Chapter 8
Nothing could have prepared her for what followed.
The thirty minutes of Mr Darcy’s visit passed as in a dreadful dream.
Even when he was gone, and she heard the sound of the front door closing behind him, she could not believe the scene had truly taken place.
She sank again upon the sofa, still trembling with indignation, and only when her heart began to regain its usual pace did the recollection of all that had passed return to her mind with even greater vividness than at the moment itself.
Mr Darcy had proposed to her! Mr Darcy had declared his love! But—horror—every word that followed his avowal had been an insult beyond endurance to every member of her family, whom he evidently considered far beneath his own.
“It cannot be…the horrible man…” she cried, but stopped short at the sight of Charlotte’s terrified countenance, for her friend had entered that instant, evidently in haste, having most likely seen Mr Darcy depart.
“Elizabeth, what has happened?” cried Charlotte, but for several moments, Elizabeth, overwhelmed by passion, was incapable of replying. Maria, who had followed her sister, closed the door, for the cook and the housemaid had already appeared in the passage, alarmed by the sound of raised voices.
Charlotte stood torn between her concern for her friend’s apparent disturbance and the evident truth that Elizabeth’s anger was directed at Mr Darcy.
She was, for a moment, relieved that her husband was not at home, though the anxiety did not leave her.
Any quarrel with those at Rosings was dangerous, for its consequences might fall upon them as well.
Although she loved Elizabeth dearly, her own family must come first.
“What has happened?” she asked again, more calmly, perceiving that Elizabeth’s agitation must first be soothed before she could make sense of it. “Have you quarrelled with Mr Darcy?”
Elizabeth gave a short, bitter laugh that froze her friend’s blood. Never had Charlotte seen her so moved, so shaken, nor with such violence in her manner.
“Mr Darcy has proposed to me!” Her tone dripped with sarcasm. Charlotte sank upon a chair, overwhelmed alike by the weight of those words and the manner in which they were spoken.
“How could he have proposed to you?”
She had jested in the past that Mr Darcy might admire her friend; yet it had been only a pleasantry, meant to explain his strange conduct towards Elizabeth of late. Never had she imagined that Lady Catherine’s nephew could offer his hand to any one of them.
Then the truth struck her like lightning—Elizabeth had refused him.
“You said no!” Charlotte’s cry escaped before she could restrain it, and Maria clapped a hand to her mouth, perhaps to conceal her astonishment; for indeed, it must be so—otherwise the air of triumph belonging to a newly engaged lady would have remained.
Their friend Elizabeth Bennet had refused Mr Darcy.
Elizabeth inclined her head and appeared somewhat calmer, yet remained silent.
Charlotte, observing her countenance, understood enough.
It was plain that they had not parted in friendship, yet she could not help but feel a sense of relief.
Elizabeth had committed, perhaps, a great folly, but for themselves it was better so.
Lady Catherine had long spoken of her daughter’s union with Mr Darcy, and such a bride as Elizabeth would have raised a storm that could hardly have failed to injure them.
Gradually, peace returned to Charlotte; whatever had occurred, it was better so.
Only then did she regard Elizabeth with curiosity, desiring to know the particulars.
“It was infernal. That gentleman’s pride and presumption are beyond all bounds.”
“I do not comprehend what can be infernal in an offer of marriage,” returned Charlotte softly.
Elizabeth turned towards her friend, who, to her astonishment, had recovered her composure entirely.
Yet she saw at once that for the Collineses her refusal was a relief.
In that moment, she felt their friendship severed beyond repair.
Her only wish was to quit the house with the utmost haste.
Had she not been dependent upon her uncle’s carriage, she would have departed that instant, without once looking behind her.
“It may be infernal when a man speaks of your family with contempt—when he dares to call Jane a woman without sensibility, from whom his friend Mr Bingley must be guarded. He uttered nothing but disdain for persons he had never cared to know, yet presumed the worst.”
“And?” Charlotte leaned forward, convinced that Elizabeth had not endured such words in silence.
“And I told him my opinion of him.”
Charlotte’s expression altered, but she had no time to ask more, for Mr Collins entered unobserved.
“What is all this?” he demanded, seeing his wife flushed and Elizabeth no less so.
“Mr Darcy has proposed to Lizzy,” cried Maria before Charlotte could stop her, completing the circle of astonishment and alarm.
“And?” he exclaimed, and Charlotte, despairing of restraining her sister’s indiscretion, could only raise her shoulders. She had hoped her husband might remain ignorant, that quiet might be restored, but Maria had undone all.
“And Lizzy refused him,” continued Maria, as silence fell around them.
Elizabeth again perceived, upon both Mr and Mrs Collins’s faces, that same expression of relief she had noted before. Without a word, Mr Collins turned and left the room; a moment later, the front door closed. He was no doubt hastening to Rosings to learn how far the catastrophe might affect him.
“Maria, you little mischief.” Charlotte’s tone remained composed, though her eyes reproved her. Maria blushed deeply at last aware she should have held her tongue.
“I am sorry,” she murmured, but it mattered no longer.
“At least I was as ungovernable as he, though in another manner. To every insult, I replied in kind. I believe I was as vehement as he. I told him that, if he were the last man on earth, I would never marry him—”
“Elizabeth!” Charlotte pressed her hand to her lips, striving to picture the scene.
“Yes, I lost all restraint, and I do not repent it. He deserved it. I do not pretend that we are perfect, nor that my mother is without faults; but from that to speaking thus of one’s family is a great step.
What could he have imagined? That I should approve his words and go off with him, forgetting my family for ever?
How can a man make a declaration of love in terms of mockery and contempt? ”
There was no answer to such a question.
“I told him all that came into my head. I reproached him for bringing unhappiness upon the most noble and pure of creatures—Jane. I reproached him, too, for his ungenerous conduct towards Mr Wickham…” She gave a low, incredulous laugh.
“And to think that I defended that gentleman, when now I despise him.”
Her eyes darkened. “He has received what he deserved.”
With that, she left the room, almost running, eager at last to be alone.
∞∞∞
She hastily wrote a letter to Mrs Gardiner, resolved to confide in her what had occurred; yet, unlike former times when she had taken pleasure in describing every event, the incidents of that day refused to arrange themselves in words.
Above all, she was still angry with him.
She had hoped that the days they had passed together, speaking sometimes of their families, might have softened, in some degree, his opinion of those at Longbourn.
But such a scene she had never foreseen.
To recall the manner in which he had spoken of her mother and sisters was enough to renew her resentment.
She must allow that his own family were indeed as he had described.
Yet he seemed determined to remember hers only as he had observed in haste—and, most likely, under the influence of the Miss Bingleys.
With the same indignation, she recalled how they had spoken of the neighbourhood in which her aunt and uncle lived, as though it were disreputable.
Without doubt, the Bingley family and Mr Darcy were persons she never wished to encounter again.
Her father was a gentleman, as had been all their ancestors—her grandfather and great-grandfather, also educated at Cambridge, like her father.
True, her father was ill-suited to the management of his estate, for she remembered that, in her grandfather’s time, Longbourn had been more prosperous and the house better maintained.
Yet no one was perfect, as she had learned in those last days, and her father possessed such qualities of mind and temper as outshone every fault.
Still, her anger against Mr Darcy would not be appeased.