Chapter I #2
Elizabeth had heard her say those exact words so many times that she began to dream them, which further soured her mood.
It was silly, of course, for the only end for a woman who refused every offer of marriage was to remain unmarried, but Mrs. Bennet did not consider the futility of the statement, nor did she remember that Mr. Collins’s proposal was one, not many.
Elizabeth understood her situation, knew that, despite the unkindness of Mr. Collins’s assertion that she may never receive another offer, it was not untrue.
That was no reason for an intelligent woman to accept a man who would make her miserable, one to whom marriage would be a punishment she would need to endure every minute for the rest of her life.
When word arrived that Netherfield was once again occupied, Mrs. Bennet’s focus shifted away from her constant criticisms to delirious happiness that her dreams for her eldest daughter were not yet moribund. Elizabeth’s relief was profound, and her gratitude beyond words.
“Mr. Bingley has returned!” exclaimed Mrs. Bennet, almost insensible with relief and ecstasy. “I knew how it would be! I knew he could not leave Jane behind without a backward glance.”
“To the best of my knowledge,” replied Mr. Bennet as he read the newspaper, “we have no notion whether the resident at Netherfield Park is Mr. Bingley.”
“Who else would it be?” demanded Mrs. Bennet.
“I cannot say,” replied Mr. Bennet. “Yet I do not suppose we should put the cart before the horse until we know what the cart contains.”
Elizabeth thought this a reasonable suggestion, though she agreed with her mother that Mr. Bingley’s return was far more likely than any other member of that party enduring Netherfield again.
It soon became a matter of renewed fretting for Mrs. Bennet, as whoever the new resident was, he did not visit Longbourn.
As the situation persisted, Mrs. Bennet began to doubt her interpretation of the matter.
The Bennet family discovered the truth of the new resident only a few days after the mystery occupant’s arrival, though it was not what any of them suspected.
The family was engaged to dine at the Gouldings’ estate, neighbors of longstanding.
Several families in the district were present that evening, as was a man none of them had ever met.
He was tall, broad-shouldered, and, while perhaps not strictly handsome, was a striking man, with an aristocratic bearing and an easy jovial manner.
Though Elizabeth could not say why, she thought his features were distinctive in a curiously familiar way, with his dark, wavy hair, chiseled features, and blue eyes.
The notion persisted for a few moments, though his name Colonel Anthony Fitzwilliam meant nothing to her.
The man was pleasant and easy in company, speaking and listening with no hint of hesitation, though Elizabeth noted that his eyes were often on the Bennets.
A few moments before dinner, Elizabeth approached him, interested in learning more of this newcomer.
“Miss Elizabeth, was it not?” asked he, as she stood near him, ostensibly paying attention to another conversation, though hoping for some conversation with this man.
“Colonel Fitzwilliam,” replied she. “I must own that I am surprised to see you here. We were expecting Mr. Bingley, if anyone returned to Netherfield.”
The way the colonel looked at her showed his amusement. “It appears you possess a certain directness of manner, Miss Elizabeth—refreshing, I assure you. If only I could induce my regiment to follow your example.”
“It saves time,” was Elizabeth’s bland reply.
“Yes, I suppose it does. The truth is that Bingley is an acquaintance, and not one I know to any great extent. As I needed a place to convalesce for a few weeks and Darcy, who is my cousin, is an excellent friend of Bingley’s, he offered the use of his estate.”
“Mr. Darcy is your cousin?” asked Elizabeth, surprised by the connection.
“He is. Darcy’s mother was sister to my father.”
Eyes wide, Elizabeth said: “May I then assume that your father is Mr. Darcy’s titled relation?”
“One of them,” agreed Colonel Fitzwilliam. “Yes, my father is the Earl of Matlock and Darcy’s closest titled relations, but the Darcys are an old, respected family, possessing ties of some sort to many noble families.”
Elizabeth did not know quite what to say.
Though Colonel Fitzwilliam must be a younger son, by society’s estimation, he was higher than Mr. Darcy, who was only a gentleman, albeit a wealthy man.
Yet, whereas Mr. Darcy was proud, haughty, and above his company, Colonel Fitzwilliam was everything easy, quick with a jest, and appeared interested to know them all.
This apparent reversal was curious, for Elizabeth would have expected the son of an earl to display more superior manners than a gentleman.
“You mentioned you are injured?” asked Elizabeth, grasping for something to say that did not reveal her dislike for his cousin.
The colonel gestured to a cane he held in his hand, and only then did Elizabeth notice he was resting most of his weight on his left leg.
“I was recently on the continent in Spain when I was injured during a skirmish with French forces. As a colonel is not much value when he only has the use of one leg, they sent me home to recuperate.”
“Do not inform my youngest sisters of your position,” said Elizabeth with a laugh. “They will pester you for stories and dizzy you with their fluttering lashes if they learn of it.”
The colonel laughed as she intended. “Your youngest sisters love a man in uniform, do they?”
Elizabeth offered an exaggerated glance heavenward. “The local militia company comprises much of their conversation these days. I shudder to imagine what they might do if they learned a colonel of the army was in Meryton.”
Still chuckling, the colonel glanced about the room. “Can I assume they are in that group, giggling with several other young ladies?”
“The tall girl in blue sprigged muslin and the girl next to her in yellow,” replied Elizabeth, following his gesture. Lydia, the taller, is my youngest sister, and Catherine—whom we call Kitty—is the next eldest.”
“They are pretty girls, though I will own that I have seen their like before.”
“That, my dear colonel, is no surprise at all.”
“What of you, Miss Elizabeth?” asked the colonel, turning his frank gaze on her. “Do you, too, love a man in a red coat? Should I send to London for my uniform so that I can bedazzle you all?”
“A man in a red coat is, foremost, just a man,” replied Elizabeth. “I am more interested in his character than the color of his jacket.”
“Well said, Miss Elizabeth. Well said, indeed.”
Elizabeth stood with the colonel for some time speaking, pleased with his society.
The man was open and easy, never searching for topics of conversation, and showed his intelligence by speaking of matters of substance, his opinions well-considered and interesting.
Several glances from her mother, who was looking at them, told Elizabeth that her thoughts were already winging to future matrimony; no doubt the trials Elizabeth had endured of late would change into her mother trying to pair her with the colonel whenever possible.
Then Elizabeth learned otherwise, and in truth, she should have noticed it. While they spoke, she saw that he often looked at a point behind her, and though she thought nothing of it, in time it became too pronounced to ignore. Then he spoke and removed all doubt.
“Miss Elizabeth, that lady over there, I believe she is your sister?”
Elizabeth turned to look and saw Jane standing next to Geraldine Goulding, though her eyes strayed to Elizabeth as often as the colonel’s had strayed to her.
One who did not know her might think she would be offended by men so often noticing Jane to her detriment, but Elizabeth was so convinced of her sister’s goodness and beauty that she thought nothing was amiss.
That did not mean she was above a little teasing.
“Why, Colonel, should I feel offended that my hold on your attention is already waning in favor of my sister?”
The man grinned at her, showing he had not missed her teasing tone. “Not at all, Miss Elizabeth. You are lively and intelligent enough to captivate any man. Yet I cannot but wonder if your sister is of a similar disposition.”
“No, Jane and I are not alike, for all that we are the closest companions. Jane is my eldest sister, and a more beautiful soul you could not find. If you wish, I shall introduce you. Then I shall fade into the company and leave you to form your own opinion.”
“If you could fade into the company, I should be very surprised,” said the colonel. “I am already of the opinion that anyone who ignores you must be a fool. The force of your brilliance demands attention.”
Though flattered, Elizabeth gestured to Jane, who was now standing alone, and when the colonel agreed, she led him to her sister.
“Jane, Colonel Fitzwilliam has spoken of a desire to know you better,” said Elizabeth as she approached.
“Miss Bennet,” said the colonel, leaning on his cane and executing a simple bow.
“Colonel Fitzwilliam,” replied Jane, dropping into a curtsey. “I hope you are finding our society pleasing.”
“Without a doubt,” said he. “You have all been so welcoming that I am at ease in your company.”
It had always struck Elizabeth that Jane, as a modest young woman, never expected any undue attention, while everyone around her knew what would happen when a man noticed her.
Colonel Fitzwilliam did not exclude Elizabeth from the conversation, for he was just as interesting and gracious as he had been before, but it was not long after that he became engrossed in his conversation with Jane, and Elizabeth excused herself.
Standing a little apart, Elizabeth watched them, noting that their interaction appeared identical to that she had seen two months earlier when Mr. Bingley had bestowed all his attention on Jane.
What was different was that Colonel Fitzwilliam did not focus on her exclusively, speaking to others when they approached, and appearing interested in what she had to say, rather than merely smitten by her beauty.
It was like comparing a puppy to a full-grown dog—Mr. Bingley had attended to Jane’s every word, lapping it up as if a saucer of cream sat before him, while Colonel Fitzwilliam allowed her to speak, laughing with her, focused on her, while not looking at her as if she were more beautiful than Aphrodite.
“It appears our Jane has made a conquest,” said Mary later that evening, when the company had again gathered in the sitting-room after dinner.
Colonel Fitzwilliam kept Jane close as he escorted Mrs. Goulding to the dining-room, joking that he would have also taken her arm had he not needed the use of his cane.
Throughout dinner, they had kept a steady conversation that had continued the moment the men rejoined the ladies in the sitting-room.
“Aye, she has,” agreed Elizabeth, her continued thoughts rendering her reply absent-minded. “To own the truth, I wonder if it is wise.”
“You speak of her recent experience with Mr. Bingley.”
Elizabeth turned a smile on her younger sister. “I do. You saw how quickly she came to esteem Mr. Bingley, and he left, never to return. Colonel Fitzwilliam is Mr. Darcy’s cousin and the son of an earl.”
“Except that this is but the first evening of their acquaintance,” replied Mary. “It is far too early to concern yourself with Jane’s happiness.”
The comment was apropos, and Elizabeth allowed it to be true. “I understand that, Mary, but I would not have Jane hurt again.”
Mary nodded but said nothing further. In time, they drifted apart, Elizabeth moving among the company, speaking and laughing as was her wont, though her attention was often on Jane and Colonel Fitzwilliam.
Through careful scrutiny, she decided that though it was still their first meeting, Colonel Fitzwilliam presented the very picture of a man newly intrigued by a woman.
Jane was harder to read as always, but Elizabeth noted at once the absence of the melancholy that had lingered about her like a storm cloud and wondered if Jane had not already felt the first stirrings of uncommon interest in her heart.
Then Elizabeth considered the man himself.
For one, Colonel Fitzwilliam was not Mr. Bingley—while she could know nothing of his relations, she doubted he had a shrewish sister, and even if he had, she suspected his firmness of purpose was not in question like Mr. Bingley’s was.
She also did not suppose he was a man looking for a pretty woman to adorn his arm for a few weeks and then withdraw when the location no longer suited his needs—there was something solid and dependable about the man that could not be misread.
The greater concern was his position in society and the opinions of his family about a match with the daughter of a minor country gentleman.
Elizabeth could not know if their current amity would lead to a match, but she also knew the state in which Jane had existed since Mr. Bingley went away.
It was only prudent for her sister to guard her heart, for he might have nothing more serious than agreeable conversation in mind, and even if he did, there was no guarantee he would ever act on any inclination he might have.
Of perhaps greater importance, Elizabeth did not wish Jane to transfer her affection to another merely because of her depressed spirits—she was not the sort of woman to do so, but disappointment could provoke uncharacteristic behavior in anyone.
There was no proper opportunity to speak with Jane that evening, and Elizabeth would not do it in a crowded sitting-room where anyone could overhear.
Yet Elizabeth resolved to have the conversation with her dear sister and ensure she approached the situation in a rational manner rather than an emotional one.
It was, perhaps, little enough, not the protection she wished to provide for a beloved sister who had suffered disappointment.
Jane was an adult and could make her own choices, but Elizabeth would not allow her to face whatever was to come without giving her all the support she could.