Elizabeth pushed past Jane and continued to the bench where their younger sisters had sat before Mr. Collins arrived. She was in no mood to discuss the man nor his seemingly gracious offer of marriage to one of her sisters.
As Jane sat beside her and remained silent, Elizabeth wondered at what her father would say of their cousin’s plan to give a sympathy proposal to herself or Mary. It was clear that Kitty and Lydia would not be considered as suitable matches.
As they were foolish girls, Father had decreed just the week before that the two were to be chaperoned whenever they walked to Meryton since they held silly, romantic notions where soldiers were concerned.
That Jane was engaged to Mr. Bingley gave her even greater joy now as she could not think of her beautiful sister wed to such a plain man as Mr. Collins. She had not missed the look of dismay that flitted across the parson’s face when her mother spoke of Jane and her betrothed.
The parson’s courtesy in the face of their mother’s blatant insults had not impressed Elizabeth. What sort of a man worth a whit could not behave in a gentlemanlike manner in the presence of her fretful mother?
No, Mr. Collins was not the man she wished to marry. Her father had read from his letter one evening in his study and Elizabeth had formed a picture of the man that his presence had not improved. Mr. Collins wrote at length of his own glorious generosity and that of his patroness until she felt cross from the absurdity of it all. There was nothing in his letter to hint he was more than a bug tucked happily beneath Lady Catherine’s thumb.
Talk of closets and his cook, the cast offs from Rosings Park that decorated the parsonage, his rambling compliments on the beauty of Lady Catherine’s only child — all of it combined to paint him as a man Elizabeth could not respect nor love.
The entailment mattered very little now with Jane set to wed Mr. Bingley. Surely her father knew that with Mr. Bingley to care for them should the entail come to pass there was no need to accept the olive branch their cousin offered.
Sighing with satisfaction in her belief that Mr. Bennet would not require any of his daughters to marry the man, Elizabeth turned to Jane. “Father will not agree to it, Jane. Had Mr. Collins come before Mr. Bingley proposed perhaps there would be cause for concern.”
Jane smiled at Elizabeth, her relief at her sister’s words evident. “You are right, Lizzy. Father would not see you married to any man you did not love even if it meant securing the future of our family and Longbourn.”
Elizabeth’s cheeks grew hot at the truth of Jane’s statement. She was the favorite daughter where her father was concerned. Mrs. Bennet preferred Jane and Lydia. “What do you think Mr. Collins might do once Father refuses his offer? Surely he will not stay?”
Plucking a flower her younger sisters had missed earlier, Jane began to tug off the first petal. “I have no care for Mr. Collins and his looming disappointment, Lizzy. Before he came, we were speaking of Mr. Darcy. I believe,” here Jane held up the first withered petal of the quickly fading flower and flicked it at her sister’s face, “he loves you.”
Elizabeth blew out a puff of air that lifted the petal and pushed it away. “Do not be ridiculous Jane! While I do not think he finds me only tolerable now, there is a quite the distance between like and love and Mr. Darcy has not yet traveled quite so far in his feelings for me.”
Jane plucked the next petal and blew it from her palm into the air towards Elizabeth. “He loves you not.”
Giggling at her eldest sister’s silly game that suited Kitty and Lydia better, Elizabeth caught that petal and crushed it between her fingers.
Jane continued the game until the last petal had been plucked. “I knew it! He does love you, Lizzy. He behaved as a love-struck boy at the Lucas party and his attention was squarely on you when we were at Netherfield.”
It was true the time spent at Netherfield Park tending Jane in her sudden illness had given Elizabeth an opportunity to know Mr. Darcy better. He had defended her against the awful Bingley sisters and walked with her twice in the gardens of the large estate as leaves swirled about their feet in dazzling flashes of red and gold.
He was not one for rousing conversation but he had told Elizabeth of his sister, his estate in Pemberley, and made a most humble apology for his insult delivered the night of the Assembly. In his estimation, he had been in a terrible mood and should not have attended and when Mr. Bingley goaded him about dancing, an exercise he detested, he had lashed out at Elizabeth for no other reason than to have his friend leave him in peace.
Elizabeth had forgiven him the slight after hearing more of his dislike of dancing as they strolled amiably through the gardens. She recalled their conversation while Jane hunted for another doomed flower to sacrifice for her humor.
“Mr. Darcy, you would not dance with me if your mood had improved that evening?”
The man had given her a rare smile and Elizabeth startled at her heart’s response to the gesture.
“Miss Elizabeth, you must not think my reticence a judgment upon yourself. I have never been comfortable when required to dance. I am not the amiable gentleman that Bingley is and I am never at ease amongst strangers. The eyes of a community this small are ever turned to the newest man in town. A gentleman must take care with the expectations he gives a lady and her neighbors.”
Elizabeth had looked away across the garden thinking of how lonely it would be as winter arrived. “Speaking only for myself, there is no expectation of love or marriage when asking for one dance. I would not wish to have your fortune did it weigh so heavily on my shoulders.”
He had paused his steps then and Elizabeth turned to see whether he was offended at her words.
“There are times I would not have it either and yet, without it, I do not think there is a lady in all the realm who might wish to dance with me.”
His eyes left her face and Elizabeth’s breath caught at the pained expression that clouded his countenance. She recalled the loud gossip of her mother and the other matrons of Meryton that night. Ten thousand per annum. Of course the man would not wish to dance with the daughters of those who spoke of him as though he were the bank notes they craved instead of a living, breathing man!
Now, as Jane blew another handful of petals her way, Elizabeth thought how she had come to admire Mr. Darcy before she and Jane left Netherfield. On their last morning as guests in the home, Elizabeth had sat in the library after breaking her fast and thumbed through one of the few volumes available on the still dusty shelves of the mostly unused library.
Mr. Darcy had entered and nearly left again upon seeing her comfortably seated with a book in her lap. She had stood and asked him to join her and to his credit, he relented.
The companionship they shared that morning was as unlikely as the heat that now tortured Hertfordshire. Brushing the petals from her skirts, Elizabeth stood and took her sister’s hand. “Come, we must save Mary from the younger girls. We shall go into Meryton on the morrow and see how Mrs. Curtis is coming along with your dress.”
Jane held Elizabeth’s hand as they walked back through the stone arch to the front door. “Speaking of my dress, perhaps I should delay my wedding so that we might be married together? I do not think Mr. Darcy shall wait long before having his own talk with Father.”
Elizabeth rolled her eyes at her sister and laughed. Though she found Jane’s enthusiasm for Mr. Darcy endearing, in her heart she felt the man would never see her as a suitable match. Their mother was loud and unrefined and their father often lax in his control of her sisters though he had recently set down some rules for Kitty and Lydia.
But her heart sang his name as her own as she walked along with Jane. Elizabeth Darcy. Trembling at the thought of it, Elizabeth stepped inside Longbourn and rushed up the stairs behind Jane to rescue poor Mary from the terrible twosome of Lydia and Kitty Bennet.