Chapter Seven
As the Bennet sisters prepared themselves for the Netherfield Ball, Elizabeth felt as though she were on the precipice of a chasm.
What had started in her head as an almost absent idea — what if she actually married Mr. Collins? — had turned into something more serious, and Elizabeth was not quite sure how that had occurred.
It had been first what Mr. Darcy had said about the imprudence of Papa, and the necessity of losing station when he died if she did not marry well. And then there was the way Mama glowed as she watched Mr. Collins sit next to Elizabeth. Besides, if gentlemen such as Darcy were allowed to be mercenary, why should she strive to be any better?
Yes prudence, the advice of Mr. Darcy, and any concern she had for the well-being of her family all conspired to say: You ought to marry him.
Mr. Darcy had made clear, there was nothing better that Elizabeth could expect from the future.
Above all else, if she married Mr. Collins due to the way that Darcy had rejected her due to her lack of fortune, and then insulted her and her father, that would be a fitting revenge on him.
It was odd that a friendship which she had valued so greatly had seared her sense of self and her confidence in her place in society so thoroughly.
She should marry him, no matter how distasteful she found the prospect. But… his hand on her arm made Elizabeth's skin crawl. The thought of listening to him across the breakfast table every day for the rest of her life sounded worse than starving to death while wandering the howling Yorkshire moors in winter.
The rest of the girls had already gone upstairs to argue about who got which ribbon, which flowers, and which pieces of lace for their dresses. The upstairs maid was constantly called to and fro.
Elizabeth stared at the strong afternoon sun — the first time that she'd seen anything but rain for days of indoor confinement. She'd spent those days trying as hard as she could to listen to Mr. Collins. She'd had nothing to enliven her time but his comments how he would never countenance novels in the house of a clergyman, since Lady Catherine said.
Those words: Lady Catherine says. Elizabeth had learned to hate them with a sort of feeling that was more intense than she thought she could remember ever hating anything in another human before.
The leaves had completely abandoned most of the trees, but some of the oaks still retained brown leaves, and the ivy that crawled over the house still was green. The air outside was clear and still, and though Elizabeth tried to listen for it, she heard no sound of bird or beast.
A sharp knock sounded on the side of the drawing room door. Elizabeth startled and turned to see Papa standing there, his face lit by the evening sun. He grinned at her. "Startled you out of your contemplations? — I've not seen you so focused upon a matter that was not a novel for some time."
Elizabeth smiled at him, but an anger had roiled in her since Darcy had forced her to see the way that her father's care for them was deficient.
"Come. To my library." His face adopted an unusually serious manner. "I've a serious matter to speak to you upon before this ball."
As Elizabeth rose, an icy chill gripped her chest and spread through her veins. Had Mr. Collins determined that as a clergyman it was his archaic duty to speak to her father before permitting himself to speak to her? Was her fate already in the process of being determined?
She wasn't ready.
She hadn't yet convinced herself deep down that she ought to say yes, and Elizabeth did not know what she would say when faced with a moment of truth.
Except she did know. She would refuse Mr. Collins when the point came to it. She was an imprudent, sentimental fool, just like her father, and sensible gentlemen like Mr. Darcy were right to despise them.
Mr. Bennet closed the heavy door to the study room, and then in an unusual action, he locked it, saying as he did so, "Don't want your mother bothering us while we talk — or him. Lizzy, have you taken leave of your senses?"
"Whatever are you referring to, Papa?"
Mr. Bennet stared at Elizabeth. He clearly considered the subject obvious, and he was in no mood to allow Elizabeth to pretend the idiot.
The anxiety in Elizabeth grew. The blood fled her face. At last she asked, "Has Mr. Collins said something?"
"Has Mr. Collins said something?" Mr. Bennett replied sarcastically. "Has Mr. Collins said something? I thank God that we have not yet reached that stage. Or have you already given him your assent?"
"No," Elizabeth replied in a tiny voice.
"At least there is that," Mr. Bennet said. "At least. Though with the encouragement that you have seen fit to offer that gentleman, it would not shock me if he did think your assent could be dismissed with."
Elizabeth flushed. As her father's favorite she was not used to having his sarcastic anger turned on her.
"I have never been so shocked by your behavior since the day you were born."
There was nothing Elizabeth could say to reply to that, especially in her present state.
"So, are you determined to have him? Determined to ruin your own happiness? — Have you taken leave of your senses, Lizzy?"
"What if I have," Elizabeth replied, her voice rising with every word. "It would be the prudent thing to do."
"The prudent thing?" Mr. Bennet glared at her. "Since when have you been obsessed with the prudent thing?"
Elizabeth flushed.
"This is most unlike you, Lizzy. I expected to find you amused and exasperated by the absurdity of our cousin. That you seem to be seriously considering entering the married state with him baffles me."
"There are only a thousand pounds settled on me in the funds, and should you die—"
"Now you sound like your mother."
"When you die, I will not be able to maintain my station in life. It would be no pleasant thing to find myself as a dependent relation subsisting on a slender pittance."
"And given this worry — a wholly novel concern that you have never expressed before — you selected out of all of the men who might be persuaded to marry you Mr. Collins?"
"Why should I not marry him? He is an honorable man and a gentleman's son, just as I am a gentleman's daughter. And if concerns of prudence overwhelm feelings of affection in this matter, it is my own—"
"Elizabeth!"
Mr. Bennet's sharp voice silenced her.
The smell of slightly musty books and the cigars that Papa rarely used filled the room. Elizabeth's hands and feet felt cold despite the stove glowing reddish in the corner of the room.
"Lizzy." Her father took a deep breath. "To argue with a girl on a matter of marriage is utterly useless. But I will nonetheless advise you to think better of it. I know your disposition, Lizzy. I know that you could be neither happy nor respectable, unless you truly esteemed your husband, unless you looked up to him as a superior. Your lively talents would place you in the greatest danger in an unequal marriage. You could scarcely escape discredit and misery. My child, let me not have the grief of seeing you unable to respect your partner in life. You know not what you are about."
"But—" Elizabeth pressed her hands to her face. "But what else am I to do?"
"Find a worthy partner. I am certain you shall. And worry less about the matter — whatever your mother might say, the five thousand pounds settled upon her is a perfectly ample support for life and more than a few of its comforts. Less than one family in twenty in England has an income that large, and she will receive it at the cost of no work. Is being part of one of the leading families of the neighborhood worth tying yourself forever to a man such as Mr. Collins?"
Elizabeth shook her head.
"It is not?"
"No," Elizabeth said aloud. She felt numb, but also… relieved.
He took a deep breath. Papa then let it out. "Will you then abandon this notion of making yourself miserable in the name of prudence — no marriage to Mr. Collins?"
"No, I won't marry him." And now Elizabeth shakily breathed out. "I couldn't. Not even if I should."
"You shouldn't."
She had felt so awful at the prospect, and now she knew she would not, and Papa was telling her not to feel as though she was wrong to not wish it.
"That is," Papa added with a smile, "you shouldn't marry him unless you can honestly tell me that you have, for reasons beyond your own understanding, fallen desperately in love with him."
Elizabeth giggled. "You must not let me in such a case. I would assume magic, or love potions, or that I had offended the fae and fallen into the plot of A Midsummer's Night."
Mr. Bennet grinned. "I do not know who I'd choose as a son-in-law between Collins and Bottom the Ass."
"You'd be delightfully amused by either."
"True," Papa replied, "True — now what gave you this notion that your future would be so desperate that you had no good course forward except to convince one of the stupidest men in England to marry you?"
Elizabeth's mind flashed to Mr. Darcy pacing around the Netherfield library. His feet stepping over the hideous bear rug. One hand held behind his back as he spoke about how prudence, the opinions of friends and family, and every other significant consideration told him that a sensible gentleman would not marry her.
"You've been imprudent. That's the thing." Elizabeth began to cry, and she kicked her slippers off and put her feet up on the chair. "There is no dowry — and my education was so poor. I haven't gained all the accomplishments that women like Caroline Bingley have, and that a gentleman expects his wife to possess, I never was made to practice at things I did not like, and waste my time on nonsense that only exists to impress gentlemen —and now no one will marry me, and no one…"
She sobbed and pressed her face into her hands.
Mr. Bennet pulled his chair closer and put an arm around her shoulders. "My dear, my dear. Someone told you this. Someone you liked — that rich Mr. Darcy whose sister we all laughed at for running away with the steward?"
Elizabeth's sobs redoubled. "It's not right to laugh at him for that."
"Then I won't anymore." Mr. Bennet held her tighter. "Now, now. Now, now." He kissed her head. "Men of the world are often stupid, that is the way things are."
"I know. I know." Elizabeth sobbed out. "But that does not make it hurt less."
"Ah." Mr. Bennet was quiet for a while. He squeezed her. "My poor, poor dear. My poor dear, it is easy for me to make a joke of such things, but I truly am sorry that you feel so heartbroken."
"I'm not… I was never so in love that… I am not heartbroken."
"No. But you are decidedly unhappy at the thought of the matter." Mr. Bennet kissed her on the forehead. "And that is nothing to be ashamed of."
"I know." Elizabeth hugged Papa back.
Slowly she ceased to cry, and then sat back and wiped at her face with a handkerchief that Papa gave her.
"There, a little crying is sometimes a necessary thing," he said. "The soul needs tears to recover. My poor, dear Lizzy. This is the first time I think that you ever fancied yourself really in love."
Elizabeth nodded.
"It hurts now, I know, but you'll regain your happiness in time — just so long as you don't marry Mr. Collins to spite the fellow who disappointed you."
Elizabeth giggled without having expected herself ever to be able to do so. "I think that was my real intention. Or one of them. Ridiculous when you put it in such a way."
"And yet that is still only half so ridiculous as your prospective husband."
Elizabeth wetly laughed.
He smiled at her. "Promise me again that you won't marry Mr. Collins."
"I won't." Then Elizabeth smiled herself. "I fear my mother shall never speak to me again when she learns of my determination."
"Good God!" Mr. Bennet groaned. "She will be incensed."
"I shall have to tell her," Elizabeth added with a light and shaky feeling, as though she'd narrowly avoided being trampled by a horse, or set upon by a highwayman, "that you counseled me strongly against the match."
"No, no! Not your loving father, thrown to the wolves — you are right, I suppose." Papa sighed. "I ought to have made the effort to set aside a larger fund for you all." He shrugged and pulled his spectacles off to wipe them. "Your mother likes our entertainments and staff be as lavish as we can afford, and I never troubled myself to limit her more than necessary to avoid entangling my affairs in debts. By the time it was clear there would be no sons… the habits had been established. I cannot, and never could have, set aside a large enough fund to make the wealthiest men of England happy to marry you all. There is ample time with economies that will not be too onerous to set aside enough to provide more of the comforts of life should one of you fail to marry."
"You are not angry that I spoke so? It was not my place to criticize you so, I know that, but…"
"I have always encouraged you to openly express what was in your heart." Mr. Bennet laughed. "I would have spoken with a forked tongue if I complained now when you speak your true thoughts. A little anger at that young gentleman who rejected you and your worth on such foolish grounds as a small dowry."
"He also spoke of the wildness of Lydia, and of our connections to trade."
Mr. Bennet sneered. "As a brother Gardiner is worth ten of the wealthiest men in England as sons."
"I'd just read the letters that Mrs. Gardiner and little Beth had sent me when he spoke with me," Elizabeth replied. "That is part of why I was so angry at him."
Mr. Bennet embraced her again and kissed her once more on the hair. "My dear, dear girl — now off with you. Go dress for this ball."
To her own surprise, Elizabeth took considerably more than common care with her hair as she prepared for the ball that evening. Careful rubbing and scrubbing wholly removed all signs of her crying. Her foolish notion that she ought to marry Mr. Collins was gone, but she still had a foolish hope left in her heart that Mr. Darcy might see her, and… and marry her.
She was slightly in love.
A stupid, girlish feeling! Immune to sense, reason, and logic. A madness, like poets proclaimed.
In the carriage, Lydia and Kitty loudly exclaimed at each other while Mrs. Bennet happily talked over them. She was so happy that Jane would lead the ball with Mr. Bingley, and she was almost as happy that Elizabeth and Mr. Collins were to dance the first.
Mr. Collins made his ordinary remarks upon how unordinary his fine luck was to be possessed of such exemplary cousins as the lovely ladies he sat in the carriage with.
And Elizabeth was almost… almost… completely happy again. Papa's face was lit by the reddish glow of the setting sun shining through the clouds, and they'd smile at each other as they always had when someone else in the carriage said something particularly absurd.
Papa had a pleased air to him. Very satisfied, and happy about the result of their conversation, and she was as well. Marrying Mr. Collins? How had a notion so absurd ever entered her mind?
Upon their arrival at Netherfield, with its sprawling manicured lawns, tree-lined driveway and elegant façade, the Bennet party was greeted at the door by their hosts.
Elizabeth's eyes immediately sought out Mr. Darcy.
He looked at her with an unsettling intensity. His dark eyes were clear, his face was closely shaven, and it appeared as though he'd had a haircut in just the past week. The green coat he wore set off his silk waistcoat, and he wore tightly tailored white breeches that looked as though they belonged in a fashion plate.
They shook hands silently as the Bennets passed through the receiving line. A shiver of excitement coursed through Elizabeth when their eyes met.
While they waited for the dancing to begin, Mr. Collins took Elizabeth's arm to lead her to the side of the main hall that had been cleared of tables to provide space for the dancing couples.
This morning her arm would have crawled and shrank away when he touched her. And now she simply did not care. He was no longer an object of anything but amusement and occasional frustration. Though unfortunately, Elizabeth was fairly certain that she could not dissuade him from making her an offer at this late date.
"Cousin, cousin!" he said loudly as they waited for the music to start. "I am most pleased that you will be dancing the first two dances with me. I do not intend to dance to excess — only a little with my other cousins, as while it is in keeping with a clergyman's dignity to engage in a few dances at a private ball such as this — which can tend towards no mischief or great moral failing. Even Mr. Darcy's presence as a host will not tend to ill moral consequences, since he has detached himself from his sister and her well-known deficiencies of character."
"Do they, now? — which deficiencies of character do you refer to?" Elizabeth smiled in a mocking way, as she was more than a little annoyed with the apparent attitude of her cousin.
"Why marrying without the blessing of her family and guardian. And marrying a man who was so baseborn."
"She married him," Elizabeth replied sharply. "There was imprudence certainly, but I rather approve of that sort of imprudence which places considerations of character and affection above those of birth and fortune."
"Oh, you are wholly charming! But I assure you, Lady Catherine has spoken at length upon the match, and she disapproves of it."
It was all Elizabeth could do to not laugh at the tone with which Mr. Collins delivered this statement of his patroness, as though her word were always sufficient to end any dispute.
Shortly after the time settled for the dance to begin, and those happy invited who had tarried too long at their toilette would need to console themselves for being greeted at the grand door by the dignified dark suit of the butler, rather than Mr. Bingley and his party.
Bingley approached them and he took Jane's arm and led her to the front of the line for their dance.
Elizabeth noted that Mr. Darcy led Mrs. Hurst out, while her husband had his sister-in-law for the first. That was very like him. She'd noticed that Darcy had a desire to avoid indicating any preference to Miss Bingley, and that it was clear that the attractions of his fine estate and great fortune were of greater significance to her than the tarnish upon the Pemberley plate given by the unfortunate marriage of his sister.
Darcy's attention was more upon her than upon his partner. And Elizabeth's eyes searched more for Mr. Darcy than upon Mr. Collins.
The two of them shared a sequence of half hidden glances. And each time their eyes met her cheeks flushed and her stomach leapt. Potentiality and possibility wound down her spine. Anything might be possible tonight.
The ensemble of musicians on their raised platform began the first piece of music, a complicated melody with a lively tempo, in which the sound of the oboe intermixed with that of the violins and cellos.
Mr. Collins continually spoke during the dance, but Elizabeth barely attended to him. However, she spoke brightly, and with unusual enthusiasm and lightness of spirit on those brief occasions when he ceased his monologue.
These moments became rather more frequent, and Elizabeth's mood rose yet higher during the second of the two dances. Despite this being only the first dance of the night, Mr. Collins was unused to any substantial amount of exercise, and he was out of breath, red faced, occasionally gasping like a fish. Elizabeth cheerfully and energetically performed her steps, while keeping a half bit of attention on her feet, so that she could swiftly pull them out of the way when he nearly stomped on them.
Darcy watched her.
As soon as they left the dance floor, Charlotte approached Elizabeth and Mr. Collins.
"Mr. Collins," she said with a false smile, "please, might you get a drink for Miss Eliza — and I beg you, one for me as well."
"What, what? Oh, yes! Of course. Such lovely ladies as yourselves must be parched and overheated after such a dance." Mr. Collins pulled out his handkerchief and wiped off his forehead, and then pulled at the white clerical collar he always wore to wipe at the sweat around his still sweaty neck. "What do you prefer?"
"The punch. Get the punch for us both. I am very grateful for your kindness." She smiled. "But please hurry."
Charlotte made a shooing motion, and with a spring to his step Mr. Collins marched off to obey her commands.
"You manage him well," Elizabeth said admiringly. "I must learn your secret of it."
"You'll need to know it if you plan to marry him," Charlotte said with a surprising harshness to her voice. "Eliza, are you out of your senses?"
The way her friend glared at her startled Elizabeth. And then she started laughing, the similarity in her words and tone to her father's this afternoon was too amusing to ignore. "But are you not the one who always preaches the importance of prudence in settling upon one's partner in life?"
Charlotte watched her laugh with ill-disguised impatience. "I am serious, from a prudential standpoint it is a reasonable match, but such a man would make you miserable, and you can do much better."
"But while I might find a wealthier man than he, I could never find one so sermonizing."
"Eliza, I beg you, more than I ever have before, to be serious when you consider this. It is no matter for amusement. His nature is wholly contrary to yours. You laugh at him now, but once you are married and forced to deal with the inanity every day, your lively mind and manners would either lead you to make a mockery of your own husband or to the deepest depression."
"Charlotte, my dear friend." Elizabeth took her hand. "I am truly touched that you care enough to advise me against what you believe would be my inclinations — but you need not fear. I have already determined not to have him."
"Then why were you so lively while you danced? — oh!"
Charlotte's smile turned sly. "Another gentleman had your interest? One who is tall, and with intense eyes that regularly turn on you."
Elizabeth flushed. "Nothing will come of it — he's said enough to tell me that he will not ignore his own prudential considerations."
"But you admit to yourself your own interest?" Charlotte's eyes still had a sly smile.
Elizabeth blushed further.
Mr. Collins returned. He awkwardly held three glasses in two hands. As he tried to hand them over one flopped out of his fingers and sprayed over Charlotte's dress.
As the gentleman desperately tried to apologize to her, Charlotte smiled widely at Mr. Collins as she accepted his apologies. She did not let him give over his sweat soaked handkerchief to wipe herself off with but patted at the dress with the handcloths that the servants immediately brought. "No, no worries."
"You must take my own drink as compensation," Mr. Collins said. "I am quite too awkward — I usually never spill anything, but—"
"No worries at all." Charlotte happily took the drink from him once she'd done what she could with her dress. It fortunately had been white wine, and other than a lingering smell, Charlotte would look almost in order in a half hour. "I wished to ask, since you have spoken of her so many times, how were you so fortunate as to meet Lady Catherine?"
"This is one of my favorite tales in my whole life! I had only just finished my studies, and—"
Elizabeth's attention was taken by Mr. Darcy.
He walked towards them; his demanding gaze fixed on her. "Dance the next with me."
Not a question but a statement.
Elizabeth swallowed, nervously ducked her head, and then replied without a smile, "I cannot, I am engaged to dance with Mr. Lucas, but the following dance."
This answer clearly did not wholly satisfy Mr. Darcy. After a long piercing stare, he said, "We shall dance the following then."
He looked at Mr. Collins intently, with a sort of revulsion in his gaze. Mr. Collins seemed not to understand the meaning of Darcy's intense look, and with a happy smile he exclaimed, "You do great honor to my cousin by dancing with her."
"No. She does great honor to me."
And then he retreated to the other side of the room.
"You are so fortunate, Miss Elizabeth!" Mr. Collins's eyes glowed. "To have an opportunity to dance with the great Mr. Darcy himself! The scion of two old and landed families. His estate is one of the most eligible in the realm. Though unfortunately the Darcy family has never been titled, which would have been proper given the greatness of its land holdings in Derbyshire."
"I have heard of his wealth, and that he owns half of Derbyshire."
"Oh no, not quite half—"
"I mean to say," Elizabeth said smiling, "that it is well known that he is a gentleman of great consequence."
"Yes. He is Lady Catherine's favorite nephew."
"Now that surprises me," Charlotte said. "Mr. Darcy hardly seems to have the same sort of habits and modes of behavior as what I imagine Lady Catherine to have."
"They are both grand personages, how can they be different in any important respect?"
Charlotte opened her mouth and then shrugged. "I shall not argue upon that."
She and Elizabeth shared a small secret smile.
"Further Mr. Darcy is to marry Lady Catherine's daughter Anne de Bourgh."
"What!" Elizabeth exclaimed. "He is engaged to be married?"
"Whilst in their cradles Lady Anne and Lady Catherine planned their children's marriage. When it is accomplished the two of them will unite to form one of the greatest estates in the land."
"And a happy couple I am sure," Charlotte said quietly, placing a comforting hand on Elizabeth's arm.
"How could anyone blessed with such natural abilities and a fortune of such great size not be happy?"
She'd had some hope.
There had been some remaining hope in her heart.
It was like an iron vise squeezed her chest.
"But is this certain, that he shall marry Miss de Bourgh?" Charlotte asked. "I wonder if—"
"Lady Catherine speaks of the match frequently. It is a matter which delights her to talk about beyond any other."
Why hadn't he ever spoken of this engagement before? What had he been about! He had represented himself to them as a man who was free.
Darcy noticed her stare at him, and he turned to look at her.
She immediately looked away, but then glanced back, needing to look at him. Despite his high-handed manners, despite the way that he had not spoken of his engaged state, he was exactly the man who she loved.
Her eyes stung.
She couldn't cry. Crying would leave streaks in the light rouge she'd placed around her face.
Mr. Lucas approached her and his sister to claim her for the promised dance. He possessed his usual cheerful smile, and filled the dance with light conversation about horses, novels, and the prospects for improvement of their estate.
He joked with her about Mr. Collins having at last perhaps caught the eye of the Lady Elizabeth. However, Elizabeth's emotions made it impossible for her to respond properly to the raillery. She could neither muster the spirit to deny the insinuation, nor to jokingly pretend it might be true.
After some minutes Mr. Lucas came to see that she was not in her ordinary lively mood, and he quieted as well, only remarking occasionally on commonplaces as they both focused on stepping properly through the forms of the dance.
When the dance ended, he briefly squeezed her hand. "Eliza, whatever the matter is, I do dearly hope that you will think it through. If you are seriously considering a marriage to Mr. Collins, you should not if the thought makes you so miserable. The position of your family truly is not so difficult that even in the worst case—"
"Must everyone counsel me not to marry that man?"
Mr. Lucas stepped back, smiled with a confused air, as though he was not quite sure what to do when the almost always cheerful and lively Elizabeth spoke in such an angry manner.
He held up his hands. "I know better than to give you any advice then, but I do beg you to speak to Charlotte about the matter if you are uncertain. She always gives good advice."
"I might, I might when I have the opportunity, and—"
Mr. Collins had stepped up to her, and he possessively laid a hand on her arm. "My lovely cousin, you must agree with me to dance the supper dance."
Elizabeth stared at him. She stared through him.
Without faltering, Mr. Collins added, "I have now done my duty as a clergyman and a member of this family and engaged each of your sisters to dance. Further I asked your friend Charlotte Lucas, but I of course have a particular interest in showing preference to you. I imagine you understand what I refer to, and I will be most pleased when—"
"No."
"Most pleased," Mr. Collins repeated, seemingly unperturbed by her refusal — likely not even understanding it — "when I have the honor to take you upon the floor for the second time. You shall be the only lady who I honor by—"
"Mr. Collins, I will not dance with you again. Excuse me, I must find my partner for the next dance."
She walked away, hating that John Lucas had watched this exchange, and knowing that she had been unjustifiably rude.
Mr. Collins gaped after her, opening and closing his mouth repeatedly like a toad who wanted to swallow a fly.
She'd been so rude because of the pain she still felt in her chest — Mr. Darcy ought to have said it himself, long ago — Mr. Collins had merely informed her. He had done nothing to justify such impoliteness as she'd shown.
She should turn back and apologize but instead she walked directly towards Mr. Darcy.
Their gazes intertwined. Her angry glare turned into something softer.
Planned while in their cradles.
His awful father!
The need to marry his cousin for the glory of the family name had no doubt been pounded into Darcy along with everything else. And he still believed his father's awful lie; deep down Darcy still believed that he was unworthy of love, affection, or pride if he did not act in every way as a worthy heir to the Darcy name.
By the time she reached him, she more wanted to cry for him than to scream at him.
If she'd been obligated to marry a person for whom she likely cared very little — someone perhaps like Mr. Collins — she would not speak of it often either.
When Elizabeth reached him, she gave him her hand, and he took hers and led her out onto the dance floor. Her small hand in his large one. She hurt like she'd been shot through, and she felt like a happy gooey porridge at the same time — it made no sense.
Neither spoke, though they moved as one, and stood very close.
It was impossible for Elizabeth to hate him, even a little.
The intricate melody provided by Bingley's fine chamber ensemble began with a high tone from an aching violin before it settled into the rhythm of the dance.
They began the steps together, and Darcy danced better than anyone who Elizabeth had ever partnered with. Even the masters who had taught her and her sisters the forms could not have matched his agility.
"Miss Elizabeth, we must have some conversation."
"Do you as a rule talk while you dance?"
"I—" He seemed stymied by something in her tone. "It is a rule with me to speak when I am with you."
Elizabeth's face flushed hot and cold.
The way he spoke — his manner was pointed, and his eyes were clearly kept on her.
She suddenly could not meet his eyes. There was something in her heart, something that was soft, tender, and desperately heartbroken. This time she was fully heartbroken. The tears were nearly there again, and she would not cry.
Not even though he would marry his damned cousin. He was an honorable man who would never break a settled engagement, even if those considerations of prudence he had spoken of in the Netherfield library did not control him.
Do not be a silly schoolgirl.
Elizabeth kept looking down. It was impossible to meet his eyes right now.
"Elizabeth, I have thought… I have considered a matter a great deal. What you said about Mr. Collins when we spoke in your aunt's drawing room, about how you required another option, and—"
"Oh! Yes," Elizabeth spoke over him and she brightly looked up suddenly. Her words had a sugary viciousness to them. "I hear that I must congratulate you."
"What?"
"Yes, I hear," Elizabeth tried to keep her voice light and cheery… or brittle, broken, "that you are to marry your cousin, and thus unite two of the greatest estates in England. That will be a very fine estate once—"
"My cousin? Who do you — Anne. You mean Miss de Bourgh. By every—" He clamped his mouth tightly shut.
"I'm rather surprised that you have hidden this happiness from us all! In your cradles. That's what Mr. Collins said. You planned this marriage in your cradles. You must be so fortunate to have known always who you would marry, and—"
"Elizabeth." His intense voice stopped her. His eyes were fiery. "I am not going to marry Anne. I never assented to this scheme of my aunt's and mother's. And I certainly did not plan any marriages while I was in my cradle."
"But—"
"Neither of us have ever been inclined to make this marriage a reality. The scheme exists only in my aunt's head, and I shall have harsh words with her now that I know she has been speaking of it as though it were a reality."
"Oh."
Neither of them spoke.
He was free.
Free.
Mr. Darcy was still free to contract a marriage as he wished.
The second dance of the set began. Mr. Darcy smiled at her, "Did it matter so much to you? This news about my engagement?"
Elizabeth flushed to her toes.
His intent eyes. Her stomach was queasy and fluttered, color climbed her neck. "I merely was surprised. You never acted as though you were engaged."
"Because I was not."
"I am glad." Oh no. That was something she should not have said. It was too pointed.
But Mr. Darcy only smiled at her. "And you? Am I to wish you joy with Mr. Collins? I overheard your mother speaking about how the family estate was to be saved, and the likelihood of the match."
"Would that make you unhappy?" The schoolgirl was gone. Elizabeth spoke boldly, her eyes on Mr. Darcy.
"I—" He pressed his hand against his mouth, breaking the form of the dance. It seemed he could not speak. Then he said raggedly, "Yes, very unhappy."
Elizabeth smiled and looked down. "I am not engaged to marry him."
"I mean." Darcy let out a shaky breath. "I am glad to hear that. That nothing has been settled."
"And?"
"We must find an opportunity to speak in greater privacy."
Elizabeth's mouth went dry.
She had gone through a greater tumult of emotions in the past half of an hour than in the entire previous course of her life. Did Darcy's current words mean what she suspected they did?
And—
She refused to think further. She merely focused on the dance.
Neither spoke another word until it was done, but Elizabeth's hand shook, and Darcy looked stiff with nerves as well.
Darcy led her off the dance floor, and they both gathered drinks from the table. It was less crowded around the buffet than after the first dance, when everyone was thirsty for their first chance to judge the quality of Bingley's wine.
The two looked at each other as they sipped the bubbling white wine.
"It is rather too hot," Elizabeth said hesitantly, "after that dance."
"Too many people in one room—" Darcy agreed. "Scarcely a chance to breathe."
By mutual agreement they went out to one of the balconies that looked out over Netherfield's park, and they leaned against the nearly freezing railings. They stood just a few inches apart from each other. While they were lit from within by the many candles and lights in the ballroom, no one else was out on this balcony.
The sound of a cheerful reel played from within, and Elizabeth recalled that she had a partner she ought to seek out for the next dance, but she hadn't the slightest desire to do so.
She was so aware of Darcy's bare hand, a vague shape in the darkness, just a few inches from her own. No one would know — only he would know — if she slid her fingers over and let them cover his silently.
She did so.
"I cannot," he suddenly said. His voice was rough and raw. "It is impossible. My feelings do not allow it. I cannot let you marry that man."
"Mr. Darcy, I—"
"Marry me instead. You challenged me to provide an alternative, so I shall."
Elizabeth flushed with joy, but she was not surprised. Deep down she had known since the instant their eyes had met when she entered the hall an hour earlier that he would ask her to marry him.
"I—"
"This is an act contrary to my past character, to my name, to my ordinary judgement, to my habits, to the wishes of my family, and, I need not add to my own best interest. However, it would torture me endlessly if I imagined you married to that barely articulate baseborn, fat faced toad of my aunt's. You who are perfect in every way and deserving of every distinction — you deserve to meet my aunt as her equal not her subordinate."
How to receive such a speech!
Elizabeth's emotions were so twisted and torn between elation, fear, and no small part of anger in response to that speech, it was impossible for her to decide what she felt or what to say.
The silence continued, and Elizabeth opened and closed her mouth several times, but never did she properly begin upon a speech.
"Please, Elizabeth, dearest Elizabeth, say something and relieve me from this tension."
But there was that in his voice which told Elizabeth that Darcy, for good reason, had no doubt about the positive reception of his suit. However much he might confess to nervousness, his actual emotions partook more of confidence than fear about her response.
It was that sense — that sense that he had no notion of how offensive the beginning of his speech was to her ears that began to give the anger a preponderance in her emotions.
"As your friend, surely you don't expect me to simply agree to a proposal which you insist is against your best interests." The harshness of Elizabeth's tone startled them both.
The night air was hard, nearly freezing. A breeze blew over her bare neck and through the thin ball dress. But the coldness of her body was nothing to her.
When Elizabeth did not say any more, Mr. Darcy at last said, "And is that all the response you shall give me the honor to receive?"
"What do you wish me to say!"
"I wish you to say that you are grateful to accept the sacrifice that I am making on your behalf, so that you need not marry Mr. Collins for prudence's sake."
"I'm not going to marry damned Mr. Collins, because I am as much an imprudent fool as my father — so now that you know that you'd be marrying a fool, who is in fact wholly immune to mercenary considerations of that sort, do you still wish to make this offer? Now that your fantasies shall not be filled with the horrid image of me in a marital embrace with that toad, while your aunt watches, will you now withdraw this offer? This offer that is against the wishes of everyone who ever gave a thought to you, since their opinions have a greater weight in your soul than your own."
"I certainly do not care more for the opinions of my family than for my own."
"You can remain happy. I can promise you: I won't marry Mr. Collins. So, go. Go — you don't have to sacrifice yourself to me. I don't want anyone to sacrifice their happiness, their judgement, anything for me. If I'm not worthy to be your wife, then I'm not worthy. You do not wish to marry me — you never will — you… you… oh! I have been such a fool!"
And with that Elizabeth buried her face in her hands and sobbed.
Mr. Darcy stood by her awkwardly. He pressed her shoulder. "Don't cry, don't cry — I do wish to marry you. I do — it only is, there are so many considerations against it, and—"
"Just go."
"Elizabeth, I love you, I wish to marry you, and—"
"Would you accept my family, my connections in trade, my mother — and me, with few accomplishments, no dowry, and little to say for herself but a handsome person and a clever wit? — would you truly, truly in the depths of your heart be happy to marry me? Or once the vows were said, would you deep down despise our marriage as yet another way that you have failed your father, and failed to be the perfect Darcy heir?"
He stared at her, and in the darkness, she could not read his face.
No reply.
Elizabeth shivered in the cold. She took a deep breath, wiped at her eyes, patted her cheeks, pulling at them to try to get a color that would not be obviously from crying. She harshly pressed her wrist against the railing, since she knew that splashing cold water on the wrist could reduce the effect of crying on her appearance, so it stood to reason that making it cold in another way might effect a similar change.
There was nothing else to be done, nothing else she could do.
"My father said something to me this afternoon. It was about Mr. Collins." Elizabeth spoke as she pulled at her cheeks. "He begged me to not give him the grief of seeing me unable to respect my partner in life. Mr. Darcy, you must marry only when you can wholly respect your partner in life." Elizabeth briefly pressed a hand on Darcy's arm. "I do, I truly do feel the honor of your request for my hand, but it is impossible for me to accept your offer, though I wish, I truly wish I could."
He did not stop her when she returned through the French style doors to the ballroom.