Chapter 2 #2
“Lady Lucas,” said Elizabeth. “My cousin, Mr. Collins, holds a fine living at Hunsford, in Kent. But all good fortune is his, for he is also heir to Longbourn under the entail.”
“Indeed, madam. Of course, I wish Mr. Bennet a long life.” He looked at Elizabeth with some puzzlement, glancing between her and Charlotte. The moment Elizabeth had hoped for arrived.
“Miss Lucas, would you honour me with the next set?”
Charlotte blushed demurely. “Certainly, Mr. Collins, it would be my pleasure.”
Both Lady Lucas and Elizabeth watched as he led Charlotte to the line which was beginning to form.
“Miss Elizabeth,” said the lady, still gazing at her daughter. “Is it possible…”
“It is not up to me, Lady Lucas. But they have as good a chance of felicity as any couple. Mr. Collins is a good man, though he will require much guidance from a strong woman, such as Charlotte. He venerates his patroness, a Lady Catherine de Bourgh of Rosings in Kent, perhaps a little too much. But I believe your Charlotte will manage both the lady and, if they were to wed, her husband very well.”
Lady Lucas took Elizabeth’s hands. “Oh, bless you, Miss Elizabeth… I must find Sir William.”
“Please, a little circumspection if you will. Let them become acquainted with each other. It would be unwise to speak to anyone other than your husband, until Mr. Collins makes his offer.”
“Yes, I was carried away. Perhaps I need display a little less enthusiasm than Fanny would. Thank you, thank you again!”
Fanny. Mrs. Bennet. Her mother, talking nearby, in too loud a voice, of nothing else but of her expectation that Jane would be soon married to Mr. Bingley.
Elizabeth sighed. There was nought she could do to quieten her.
Mrs. Bennet would be incapable of fatigue or other distraction while enumerating the advantages of the match.
Fortunately, William Goulding approached, and she was led out to join the second set of the evening.
* * *
“William, we have known each other since childhood and are nearly of an age,” said Elizabeth, as she and William Goulding stood together awaiting the start of the dance.
“Let us set aside all this formality—no more Miss Bennet and Mr. Goulding, if you please. I think we may simply be Elizabeth and William tonight.”
He blinked in mild surprise, hesitating as he pondered the shift.
Of course, in their younger days they had scampered freely, pretending to hunt tigers in the woods, climbing trees, entirely ignorant of those fine distinctions between man and woman, boy and girl.
Now she was grown into a very attractive woman, and he—no longer quite a boy—seemed only half comfortable with his growing maturity.
“If you wish it, Eliz—Elizabeth,” he said, stumbling over the unfamiliar liberty. He looked away, suddenly conscious of the many faces turned their way. The idea of William Goulding dancing with Elizabeth Bennet was evidently an object of interest.
“Now, do not be nervous on my account,” said Elizabeth, smiling lightly. “Remember, we have danced together quite often—many a time in the assembly room as little children struggling to learn the steps. Was it ‘04, or perhaps ‘05?”
“You are too generous,” William replied, slightly abashed. “I only remember the humiliation of treading on your toes—clumsy as I was.”
“If my gown survives your feet tonight, all will be forgiven,” she said, laughing.
His shoulders loosened, and a little of their old comfort was restored.
She felt those memories wash over her, mingling with a dawning sense of some future yet to be determined.
As the musicians struck up the country dance, he took her hand and they fell into the familiar rhythm.
For a while they danced without speaking. Elizabeth, knowing that some matter weighed on William’s mind, broached the silence.
“William, there is something you wish to say.”
He glanced about, as though measuring the privacy that might be found in the press of laughing dancers. Miss Bingley, their hostess, had chosen a new-fashioned country dance, and most of the company was absorbed in untangling its unfamiliar figures. He spoke quietly.
“My brother Geoffrey is to inherit, of course,” William began. “There is no question—he has every right. But as you know, a second son must make his own fortune. And I was never a great scholar. School was misery, and university—not for me.”
“Surely,” replied Elizabeth, “the world offers more than just the study of law or divinity. What do you intend?”
“I am too old for the sea,” he admitted. “But I have decided. I intend to seek a commission in the army. Father will purchase it—he has agreed. But my mother…” He trailed off, embarrassed. “She cannot bear the thought of the war, that I might be wounded—or worse.”
Elizabeth’s heart fluttered with sympathy, yet she wondered how she might answer wisely. She had never trod further than Hertfordshire, save for her visits to Town. She studied William, recognising in him the lingering uncertainty of the boy she’d known.
“What is it you wish me to say?” she asked. “Do you seek my blessing? Only you can know what lies most truly in your heart.”
“But surely you must know,” he protested earnestly, as if she wielded some supernatural certainty.
Elizabeth felt an irritation rise, which she quickly suppressed. “William, my insight does not run to fortune-telling. Perhaps you should visit the gypsies encamped by Oldfellows Lane! They would oblige you for sixpence, I daresay.”
He looked genuinely distressed. “But you always seem to know! Farmer Malleson said you found his cow, when no one else could after a whole day searching—”
She sighed, resignation settling upon her. “Sometimes, William, I am able to guess at a thing—or know what another person may think or do—yet that is not prophecy. I do not see the future. Prophets speak with the voice of God; I am blessed with no such grace.”
The pair were compelled to separate as the dance required, and when they rejoined, Elizabeth continued, “Would you have me soothe your mother with false assurances? Or swear that you will return safe and sound, while the truth may be far harsher—a nameless grave on some foreign field?”
She saw the pain in his expression, and wondered—was she always to be the one so burdened with others’ fears and hopes?
“Am I to join the army with my family in fear and no counsel from you?” he asked, more plaintively this time. “You have this strange gift—why can you not use it to help me?”
Elizabeth felt the impulse to stamp her foot, but spun merrily instead as the dance demanded.
“I will tell you only what I know,” she said gently.
“I know something of your evening—though perhaps not what you wish. You will speak to a colonel tonight—not Colonel Forster of the militia, but a man of the regulars, recently returned from the Peninsula. Let him be your adviser; he will know a soldier’s life far better than your old childhood playmate. ”
When the dance ended, William’s face was drawn with thought. “My apologies, Elizabeth,” he said quietly, releasing her hand. “I should not have pressed you so—you are right. The path I choose must be my own. But I have not seen this colonel you mention.”
As though summoned, Elizabeth observed Mr. Darcy entering the room, accompanied by a tall gentleman in uniform—perhaps thirty, broad-shouldered and sun-browned, his posture unmistakably that of a seasoned officer in His Majesty’s army.
“There, William,” Elizabeth said, nodding in their direction, “there is your colonel. And judging by his demeanour, I suspect he possesses far more good sense than I could ever claim.”
* * *