Chapter 63
“May I enquire after your journey, Mrs. Bennet?” Colonel Fitzwilliam asked, smiling jovially, “Summer is a fine time to travel, is it not?”
Mrs. Bennet opened her mouth to answer, but Mr. Collins got there first.
“On horseback, perhaps, it is pleasant enough. Carriages, one finds, are both hot and humid at this time of year.”
“I suppose that depends upon the carriage, and the company within it.” Fitzwilliam tried to lighten the tone, with a charming nod at Mrs. Bennet, who blushed. Mr. Collins scowled.
“It does indeed, sir. It does indeed! It was unfortunate that none of Pemberley’s fine carriages were made available to us. We were forced to spend most of our journey on the post.”
Mr. Darcy looked up, his eyes sharp, his voice impeccably polite:
“Had we known you were coming then of course we would have made more comfortable arrangements. If you insist upon surprising us, sir, then we are not to blame for the shortcomings in your own plans.”
Fitzwilliam hid a smile. Darcy was a pompous ass at times - a trait he used to great effect around his long-suffering cousin - and it was wonderful to see his ire aimed at somebody else for once.
Mrs. Bennet had also been watching the riposte.
She could clearly find no sensible way to enter to fray and had nothing to offer the conversation but a scowl.
Mr. Darcy’s barbed reference to their rude intrusion had made her ears go pink.
They clashed with the scarlet ribbon that ran through her mop cap.
Mary had told Fitzwilliam that her mother was more cunning than intelligent, and that it was only her unstoppable energy which made her schemes effective. She had compared Mrs. Bennet to an old mutt barking endlessly at a banging gate.
Without Mr. Collins, Mary explained, her mother’s ideas were ridiculous and easy to dismiss.
The woman grew bored quickly, or frustrated with the smallest delays, and gave up most ploys with the same thoughtless haste that she had constructed them.
She was only persistent when pressed by another party - in this case, Mr. Collins.
Before his arrival her daughters had held the honour of her undivided energy.
Now, it was the entail. She obliged Mr. Collins’s every whim with slavish devotion.
Collins wanted Jane. His gaze lingered on her constantly, beady and cold in the candlelight.
Mary had been correct in that matter, too: the man of God did not look at Miss Bennet’s face.
His hollow eyes raked down her body with lazy, possessive hunger.
Whenever she looked back, he gave her a lascivious smirk that made her shiver.
“Miss Bennet, do you feel a chill?” Bingley piped up. He beckoned to a footman, “Please bring Miss Bennet her warmest shawl. We cannot have her falling ill.”
“It is sweltering in here. Miss Bennet cannot have need of a shawl.” Mr. Collins objected, seeing through the ploy at once. How could he miss it? Bingley was a terrible actor.
“Perhaps we are sitting in a draught, sir.” Bingley replied, not bothering to sound convincing. “There is certainly something chilling in the air.”
The shawl was delivered, and Bingley made a great show of standing up and wrapping it around Jane’s shoulders.
Nobody could miss the protective, warning glint in his eyes, nor mistake the sweetness in Jane’s grateful smile.
She went pink very quickly, since the room was indeed very warm, but with her body concealed she began to relax.
Mrs. Bennet finally found her voice. She smiled winsomely at Bingley, who seemed simple-minded and easy to impress. “I believe we have met before, Mr. …?”
“Bingley, ma’am. We were introduced at the Meryton Ball, in the Assembly Rooms.”
“Yes, that was it. I recall that night well, for that was the same ball where we met Mr. Darcy. It is not every day that you are introduced to your son-in-law! He married my daughter just a few weeks later, you know. The banns barely had time to be read! What do you think of that, Mr. Bingley?”
“Of the marriage, madam?”
“Of its expedience.”
“That is a complicated word for me to consider, madam. I can only describe my own opinions, and you shall have to draw your own conclusions.” Bingley replied with an easy smile.
He relaxed back in his seat and nonchalantly sipped his wine.
“My friend recognised your daughter’s wit and beauty at once.
How could he not? She is a diamond, madam.
Once Mr. Darcy sets his mind upon something I have never known him to delay. ”
“I do not see the value in it.” Darcy agreed, tapping his fingers fitfully against the stem of his own, empty glass. “Mrs. Darcy and I are well suited. That much was apparent from the start. Understanding the need for haste, I made my offer as soon as it was prudent to do so.”
“Need for haste?” the woman cried, “What need is that, sir? The need to interfere with another man’s prospects? With his future, sir?”
Darcy met her eyes levelly, letting her see his disdain, “With two ladies’ welfare.”
“Mama, we should not discuss this now.” Elizabeth entreated, “You are tired from your journey, and we are all out of sorts. Shall we all try to enjoy the meal? We can speak in the morning.”
“We shall not be here in the morning, Mrs. Darcy.” Collins interrupted, “We are to leave as soon as this wretched meal is over.”
Lizzie blinked, genuinely taken aback. “But... the ball…”
“I have no interest in balls.” he informed her bluntly, “I have a written promise from your sister stating that, once she visited her family, she would return to her father’s home and become my wife.
She has so far refused to honour this agreement - and this it entirely due to your interference, madam.
You have made Miss Bennet act shamefully. I shall restore her to grace.”
“You go too far, sir.” Darcy warned. Mr. Collins balked but was not swayed.
“Perhaps I should have been more subtle, sir, had you not made your dislike for me so abundantly clear. You do not want me to stay here, and I will be glad to resolve that. We shall leave tonight, with Miss Bennet, and not trouble you again.”
“She shall not go!” Elizabeth cried.
“Of course she will. She is a good girl and knows that this is for the best.” Mrs. Bennet cut across in a sharp voice.
“Do not speak of things that you do not understand! Just because you went behind my back, Lizzie, does not mean that all my daughters shall. They, at least, care about this family! She shall marry Mr. Collins, and we shall be safe. That is the end of it.”
Elizabeth caught her breath, hurt beyond words, and shook her head wildly.
“Please stop talking about Jane as if she were a… an object. She is not a trading token, mama, she is your daughter! Would you dismiss all that we cherish - her warmth and goodness and the great love she still bears you - to appease a man who thinks her a possession?”
“I am thinking of the entail, Lizzie. The safety and security of your own sisters may not matter to you, but if we are to survive… ugh! How complacent you are, to lecture a poor helpless woman in your grand house, wearing your finest jewels! If you were in our position, Lizzie, you would not have the luxury of cherishing anyone!”
“The entail. The entail.” Lizzie scoffed, “So you trust that man to shelter you after papa dies? He could cast you out in a heartbeat. How much are you willing to gamble on his good will, mother?”
“I am an honourable man.” Collins snapped, “Should she rather place her future in the hands of a drunkard?”
Elizabeth flinched. She reeled wildly around, eyes wounded and flashing furiously, but before she could retort Darcy placed his hand on her shoulder. A great shudder visibly ran through her body and Lizzie slumped back into her chair.
For a long moment the room was silent. There were a few harsh breaths, of course, and the occasional muffled sob from Kitty.
She and Lydia had been weeping since the argument began, clinging to each other like frightened infants.
Even the servants were mute, frozen in horror beside the forgotten, rapidly-cooling serving trays.
“May I speak?”
Jane’s soft question pierced the silence like an exquisite assassin’s dart.
Everyone turned to stare at her. She did not return their looks.
Her eyes were held down at her untouched food.
A tear shimmered on her cheek, but she did not wipe it away.
Rather, her arms were limp at her sides.
By the intense expression on Bingley’s face, those who knew him knew that he was gripping Jane’s hand beneath the table.
Jane spoke quietly but her voice did not tremble.
“I wanted to speak to you alone, mama. I planned my words - oh, I practiced them!
I was going to whisper them to you after dinner, but now I have no choice.
I am already exposed. I have been shamed before my sisters and my friends.
They may as well see my selfish, unfilial nature, and they can see me humbled before it.
Mama, I love you with all of my heart. I love you beyond reason, but it is with reason that I reach out to you now. My spirit demands to be heard. I cannot obey you, mama. I cannot.
I am of age and can make my own choices in my small, insignificant life. Good or ill, they are my decisions to make. It is my life to live.
Lizzie has invited me to live with her. It will ease your burden, mama, and spare papa the pain of seeing me sold to a life that will destroy me. I shall never return home again and I shall not - I cannot - marry Mr. Collins.”
In the utter silence, Jane looked up and into her cousin’s seething eyes.