WARNINGS: This fic does something very uncommon, though not unheard of or particularly triggering, but many of you will dislike it. There's a spoilerish hint at the very bottom of Chapter 1 if you just need to be warned, but otherwise carry on. I rated it M for safety, but there will be some non-explicit sexual plotlines, barely suitable for a T.

A/N: I wrote the first chapter about an hour after the concept occurred to me and worked out the rest of the story over a single sleepless night. Let's see how it plays out.

I'm doing something I used to do back in the day. I don't have an outline or even a vague plan. I'm going to just toss the first chapter over the wall, and then push each subsequent chapter when it's ready. Means it might take a month or two to finish, and I wouldn't be surprised by some logical holes or timeline errors. Doubling my planned length would not be unprecedented, but since I have even less of a plan than usual I suppose it will be 10-50 chapters ;)

I had a ladder collapse on me yesterday and fell 8 feet, which was less fun than it sounds like. I broke my heel, and my ankle looks like a tennis ball. Looks like a couple months of sitting around like a lump on a log, and we had to cancel our family trip to Madrid ;( Might make this one come out faster, though.

Wade

31 December 1811

Elizabeth Grace Bennet, wilt thou have William Thaddeus Colins to be thy wedded husband, to live together after God's ordinance in the holy estate of Matrimony? Wilt thou obey him, and serve him, love, honour, and keep him in sickness and in health; and, forsaking all others, keep thee only unto him, so long as ye both shall live?

The pause was pregnant, uncomfortable, and extended. You could have heard a pin drop in the crowded chapel, particularly since the bride's reluctance was so well-known there were bets on whether she would actually pull the trigger or not when the moment of truth came.

Elizabeth Bennet knew all this, but she no longer cared. She knew her mother despised her and blamed her for every ill tiding of her life, but she no longer cared. She knew her lackadaisical father had chosen the easy way to solve a quarter-century of indolence and he would crawl back into his books with nary another thought for his supposedly favourite daughter, but she no longer cared. She knew her friend Charlotte Lucas thought she was being inordinately silly to even think twice about an eligible offer a near spinster would happily kill for, but she no longer cared. She knew for a fact that three of her four sisters would never—till their dying days—appreciate or even understand the sacrifices she made for them, but she no longer cared. Worst of all, the absolute worst, was that she knew beyond doubt that she was about to finish the half-done task of breaking the heart of the only person in the world she truly cared about, but she no longer had any choice.

Much as she hated what had to be done, she could not quite force herself to cast her sisters into disrepute, condemnation, isolation, and likely eventual genteel poverty. She would have accepted all the poverty in the world for herself without a second thought, but neither her eminently-admirable sister, nor the far lesser ones deserved to be condemned to spinsterhood by the actions of their mother, who was either mercenary or frightened, depending on whether the assessment came from Elizabeth or Jane.

With a resigned sigh, Elizabeth realised that someday she might care about something, but not for some time. Perhaps she might have children who were more attractive than her husband if she kept them away from him as much as possible. Perhaps a parson's wife had things she could do for the poor or the parish that would give her life meaning and respect—if she was allowed. Perhaps her husband could be trained to be less of a bumbling, sycophantic clodpole. Perhaps… perhaps… perhaps… that was the most optimistic phrase she could manage: Perhaps.

She finally held her head high, looked the vicar directly in the eye, and said the fateful words with pride and bravery. "I will."

Grumbles went through the crowd as winners and losers were chalked up. The winners congratulated themselves on their improved prosperity, while the less fortunate consoled themselves with being far from the worst loser of the day.

Mrs Bennet carried on in her usual vulgar manner, entirely leaving out the part about how she forced a compromise on her own daughter after she refused the heir to the estate four times; or how her father, in the end, supported his wife over his daughter and said she should have locked her doors better.

Everybody knew she was a reluctant bride at best, but nobody mentioned it—or at least, they would not if a marriage took place. If not, God help the Bennets, who they would happily cast into the mud and tromp on. After all, given the extreme dearth of men in the neighbourhood, having one matron take five of the handsomest women in the district off the market in one fell swoop was a boon no other father or uncle could afford to pass up. Husband hunting was not a game for the weak. A wedding was the Divine Remedy that washed away all reputational issues, and the only real way to keep the stain of the compromise from spreading to Jane and her other sisters.

The remainder of the ceremony proceeded in the usual way, with the vicar who had baptised Elizabeth twenty years earlier looking like he would rather be anywhere else, doing anything else. The register was produced in due course, and Elizabeth signed the name 'Bennet' for the last time right next to Jane's, frowning intently, then they exited the church.

By her own demand, they walked from the door of the church directly to their rented chaise for the eight-to-ten-hour journey to Hunsford.

Mrs Bennet thought her daughter was just churlishly punishing her mother by denying the glory of a proper wedding breakfast, but actually, Mrs Collins no longer allowed her mother's happiness, despair, or any other feeling, to affect her life. While she might have wanted to say goodbye to her friends (all the while pretending they would not have happily stabbed her in the back if she had not gone through with it), she demurred for a very practical reason. She did not trust anybody, including—or perhaps especially—herself. She did not trust Jane not to burst into tears at the double heartbreak she was enduring. She did not trust her three younger sisters to behave with any vague semblance of propriety, let alone gratitude. She did not trust her parents to stop the younger sisters from misbehaving on their last week of relative freedom.

Most importantly, she could not trust herself to refrain from berating her parents loudly and publicly, which would accomplish less than nothing, now that the die was cast.

She took the time to hug Jane fiercely, reiterate her desire for Jane to visit in the spring, and impress on the three younger sisters the need to enjoy school and make her proud—little heed though they paid to her words.

Her father came next, but he got no hugs, no smiles, no kind words, no curtsies, no nothing. Her only goodbye was a short and emphatic statement. "I expect letters from three schools every fortnight without fail. See if you can do this one thing right."

Without the courtesy of awaiting an answer, she turned her wrath on Mrs Bennet, who was bouncing on her toes just itching to start boasting about having such an advantageous match, and the fact that she would never have to leave Longbourn.

Elizabeth snarled, "Do not ever speak to me again! Aside from that, be gone from this house within a fortnight of your husband's demise. I will not have you within a mile of my home. I recommend, in the strongest possible terms, that you start saving money for your dotage."

Then she turned to her husband, who, while not particularly bright, was hopefully not the worst of men. She supposed time would tell. She could not prove whether he was actively complicit in her mother's schemes or just a useful idiot. In the end, she supposed it did not matter. He was what he was, and aside from wanting to rip his tongue out half the time, the worst she could definitively accuse him of was the disrespect of ignoring her first four rejections. The smug expression he had about finally winning his heart's desire did not help his case, but he at least had strong enough survival instincts to refrain from boasting (on his own behalf or Lady Catherine's).

With a last look around at the home of her youth that she had no intention of stepping foot in until her father's demise, Mrs Elizabeth Collins allowed her new husband to hand her into the carriage and began the voyage to her new life.

As they passed the lynch gate, she remembered snatches of a conversation she overheard back in her girlhood between Mr Collins and Mr Darcy. Collins had mentioned his desire to marry a local lady who was familiar with the area, though he was not specific.

"It must be very agreeable for her to be settled within so easy a distance of her own family and friends," Mr Darcy had said, not seeming particularly interested.

"An easy distance, do you call it? It is nearly fifty miles," Collins squeaked in some alarm, having experienced the journey once.

Elizabeth found the discussion amusing at the time. Mr Collins had arrived via post with a rather poorly planned itinerary, so it took him most of a day and night to make the journey, even though post should have managed the trip in about seven hours with careful planning.

Elizabeth Bennet enjoyed the man's shock at it being called an easy distance, safe in her belief that women had one choice in their lives. At the time, she believed Mr Collins might or might not eventually propose to her, presuming her plan to redirect him to Mary, or Charlotte, or anyone else, failed. If he did, she would decline, and he would accept it like a man. No clergyman would ever try to force his attentions on an unwilling bride. After all, lack of consent from the bride was one of the very few valid reasons for an annulment, and Canon law specifically prohibited clergyman from marrying unwilling women.

Elizabeth reckoned that even if Mr Collins insisted, her father would protect her. She was his favourite, after all, and besides that, forcing her to the alter would be far more work than he would engage himself for. After all, Elizabeth Bennet had twenty years of training in being a disagreeable wife or daughter! She had learnt her lessons well, and she was confident her father knew she could make his life as miserable as anyone else in the house could. Just because she never had, was no reason to assume she never would.

What a fool she had been! What an absolute addlepated fool!

The newly minted Mrs Collins, sitting in the hired carriage that would take them to Hunsford, was left with the ghost of Mr Darcy's words, tasting like ashes in her mouth.

"And what is fifty miles of good road? Little more than half a day's journey. Yes, I call it a very easy distance."

A very easy distance. Yes, for a man with more money than God, perhaps, but for a mere mortal, not easy at all. It showed the differences between their worlds in only two sentences (as if she needed any more words to convince her of the man's selfish disdain). He had dripped with it from the very beginning of their acquaintance. Easy distance, indeed!

In the end, in some ways, fifty miles was indeed, a very easy distance.
* Fifty miles from naïve optimism to pessimistic practicality.
* Fifty miles from childhood to matronhood.
* Fifty miles from not handsome enough to tempt to handsome enough to force.
* Fifty miles from one overbearing mistress to another who sounded indistinguishable.
* Fifty miles from relative happiness to abject misery, unless she managed to carve out a better life than she was expecting.

Fifty miles from Miss Bennet to Mrs Collins, and I shall endure it—SO THERE, Mr Darcy!

A/N: Spoilers below.

Spoilers:
* NO CANON PAIRS—NONE!
* Modest descriptions of some sexual issues and activities. Not violent or graphic, but mostly awkward.