Chapter 9 Uncertainty - Elizabeth
It would be the grossest falsehood to claim my uncertainty about Mr Darcy was assuaged after the meeting in Meryton.
Mr Bingley left Mr Darcy to his own devices and returned with us to Longbourn to share his personal invitation for the Netherfield Ball, set for the twenty-sixth of November.
He barely escaped a dinner invitation, indicating he had other invitations to deliver, but my mother made him promise on his life he would attend one after the ball.
Jane and I could not wait to go to bed and discuss the extraordinary events of the day.
Naturally, with Lydia and Kitty having a first-rate view of the happenings, little else was mentioned the rest of the day.
Everyone had an opinion about Mr Darcy’s officiousness, and since most believed he was a rather surly gentleman at best, he must have had a score to settle with the young lieutenant.
Naturally, Lydia and Kitty at first believed Mr Denny could not possibly be at fault because he was so handsome, he wore a red coat, and he paid them particular attention.
To silence them, I said, “That is all true, sisters, but you must admit the counterargument.”
“What is that, Lizzy?” Kitty asked breathlessly.
“Taciturn or not, you must admit Mr Darcy is fearsomely handsome.”
I had no idea why I said that, save that my younger sisters’ voices were giving me the megrim.
I would have escaped the parlour entirely had my mother not insisted I continue to attend Mr Collins.
One could speak about Mrs Bennet a great deal without once using the words malleable, complaisant, or accommodating.
She was stubborn as the tides (like me), and that afternoon my aching head made it easier to tolerate Mr Collins than to argue with my mother.
That would not necessarily be true any other day.
I learnt the folly of my words almost immediately, and the repercussions and ramifications were not even close to what I expected.
Defending Mr Darcy in any way seemed to violate some fundamental law of nature, and calling him handsome certainly went against the grain (regardless of how true it was—even disregarding his sultry voice).
I fully expected my younger sisters or my mother to double or treble their teasing, or worse yet, attempt to pair me with the man, but the hammer blow came from an unexpected source.
“Mr Darcy! Mr Fitzwilliam Darcy!” my cousin shouted as if he had discovered the Philosopher’s Stone in our parlour.
I stared at the man and wondered what he was about, but as with all things related to our cousin, a long wait was not required.
“What luck! What unaccountable luck! What astonishingly good fortune! What astoundingly auspicious tidings! I truly feel blessed! I wonder if he will be displeased that I did not greet him, but of course I had no idea he was here. Oh, mercy me! Oh my!”
“Make sense, for once, Mr Collins!” I said rather snappishly.
“How could I have presumed you might be acquainted with such a distinguished gentleman? Why, he is the very favourite nephew of my noble patroness, Lady Catherine de Bourgh. I have been absent from Rosings less than a week and to already, quite by chance, encounter a relative of my noble patroness is too serendipitous for words.”
All of us stared at him, while I thought his assertion his luck was too good for words was even farther from the mark than his usual blathering.
Jane finally said, “That is… nice… I suppose,” sounding like even she was struggling for words.
“I must greet him and offer news of his aunt straightaway. It is imperative,” he said, looking around for his coat, as if to ride to Meryton and do his obeisance immediately.
“You will not introduce yourself, sir,” I snapped.
“It is for the superior gentleman to seek an introduction should he so choose, and he has not done so. Besides that, if you paid any attention at all in Meryton, you should comprehend he has important tasks on his mind and will not be greeting anybody.”
"My dear Miss Elizabeth, I have the highest opinion in the world in your excellent judgement in all matters within the scope of your understanding; but permit me to say, that there must be a wide difference between the established forms of ceremony amongst the laity, and those which regulate the clergy; for, give me leave to observe that I consider the clerical office as equal in point of dignity with the highest rank in the kingdom—provided that a proper humility of behaviour is—”
I must sheepishly admit I lost my temper and snapped at him. “Mr Collins! Let me be rightly understood! It is your education that is lacking if you think you can disregard the proprieties because you are a clergyman. The rules have no such exceptions—do they, Mary?”
I admit it was a low blow bringing Mary into the conversation, but there was some method to my madness.
In the first place, I thought I needed some simple outlet for my frustrations else I might say something intemperate to Mr Collins, which seemed like it would be counterproductive if I might depend on his charity in future.
Secondly, I hoped to redirect him to Mary, who might welcome the attentions he had been showering on me (maybe!
I never actually know what Mary thinks about anything).
I had no idea how to manage such a diversion, and wondered if I could just ask Mr Darcy to order him to move his affections to Mary.
It seemed like the sort of thing he could do.
The next five minutes went by in tedious detail as Mary and Mr Collins argued the doctrinal aspects of the rules of propriety.
Since said rules were very English, and written millennia after the Bible, it was a stretch, but the two of them made a go of it.
The enterprise made about as much sense as you might think, but at least the man was blathering at someone else for once.
If there had not been a Netherfield ball to prepare for and talk of, we would have been in a very pitiable state, for from the day of the invitation, to the day of the ball, there was such a succession of rain as prevented our walking to Meryton once.
For my own purposes, it was far worse, as Mr Collins seemed impervious to my increasingly strident efforts to redirect his attentions to someone more suitable, which I uncharitably defined as anyone but me.
On the last evening before the ball, I thought I had escaped the man, but somehow, when I least expected it, he asked for the opening dances, and I could not decline without giving up all dancing for the evening.
Even so, I gave it serious consideration, to the point where a sensible man would wonder why it took so long for me to produce a one-word answer.
Drat! and Fie! I would need to redouble my efforts, as Mr Collins had not given up on me at all.