Chapter 8 #2
He chuckled indulgently, as though anticipating Elizabeth’s protestations.
“Ah, I understand. It is the natural modesty of the fairer sex to reject such proposals initially. But rest assured, Miss Elizabeth, I am not so easily dissuaded. And I should also mention, to set your mind entirely at ease, that I harbour no expectations beyond what is most reasonable.”
He straightened, his tone taking on an air of magnanimity.
“I am well aware of the particulars of your situation—of the thousand pounds secured for you in the four per cents, which is not to be yours until after your mother’s passing.
Be assured, however, that this is of no concern to me.
I would never utter an ungenerous word regarding your fortune, for my affections and intentions are not mercenary in nature. ”
He paused, clearly impressed by the supposed nobility of his own sentiments, his expression one of serene self-satisfaction. “Indeed, my dear Miss Elizabeth, it is a proof to the purity of my motives that I stand here now, undeterred by considerations which others might find dissuasive.”
Elizabeth stared at him, her astonishment mingling with a growing sense of indignation. The condescension woven through his words struck her as nothing short of ludicrous.
“No, Mr Collins,” she said firmly, her voice steady and clear. “This is not modesty or coquetry. I mean precisely what I say. Were you to ask me a thousand times, my answer would remain the same.”
The smirk on Mr Collins’s face faltered, replaced by an expression of bewildered affront.
He cleared his throat loudly, as if rallying himself.
“Miss Elizabeth,” he began, his tone assuming the strained patience of a man convinced he was making a saintly effort, “I beg you to consider the singular honour of my proposal. As the heir to your father’s estate, it is my wish to act not out of selfish interest, but from a sense of duty and generosity.
By uniting our houses, I should be securing your family’s future and relieving you of the distressing uncertainties of your position. Surely, you see the wisdom in this?”
Elizabeth’s countenance remained composed, though inwardly she marvelled at the audacity of his reasoning. “Your words are kind, sir,” she said carefully, her tone even. “And I am grateful that you should think me worthy of such an offer. But my answer remains unchanged. I cannot accept.”
Mr Collins stared at her, as though the full weight of her refusal were only now beginning to settle upon him.
“You cannot accept?” he repeated, incredulity dripping from each syllable.
“Miss Elizabeth, you cannot be serious. Do you not realise the consequences of such a decision—for yourself and for your family? I had thought you a woman of sense, but this—this is folly!”
“Folly it may seem to you, Mr Collins,” Elizabeth replied, her voice growing firmer, “but to me, it is only honesty. I should not make you happy, nor could I find happiness in such a union. Therefore, it is best that I speak plainly now, rather than lead either of us into greater disappointment.”
For a moment, Mr Collins seemed rooted to the spot.
His eyes darted over Elizabeth's face as if searching for some sign that her words were a jest. The flush of self-assuredness drained from his cheeks, leaving them pallid, and his mouth worked silently as though he were rehearsing an unspoken argument.
His hands, clasped tightly in front of him, twitched imperceptibly before he finally straightened.
The motion was deliberate, almost mechanical, as he drew himself up to his full, if unimposing, height.
“Very well, Miss Elizabeth. I shall not subject myself to further humiliation. It is clear that you fail to appreciate the generosity of my offer. Rest assured, I wouldn’t be asking again.”
He turned on his heel and exited the room, his rigid posture betraying the sting of wounded pride.
Elizabeth let out a slow breath, willing her thoughts to steady amidst the swirl of incredulity and indignation that Mr Collins had left in his wake.
The memory of his proposal, so laden with condescension and misguided charity, lingered like an unpleasant aftertaste.
Surely her father, with his wit and discernment, could not have approved such an absurd union?
The very thought made her resolve to seek him out immediately.
But first, there was the inevitable reckoning with her mother to consider.
The mere idea of Mrs. Bennet’s likely reaction – which Elizabeth was certain would be a tempest of flurried exclamations, laments over her nerves, and dire predictions for Elizabeth’s future—made her steps falter momentarily as she approached the hallway leading to her mother’s chambers.
Yet even as she braced herself for the confrontation, a different figure entered her mind.
Mr Darcy.
His name carried a weight she couldn’t shake, his presence clinging to her thoughts as persistently as a shadow on a cloudless day.
His cold demeanor, the arrogance that marked every glance and word, and the mysterious air of foreboding surrounding him—it all intruded upon her reflections.
Elizabeth let out a slow breath, though it did little to calm the storm of her thoughts.
Could she truly leave it as it was? How many more deaths must occur before the truth about Mr Darcy came to light?
And if she was right—if he was the man behind these dark events—what would it take to stop him?
She was no magistrate, nor a constable, but surely someone must stand against him. Could she risk doing so herself?
Her footsteps quickened as these thoughts tangled with her indignation over Mr Collins’s absurdities.
Whatever answers awaited her behind Mrs. Bennet’s chamber door, Elizabeth felt a sharp certainty about one thing: the answers to far more pressing questions might not lie within the Bennet household at all, but in unravelling the enigma of Mr Darcy’s character and the deaths that seemed to circle him like moths to a flame.