Elizabeth Bennet
Longbourn, Hertfordshire
Meeting Mr. Collins had been just as awful, if perhaps not even more so, than Elizabeth had imagined. Although, even in her worst dreamings she had not visualized him for what he was, an unctuous young man, stooped, with greasy hair and a slick, shining round face. His visual appeal, lacking as it was, would not have been an issue if he'd had a kind and open heart, but he did not.
From the moment he entered Longbourn, he practically had Mrs. Bennet in vapors as he surveyed the house with a hawk's eye, implying with just a look and a few words that he was pleased the house had been kept up so well for him as he would be inheriting it sooner rather than later.
Elizabeth had never met so mean-spirited a man in all her life, and if it had not been for the way she clenched her hands until her nails bit into the soft flesh of her palms, she would have slapped him. Her mother may have often been insufferable, yes, but that did not mean he had to torment the woman so with the impending death of her husband and the loss of her home. Mr. Collins frequently mentioned the future, and poor Mrs. Bennet had been nearly reduced to vapors.
Perhaps, perhaps, Elizabeth could have given herself to attempting to love the man if he had been even remotely polite, distantly cool and removed. But he was none of those things, slavering over Jane until Mrs. Bennet made it clear that she was off the market and as good as asked for. Mr. Collins had then gone about switching his attentions in the next breath to Elizabeth, praising her quiet and meek nature (this comment caused her father to cough so loudly that they had all been convinced he was choking - and Mrs. Bennet had near melted into a fit at the thought she might lose her husband right at the dining table).
Elizabeth thought that Mr. Collins was a mean, weak-spirited man, and to top it off he was entirely ridiculous. So when he requested, from her father, an audience from her alone, she made as if she had a sudden urgent feminine business to take care of, and exited the house as quickly as possible by way of the back garden gate. She ran down the path through the herbs that pushed up towards the sky, and out to her favored copse of trees.
There she hid behind a large and friendly oak, breathing hard. She had just let her eyes close to rest for a moment when she heard a rustle in the brush.
"My pardon," came a gentleman's voice, and she stood up straight, startled and for a moment feared that Mr. Collins had followed her there.
Instead a young gentleman, of perhaps five and twenty, stood across the clearing from her, dressed in a morning suit meant for walking. He was handsome, quite a bit more striking than men were wont to be, and he had dark hair the color of honey, and a set of dreamer's blue eyes. Such a contrast from the villainous Mr. Collins in his demeanor as well.
"I did to mean to startle you," he began, as she spoke at the same time-
"I was just enjoying the fresh air-" she explained. They both fell quiet, and he gave a low chuckle.
"It is perhaps not the best way to introduce oneself to a lady, but as there is none of your family about for me to make proper greetings to…" He doffed his hat and approached her, giving a low bow. "Mr. George Wickham, recently of Kent, at your service."
His manners were so very pretty that she felt an odd sort of flush come over her cheeks, but it may have at the same time been from her running escape from Longbourn's walls and Mr. Collins presumed offer of marriage.
"Miss Elizabeth Bennet, of Longbourn, just by the creek up the road," she said as she curtseyed. "Where in Kent, then, Mr. Wickham?"
She heard in the distance, the sound of someone, likely her mother, calling her name. She ignored it. She would not marry Mr. Collins. She would not allow him to even propose to her. The thought was reprehensible. Let Kitty, or Mary, take on the task of turning him into a manageable husband. Mary had given the man many a long, moon-calf look, taken in by his religious nature and not seeing past it to the small-minded shriveled-hearted old-cork of a person he was.
"Ah, my father was, until recently, the steward at Pemberley, and I have, at his last requests, gone on travel to see the country so that I might better learn about the different ways in which people live," Mr. Wickham said. She felt a pang for him.
"Did you lose your father then, quite recently, Mr. Wickham? I am so sorry for your loss."
"It is a time that comes to us all, when we lose our parents, beloved to us or not," he said sagely, looking down at the ground. He mourned still, that was clear, despite his otherwise cheerful nature. She heard another call of her name, closer this time.
"Have you seen Meryton, Mr. Wickham, if you have made your travels here? I promise you, that your visit will not be complete until you have explored Meryton fully," she said, pushing herself away from the tree and not bothering to worry about how very forward she was being in that moment, with her only thought to be away from the house, and away from where Mr. Collins could corner her to ask his dreaded question.
"Ah-" a flicker on his face almost made her stomach drop, as she thought he might call her out on the inappropriateness of her question, and the implication that she might be the one to show him around- but then it faded. "No, I have not been to Meryton," he said with a shake of his head. His eyes flicked past her, in the direction of the voice that called for her a third time. "Perhaps you would like to show me?" he asked, and in that moment where he did not point out that someone was quite clearly looking for her, he became a greater man in her immediate esteem.
"Yes, I would adore the very thought," she breathed, stepping towards him and off to the path he had come by. "It is not very far, a short walk. Let us go. Now."
He offered her his arm, and she resisted the urge to look behind her as they left the clearing, and Longbourn, behind.
New chapters uploaded on Fridays, but you may find it in its entirety on Amazon now by searching for 'Nora Kipling - A Required Engagement'.