Chapter 6 #2
Elizabeth added, more lightly, “And besides—gentlemen do not wish for ladies such as myself for a bride.” To think a man could fall in love in one evening was ridiculous. Being smitten was one thing, but ardent love? And with her? Nonsense.
Charlotte’s expression softened, though her tone remained steady. “You underestimate yourself.”
Elizabeth shook her head. “I do not think so.” She might be resigned to her condition and content with her lot, but she was sure of this.
“There are many things,” Charlotte said, “that may compensate for trifling failings.”
A lack of sight was hardly trifling. Elizabeth offered a smile, yet she remained unconvinced by the reasoning. “I shall endeavor to discover them,” she said.
Charlotte held her gaze for a moment longer, as though she might say more. But she did not. Instead, she reached again for her tea.
The conversation around them continued—Mrs. Bennet recounting every detail of the evening, Lady Lucas offering her observations, Mr. Collins contributing his own reflections with evident satisfaction.
Elizabeth listened only in part. Her thoughts had shifted. Not dramatically. Not in a way that would be apparent to anyone watching her. She sat as she always did—composed, attentive, her expression calm. But within, something had altered.
It was not the conversation itself. Not Charlotte’s teasing, nor her mother’s enthusiasm, nor even Mr. Collins’s practical considerations.
It was something smaller. A memory of standing upon the terrace, the cool air easing the strain of the room, a voice beside her—measured, thoughtful, attentive in a way she had not expected.
One conversation. It ought not to signify. Elizabeth drew a slow breath and let it out again.
For so long, she had been certain of the shape her life would take. It had seemed settled, almost inevitable. She would remain at Longbourn. She would assist Jane. She would help guide Thomas as he grew, and any others who might follow.
It was not an unhappy prospect. There was affection in it.
Purpose. And yet, for the first time in many months—perhaps longer—she found that certainty unsettled.
It had not been replaced, but merely questioned.
The thought of something more, something she had long since set aside, returned with a steady persistence.
Not unreasonable. Not impossible.
Elizabeth did not dwell upon it. She knew better than to build expectation upon so little.
She did not, however, rule it out completely. She turned her face slightly toward the light, allowing it to fall where it would best serve her.
Across from her, Charlotte spoke with Mrs. Bennet, her tone steady, her manner composed. Elizabeth listened and remained. But somewhere beneath the calm surface of her thoughts, something new had taken root. It could not be called hope, not yet, but the possibility of it.
The departure of the Lucases brought with it a noticeable calm.
For a short while, the drawing room retained the warmth of their presence—the faint echo of conversation, the lingering arrangement of chairs drawn closer together than usual—but as the door closed behind them and their carriage rolled away, the house seemed to settle once more into its familiar rhythm.
Elizabeth remained where she was, her hands resting lightly in her lap, her attention turned inward though she gave no outward sign of it.
Mrs. Bennet resumed her seat with a small sigh of satisfaction. “Well,” she said, adjusting her shawl, “that was very agreeable indeed. Lady Lucas is quite convinced of it now.”
Elizabeth did not ask of what, precisely, Lady Lucas was convinced. She suspected she knew.
Jane stood near the hearth, one hand resting upon the back of a chair. There was a stillness in her that Elizabeth recognized—composure scrupulously maintained, though not without effort. Her sister was battling great emotion.
Mr. Collins, who had remained behind, cleared his throat. “My dear Mrs. Bennet,” he began, drawing himself up slightly, “I must take this opportunity to express my satisfaction at the most promising developments of the previous evening.”
Mrs. Bennet turned toward him at once. “Yes, yes—most promising indeed.”
“It is not often,” Mr. Collins continued, “that such a favorable impression is formed with such immediacy. Mr. Bingley is a gentleman of considerable fortune, and his evident regard for Mrs. Collins cannot but be considered a most fortunate circumstance.”
She directed her gaze away, without turning her head.
Jane did not move.
“Such a marriage,” Mr. Collins went on, “would be of great advantage to the family. While young Thomas is, of course, secure in his inheritance, an alliance of this nature would serve to strengthen your position in the community and ease certain financial considerations.”
Mrs. Bennet nodded eagerly. “Yes—yes, precisely so.”
Elizabeth felt the faintest tightening in her chest. She did not dispute the logic. Indeed, she could not.
Mr. Collins’s management of the estate had already brought about changes that were difficult to deny.
The accounts were in better order. The land was more fully tended.
There was a steadiness to Longbourn now that had not always been present.
Still, the upkeep of six women was expensive. Elizabeth was aware of it.
Aware, too, that she preferred Mr. Collins’s way of managing the estate to her father’s. The thought came unbidden, and with it, a mild sense of guilt. Her father had been kind. Witty. Indulgent. But he had not been attentive.
She pressed her fingers lightly together, dismissing the comparison as best she could.
Jane’s voice broke the silence. “I have only just met Mr. Bingley,” she said. Her tone was calm, but there was something beneath it—something firmer than Elizabeth had expected. “I cannot imagine that it is proper to form such conclusions so quickly.”
Mr. Collins inclined his head. “My dear Mrs. Collins, I do not suggest that any immediate understanding be assumed. Only that the circumstances are…encouraging.”
Jane turned toward him then. “I would not wish to make a fool of myself,” she said, her voice steady, “by appearing eager to secure the attentions of a gentleman I scarcely know.”
Mrs. Bennet opened her mouth, but Jane continued before she could speak.
“I am surprised,” she added, her gaze resting briefly on Mr. Collins, “that you should wish to see me so readily removed from this household.”
The words were spoken without sharpness and accusation. But they landed all the same.
Elizabeth felt the shift at once.
Jane’s cheeks had flushed—just slightly, but enough to be seen. She stood very straight, her composure intact, though no longer entirely effortless.
Mr. Collins blinked. “My dear Mrs. Collins,” he said, clearly taken aback, “I assure you, that was not my intention—”
Jane inclined her head. “I beg your pardon,” she said, though there was no apology in her tone. “I must see to Thomas.” She turned and left the room. The door closed behind her with restrained finality.
There was a moment of stillness. Mr. Collins remained where he stood, his expression one of genuine bewilderment.
Elizabeth did not speak. She watched him—attentively, thoughtfully—and saw no sign that he understood what had passed.
“I cannot imagine,” he said at last, more to himself than to anyone present, “what I have said to occasion such a response.”
Mrs. Bennet gave a small, impatient wave of her hand. “Oh, it is nothing. Jane is only overly sensitive.”
Mr. Collins frowned slightly. “Nevertheless,” he said, “it may be prudent for me to review the accounts. There are certain figures I wish to confirm.”
Elizabeth suspected this was his means of retreat. He inclined his head once more and left the room, his steps measured, though his expression remained troubled. Silence returned.
Mrs. Bennet turned at once toward Elizabeth. “Well,” she said, lowering her voice slightly, “it would be a very good thing for Jane.”
Elizabeth did not answer immediately. She considered her words. “Mr. Bingley may wish for sons of his own,” she said at last, her tone mild. “To inherit his estate.”
Mrs. Bennet dismissed this with a quick shake of her head. “Nonsense. He will purchase another. Something very near—quite convenient. Then Thomas may learn to manage Longbourn, while Mr. Bingley’s own son inherits the other estate. It would answer perfectly.”
Elizabeth felt the faintest tension return. Her mother’s plans were already forming—arranging themselves with a confidence that took little account of Jane’s wishes.
“It is early,” Elizabeth said gently.
Mrs. Bennet leaned closer. “It is never too early to consider what is best.”
Elizabeth did not argue. She knew better. Instead, she let the moment pass, her gaze resting somewhere just beyond her mother’s shoulder.
Mrs. Bennet sighed. “And of course,” she continued, “we must consider what is to become of you.”
Elizabeth’s attention sharpened. “Of me?”
“Yes. My poor girl.” Mrs. Bennet’s tone softened, though not in a way that entirely reassured. “You must understand that your circumstances are…different.”
Elizabeth said nothing.
“It is not that you are without charms,” Mrs. Bennet went on, with evident earnestness. “Only that gentlemen may not always recognize them as they ought.”
Elizabeth’s fingers tightened slightly against her skirt.
“You will always have a place here,” Mrs. Bennet added quickly. “With Jane. And her children. It is a very comfortable situation, and quite suitable.”
Elizabeth inclined her head. “Yes, Mama.” Mrs. Bennet’s words contradicted what she had said earlier about Jane marrying Mr. Bingley, but she did not bring attention to that point.
Mrs. Bennet smiled, evidently satisfied with the arrangement she had outlined.
Elizabeth rose. “I think I shall go out for a walk,” she said.
“So soon?” Mrs. Bennet asked.
“The air is pleasant,” Elizabeth replied. She reached for her walking stick, her fingers closing around it with familiar ease.
Mrs. Bennet watched her for a moment, then nodded. “Yes, yes. Do not go too far.”
“I shall not.” Elizabeth moved toward the door, her steps steady, her posture composed. As she passed into the hall and the quiet closed around her once more, she allowed herself a single, slow breath. The morning light waited beyond. And she went to meet it.