Chapter Six
Collins was perplexed.
He disliked being perplexed. Life should be simple. After all, right and wrong were easy to distinguish. Good and bad behaviors were clearly delineated by society. Moral decisions were simple as long as Collins followed the guidance of his higher power: Lady Catherine de Bourgh. He was thankful for her invaluable advice every day.
When she had sagely determined it was time for him to obtain a wife, she suggested he find someone who was not brought up too high but was also an active, useful sort of woman. It had been Collins's happy thought to choose a wife from among his cousin's daughters since they would lose their home when he inherited it.
It was an elegant solution. It helped to mitigate his guilt, and it complied in every respect with Lady Catherine's deman—suggestion. Above all, it was extremely convenient; Collins did not wish to fuss overly long about this business of finding a wife. Like most things, it should be simple and straightforward.
When Collins first arrived at Longbourn, he had fixed his attentions on Jane Bennet, who was a lovely, serene creature. But Mrs. Bennet had mentioned that her eldest was already attached to the nearby owner of Netherfield. So Collins had turned his attention to the second daughter, Miss Elizabeth, who was happily unattached. Being both active and useful, she also met the criteria Lady Catherine had enumerated. She was also healthy and strong of limb—and had all of her own teeth. She was neither too tall nor too short. And she did not wear feathers in her hair; Collins particularly disliked hair feathers. In all respects, she was admirably suited to his purposes.
Collins had been quite happy with his decision until he actually proposed to Miss Elizabeth—once he got her alone in Longbourn's drawing room. There his plans encountered an unanticipated obstacle. He had laid out all of his considerations quite rationally, assured her that he would not berate her for her lack of dowry, and embellished his proposal with all the extravagant declarations of love that women expected.
And yet she appeared to have refused him.
It was not possible she had actually refused him; that would fly in the face of reason. And Miss Elizabeth seemed to be an eminently sensible woman.
And so very pretty. Not as elegant as Lady Catherine or her daughter, but—
Aha! Collins realized what was happening as he returned his attention to the events in the drawing room. He again listed the great advantages of the match. "I must therefore conclude that you are not serious in your rejection of me. I shall choose to attribute it to your wish of increasing my love by suspense, according to the usual practice of elegant females," he informed her.
Collins expected her to laugh and bat her eyelashes, admitting that he had caught her at her game. But instead her lips—pressed firmly together—turned white, and her face grew red. Were those good signs? "I assure you, sir, that I have no pretensions whatever to that kind of elegance which consists in tormenting a respectable man." Her voice held an odd tone he could not decipher. "I would rather be paid the compliment of being believed sincere."
Collins frowned. What was her meaning? What sort of game was she playing? Perhaps it was best to be blunt. "You should take into consideration that in spite of your manifold attractions, it is by no means certain that another offer of marriage may ever be made to you," he warned her.
Her mouth hung open for a moment. Then she closed her mouth and swallowed, a uniformly charming gesture. "No, sir. You could not make me happy, and I am convinced that I am the last woman in the world who could make you so."
He smiled at her. "Your modesty does you credit, Cousin. But—"
"Really, Mr. Collins," she interrupted him, "I know not how to express my refusal in such a way as to convince you of its being one. Can I speak plainer? Do not consider me now as an elegant female intending to plague you but as a rational creature, speaking the truth from her heart."
This greatly resembled a refusal, but Collins knew it was not. There was no reason—no reason at all—that she would refuse him. Therefore, it could not be. Perhaps—ah, perhaps—the problem was a lack of formality! He knelt down somewhat awkwardly on one knee. "You are uniformly charming!" he cried, bravely ignoring the pain in his knee. "And I am persuaded that when sanctioned by the express authority of both of your excellent parents, my proposal will not fail of being acceptable."
Collins looked up to see how this speech had been received. Surely Miss Elizabeth was now prepared to admit she intended to accept him. However, the room was empty.
Really! This was taking the practices of elegant females a bit far! Collins regained his feet with the help of a conveniently located chair and strode through the open door into the hallway, which was completely devoid of inhabitants. Was she hoping he would pursue her? He had never heard of such a game, but he had never proposed before.
Perhaps he needed a pet name for her of the sort which was acceptable between husbands and wives. My precious peacock? My dearest cherub? My honey blossom? He could test them—each in turn—to discover which she liked the best. Or when he was her husband, perhaps he should simply select one for her?
Rapid footsteps sounded from the direction of Mr. Bennet's study. Ah, she had consulted with her father, and he had demanded she cease these silly games! However, it was Mrs. Bennet rather than Elizabeth who entered the room. Collins blinked in confusion.
Mrs. Bennet's hands fluttered about her like a pair of butterflies. "Oh, Mr. Collins!" she cried when she saw him.
Collins drew up to his full height, straightening his coat. "My precious honey blossom appears to have refused my suit, but I am not daunted! I have scaled higher castle walls than these. I shall cross the moat and brave the crocodiles—" Mrs. Bennet stared at him, her mouth agape.
She swallowed as her eyes darted about the room. "Lizzy can be quite stubborn in matters such as these," Mrs. Bennet admitted.
"Stubborn?" Collins frowned. "That is not a quality Lady Catherine wishes in my wife."
Mrs. Bennet glanced over her shoulder at the hallway and then stepped a little closer to Collins, lowering her voice. "In truth, Mr. Collins, Lizzy may not be the best choice for you."
He was confused; Elizabeth was his love bunny! "But—"
"Jane's hopes for Mr. Bingley have been dashed to pieces, and she is dearly in need of a… rescuer—a knight, as it were."
Collins considered this for a moment. Yes, he would dearly love to be a rescuer. He could easily envision himself sitting tall on horseback with sunlight gleaming off his armor. What a noble role to play! And Miss Jane would be so pleased by his attentions, so grateful. Much more grateful than Elizabeth, who did not yet know heartache. The more he thought on it, the more he liked the idea.
Mrs. Bennet smiled brightly. "Jane would, I daresay, make an excellent clergyman's wife. She is sweet, modest, and a good housekeeper." Mrs. Bennet kept her voice low. Did she not wish her second daughter to hear her praising the elder?
Collins blinked rapidly. He was not accustomed to redirecting his thoughts so quickly, and he must remember Lady Catherine's criteria. "But is she active and useful?" he asked.
Mrs. Bennet stared at him blankly for a moment. "Yes, yes, of course! Very active and very useful."
Collins meditated on Jane Bennet's face. She was quite the prettiest of the sisters and had a soothing serenity that would be appropriate for a clergyman's wife. Lady Catherine would find her acceptable. And after all, Miss Jane was in need of a rescuer…
He smiled. He would show the Bennet family how flexible and magnanimous he could be; he was not too fixed on one woman as his choice of wife. "Very well, I am sure Miss Bennet would be eminently acceptable."
Mrs. Bennet's shoulders sagged in relief. "Very good! Please remain here in the drawing room, and I will send Jane in directly."
Jane was reading with Kitty and Lydia in the blue parlor when her mother arrived. Her favorite poetry was no consolation today; any poem about love made her melancholy. She had switched to a popular novel, but it waxed eloquent about the love between two characters, bringing tears to her eyes. Finally, in despair, Jane had picked up Fordyce's Sermons, which did not remind her of Mr. Bingley but did little to hold her attention.
Her mother burst through the door, startling all three inhabitants of the room. "Jane, come quickly! Mr. Collins wishes to speak with you!"
Kitty and Lydia exchanged a look and giggled.
Mr. Collins? What could he possibly have to say to me? However, Jane obediently closed her book and stood. "I do not understand." She had suspected their cousin intended to ask for Lizzy's hand, but Jane knew Lizzy's temperament and knew his suit would be in vain.
"You need not understand!" her mother responded in a vexed tone. "Just come!"
Shrugging, Jane followed her mother into the hallway and through the door to the drawing room, where indeed Mr. Collins was sitting.
Mama took Jane's hand and stared meaningfully into her eyes. "Mr. Collins has had a trying day. We must do everything in our power to make him happy." Then she winked at Jane. What could her mother possibly mean?
Mama gave Mr. Collins a little smile and a wave of her handkerchief. Then…oh, merciful heavens! She quitted the room, closing the door behind her and leaving Jane alone with Mr. Collins.
Mystified and more than a little anxious, Jane seated herself on the sofa closest to the fireplace and gave Mr. Collins a tentative smile. "You wished to speak with me?"
"Yes." He took a deep breath. "Er…" He cleared his throat noisily. "Um…almost since the first day in this house I singled you out as the companion of my future life."
It took Jane a moment to decipher his convoluted syntax. Oh, Good Lord! He is proposing to me!
Jane's first impulse was to race for the door so she need not respond to Mr. Collins's proposal. Her feet twitched with the need to flee. But of course, she could never bring herself to be so impolite, so she willed her feet to immobility.
She realized Mr. Collins was still speaking. "But before I am run away with my feelings on the subject, perhaps it would be advisable for me to state my reasons for marrying…"
Jane stifled the impulse to laugh at the thought that Mr. Collins would ever allow his feelings to run away with him. As the man recited his reasons for marrying, Jane considered him. Lizzy is correct; this man is a bore and pompous as well.
"And thirdly, which perhaps I ought to have mentioned earlier, marriage is the particular recommendation of my patroness, Lady Catherine de Bourgh…"
Jane tried to concentrate on Mr. Collins's words. She really did, but it was so difficult. Why was he not saying these words to Lizzy? She was the object of his attentions but could easily say no to him.
In a sudden rush of horror, Jane realized why some of Mr. Collins's words sounded rehearsed. He had already proposed to Lizzy and been turned down! And now Mama wanted Jane to accept in her place.
Jane's stomach did a slow flip, which had nothing to do with what she had eaten for lunch. Whenever Jane thought of marriage, of walking down the middle of the Meryton church, she pictured Mr. Bingley's face at the end of the aisle. But now that was not to be.
Jane had finished shedding tears over it. She had. She was perhaps still a trifle melancholy, for Mr. Bingley was the most amiable man of her acquaintance. But she would never see him again. Netherfield would be let by another family, and someday Mr. Collins would inherit Longbourn—when he would be free to turn Jane's mother and her unmarried sisters into the hedgerows.
A little sigh escaped Jane, but Mr. Collins did not notice. What did it matter who she wed if she could not wed Mr. Bingley? She could not imagine falling in love with another man. The experience had been too painful; in the future, Jane would guard her heart.
"Let her be a gentlewoman for my sake, and for your own, let her be an active, useful sort of woman, not brought up too high and able to make a small income go a good way…"
Oh, heavens! Mr. Collins was still speaking about Lady Catherine. But Jane had no doubt she would rub along tolerably with Mr. Collins's patroness; no one ever disliked her. In this way, she supposed, she was better suited to marry Mr. Collins than Lizzy would be.
And marrying Mr. Collins would bring so much joy to so many. Her mother would be happy for the security. Her sisters would be excited that they need not leave Longbourn when Papa died. Mr. Collins would be happy to secure a bride who would be acceptable to his patroness.
Jane tried not to consider Lizzy's reaction.
Jane could not have Mr. Bingley. She could not have happiness. But if she married to secure her family's future, perhaps she could have contentment. Providing for her family would bring its own kind of happiness.
"And now nothing remains but for me to assure you in the most animated language of the violence of my affection." He landed on his knees before Jane's sofa, almost as if he were at the end of a carnival act.
Had he uttered these same words to Lizzy? She supposed he had. Well, it mattered little. Despite his passionate declarations, Jane had few illusions about Mr. Collins's sentiments. Still, he was willing to fake affection, and perhaps that was a start. Jane could pretend the affection was real and could respond with false affection of her own. He might never know the difference. Surely that was better than nothing.
Mr. Collins regarded her expectantly. Now was the time. She must make a decision. She could postpone it no longer. Jane closed her eyes and said a little prayer for forgiveness. Then she opened them and looked down at him. "Yes, Mr. Collins, I will marry you."
Bingley stood at the top of the steps, waiting as the carriage pulled to a stop before his townhouse. Then he hurried down the stairs, nearly reaching the carriage door before the footman, although he was in time to hold his mother's hand as she alighted from the vehicle.
"Thank you, Charles. It is wonderful to see you!" She gave him a sweet smile and drew him into a warm hug. Bingley squeezed her tight, conveying his love and happiness at seeing his mother again. However, she felt smaller and frailer in his arms. Had she actually lost weight, or was it his imagination?
"Six months is too long, Mama," he said as he finally released her. "Next time you travel, I pray you, do not make it such a lengthy trip."
"I do not have any future travel plans," she responded in a quiet voice. Where had her usual exuberance gone? People often compared her temperament to Bingley's own.
As always, he offered her his arm on the steps into Bingley House, but for the first time she actually leaned on him as they ascended. She stumbled twice and would have fallen the second time if Bingley had not caught her hand. It was disturbing. Of course, his mother was aging just like everyone else, but Bingley had never expected her to grow old.
"Louisa and Caroline are visiting Uncle Robert in Scarborough," he said once they had attained the front portico. "But I have written to them that you are back in England."
"It will be nice to see them," his mother responded.
As they approached, the butler whisked the door to Bingley House open, and Bingley escorted his mother into the front hallway. "Would you like to go to your room and freshen up?" he asked.
"No. I have not seen you for so long, and letters only convey so much. I will rest later." His mother took decisive steps toward the front drawing room.
Bingley shrugged. "As you wish." He sent the butler for tea and followed her. As he helped situate her on the sofa, the very fact that she did not object to his overly solicitous behavior bothered him.
"Your letters made Italy sound fascinating." He smiled at her after he had taken a seat.
His mother clapped her hands almost like a small child. "Oh, it was! The weather was delightful. And the sculptures—oh, lovely statuary everywhere you look! Your Aunt Margaret was enthralled by the food, as you can imagine."
Bingley chuckled. "If Italy was that delightful, I am surprised you returned so soon."
He meant the words as a jest, but his mother appeared unexpectedly grim. "I would have been pleased to remain longer."
Bingley's heart beat a little faster. "What do you mean? Nothing compelled you to return. I know you miss us, but—"
"Of course not. But, Charles, I…I am ill."
Bingley's heart plunged into his feet. "Ill?" he croaked.
"I experienced some fainting spells. The doctor in Italy speculated that it was my heart. He bade me return home and order my affairs."
Bingley swallowed, wishing to deny the doctor's every word. "How long…d-does he think—?" He could not bring himself to finish.
She shrugged. "He could not say. It could be years. It could be days."
Bingley blew out a breath. "Oh, Mama." He moved to sit next to her on the sofa and enveloped her in another hug. Somehow she had become even frailer in the past few minutes. "We must have you examined by a doctor here in London."
"Yes," she squeezed his hand, "but I am at peace with whatever happens, Charles. Perishing at eight and fifty would hardly be considered a life cut tragically short."
Bingley's eyes ached, and he rubbed them with his free hand. "I-I am n-not prepared to lose you."
"You will be fine." She patted his arm reassuringly. "You have stepped into your father's shoes rather well. You are a son I can be proud of."
"Thank you." Bingley blinked rapidly. "Are you in pain? What may I do to help?"
"I have occasional chest pain, not severe. But there is one thing…"
His hand enclosed hers. "Anything," he breathed.
She smoothed his hair away from his face. "I pray you, tell me you made an offer to that nice Bennet lady you described in your letters."
Bingley froze in place. His muscles locked up and prevented him from moving so much as an inch. "Offer?"
"You wrote how you were considering proposing, and on the ship from Italy my thoughts were preoccupied with the hope that you had done so. A wife will help you build a family and order your life. You are too old to flit about England, changing your mind like your sister changes clothes."
"A wife." Bingley swallowed.
She rubbed his cheek affectionately. "From your letters it seems Miss Bennet appreciates your fine qualities. I thought you might be married by the time I arrived."
His mother's eyes brimmed over with excitement and hope. The thought of extinguishing that hope crushed him. "No, not married," he admitted.
"But you did propose?" his mother asked, watching him closely.
How could he reveal the truth? That he had abandoned Jane based on unfounded suspicions? That he had yielded to his sisters' pressure and likely caused the woman he loved endless heartache? Every night he lay in bed, meditating on Jane Bennet's face and wondering if fleeing Netherfield had been the best choice. But he was too much of a coward to rectify his mistake.
Her pale blue eyes regarded him so earnestly that he could not bear to disappoint her.
No. After breaking his own heart, and likely Jane's, he could not break his mother's as well. What if her disappointment prompted a heart seizure? He could not risk worsening her health.
Bingley remained absolutely still as a moment of clarity washed over him. His mother wished to see him married. Now he realized that above all else he wished to be married. These weeks away from Jane had been colorless and bleak. Away from his sisters' constant criticism, Bingley had become dubious that the Bennets had sought to entrap him—and more convinced of Jane's true feelings.
Over the past weeks, Bingley's feelings for Jane Bennet had not dissipated as they had in his previous affaires de coeur. The persistence of such emotion proved his niggling suspicion: he was in love with her and should have proposed to her.
He was seized by an overwhelming urge to saddle his horse and gallop to Hertfordshire without delay. True, Jane might refuse him, but he did not think that likely. Surely she returned his affections.
He was decided. He would visit Hertfordshire and beg Jane's hand, in which case he need not reveal to his mother how he had abandoned his love at his sisters' behest. He was heartily ashamed of himself.
Therefore, if he told his mother he had proposed to Jane, it would merely be…premature—not an actual lie.
Bingley shoved his fingers through his hair, noting the sweat breaking out on his brow. He had never uttered such a falseho—premature declaration in his life. But his mind was decided. "You will love her, Mama. She is an angel."
"So she accepted you?"
It is for her own benefit, Bingley reminded himself. "Yes. She has the sweetest temperament—never a harsh word to say about anyone."
"She sounds well suited to you, Charles." His mother smiled beatifically at him.
He shrugged, hoping he appeared modest rather than ashamed. "She is far better than I deserve." Particularly given how I have treated her.
But Jane was a forgiving creature. Surely she would understand his reservations, and they could swiftly relegate all the unpleasantness to the past. Bingley would return to Longbourn and propose immediately. Then his mother would happily witness his wedding, none the wiser about when the proposal had occurred.
He was certain…almost certain…well, mostly certain that Jane loved him and wanted to marry him. It had only been a few weeks since he had quitted Hertfordshire. Surely she would not have forgotten him so soon. He could beg her forgiveness and ask for her hand. She was an angel; she would forgive him, and they would wed.
His mother sighed blissfully. "It sounds perfect." Bingley fervently hoped it would be.