Chapter Twenty-Eight
Elizabeth sat on a very comfortable sofa in Lucas Lodge’s large drawing room and waited until Lady Lucas was occupied with two of her younger children to turn to Charlotte and murmur, “I require your wisdom.”
“Regarding what am I to be your Athena today?” Charlotte asked quietly, her gaze on her mother and younger sisters, one of whom had tied knots into the hair of the other while they played at being a lady and her lady’s maid.
The resulting tangle was causing a great many accusations and not a few tears.
“Mr. Darcy, the real Mr. Darcy, has asked to court me, but—”
“But nothing,” Charlotte interrupted. “He is wealthy, kind, brave, and a devoted brother, and he is asking to court you so you might come to know each other, not for an immediate promise to marry him. Whatever your objections, the correct answer is yes.”
“You say this without hearing my objections?”
“I can well guess at them.” Charlotte cast her an amused look. “He perpetuated a falsehood. You are uncertain if you can trust him. Perhaps, even, embarrassed to have been fooled.”
Elizabeth flushed. She had not considered the last until now.
“I am not embarrassed. I am simply chagrined to learn that so many of my deductions as to the whys of various behaviors are so far off the mark, as they must be when the two gentlemen about whom they revolve are not who they said they were.”
“Chagrined, or embarrassed?”
“Chagrined,” Elizabeth said firmly. “And he did perpetuate a falsehood.” Though not about what to call him, for he was Fitzwilliam.
But she did not dare tell Charlotte she had been addressing Mr. Darcy by his Christian name all this time.
Such scandalous behavior almost gave credence to Mary’s accusations.
“Did he truly lie to you about so many things?”
Elizabeth contemplated that, happy to replay her conversations with Mr. Darcy in her mind. “In truth, I cannot recall a single lie that was not by omission.”
“Which sort of lies are still lies,” Charlotte allowed, taking up her teacup.
“Yes.” But not ones he gave. Somehow, permitting her to believe something did not seem as terrible to Elizabeth as if he had been able to look her in the eye and simply lie to her.
“We are all aware of the ruse the gentlemen played on our community.” Charlotte sipped her tea.
“We know they did so to capture ill-doers and to protect Mr. Darcy, as Colonel Fitzwilliam, being a military man, was better equipped to withstand the criminal onslaught. Furthermore, they issued an apology to us all. Colonel Fitzwilliam even did so in person, to those who encountered him at Jane’s wedding breakfast. Which, more or less, is everyone hereabouts. ”
“Yes,” Elizabeth repeated, for she knew all of this. What she did not know was, “Can I trust a man who so thoroughly deceived me?”
Setting her teacup down, Charlotte regarded Elizabeth with narrow, bright eyes. “Are we back to the harm done to your pride, then? Not to say that you are embarrassed. Simply chagrined.”
Elizabeth was certainly chagrined now. “You believe it is my pride that stands between me and a courtship by Mr. Darcy?”
“What else?”
“Fear? A man who lies so well might easily break my heart. Should I not be afraid of that?”
“Afraid? You?”
“Who is afraid?” Lady Lucas asked.
Elizabeth turned in time to see the youngest two Lucas daughters departing in the care of a maid and wondered at the fate of the tangled hair. “I am afraid Mr. Collins will never find a new position and that he and Mary will remain in Longbourn indefinitely.”
Charlotte cocked an eyebrow at her and Elizabeth looked away from the implication that she was, even now, engaging in a similar sort of prevarication as she’d decried in Mr. Darcy.
“We are all afraid Mr. Collins will remain.” Lady Lucas snapped open her fan to flick it vigorously.
“None of us want that odious man about. Using his place as a relation to suborn Mary, the most well-behaved of girls? Mr. Collins should be ashamed. Do you know that several members of the militia have taken to suggesting elopement to young ladies of the community? They do not mean it, to be certain. They simply hope to capitalize on your sister running off and returning wed. Sir William has gone to speak with Colonel Forster about it. We expect to either see the officers in question dismissed or for the removal of the entire remainder of the troop.”
“Lydia mentioned something to that effect.” Elizabeth had meant to press her sister on the issue, but her misery over Mr. Darcy, Jane’s distress, and then the addition of the Collinses to Longbourn, had all colluded to drive Lydia’s stray comment from her head.
“I did not realize the issue was so widespread.”
“I myself have had one such offer,” Charlotte said with wry amusement. “Maria has received two.”
“That is concerning. I cannot believe they are so bold.”
“Oh no, they are subtle.” Charlotte pursed her lips.
“For instance, Mr. Denny suggested to me that it is terribly romantic for a man and woman to run off together and travel on the road, staying in inns. He then mentioned that the inn in Meryton holds the essence of such romance, and yet is readily available, and named a time and day when such romance might be had. He did not ever precisely ask me. Simply made observations. I have since learned that he made the same observations to Maria, both Misses Long, and Miss King.”
“Likely to Kitty and Lydia as well, then,” Elizabeth observed. “Do you imagine he hired out a room and waited to see if any young ladies of the community would join him?”
“I have it from Mr. Pierson the innkeeper that he did,” Lady Lucas said, her eyes bright with glee at her gossip. “No young ladies arrived, and had they, Mr. Pierson said he would have sent them home and informed their fathers.”
That devolved into an examination of how various fathers or other guardians could be counted on to react, and Elizabeth had no more opportunities to speak with Charlotte about her worries.
Her friend had given her much to think on, though, and undoubtedly Charlotte was right.
Elizabeth felt drawn to Mr. Darcy. When he’d raced off to Scotland, she’d been bereft without him, and when she’d thought he was marrying Miss Bingley, she’d been inconsolable.
If the choice was between coming to know him better and never seeing him again, she could think of but one answer.
Feeling far more cheerful than when she’d arrived and with plenty to write to Miss Darcy about now, for she could gossip about the militia easily enough, Elizabeth returned to Longbourn.
She replaced her boots in their spot near the hearth, for December proved even more chill and damp than November had, and went up to her room.
To the sight of her bedroom door ajar.
Elizabeth raced the remainder of the way down the hall and into her room.
Mary and Mr. Collins stood within, beside her dressing table, all the drawers to which were open. Both had pages in hand and were reading…
“What are you doing?” Elizabeth cried. “Why are you in my room, going through my drawers?”
“What should be addressed here is this.” Mr. Collins rattled the pages he held. “You obviously seek to seduce Lady Catherine’s nephew, and your lack of moral fiber comes through on every page. You have even addressed him as Fitzwilliam.”
Cold anger mounted in Elizabeth. “You will return my letter to me this instant and vacate my room. You have no right to be in here, or to paw through my possessions.”
“Mr. Collins and I decided that as we are the future master and mistress of Longbourn, it is our prerogative to see to the moral well-being of everyone under our roof.”
Elizabeth marched forward to snatch the pages from her sister, then Mr. Collins. “I find it unfathomable that you do not know the meaning of the word future, but as you do not seem to, let me use words you can comprehend. Get. Out. Of. My. Room.”
“What is all this screeching about?” Mrs. Bennet asked, entering Elizabeth’s room.
“I returned from calling on Charlotte—”
“A call she did not seek your permission to make, Mama.”
“—to find Mary and Mr. Collins in my room, rummaging through my dressing table and reading my private musings.”
Mrs. Bennet stared at them. “You entered your sister’s room without permission and went through her drawers to read her journal?”
“It is not a journal. It is a letter to Mr. Darcy, and Mr. Collins and I decided that it is our duty, as future master and mistress of—”
“Out!” Mrs. Bennet cried.
“Yes, we should discuss this with Mr. Bennet, in his study,” Mr. Collins said, eyeing Elizabeth coldly. “Cousin Elizabeth’s corrupting influence must be expunged. I will recommend a suitable boarding school in Wales to Mr. Bennet.”
Mrs. Bennet moved to stand before him, her considerable height nearly equaling his, and her shoulders and hips far broader. She jabbed a finger into his chest, eliciting a wince, as she snapped, “Not out of Elizabeth’s room. Out of our home. Out of this house. Out of Longbourn.”
Mr. Collins’ spine snapped straight. “I am the future master of this house. You cannot—”
“I think you will find Mrs. Bennet can do as she likes, as present mistress of Longbourn.”
Elizabeth turned to find not only her father, who had spoken, but three of their manservants and two of the maids. All wore grim expressions.