Chapter IV
If not for Mr. Darcy and his charming sister, Elizabeth might have given in to temptation and wrapped her hands around Mr. Collins’s neck to choke some sense into the dolt.
Instead, she limited herself to committing the act in her mind’s eye and picturing her satisfaction at the sight of his crimson face and bulging eyes while he fought for breath.
She knew that trying to force intelligence into that stubborn head was a foolish endeavor, but the thought of him clutching his fantasy until the end brought a bit of humor to her day.
Miss Bingley took such delight in his performance that she considered directing his interest toward her. The woman’s smugness grew with each passing moment, and she saw the other engaged in a discussion that seemed to concern her, as she pointed in her direction.
Her mother offered no support in this battle of wills, and Elizabeth wondered how she had persuaded the parson to return to Longbourn.
His angry departure upon the rejection of his unwanted proposal had been the best day of the entire two-week visit, and she had a perfect recollection of his parting words.
“I find it unfortunate that you refused my offer,” she remembered him saying, a smug self-satisfaction covering his plump face. “You will come to regret what might have been, but not until your bleak future is determined.”
She did not care enough to reply, content instead with a thin smile as she busied herself ignoring the man.
His head poking through the curtained windows of his carriage reminded her of prisoners in the stocks, forced to stand and submit to the rotten fruit and eggs thrown at them.
If such a blessed event ever took place in Meryton, she would beg the magistrate for the privilege of throwing the first, followed by the second and third rancid apple.
“It pains me to impress upon you the consequences of your decision,” said he, licking his lips in a way that reminded her of pigs at the trough.
“Your rejection condemns you to a life alone, unloved and unwanted. And do not expect me to welcome you to Longbourn when your worthy father passes. I doubt any wife of mine is going to accept your residence in our marital home.”
Would he never finish and leave? How many times did he intend to remind her of her grave mistake and the wretched existence he expected her to endure because she would not let him, and her mother, force this ridiculous marriage upon her?
His condemnation delivered, Mr. Collins fixed her with a prolonged stare, as if expecting her to plead for his forgiveness. A smirk crept across Elizabeth's lips as she enjoyed the pompous fool's misinterpretation. His lack of words, when at last it occurred, sweetened the rest of her day.
What had her mother done to bring him back, and with the firm conviction of their imminent union? And why did he refuse to acknowledge Elizabeth’s repeated assertions of the ridiculousness of his assumptions?
The only explanation she could come up with was her continual meddling in the situation. Of course, if Mrs. Bennet had arranged the sudden reappearance, as Elizabeth suspected, she would have fed his delusions with assurances of her daughter’s eventual surrender.
What neither of them realized was that she would, without regret, embrace the life of a spinster over marriage to someone as loathsome as Mr. Collins.
She watched as her mother flitted about the room, her injudicious comments a continual source of embarrassment.
When she was not prattling on about the beauty of the season and her good fortune at having two of Hertfordshire’s most eligible bachelors in her home, she was hinting at the joyous news she expected to announce on Christmas Day.
At last, having endured as much nonsense as she could without losing her temper in front of everyone, Elizabeth caught the woman’s attention and pulled her into the hall.
“Mama,” she whispered, her irritation clear, “please mind your tongue before unfounded rumors about my upcoming marriage to Mr. Collins start in Meryton and spread far beyond.”
Mrs. Bennet lifted her gaze, but seemed to disregard the sparks flashing in Elizabeth's eyes or the smoke she was certain must be coming from her ears.
“Rumors? I would not call them that,” replied she with a glance toward the parson who, it was clear, misunderstood the attention he drew.
Of course, the simpleton did not realize the expressions of fear and consternation worn by everyone but Miss Bingley, who seemed to enjoy the spectacle, and Mrs. Hurst who, it was obvious, cared not a whit.
“Have you thought about your life in this house if I am forced to wed him? I can assure you it would not be as pleasant as you assume.”
Her words fell on deaf ears, as her mother paid more attention to the clown making a fool of himself than Elizabeth’s warning.
“Thank you, Darcy, for yesterday’s entertainment,” said Fitzwilliam at the breakfast table the following day. “And to think I considered returning to London as soon as I delivered Georgiana? Last night was the most fun I can remember having in months.”
“I am glad you could amuse yourself,” countered he with a rueful grin. “It would have mortified me to see you bored or uncomfortable.”
Fitzwilliam laughed as he spread preserves on a warm scone. “Boredom had no place at that delightful gathering. My only problem was hiding the laughter from watching the battle of wills between Mrs. Bennet and her daughter.”
Darcy nodded at the memory of the two stepping out of the room for a moment and of Mr. Collins taking the opportunity to all but announce their engagement.
“She did not seem pleased at the excessive attention the fool paid her whenever he was not engaged in extolling her virtues,” observed he, “or proclaiming the happiness he looked forward to experiencing on Christmas Day.”
“Agreed, but the most entertaining part of the evening was watching the parson’s impressive talent for embarrassing himself,” said Fitzwilliam, unable to suppress his laughter at Darcy’s displeasure with his description of the evening’s idiocy.
“I cannot recall ever meeting a bigger fool,” growled Darcy, the thought of a man so bereft of manners marrying a girl like Miss Elizabeth causing a pain in the pit of his stomach.
“That will never happen,” said Georgiana, until then content to eat in silence. “She told me as much last night.”
Darcy stared at his sister as the declaration ran through his mind. What did she mean? Had he not heard Miss Elizabeth’s public rejection of the man despite his unabashed confidence in the certainty of their forthcoming marriage?
And what if he had? Mrs. Bennet, whose support of the arrangement could not be plainer, was busy making plans for both the ceremony and the wedding breakfast to follow.
Although Darcy did not recall hearing her father voice his approval, it must exist; after all, without his permission, how could she plan for such things as reading the banns?
Then there were the minor details of arranging for their parson to officiate, as well as ordering the necessary food. Without Mr. Bennet’s blessing, who would pay the merchants?
“What do you mean, she told you as much?” asked Darcy, determined to either set her to rights or take a chance on pursuing the woman himself.
Georgiana placed a slice of apple into her mouth and took her time chewing, a maddening habit she seemed to employ whenever he wanted a quick answer. Her smile showed the fun she was having at his expense.
“Were you planning to explain,” said he, “or is speculation all you have to add to the conversation?”
“Patience, Fitzwilliam,” responded she, “is a virtue, according to the Kympton parson.”
“He is not here, but I am and so is the colonel, so prove your claim or stay out of the discussion.”
A stab of guilt hit Darcy at his temporary loss of temper, but her information could have a significant effect on how he proceeded with his scheme to rescue Miss Elizabeth.
To his relief, Georgiana did not take offence, as her eyes dropped at his scolding before lifting within a second to stare at him, her smile growing.
“Mr. Collins gave us a chance to talk in private, although I am positive it was not his choice,” said she with an amused chuckle.
“I asked after her thoughts regarding such a marriage,” continued Georgiana, “and at first, she laughed at the folly of my comment, or so I assumed. But then she told me she would rather die alone than marry a man she does not respect and could never love. I think that proves, without a shred of doubt, that she will not wed him, no matter what anyone believes.”
“Mrs. Bennet seemed confident that the marriage was inevitable,” said Darcy, recalling her less than subtle allusions to an announcement she expected to deliver within the next few days.
Of course, Miss Elizabeth’s obvious anger with her mother contradicted those claims, but the woman did not appear to care whether her daughter wanted anything to do with such a fellow or not.
Darcy laughed at the idea of Miss Elizabeth agreeing to marry such a man. He was so far beneath her in personality, intelligence, and everything else a person might compare between the two that the very idea of a union was laughable.
“She told me his presence nauseates her,” said Georgiana. She leaned forward and, as if informing fellow conspirators, whispered, “she said he turns her stomach, and she cannot stand his company.”
She sat back and folded her arms, giving Darcy a triumphant look, as if she knew that her revelation justified his desire to win Miss Elizabeth’s hand for his own.
“But how can we keep Mr. Collins from making a fool of her—and her mother from forcing a marriage to that oaf?” wondered he, speaking without meaning to.
“Are you interested in her?” asked Fitzwilliam, his manner teasing, although Darcy knew he did not pose the question in jest.