very morning!
On Thursday, Charlotte had arrived shortly after Jane imparted the news of the Bingleys' departure and had once more graciously entertained Mr. Collins. Indeed, Charlotte and Mr. Collins had spent most of the rest of the day together since the Bennets and Mr. Collins had been engaged to dine at the Lucases; Charlotte had kindly kept him occupied for the entirety of said dinner.
Elizabeth had been grateful beyond words not to have to endure the man's continued blathering or his resentment. She had expected him to return to Hunsford rather than remain in the house where he had been rejected. Alas, on Saturday he had intended to leave, and on Saturday he would leave.
Mr. Collins had been absent for much of yesterday, but nary a suspicion had crossed her mind—even she could not credit the speed with which he had transferred his affections. The man had been more charitable during his leave-taking last night, wishing them all, including Elizabeth, health and happiness. She had assumed he had merely (finally!) realised what a mistake it would have been for them to marry; never had she considered that he might have proposed to another.
How could Charlotte accept such an idiot?
Then again, Charlotte had long wished for her own home. And, given her new awareness of the dearth of eligible young men in Hertfordshire, Elizabeth surmised her friend considered Mr. Collins's offer a boon, despite the man's ridiculousness. But still—she could not imagine Charlotte would ever be happy with such a buffoon.
A frown flitted across Charlotte's face. "Why should you be surprised, my dear Eliza? Do you think it incredible that Mr. Collins should be able to procure any woman's good opinion, because he was not so happy as to succeed with you?"
Elizabeth took a deep breath, pushing away her skepticism. A hint of hurt lingered in the corners of Charlotte's eyes, and she did not wish to cause her friend pain. "Not at all—you are certainly worthy of any man you choose, Charlotte, and Mr. Collins is lucky to have procured your hand. I wish you all imaginable happiness."
"I see what you are feeling: you must be surprised, very much surprised, so lately as Mr. Collins was wishing to marry you. But when you have had time to think it all over, I hope you will be satisfied with what I have done," Charlotte said stiffly. "I am not romantic, you know. I never was. I ask only a comfortable home; and considering Mr. Collins's character, connections, and situation in life, I am convinced that my chance of happiness with him is as fair as most people can boast on entering the married state."
"Undoubtedly," Elizabeth said quietly. If anyone could be content with merely a household of her own to run, it would be Charlotte. She had endured much in the running of Lucas Lodge, and the way in which she managed her parents would stand her in good stead with Mr. Collins.
Charlotte did not reply, and, after an awkward pause, they returned to the rest of the family. Before long, Charlotte left. Elizabeth wished her farewell, but could not shake the shadow from her heart. The very practicality which had caused her to accept his offer would prevent her from ever being able to pretend that Mr. Collins was anything but ridiculous.
Unable to stomach the thought of her friend settling for a life of barely tolerable contentment, Elizabeth threw herself into the problem of Mr. Wickham. As the morrow was Sabbath, she began with the servants at Longbourn. Deciding that Betsey and Hill would be ideal compatriots, she went to them and cautioned them that she had heard from a reliable source that some of the militia posed a danger to young women and had a habit of acquiring debts and then not paying them. After an expression of concern that the merchants and townspeople or other servants might be injured, the women agreed to pass the news to their friends at church and to the merchants when next they shopped. She assured them that she would spread word among Longbourn's tenants on Monday.
Once again, Elizabeth considered asking her father to curtail her sisters' flirtations—even if they were not in danger from Mr. Wickham, it could not benefit their character to spend weeks or months on end with no thought in mind save attracting officers (and clearly it was harming the family as a whole). But, as every other time the thought had occurred, she dismissed it at once. Her father would likely find any excuse not to bestir himself.
Sorrow left her steps heavy as she returned to her room. Her family's wretched behaviour had chased away Mr. Bingley, and her own behaviour had ensured that Mr. Darcy would never allow him to return. Yes, it was Mr. Bingley's fault that he was not master of his own life and family; however, she could not help but grieve. There seemed no way to check her sisters or parents, particularly when her father, the most aware of the lot, refused to lift a finger.
Charlotte's predicament had driven home the stark choices she might be left with after her father's death. If Jane was not happily settled by then, Mrs. Bennet would likely sell her off to the highest bidder and count herself lucky. She would probably require such a thing of Elizabeth as well; however, Elizabeth was made of sterner stuff than Jane. If necessary, she would find a position without consulting her mother.
But . . . would she someday be desperate enough to marry a man like Mr. Collins?
No. She would rather be miserable in a position that could be changed than live a life of misery trapped in marriage to a man like Mr. Collins. And she refused to be so mercenary. Marriage should be based on love, not solely on financial considerations.
If only things did not look so grimly insoluble for her family. She hoped her aunt would provide some sage advice.