Chapter Twenty-Four
“I can assure the young ladies that I come prepared to admire them.”
MONROE
THANKFULLY, I DIDN’T HAVE TO worry about Mr. Wickham just yet. Or maybe at all. After he caught sight of Mr. Darcy yesterday, he’d done his best to avoid us. But just to be safe, I had adamantly warned the entire Bennet household that if we wished to keep Mr. Darcy’s company, we were all to stay away from Mr. Wickham. With that warning, Mrs. Bennet was totally on board. She would do nothing to interfere with a daughter marrying a man with ten thousand a year. I didn’t even know what that equated to in my day, not that I really cared. I’d never been that interested in money, seeing as I had never had much.
Lydia and Kitty had pressed me for details as to why they needed to stay away from Mr. Wickham, whom they of course found handsome, but I refused to say, other than that Mr. Darcy didn’t care for him. And Jane had heard from Mr. Bingley that there had been a falling-out, so that cemented it for Mama. It just went to prove that without pride and prejudice, it was easier to avert a huge crisis. Maybe I was rocking this gig after all. Although, no one would ever know how much I’d saved the family.
Today’s biggest worry centered around preparations for the arrival of Mr. Collins and our dinner guests. Mrs. Bennet had instructed us to wear our finest dresses, and she’d been barking orders at poor Mrs. Hill all day. One thing I’d always admired about Fitz was how he’d treated his staff as his equals. Never did he bark orders—in fact, I think most of them would donate a kidney if he needed one. I’d actually tried to help the Longbourn staff tidy up the house today, but Mrs. Bennet wouldn’t hear of it. She hadn’t liked it at all when I’d taken Mary into the kitchen to help her make a potato soufflé for Mr. Collins. I thought it might make an impression in the event he really does like potatoes. There’s no actual text evidence of his affinity for spuds, because the line, “It is many years since I had such an exemplary vegetable,” was from one of the movies, not the book. But I was trying to cover my bases in helping Mary get her man, assuming she wanted him after meeting him.
It disturbed Mrs. Bennet that I knew how to cook, and she made me swear I wouldn’t mention it. Apparently she felt it would bring shame to the family, but what would truly bring shame was the way she boasted about Jane and me making good matches. I’d tried to talk to her about toning this kind of talk down, but not surprisingly, it didn’t go well. She basically responded that it’s what she lives for.
Since cooking potatoes was a no go, I encouraged Mary to brush up on some quotes from Fordyce’s sermons and practice some hymns on the pianoforte. You know, just in case.
Yes, yes, I was totally leaning into fixing the story. Jane Austen probably hated me. But I hadn’t asked to get dropped into a field in the middle of Pride and Prejudice . And it wasn’t my fault Mr. Darcy had asked me to dance at the Meryton assembly. I was doing the best I could. And honestly, it wasn’t half bad.
After helping Mary get ready, I returned to my room to see Jane sitting in front of the vanity. Our lady’s maid, Hannah, was putting curls in her hair with the scary-looking curling iron. Both women smiled at me as I entered.
“A gift arrived for you.” Jane grinned ever wider while pointing at a basket resting on our bed, a blue silk ribbon tied around the handles.
“Who is it from?”
“Oh, Lizzy, who do you think?” Jane said with a teasing air.
I zipped over to the bed, expecting to see a basket full of books. Instead, I was utterly delighted to find the sweetest kitten curled into a ball, resting in the basket. With tears in my eyes, I picked up the gray short-haired kitten that looked very much like my Mr. Darcy. I cuddled the kitten against my chest, feeling both elated that Mr. Darcy was so thoughtful, and homesick for the life I was missing in another time and place.
“Mr. Darcy must be falling very much in love with you,” Jane concluded.
Could it be? “We barely know each other.” I kissed the kitten’s head. Was I this good?
“I think I am falling in love with Mr. Bingley,” Jane admitted. “Is that foolish?”
“No, Jane. It is not. Love has no time limits.” If I was honest with myself, I’d probably fallen in love with Fitz the moment we’d met—you know, after I’d gotten up from my epic face-plant. Now was not the time to think about it, though. I was so proud of Jane and ridiculously happy for her. My version of the story seemed to be working out okay.
Feeling good about the state of things, Jane and I went down to greet Mr. Collins, along with the rest of the household. I hoped Mr. Collins looked like the one at Pride and Prejudice Park, for Mary’s sake.
As we stepped into the entryway, Mrs. Bennet zeroed in on the kitten, curled up and purring against my chest. “Where did you get that thing?” she said in disgust.
“Mr. Darcy.”
Her tone and facial expression softened immediately. “Oh, well. Of course, you must keep the thing. Just make sure it stays out of my rooms.”
“Yes, Mama.”
“A kitten!” Lydia exclaimed. “I’ve always wanted a kitten.” She unceremoniously took the cat from me. “What is his name?”
I hadn’t thought of one yet. I definitely couldn’t go with Mr. Darcy, my first love. But what about my true love? The thought pierced my heart so much I winced. “What about Duke?”
“Yes! The Duke of Longbourn!” Lydia squealed, twirling around with my kitten. I let her keep ahold of him, given it was the first time she had behaved as a fifteen-year-old girl should. She and Kitty found some string and played with Duke while we waited. It was such a wholesome scene, I couldn’t help but smile.
It didn’t take long for the carriage bearing Mr. Collins to arrive. The entire family seemed to wait with bated breath for him to exit. As we walked outside to greet him, I noticed that the trees had all turned colors now, and some had even lost their leaves. How could that be? I hadn’t been there that long. It was weird that time did not seem consistent. Not any weirder than me being there, but still, it was odd and disconcerting.
Mr. Collins exited with all the pageantry I expected. He stepped out of the carriage, drawn by four white horses, like he was a prince about to greet his subjects. It shocked me he didn’t do a beauty-queen wave. But I was pleased to see he was indeed the hottie from the park with his dark curly mussed hair and deep-brown eyes with long lashes.
Mary’s eyes lit up when she got a good look at him. Oh, she so wanted to boil potatoes for him.
Mr. Collins first took in the house that would one day be his, then proceeded to check us all out before he said a word. By the twinkle in his greedy eyes, it seemed he was not disappointed in our appearance. I could see him calculating which one of us he would choose, as if we were pieces of meat at the market.
“Mr. Collins,” Mr. Bennet greeted him with a dignified air of Keep your eyes off my daughters.
Mr. Collins wrenched his gaze away from my sisters and me and focused on our parents. “Mr. Bennet,” he bellowed. “What a pleasure it is to finally know you.”
“Yes, quite the pleasure,” Mr. Bennet replied sardonically.
Mr. Collins was either dense or calculating and only grinned, not batting an eye at the slight.
“May I introduce my wife, Mrs. Bennet, and my daughters, Jane, Elizabeth, Mary, Kitty, and Lydia,” Mr. Bennet made introductions. We each curtsied as our names were called.
“My fair cousins.” Mr. Collins bowed. “I bring greetings from the honorable Lady Catherine de Bourgh, my patroness.”
None of the women said anything. Mrs. Bennet was balling up her fists, wanting to punch him in the face. His pretty face, mind you.
“Let us get out of the cold,” Mr. Bennet said as he ushered us in.
Mr. Collins, adept at elegant compliments, sidled up to Mrs. Bennet and began paying her every kindness, even though I felt his eyes scrutinizing me. He was definitely here to report back on me.
Mary took my hand and whispered in my ear, “He is handsome.”
“Yes,” I agreed, but now after meeting him in person, I was less sure about him than when I’d read about him.
“What a charming house,” Mr. Collins pontificated as we all followed him and our parents to the parlor. “I am glad to find it in such good order.”
Mrs. Bennet tchted. “Did you think it would be in disrepair?”
“No, madam,” Mr. Collins exaggerated. “I hope I did not cause offense. I only meant to compliment you on your excellent home.”
Right. And I was the Princess of Wales.
Mary went straight to the pianoforte when we entered the parlor and began playing “Come, We That Love the Lord.”
Mr. Collins left Mama’s side and drifted Mary’s way, like some magical force had drawn him there. “My dear cousin, how did you know this was my favorite hymn?” To our shock, or at least to mine, he began to sing like he was Frank Churchill in Gwyneth Paltrow’s Emma . “Come, we that love the Lord, and let our joys be known; join in a song with sweet accord.” He sang every note perfectly.
This seemed all too surreal. Was I really this good? Had I changed the course of the story so much that Mr. Collins was not only a babe but an amazing vocalist? More surprising was Mary singing along with him, their voices blending perfectly together. It was as I had always suspected—they were meant to be, even if he was a sneaky spy for Lady Catherine.
There was nothing left for the rest of us to do but sit and listen to them.
Jane and I shared several what in the world glances, while Lydia and Kitty played with Duke. Mr. and Mrs. Bennet gaped at Mary like they hardly knew her. Weird, since it was me they didn’t really know. I hardly knew myself anymore.
We passed the time away in this manner before our dinner guests arrived, listening not only to Mary and Mr. Collins’s duets, but to their discussions of Fordyce’s sermons as well. Mary really swooned when Mr. Collins read the following passage with such passion:
“It has been the wisdom of all nations to guard the females of their community with peculiar care. Nature and custom have alike prescribed this necessity. Accordingly, in all countries where the fair sex are well regarded, in such countries the inhabitants are most refined. For, as it has been often observed, there is no surer test of the real politeness of any people than the state of their women. Their ignorance or education, their licentiousness or delicacy, their indolence or industry, their low or liberal accomplishments—these, when fairly stated, are sufficient to show us what we are to expect in other respects. And it holds as true in morality as in mechanics, that the same causes in the same circumstances will produce similar effects.”
I would have so giggled if Fitz said something like that to me trying to woo me. Granted, it was better than the “Darcy” speech he’d given me.
With Mr. Collins and Mary so smitten with each other, I kept waiting for Mr. Roarke to show up and tell me I’d completed my fantasy of being the best Elizabeth and being able to fix things. Sure, Mr. Darcy hadn’t proposed yet, but he’d sent me a kitten, and we seemed headed in that direction. He wanted me to meet his sister, after all.
But Mr. Roarke never came. Apparently, the fantasy, or dream, or afterlife had to go on. And go on it did. Let’s just say I could guess why Mr. Roarke hadn’t shown up yet to take me back to reality, because reality came to call in a big, big way.
I’d been bracing myself for Mr. Collins to fawn all over Mr. Darcy ... but no, Mr. Collins focused all his attention on Mary during the first course of mushroom soup. Talk about love at first sight. Had he forgotten his mission to spy on me?
It certainly helped to ease my nerves as we all sat around the table, Mr. Darcy next to me.
“I have not had the chance to thank you for the kitten. I love him.”
Mrs. Bennet had insisted Lydia leave him in a basket in the parlor, despite her pleas to bring him to dinner.
Mr. Darcy set his spoon down and turned to gaze at me. “You have me doing the oddest things,” he admitted.
He sounded like Fitz there, whom I had forced to watch the strangest musicals of our time. “Is that a bad thing, Mr. Darcy?” Could he love me for my oddities?
“Not at all, Miss Bennet. In fact—”
I waited for him to say something amazing. I just got that kind of vibe, like a my-greatest-wish-was-about-to-be-granted kind of vibe. But a conversation between Lydia and Mr. Bingley about the Netherfield ball filtered our way and stole the moment from me.
“I do hope you will still invite all the officers, despite Mr. Wickham’s being part of the regiment. Lizzy says we must stay away from him because of Mr. Darcy, but I do not think there is a way of getting around inviting him.”
Oh, Lydia. I knew her words would be unwelcome.
Mr. Darcy’s look of adoration for me turned cold. “What did you say about Mr. Wickham?” he seethed under his breath and for my ears only.
“Only that he seemed to make you uncomfortable, so we should avoid him.”
“I do not wish for my name to be connected to his in any way.”
“That is understandable, considering what he did to your sister.” My hand flew over my mouth, realizing my mistake too late.
Mr. Darcy’s eyes blazed with a fury I had never witnessed before. “How do you know such things?”
What do I say? Think of something. Anything that doesn’t sound as ridiculous as the truth. But nothing came except for the tears in my eyes that threatened to spill over. “I cannot say.”
Without any warning, he pushed his chair back, stood, and walked out of the room.
A deafening silence fell across the table, and all eyes landed on me.
My entire body erupted in flames from embarrassment. I couldn’t focus on anyone in the room. All I could think of was how I needed to repair this. But this time, I knew there was no fixing it. I’d single-handedly ruined one of the greatest love stories of all time.