Chapter 3
Elizabeth let out a forceful huff that erupted from her mouth in a swirling mist. Her agitation of spirit was quickly settling into simmering fury. Today had been, on the whole, an unmitigated disaster – and the sun had barely risen. Her bonnet swung wildly as she marched with purpose down the gentle slope of the path, ribbons clenched tightly in her fist. She bent to pick up a stick that lay on the track and vented some of her frustration by swiping angrily at an offensive clump of dried hemlock. She watched with grim pleasure as its little leaves exploded outward, leaving only the quivering stems behind. What she would not give in this moment to be anywhere but Hertfordshire!
They had returned from the ball at Netherfield at two o'clock in the morning, and it was beyond reason that anyone should be up at dawn after retiring at such an hour. Elizabeth must now assume that vexatious people require less sleep. Her Mother and Mr. Collins, being the most irksome people of her acquaintance, likely had no use for beds at all, their preference of course being to hang from the ceiling like bats. She supposed that Mr. Collins must have spoken with her mother before they had all retired, and she could well imagine the very great pleasure it would've given Mrs. Bennet to help him devise a way to catch Elizabeth alone and then eagerly anticipate the wedding she believed would result. Indeed, he had appeared as if from thin air as she was tying her bonnet in the hall, dressed warmly for her morning exercise.
Elizabeth tended to use solitude and exercise to combat intensity of feeling; these rambles rarely failed to bring her back to equilibrium. It had been her intention to take an early walk to untangle her emotions after the Netherfield ball, but the appearance of Mr. Collins had driven all previous thoughts from her mind. And after her nightshirt-wearing papa had come to her rescue, and she was able to finally make her escape,her mother had trotted ebulliently behind her to the end of Longbourn's drive, hurling her shrill displeasure at Elizabeth's retreating back. Mrs. Bennet's admonishments were still echoing inside her head when another gentleman had intruded on her notice. Of all the people that should find her in floods of tears, Mr. Darcy was certainly one of her least favorite options. The best thing that could be said of the circumstance was that his manner had been very humble and gentlemanly, but the sight of him had done nothing to calm her nerves.
Another vexing man! She was angry at Darcy because she wanted to be more angry with him. He had sought her out with quiet concern, showing her vulnerability instead of the noble disdain so typical of their interactions. He had spoken to her as if she were his friend, giving her a glimpse of a character quite contrary to the one she had, until this morning, attributed to him. He had also shown a depth of concern for his young sister that indicated that he was, irritatingly, a devoted brother and protector – much as she hated giving Miss Bingley any credit for her correct understanding. On today of all days, she did not want to give Mr. Darcy any more space in her mind than he already claimed, which was still too much for a gentleman she disliked. She had even felt stirrings of compassion for this man who had ruined her dear friend Wickham. How entirely vexing!
She must at least be grateful to Mr. Collins, for he was no revelation. He only proved himself to be more obtuse, conceited, and foolish than even she had previously believed. This was no small accomplishment by her own estimation, and he was certainly a prime character specimen to study. Indeed had it not been herself cornered and forced to endure such a revolting proposal, she would likely have thought it quite funny.
She knew that she was in no real danger of forced matrimony. At least, not while her father drew breath. Mr. Collins' address had been the greatest test of her considerable fortitude. She felt her toes curl inside her boots at the fresh memory of him on bended knee in what he must have believed was the posture of a beseeching lover. His attitude only made him appear more obsequious than ever. All this while his small, stupid eyes stared not at her, but through her as she begged him to cease speaking. Her father may have laughed at the circumstance, but to Elizabeth it was mortifying. She had intended to stay away much longer, unsure which person she should like to see less upon her return – her mother or Mr. Collins. She would not be marching home now were it not for her sudden desire to escape the awkwardness of crying again in front of Mr. Darcy.
Although Elizabeth could not regret her refusal of the clergyman, with it came the painful reminder of the precarious respectability of herself and her sisters. Though she would never marry that man, she would one day have to wed– and the longer she avoided it the less choice she was likely to have. It was a humiliating thought that if she or one of her sisters did not wed before her beloved father passed on, she would be obliged to accept an offer of marriage from any man of modest standing. Even one so ridiculous as Mr. Collins.
Her mother often cried that if one of her daughters did not marry well, they were all likely to starve in the hedgerows. Her fears were dramatically overblown, though based on something like truth. There was family enough to protect them from complete destitution, but the addition of six ladies to any household would be a strain. If they ever became dependent, they would surely be married off as quickly as could be managed and with very little regard for attachment. Her uncle Gardiner was likely to be kinder, but with his own family rapidly expanding, he hardly had the house room for six new members.
Elizabeth was, on the whole, deeply disappointed in men – at least most of the men she knew. In the eyes of society, women were the fickle and delicate gender, but in her own arguably limited experience, women bore far greater burdens with far less complaint. No man would be thought of as fickle for refusing a detestable woman, even if she had fortune enough to support them. Elizabeth was doubtless to be labeled irresponsible and selfish for refusing the opportunity to secure her family's future. Risking the censure of society though she was, it was impossible for her to accept him. Every fiber of her rebelled at the thought.
Elizabeth had never met a man whom she would truly trust to be her keeper – not even her own beloved father. Indeed, were he the guardian he ought to be, she would not now be distressed by her circumstances. Had he devoted only a little more of himself to the economy of his household, she would not now fear for their futures.
Mr. Bennet had also acquitted himself poorly by the negligence of her younger sisters, resulting in the abominably improper behavior they so often displayed. Elizabeth felt the weight of her family's expectation to protect them – a responsibility which often felt at odds with her desire to marry for love. It was only her sister Jane who understood this burden, as it was one they shared. Elizabeth rarely dwelled on such painful reflections, but refusing Mr. Collins' had reawakened her slumbering anxieties.
All this distress was likely for nought. Jane and Bingley's match seemed probable, but she was under no illusions that a match with Jane would be viewed as a prudent one for that gentleman. There would doubtless be objections to the union from his intimate acquaintance, should he pursue her any further. Indeed, Mr. Darcy's expression when he heard Sir William Lucas's expectations made it clear he would not sit quietly while Bingley pursued a woman with no connections or dowry.
Caroline Bingley had been more overt in her attempts to ward off such a union. In truth, Jane began sobbing the moment they had reached the privacy of their shared bedchamber because of the caution given to her as they left the ball. Miss Bingley had confided to Jane that her brother was in love with Georgiana Darcy, and was only awaiting her introduction to society to solicit her hand. To Elizabeth this was clearly an attempt to end the attachment without risking her brother's ire, but that she would stoop to such underhanded behavior was beyond common selfishness.
As it was, Jane would hear nothing ill of Caroline, and Elizabeth wished –not for the first time – that her eldest sister possessed an ounce of her considerable cynicism. That Jane chose to think well of everybody was at times beyond endurance. The simple fact was that the union depended on Mr. Bingley's indifference to the opinions of others about his own concerns. Elizabeth did not know the gentleman well enough to speculate how he might react if presented with the unified displeasure of his inner circle.
As Elizabeth reached level ground, she paused at the convergence of two paths and took several long breaths of the cool morning air before turning her steps reluctantly towards Longbourn.
Her mind returned to the strange request that Mr. Darcy had made of her. Who was Georgiana Darcy? She really had no notion. If Caroline Bingley was to be believed, she was the most accomplished and elegant lady in the kingdom – her brother's future bride and a paragon of virtue. On the other hand, had not Wickham once described her as a once delightful girl now grown cold and proud like her brother? Darcy's own opinion was that she was a sad, lonely girl who could not trust the intentions of others for fear of yet more duplicity. These accounts were all at odds, for if Georgiana Darcy had such an inflated self regard why would Darcy believe that she would be more at ease with a connection to herself, an unimportant country gentlewoman, above those of her elevated sphere? If she and Bingley were truly in love, would she not seek his confidence? Darcy had also said that she was 'more reserved than ever before' - did this mean the girl was shy? She could well believe Miss Darcy might be a reticent creature; her nearest relation was certainly the least garrulous gentleman Elizabeth had ever met.
The only points that did not differ with regard to Georgiana Darcy was that she was tall, played the piano forte well, and was but sixteen years old. At such an age it was hard to imagine any young lady could be so affected by pride. Perhaps Mr. Wickham could have mistaken the matter. Indeed, was there a single person of that age who was not afflicted by conceit one moment and then paralyzing self-doubt the next?
Well, Elizabeth thought wryly, Lydia was the obvious exception, but her sister had never been taught to think of anything but what pleased her. Kitty's own lack of confidence was clear in her willingness to defer to Lydia's bigger personality in everything. At such an age, it was inexcusable to condemn an entire character.
One thing Elizabeth was certain of was that Darcy was proud. His behavior left little room for doubt. From the very first moments of their acquaintance, he had taken no trouble to make himself agreeable in company or even engage with anyone he deemed beneath him. Her own pride still stung when she thought of his offhand comment on her beauty. It was only this morning that she felt she had any reason to question this judgment. Had the meeting on Oakham Mount been the very first of their acquaintance, Elizabeth supposed she would not have described Darcy as proud. Indeed, this morning he had shown no trace of his usual self-important reserve. Elizabeth could not have been more wrong-footed by it than if her sister Lydia had begun extolling the virtues of modesty and economy.
It was the first time that Elizabeth had spoken to him alone, and the interview had disconcerted her. It was the discovery of Darcy's apparent esteem she found so baffling. Against all odds, it appeared that she had earned his respect, and to such a degree that he would divulge delicate information about his sister. He had even asked for her help. Mr. Darcy, a man with infinite resources, begged a favor of her.
Elizabeth hardly knew what to think of his reasons, but she could not doubt his sincerity. There could be nothing to gain by dishonesty, and she recognized the risk he was taking in trusting her so implicitly. She must conclude then, that his request was in earnest, and his motives were just as he had said. His genuineness was further proved by the unmistakable signs of pain on his face as he spoke of his troubled sister.
To her own astonishment, Elizabeth found that she believed him.
When she had finally arrived at this realization, Elizabeth felt a sudden wave of empathy for an unknown sixteen year old girl, isolated by her station with no parents, no friends, and only a much older – and likely emotionally inept – brother for support. It was no wonder she struggled, and Elizabeth's heart ached for her. Elizabeth would rather suffer her own precarious respectability than an opulent prison; better by far to be rich in genuine intimacy and poor in situation than the reverse.
She was now desperately curious about the enigma that was Georgiana Darcy. Until today she was only a vague idea,a shadow behind the person of Mr. Darcy, of little note except as a topic on which to hang a civil conversation with a generally uncivil man. However, when he had spoken to Elizabeth of her pain, her broken heart, and her loneliness, he had unknowingly given this vague idea of a person a soul. It was from that first flicker of empathy that Elizabeth had made up her mind on the matter. She would write to her.
Elizabeth was suddenly nervous at the thought of sending a missive into the unknown. In her mind's eye she pictured groping blindly into the dark, grasping for a hand which may or may not be searching for hers in return. Words were powerful. Written words perhaps the most powerful, as they were in themselves a record. The contents of a conversation could be distorted by memory or feeling or even forgotten entirely, but letters were a magic of their own peculiar sort. They were more intentional than speech ever could be, requiring consideration over every line. Elizabeth often felt that a letter was by many degrees more intimate than speech.
As Elizabeth closed the door quietly behind her, the sound of animated voices reached her ears she took a steadying breath and began undoing the buttons of her pelisse. She resisted the strong desire to dash up the stairs and hide herself under the bed as she had done as a child when she had muddied her petticoats beyond repair. Just as she began shrugging off the heavy garment, the sound of footsteps preceded her mother down the hall.
"And here she is returned!" cried her mother, waving her kerchief in Elizabeth's direction. "I hope you have not come back to beg Mr. Collins' forgiveness, for he has now gone!"
"You know I would not, Mamma," replied Elizabeth, waiting for her mother to continue venting her outrage.
Behind the woman came her two younger sisters, giggling with unrestrained delight at Elizabeth's new-found disfavor.
"I beg you would explain to your sisters why you could not be bothered to secure their futures, for I certainly could not! I have no notion how any person could be so unfeeling," lamented her mother. "I may have the greatest patience in the world, but I am now out of it completely. You have spoiled everything with your stubborn insistence on having your own way. Why your father persists in letting you always defy my better judgment I cannot understand."
At this, Mrs. Bennet began to wail, dabbing at her dry eyes with her fluttering kerchief.
"Well I shan't blame you, Lizzy," laughed Lydia. "Could you imagine being kissed forevermore by such a horrid, disagreeable man? I think I should rather wed the blacksmith – at least he is handsome."
"Lydia!" cried Elizabeth and her mother at once, though for very different reasons. Her mother's reprimand won out.
"Not every lady can marry someone who is both handsome and agreeable. I dare say Mr. Collins would have made your sister quite comfortable. And she would be the mistress of Longbourn someday." This seemed to be a painful reminder of all that she had lost in failing to secure the marriage of her daughter, for she let out a howl before adding, "But now you shall surely have nothing! For who will marry you now that you have shown yourself so wilful?"
"Oh Mamma!" Kitty cut in, "Jane will surely marry Mr. Bingley soon, and it will all be forgot!"
"Oh yes, Jane will do her duty of course!" cried her mother. "She is a dear child and loves us all so very much."
Mrs. Bennet shot Elizabeth an angry glower that clearly spoke of how much love she believed her second daughter must have for them. Elizabeth, feeling she had best be gone before her mother began berating her further, decided to take herself upstairs.
"I would go find Jane," said Elizabeth and, not waiting to be dismissed, turned on her heel and made her way to the stairs.
"Have you no concern for my well being?" said her mother, fluttering her kerchief at her daughter's retreating back. "I wish that you would walk to the Lucas's and apologize to your cousin for your refusal!"
Elizabeth did not stop and made no answer, but she heard the stomp of a slippered foot and Lydia's graceless peel of laughter before she reached the door to her bedchamber.
Just as Elizabeth had hoped, she found Jane sitting with her knees curled in their little window seat with her embroidery. She looked up when she heard the door and leapt to her feet, tossing her needlework in an instant.
"Oh Lizzy!" she cried, rushing forward to sweep her sister into a warm embrace. "I am so sorry! How are you faring?"
Elizabeth let out a laugh that bordered dangerously on a sob as she pressed herself close to her truest confidant.
"Oh Jane, I hardly know. I did not think it was possible that I should be so affected by Mr. Collins of all men!"
"Was it very awful?" asked Jane, pulling back to examine Elizabeth's face.
"How a man can have so little reason as to believe his insults are flattery, I know not. Truly the proposal did not affect me nearly so much as his insistence that my 'no' was in fact a demure 'yes'! I care not if he scorns my worth, but he of all people should not be allowed to abuse my reason!"
Jane let out a tut of displeasure and wrapped her arms around her sister once more.
"Oh, how terribly he mistakes the matter!"
"Indeed yes, but I must give him some credit, for surely there is no man under heaven who has earned such a degree of self assurance with so little right to own it!"
Jane laughed, and pulled Elizabeth to sit with her on the bed.
"Is mother any better?"
Elizabeth raised an eyebrow.
"I believe she is invigorated by her outrage. She seems far younger than her years when she is chastising me for ruining the family."
Jane gripped Elizabeth's hand with a groan of commiseration, "We must be grateful for our father, then."
"I am very grateful for Papa," she sighed, "and I believe he is very grateful for such a splendidly entertaining morning. Would that he had put his efforts into stopping the proposal before it had begun, I might be yet more grateful to him."
"Oh, Lizzy!" Jane cried.
"Fear not Jane," said Elizabeth, a smile lifting the corner of her mouth, "For I did find someone on my ramble that helped to drive the matter completely out of my mind."
Jane gave her a quizzical look,
"Mr. Darcy came upon me at Oakum Mount."
"Mr. Darcy!" cried Jane, a look of bewilderment on her face. "I hope you two did not argue!"
"Actually, no." said Elizabeth, "He was as un-Darcy Like as it is possible to be. I was quite put out, for I believe an argument may have done well for me at that moment. No, I was crying, and he was kind. It was very peculiar."
"Surely you do not think him so cruel as to be otherwise!" said Jane, rolling her eyes. "Mr. Bingley has a high respect for his good character, afterall."
Elizabeth chuckled, "Well, I confess it is the first time that I could give the notion much credit. Mr. Bingley appears to be in the right – on this occasion, at least."
"What could you have spoken of?" askedJane, ignoring her sister's impertinent comment.
Elizabeth summarized briefly the conversation they had about Georgiana Darcy and Mr. Darcy's strange demonstrated profound compassion for this unknown girl, and although Elizabeth was inclined to agree, she could not help but be amused by her sister's predictable response.
"Poor Miss Darcy!" Jane said, her perfect features wrinkling in concern.
"I never thought I should feel any compassion for Mr. Darcy after how abominably he treated our friend Wickham, and yet, I thought of how I might feel if it were your suffering I could not ease. . ." Replied Elizabeth, trailing off.
"Mr. Darcy must truly admire your character to ask such a delicate favor of you." said Jane, quietly.
Elizabeth shrugged slightly and flashed her a wry smile.
"I cannot decide if I prefer Mr. Collins' insults disguised as regard or Mr. Darcy's regard disguised as disdain. At least Mr. Darcy respects my understanding – even if he has no regard for my beauty."
"You know as well as I do, dear sister, that his opinion on that matter is by far the minority," said Jane, indignantly.
Elizabeth laughed. "I wish that you would tell him so. I believe there could be nothing I would enjoy more than than to see Jane Bennet defending my honor to Mr. Darcy! Wealthy and powerful he may be, but tactful he is not."
After a few moments of shared laughter, they settled into silence, each of them lost to their own contemplations for a time.
"What will you do, Lizzy?" said Jane, squeezing her hand gently.
Elizabeth sighed before answering.
"I will write to her."
"I am glad," said Jane earnestly. "I cannot explain it, but I think it is important."
"So do I, although I cannot say why."
"What do you think would make of it?" Jane asked, curiously.
"I don't think even Wickham could object to me doing what I can for the girl," answered Elizabeth. "I believe he must have once had some affection for her. They grew up at Pemberley together after all."
Some movement out the window caught Elizabeth's attention. She saw with no small surprise a servant turning into Longbourn's drive from the direction of Netherfield. Even from this distance, Elizabeth could tell that he was holding what appeared to be a letter.
Mr. Darcy, apparently, was not one to waste time.