Chapter 13
13
E lizabeth had made her decision.
She was going to run away with Mr. Darcy.
The choice had come to her not in a rush of reckless abandon, but in the quiet certainty of the day’s long hours, where she had measured every possible consequence against the truth beating in her heart.
She wanted him.
She wanted freedom.
She wanted happiness in her marriage.
But before she could leave, before she could disappear into the night with the only man who had ever truly seen her, she had to do something first.
She had to break her engagement to Mr. Collins.
It would not be easy.
He was not a man accustomed to accepting deviations from his plans.
But Elizabeth was resolved.
By evening, she would be gone.
She made her way toward the parsonage, her steps quick and certain, the weight of her upcoming conversation settled firmly upon her shoulders.
But just as she reached the gate, a carriage rattled up the lane.
Elizabeth halted immediately, stepping behind a hedge before she could be seen.
The door to the carriage swung open.
And then—before she could even comprehend what was happening?—
Mary leapt out.
Elizabeth placed a hand over her mouth, willing herself to be quiet.
Her sister, Mary.
Mary, who had written nothing of traveling.
Mary, who had always been so staid, so composed, so utterly predictable.
And yet—there she was, rushing toward the house with startling urgency.
And then—the door of the parsonage flew open.
Mr. Collins came barreling out.
Elizabeth could not move, could not breathe, could not believe what she was seeing.
With open arms, he stood at the threshold, waiting?—
And then—Mary flung herself into them.
And they kissed.
Not a chaste, proper kiss.
Not a gentle, reserved touch.
A fierce, passionate, desperate kiss—the kind that spoke of letters written in secret, longing suppressed for too long, and a love neither had dared to admit.
Elizabeth gasped aloud, clapping a hand over her mouth again before she could be heard.
She watched as Mr. Collins ushered Mary inside, looking like a man who had been given everything he had ever wanted.
The door closed behind them.
Silence fell.
And Elizabeth turned on her heel and walked the other direction. Though Mary seemed entirely caught in the throws of newfound passion, Lizzie knew it would come to nothing too scandalous. This was Mary afterall.
She found herself wandering through Rosings, her thoughts a wild tangle of disbelief, amusement, and sheer bewilderment.
Mr. Collins. With Mary.
And yet—the more she thought of it, the more it made perfect sense.
Mary had always spoken highly of him. Had always admired his position, his steady devotion to duty.
Had she—had they been corresponding all this time?
Elizabeth did not know whether to laugh or weep.
She wandered aimlessly, until she found herself in the music room, where the piano stood untouched from the night before.
Without thinking, she sat at the bench, letting her fingers drift absently over the keys.
A quiet melody filled the room, soft and unstructured, her mind too overwhelmed to focus on anything but the feel of the music beneath her hands.
And then—a shadow shifted behind her.
She looked up expecting Darcy.
“Mr. Collins?”
He was not composed. His face was pale, drawn, and his entire frame taut with something urgent, something desperate.
And then—to her utter astonishment, he fell to his knees before her.
Elizabeth’s fingers froze on the keys.
"Mr. Collins—" she began, but his hands clasped together, his head bowed, his entire form trembling.
"Miss Bennet," he said, his voice breaking.
She had never seen him like this. Never seen him so unraveled, so shaken, so pleading. "I beg you," he said, "release me from this engagement."
Elizabeth’s breath caught.
She could hardly believe what she was hearing.
Mr. Collins looked up at her then, his eyes shining with something like adoration?—
But not for her.
Not anymore.
"I have done you a great injustice," he confessed, wringing his hands. "I have spent these last weeks believing that duty alone was enough to sustain a marriage. That devotion to propriety, to God, to Lady Catherine, was all that mattered."
He swallowed thickly, his expression pained.
"But now, I see how foolish I have been."
Elizabeth exhaled softly, her heart easing with something close to relief.
"Mary," she murmured.
Mr. Collins nodded fervently, eyes alight with emotion. "I cannot deny it any longer," he said. "I love her. I have loved her—" he looked almost surprised by the words—"perhaps since the very moment I met her."
Elizabeth pressed a hand to her mouth, torn between laughter and sheer incredulity. "You have my blessing," she said.
Mr. Collins let out a choked sound of relief, grasping her hands briefly in his before springing to his feet. "I must speak to Lady Catherine at once!" he declared, rushing from the room with all the energy of a man with newfound purpose.
Elizabeth stared after him for a long moment.
And then, at last—she laughed.
Dinner that evening was an event unlike any other.
Mr. Collins stood before Lady Catherine, his hands visibly shaking, his voice tremulous but determined.
"My most esteemed and noble patroness," he began, "I must humbly beg for your indulgence, for I have come to a great realization."
Lady Catherine arched a brow but did not interrupt.
Mr. Collins glanced toward Elizabeth once, then turned his gaze to Mary, who sat beside her, cheeks pink with anticipation.
"I wish to marry Miss Mary Bennet," he declared, his hands clasped tightly before him.
Silence fell over the table.
For a moment, no one breathed.
Then—Lady Catherine sniffed. "Well," she said, as if this was a matter of no great consequence. "I suppose that is acceptable."
Elizabeth nearly choked on her wine.
Lady Catherine waved a careless hand.
"She seems a more appropriate choice, in any case," she said with a pointed glance toward Elizabeth. "Miss Bennet has proven rather… disappointing."
Elizabeth bit back a smile.
Darcy did not. He stood. “And what of Miss Elizabeth’s reputation? You would dismiss her as though she does not matter?”
“Her reputation?” Lady Catherine’s eyes studied her yet again as though this were the first time considering her perspective at all. “We shall assist her there of course and find her a man of good repute.” She nodded as though she would single handedly take care of Lizzie’s future.
Mr. Darcy’s mouth twitched and then he allowed himself a full smile, directed at Lizzie.
She could feel the warmth of his gaze across the table, could see the curve of his lips, the barely restrained amusement.
They had won.
As the dinner conversation moved on, as Mr. Collins and Mary whispered excitedly to one another, Elizabeth felt a nudge against her foot.
She looked up.
Darcy was watching her.
And this time—there was nothing held back.
His eyes burned with victory, with something close to joy, with something that told her they were no longer walking the same uncertain path as before.
They were free.
They had chosen.
And now—all that remained was the rest of their lives.