part0011

A week later, the Bennet family, including Mr. Collins, was invited to dine at Netherfield Park. Mama received the invitation with great effusions. How successful Jane had been in catching Mr. Bingley’s attentions. Certainly, she would be well-settled soon. How wonderful it would be to have one—or even more—daughters married.

Papa harrumphed and shut himself in his study. He was not just playing the curmudgeon, though. His legs and feet were in a particularly bad way, so much so, he could hardly tolerate an evening away from home. Heaven forbid he openly declare such limitations, though. Far better to be difficult and grumpy.

Jane insisted Elizabeth assist her in preparing for the evening. As Elizabeth arranged her hair, she carried on about the wonders of Mr. Bingley. He was everything a young man should be. Well-mannered, kind, generous, thoughtful, handsome. Everything Jane needed a man to be.

Oh, to be so in love.

Not that she would ever know such a thing.

Elizabeth had not been back to Netherfield since the ball … the night that Pemberley hatched.

No, tears would not be helpful now. Besides, it was silly and foolish to weep for a dragon who was well Kept. Maddening as Darcy was, he doted on the hatchling and would ensure she was given every advantage a drakling could have. He even showed himself capable of affection for the dragon, despite spitefully tearing her away from Hertfordshire just because he could. What more could the baby need?

Elizabeth dabbed her eyes with a handkerchief and set it aside. No, she ought to bring it just in case. She tucked it, and a spare, into her reticule and met her sisters in the vestibule.

Papa saw them off and shuffled back into the house, reminding her with a final glance to be attentive to Mr. Collins.

Mama and Lydia started their chatter as soon as they entered the coach and did not stop until the driver helped them out at Netherfield’s front door. Sometimes, their nonstop prattle was a distinct advantage. Mr. Collins could not get a word in and kept silent the entire way. Moreover, with no response demanded from her, she could continue her mental recitations of the conjugations of the dragon word ‘to aerosolize one’s poison’ in the future perfect tense.

Mr. Collins handed her out of the coach himself and offered her his arm to walk in. The forced smile hurt her face, just a little, but she would get used to it.

She looked over her shoulder, but there was no one there. Botheration, she needed to get her thoughts under control.

“Is there something wrong, cousin?” Mr. Collins peered over her shoulder.

“No, it is nothing. I merely though I heard something.” She shrugged and proceeded into the house.

The housekeeper greeted them and led them to the drawing room. Mama seemed honored by the formality, which only pleased Jane. Good for them both to be happy.

The Bingleys and the Hursts waited for them in the drawing room, rising to welcome them. If only she might slip away, perhaps back to the mapmaker’s room for another glance at the dragon script written there. She had studied so much of that language recently; she might be able to make some of it out.

But alas, her absence would undoubtedly be noticed, and more importantly, the airborne venom would not yet have settled enough to make the sojourn safe. Perhaps Jane—and April, if necessary—could help her to secure an invitation in a few months.

Miss Bingley announced the dishes at the dining table. She set an excellent table, which Mama was good enough to remark upon for the first quarter hour of the meal. During said time, the footmen served an excellent carrot soup.

Across from her, Mr. Collins tucked his napkin into his collar and reached for the wrong spoon. Elizabeth cleared her throat, caught his eye and tapped the correct spoon. He quickly adjusted and continued on his way.

What was more remarkable, that he was so easily guided, a bit of a gudgeon really, or that he was so unperturbed about being led? While it was nice that he did not take offence, somehow it felt a little off-putting that he appeared to have no manly ego to injure.

Did Lady Catherine have someone at her table to offer him the same service, or did she perform it herself, with less subtlety of course? Perhaps his lack of ego served him well at that table.

“The mutton is excellent, Miss Bingley, just excellent. It puts me in mind of a favorite meal served at Rosings Park. Her Ladyship, Lady Catherine likes to serve it on Sundays, you see …”

Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst exchanged glances and rolled their eyes. It was rude, no doubt, but who could blame them? At the foot of the table, Bingley seemed unaware of any conversation besides his own with Jane.

The word ‘besotted’ might well be applied.

No, it would not suit to pursue those thoughts. Jealousy was unbecoming.

“With it she would instruct her cooks to serve a particular sauce, which originated in the south of France I am told. There is very little of French cuisine that she finds tolerable to be sure, but this particular dish …”

“Does she employ a French man-cook?” Mama asked, dabbing her lips with her napkin.

Mama had always held a not-too-secret ambition to hire such a man-cook.

“She did at one time, but found his dishes presumptuous, and he was dismissed. She says English cooking is far superior, and indeed she is correct.” Collins sipped his wine.

Mrs. Hurst sniggered behind her hand.

“Preposterous!” Mr. Hurst brought his hand down hard enough to rattle nearby glasses.

Mr. Collins sputtered and drew a breath deep enough to support a great many words.

Mary nudged Elizabeth with her elbow, sending her an alarmed glance.

Elizabeth coughed and caught Mr. Collins’ gaze, barely shaking her head. “It is fortunate that there are so many styles of food and wine available to us that everyone might claim a different favorite, is it not?”

Yes, it was a vacuous remark, but with it she set Mr. Collins on a different course of conversation. Who knew that he and Mr. Hurst would share a fascination with fine wine? At least it kept the conversation on safe ground for the remainder of the meal.

What relief, when Miss Bingley led the ladies away to the drawing room. Elizabeth lingered behind her sisters, savoring a few moments of peace. Keeping Mr. Collins under good regulation at the dinner table was far more exhausting than managing all four of the Gardiner children at once.

A painting she had not noticed on her prior stay at Netherfield caught her eye.

Something about it felt very familiar … it must have been done by the mapmaker. Though a landscape, not a map, his style was too distinct. The strokes, the shading—and the dragon script in the bottom corner! Her head raced as she leaned close, mouthing the syllables as she read.

The words meant destination or meeting place. Or at least she thought they did. But what could that have to do with a bit of landscape that looked like nearly every coastline in England?

“Lizzy, do not dawdle! Miss Bingley is worried that you have not joined us!” Mama took her by the arm and dragged her to the drawing room.

Conversations swirled about her, but how could she pay attention to matters of lace and sleeve design when there was dragon script in that painting? Wait, what? That same style marked several paintings in this room as well. How had she never seen it?

With a muttered excuse, she wandered to the walls and studied the paintings. Two that hung side by side appeared to be different views of the same coastline portrayed in the corridor. Neither contained dragon script, but the shadows in one looked suspiciously like a wyvern, and wyrm tracks marked the sand in another.

Did anyone at Netherfield recognize these for what they were? What a fool she had been, so caught up in searching for maps, that she missed what was right in front of her!

She hurried to a larger canvas along the far wall. The floorboards below her squeaked loudly enough to stop Mama’s praise of dinner, but for only a moment.

Elizabeth released a tightly held breath and focused on the painting. Shadows, tracks of not just wyrms, but of a basilisk, and an amphithere feather, there in the tree! It had a title plaque that read “The English Coast,” but faint scratches in dragon script below the lettering read ‘Uther’s Sanctuary.’

And there, concealed among a grassy bit, more wispy script.

Dragon fire! What was she seeing? If she could just commit those figures to memory, she might be able to look them up when she got home.

“Are you well, Cousin?”

Why did the gentlemen have to repair to the drawing room now?

“Are these landscapes not fascinating? I have not noticed them before.” Her voice was high and tight. Hopefully he was not good at discerning falsehoods.

He shrugged. “I am sure they are good enough as such things go. Lady Catherine believes portraiture a much higher form of art. Rosings Park is filled with the most exquisite portraits …”

As long as he kept talking, she could continue memorizing the dragon script. Who would have thought his prattle might serve her so well. She murmured monosyllabic questions and encouragements to keep him going as long as possible.

“Come, I see some portraits on the other side of the room. I am sure it will be far more satisfying to examine those.” He all but dragged her away from the landscape. “See here, we might examine the painter’s evocation of emotion through the remarkable expression of the eyes.”

He was wrong. The eyes were flat and dull, like the rest of the portrait. If asked, which of course she was not, she would have said that the portrait was a journeyman’s effort, like some of the maps upstairs, done to learn the skills which were later applied to the landscapes across the room.

Were there more like those in the house? She took several steps across squeaky boards toward the wall of landscapes.

What? She rubbed at her itching ear.

Collins glanced at her. Impertinent man! He was becoming far too intrusive, whispering such things in her ear.

“Come, we should join the rest of the party. They are setting up card tables, and it would not do to leave them for want of players.” He trundled away, clearly expecting her to follow.

Mama turned their way and waved.

Now she had little choice. Pray her memory was good enough to retain those figures until she returned to her commonplace book.

Two equally unpleasant alternatives stood before her: conversation with the ladies and Mr. Bingley, or cards. She joined Mary, Mr. Collins, and Mr. Hurst at quadrille. Thank heavens it was a favorite of Lady Catherine, forcing Mr. Collins to become proficient—or at least proficient enough that she did not have to guide his every move.

Several of those painted symbols looked familiar. One resembled ‘escape’ or ‘flee.’ It was not a word commonly used among major dragons. The words connoted a dire circumstance, one serious enough it should be somewhere in the dragon histories.

Perhaps that beach had been a place that dragons had been slain before the Accords, and Uther had declared it a sanctuary? But would not such a place have been clearly marked in the Annals of the Blue Order? They were a sentimental lot overall. It seemed odd that they would not indulge in the opportunity for reverence and celebration of such a place.

What other beaches were relevant in dragon history? Perhaps, Papa knew more. Maybe what had happened there was so horrible that it became a shrine of sorts, where only the highest members of the Order meditated? But then the painter would have had to be a highly-ranked member of the Order to have seen it. Papa hardly made mention of Netherfield’s past resident, so that was unlikely, too.

How maddening! None of this made sense!

“Lizzy!” Mary kicked her under the table. “Do take your turn to play.”

She hastily played a card, much to the chagrin of her tablemates. Clearly it had been the wrong choice. Thankfully the game ended a few moments later, with Mr. Hurst declaring gleeful victory. The man relished winning a little too much.

Mr. Collins insisted the loss of a few pennies playing was entirely agreeable in this company. Better still, Lady Catherine would not find fault with it at all.

Miss Bingley moved toward the pianoforte.

“An excellent thought, Caroline. Dancing is definitely in order.” Mr. Bingley beckoned to Mr. Hurst and Mr. Collins for help in moving bits and bobs of furniture. In short order, the floor was clear, and he extended his hand to Jane.

“Shall we, Cousin Elizabeth?”

Elizabeth bit her tongue and accepted Mr. Collins’ arm.

Hurst was still sober enough to dance, so he invited Mary to the center of the room. Mama insisted that Lydia stand up with Kitty, giving them a tidy, four-couple set.

Miss Bingley’s fingers danced over the keys, in a lively country dance. She really was a superior musician. It would be difficult for the rest of them to follow her in playing for the party. Such a gracious hostess.

Elizabeth craned her neck. Perhaps if she stood in the right spot whilst dancing, she might study the paintings a little more.

They lined up, paintings just in view. But Mr. Collins’ dancing! Had there ever been such a man, with absolutely no sense of rhythm? Could he not simply count to eight? Just eight, it should not have been so difficult. He had plenty of fingers to assist in the process if he needed.

The only saving grace was that he was as easy to lead as Mary claimed. A tap to her own shoulder to indicate the next direction, an extended hand to cue his own, and he managed to keep up with the rest of the dancers well enough.

How exhausting, thinking for both of them and anticipating what instruction he would need next. All of the easy grace and the fun of the dance floor was lost in the work of shepherding him through the steps without mishap. Not to mention she had not a speck of attention left to devote to the paintings.

After the first set, Mrs. Hurst took Miss Bingley’s place at the pianoforte. Mr. Hurst invited Kitty to dance and Mary relieved her as Mr. Collins’ partner. Since Mr. Bingley was not about to give up Jane’s companionship, Elizabeth danced the set with Lydia. Though she was silly and flirty, Lydia was an excellent dancer, and freed Elizabeth’s mind to consider landscapes and dragons.

Gracious! Had anyone noticed that the feet of the pianoforte were dragon’s feet, talons wrapped around large balls—no, they were globes! Dragon wings graced the backs of chairs and several small pillows were embroidered with brilliant amphithere feathers. The entire room was decorated with dragons! She had been so preoccupied with searching for maps that she had been blind to what was plainly before her!

Lydia grabbed her hands and spun her in a rapid turn, laughing heartily. The music ended, and Elizabeth staggered, dizzy and breathless.

Mr. Bingley kept hold of Jane’s hand and waited until all eyes were on them. “I, we that is, have happy news to share! Miss Bennet has consented to be my wife!”

Mama shrieked and jumped up, nearly bowling Mr. Collins over in her haste to reach Jane.

“Oh, my dearest girl! I am so proud of you. I knew you could not be so beautiful for nothing. I am sure your father will approve.”

Mr. Bingley smiled and chuckled in a self-satisfied sort of way. “I have already received his approbation, madam.”

Another ear-splitting shriek. “I knew he would. I simply knew he would!”

Miss Bingley winced and grimaced. Mrs. Hurst mirrored the expression. Was it only Mama of whom they disapproved, or of Jane as well? Something about the way they narrowed their eyes made one wonder.

Lydia and Kitty clapped and bounced like little girls, each clutching at one of Jane’s hands.

“I am very happy for you both. I cannot imagine a happier match.” Elizabeth stepped slightly closer and smiled.

At least she would have one sister settled close to Longbourn. That was a good thing, indeed.

“What a very fine thing,” Mr. Collins said at her shoulder.

Why did he always have to stand so close?

“It is always a desirable thing when the eldest daughter marries first.” Something about his smile was entirely smug.

If a man’s thoughts could be writ upon his face, Mr. Collins’ were inscribed with broad brushstrokes of paint.

Mary squeezed her hand and nodded. She had much greater faith in Elizabeth’s fortitude than she did.

They stayed at Netherfield until the wee hours. Mama’s effusions continued until nearly dawn as she indulged her considerations of what wedding clothes might be required and whether or not Mr. Bingley would commission a new carriage for the occasion.

The next morning, Jane came to her room to convey Papa’s desire that Elizabeth join them for breakfast. Everyone was so happy this morning. It was only right that Elizabeth share in it, too. It was a testament to Jane’s character that she could believe that, and only that, was Papa’s intent.

Elizabeth turned to April. “You should stay here. I cannot imagine there would be any advantage—”

April zipped around the room. “Will this not affect me as much as it will you? I insist—I insist. You must allow me to know for myself what transpires. Wear your shawl, the blue one that the Gardiners gave you. I can hide in the folds of that and neither of them” —she meant Papa and Mr. Collins— “will notice I am there.”

“Only if you promise me that you will not flit about as you are now if you get upset. If you cannot stay still, promise me you will come straight back here, to your cage, and lock yourself inside. Can you promise me that?”

“You do not have to treat me like one of the children.” April landed on her shoulder and worked her way into the folds of the shawl. “I am quite capable of conducting myself with decorum.”

Elizabeth stood before the looking glass and adjusted the folds in her shawl, rendering April quite invisible.

As much as she might like it, she dare not delay the inevitable any further. Dragon Keeping required sacrifices from all parties. The dragons resigned many freedoms as much as the Keepers did. She would be able to fulfill her responsibilities. Mary had shown her that she could. It would be well. It would be.

The entire family was gathered in the breakfast room. Sunbeams danced from the facets on the crystal glasses to the mirrors behind the candle sconces. The fragrance of fresh baked goods and warm jam invited her to indulge.

Mama, Kitty, and Lydia huddled close to Jane, giggling and whispering.

“Come join me, Lizzy.” Papa pointed at the empty chair between him and Mary. Mr. Collins sat on his other side.

She sat, avoiding eye contact with him and Mr. Collins.

“So, what do you think of this business of Jane’s?” Papa’s large mug of willow bark tea was nearly empty and a second one steeped nearby. Any good humor he demonstrated was probably an affectation for Jane’s and Mama’s sakes.

“I know she is very happy. As is Mama.” She kept her face turned toward Jane.

“I am pleased that he did not dither about as some young men are wont to do and that she did not decide to play those games of modesty that seem so in vogue among delicate young ladies. I approve very much.” He glanced back at Mr. Collins.

Mr. Collins blinked several times; his eyes widened, and he looked Elizabeth’s way. He cleared his throat. The room went silent and all eyes turned on him. “May I hope, sir, the honor of a private audience with your fair daughter Elizabeth in the course of this morning?”

Mama jumped to attention and fluttered her hands in front of her face. “Oh dear! Yes, certainly. I am sure Lizzy will be very happy! I am sure she can have no objection.”

Elizabeth bit her lip, her temples pounding in time with her heart. Good thing that she had not yet eaten. It might be months before she was able to again.

Mary gripped her hand under the table. “This is a good thing, for everyone. You will be very satisfied, I am sure. Longbourn will have an excellent mistress.”

“Might I make use of your study, sir?” Collins bowed and gestured toward the door.

Papa grunted and stared—no, glared—at her. “That is an excellent notion. In fact, Lizzy, I insist upon you going to my study and hearing Mr. Collins out.”

Best get the business over as soon and as quietly as possible. Is that what the condemned thought on the way to Tyburn?

She followed Mr. Collins to Papa’s study. April launched from her shawl just before Mr. Collins shut the door. The typical piles of books and papers had been neatly tucked away, leaving the room as tidy as the rest of the house. Almost as though he anticipated—or actively planned—Collins’ request.

April alighted on the heirloom dragon perch, looking a bit silly, a tiny little thing on furniture designed for a cockatrice. What did she think she was doing, insisting she have her share in the conversation?

It might be better to shoo her out of the window, but she settled so sweetly and gave such a happy cheep, Mr. Collins looked upon her and smiled. If he tolerated April’s presence now when Elizabeth needed the support, why contradict him?

She sat near the perch and stared out the window. “The weather is very pleasant today, is it not?”

He centered himself in front of the fireplace and straightened his coat. “It is. But that is not the point of this interview. Surely you can have no doubt regarding what I wish to discuss.”

She stammered random syllables, her face flushing hot. “Pray sir, there is no need, I am sure I am not—”

His expressions hovered between ingratiating and lascivious. Mr. Bingley never looked at Jane that way.

“Believe me, my dear Miss Elizabeth, your modesty, so far from doing you any disservice, rather adds to your other perfections. You would have been less amiable in my eyes had there not been this little unwillingness, but allow me to assure you that I have your respected father’s permission for this address. Only just last night we talked on this very matter. However much your natural delicacy may lead you to dissemble, my attentions have been too marked to be mistaken. Almost as soon as I entered the house, I singled you out as the companion of my future life.”

Did he really think his gawking at Jane or his disappointment to learn that another had claim on the first object of his interest went unnoticed?

“But before I am run away with by my feelings on this subject, perhaps it will be advisable for me to state my reasons for marrying—and moreover for coming into Hertfordshire with the design of selecting a wife, as I did.”

The idea of Mr. Collins, with all his solemn composure, being run away with his feelings—it would be laughable if he were not so very sincere. Even if he were run away with his feelings, they were only feelings of self-interest and self-congratulation, nothing noble or laudable in any of it.

He dusted the front of his coat and pulled his shoulders back. “My reasons for marrying are, first, that I think it a right thing for every clergyman in easy circumstances like myself to set the example of matrimony in his parish. Secondly, that I am convinced it will add very greatly to my happiness.” He licked his lips.

Oh, there was that horrid skin crawling expression again!

“And thirdly—which perhaps I ought to have mentioned earlier, that it is the particular advice and recommendation of the very noble lady whom I have the honor of calling patroness. Twice has she condescended to give me her opinion, unasked too, on this subject. It was but the very Saturday night before I left Hunsford—between our pools at quadrille, while Mrs. Jenkinson was arranging Miss de Bourgh's footstool—”

Would it kill him to come to his point? Would that she could be so lucky!

“—that she said, ‘Mr. Collins, you must marry. A clergyman like you must marry. Choose properly, choose a gentlewoman for my sake; and for your own, let her be an active, useful sort of person, not brought up high, but able to make a small income go a good way. This is my advice. Find such a woman as soon as you can, bring her to Hunsford, and I will visit her.’ Allow me, by the way, to observe, my fair cousin that I do not reckon the notice and kindness of Lady Catherine de Bourgh as among the least of the advantages in my power to offer. You will find her manners beyond anything I can describe. Your wit and vivacity I think must be acceptable to her, especially when tempered with the silence and respect which her rank will inevitably excite.”

Silence and respect were what he expected from her? Charming.

She probably should, it was not likely to get any better.

At least the knowledge that Lady Catherine was a Dragon Keeper and Dragon Friend made the prospect of Rosings Park less dreadful. Any place with dragons had to have its appeals.

“This much for my general intention in favor of matrimony. It remains to be told why my views were directed to Longbourn instead of my own neighborhood, where I assure you there are many amiable young women.”

April squawked a soft warning sound. She cocked her head and squinted—the expression she used when she was listening intently.

Elizabeth bit her tongue. It would be best that neither one of them respond to the obvious insult, especially when Mr. Collins seemed entirely unaware of having offered it.

“But the fact is, that being, as I am, to inherit this estate after the death of your honored father, who, however, may live many years longer, I could not satisfy myself without resolving to choose a wife from among his daughters, that the loss to them might be as little as possible, when the melancholy event takes place—which, however, as I have already said, may not be for several years. This has been my motive, my fair cousin, and I flatter myself it will not sink me in your esteem.”

“Indeed, it is most kind and gracious of you,” she stammered and squeezed her temples. She had prepared herself for this moment. Why were her thoughts running away with her?

April cheeped and flapped her wings. “Do you hear it, too?”

Elizabeth’s eyes widened, and she fell back into her chair as though slapped by an icy hand, its chill flowing across her face and neck in waves.

April heard a voice? A dragon voice?

Those words, they were not her own thoughts. Someone was attempting to persuade her!

Mr. Collins clasped his hands behind his back and paced in front of the fireplace. “And now nothing remains for me but to assure you in the most animated language of the violence of my affection.”

It was a voice! Subtle and soft, but there could be no doubt now. She clutched her hands tight against the desire to brush away the trespass.

It was one thing for a dragon to persuade one who could not hear them. But to try persuasion on a Hearer—the very notion was indecent! Immoral. Illegal.

“To fortune I am perfectly indifferent, and shall make no demand of that nature on your father. I am well aware that it could not be complied with, and that one thousand pounds in the four per cents, which will not be yours till after your mother's decease, is all that you may ever be entitled to. On that head, therefore, I shall be uniformly silent, and you may assure yourself that no ungenerous reproach shall ever pass my lips when we are married.” Mr. Collins pressed his fingers to his lips.

She clutched the arms of her chair.

“Stop!” She clapped her hands to her ears.

Mr. Collins staggered back, eyes bulging, jaw gaping.

She sprang to her feet and ducked behind the dragon perch, sucking in gulps of air against the drowning sensation. “Forgive me, sir, I am overwhelmed by your declarations.”

He pulled his shoulders back and adjusted his lapels, eyes and jaw settling into their naturally smug attitudes.

If only she could catch her breath to speak. “Accept my thanks for the compliment you are paying me, I am very sensible of the honor of your proposals, but it is impossible for me to make you an answer right now.”

“I understand,” Mr. Collins, waved his hand in a formal flourish, “that it is usual with young ladies to reject the addresses of the man whom they secretly mean to accept, when he first applies for their favor, and that sometimes the refusal is repeated a second or even a third time. I am therefore by no means discouraged by what you have just said, and shall hope to lead you to the altar ere long.”

She stammered something even she did not understand.

“When I do myself the honor of speaking to you next on this subject, I shall hope to receive a more favorable answer than you have now given me. I am far from accusing you of cruelty at present, because I know it to be the established custom of your sex to reject a man on the first application, and perhaps you have even now said as much to encourage my suit as would be consistent with the true delicacy of the female character.”

Where was the voice coming from?

She edged toward the door. “Is it not a demonstration of conceit that you presuppose my response?”

“You must give me leave to flatter myself, my dear cousin that your hesitancy toward my addresses is merely words. My reasons for believing it are briefly these: it does not appear to me that my hand is unworthy of your acceptance, or that the establishment I can offer would be any other than highly desirable. My situation in life, my connections with the family of de Bourgh, and my relationship to your own, are circumstances highly in its favor. You should take it into further consideration that in spite of your manifold attractions, it is by no means certain that another offer of marriage may ever be made you. Your portion is unhappily so small that it will in all likelihood undo the effects of your loveliness and amiable qualifications. As 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.”

She gasped. Was it not enough that voice would try to persuade her? Now insults as well? Utterly intolerable.

The voice was coming from beneath them.

“Pray, understand me, sir, I have no pretension whatever to that kind of elegance which consists in tormenting a respectable man. I would rather be paid the compliment of being believed sincere in whatever I express. I thank you again and again for the honor you have done me in your proposal, but you must now excuse me. I am far too overwhelmed to think.” She fled from the room, April flying in her wake.