Chapter Seven
Longbourn
Elizabeth woke later than was her custom the morning after the ball.
There was some level of dread in her heart; no doubt Mr. Collins would seek to speak to her privately at some point during the morning, and she would have no choice but to crush the hopes of her unwanted suitor, thus destroying her mother’s ambitions in the process.
The house was silent as Elizabeth descended to the dining room.
There, her father sat, holding a cup of coffee to his face, and breathing deeply.
He barely acknowledged her presence as he drank deeply from the cup.
Elizabeth settled herself in the chair next to him and carefully filled her own plate with the morning’s offerings.
One by one her sisters joined them at the table. They were all unusually silent, no doubt still exhausted from the previous night’s revelries. Even her mother, when she joined them, did not seem to have much to say.
Mr. Collins was the last to seat himself. The only empty seat was between Elizabeth and Kitty, and he shuffled awkwardly to the spot, plopped down heavily, bumping the teacup in Elizabeth’s hand as he did so.
Her cousin’s entrance seemed to awaken Lizzy’s mother to some extent. Mrs. Bennet eyed the soberly dressed clergyman, and Elizabeth silently groaned when her mother opened her mouth.
“Good morning, Mr. Collins,” Mama said a touch too loudly. The other occupants of the table winced at the sound.
“Good morning,” Mr. Collins mumbled in reply, his mouth half full of a piece of ham. He said nothing more as he resumed consuming his breakfast.
Mrs. Bennet tried again. “Did you not think that the Netherfield Ball was the most enchanting evening you have ever had?” she asked.
Mr. Collins mumbled something in reply that sounded like an agreement.
Elizabeth furrowed her brow in consternation. Her cousin seemed to have an unusual shortage of words this morning. She did not know if the man had ever been silent for such an extended period.
“My Lizzy looks well this morning, Mr. Collins,” Mrs. Bennet said. “Do you not agree, sir?”
The look on Mr. Collins’ face was somewhat comical. His eyes widened in panic, and he swallowed hurriedly, glancing around the room before finally replying.
“Yes, Miss Elizabeth does look well today,” he said, his voice sounding a little choked. “Indeed, all of my fair cousins look remarkably well after such a late evening.”
“Yes, of course they do,” Mrs. Bennet huffed. “But Elizabeth looks especially lovely; do you not think so? Her lively and active disposition allows her to recover from late nights so much faster than the rest of us.”
Mr. Collins looked positively ill now. He put down his utensils and dropped his napkin on his place before standing from his seat.
“Thank you for the meal, madam,” he said, addressing Mrs. Bennet. “I have been invited to dine at Lucas Lodge for dinner; I believe I will see to some correspondence before I depart.”
“Did you not wish to speak to Lizzy before you go?” Mrs. Bennet replied, her voice laced with confusion and desperation.
“If my fair cousins would favor me with a walk in the gardens after their meal, I would not object,” the clergyman replied.
Kitty and Lydia refused, claiming exhaustion, but when Jane and Mary agreed to the scheme, Elizabeth consented to join them. Thus, shortly after breakfast, the four left the house and wandered into the walled garden on one side of the house.
They walked in silence. Jane had a dreamy look on her face, no doubt thinking of her betrothed and the life they would share together. Mary, likewise, was quiet, her normally serious and sober expression contemplative.
After a short time, Mary and Jane sat on a bench, both claiming fatigue. Mr. Collins politely requested a word with Elizabeth, and she hesitantly accepted. When they were some distance from her sisters, Mr. Collins spoke.
“I have a matter of some delicacy that I wished to address with you,” her cousin said formally. “No doubt you have noted my attentions these past days that I have had the pleasure of spending here in Meryton.”
Elizabeth remained silent, dread rising within her. When she did not speak, Mr. Collins cleared his throat and continued.
“It has been brought to my notice that, if I wish to please my patroness with my choice of bride, I must turn my affections in another direction,” he said haltingly.
“I am greatly aware that as a gentleman, my actions will be deemed as dishonorable should I withdraw my suit, and that your own prospects might be materially damaged as a result. But I cannot in good conscience pursue a lady that I now know will displease Lady Catherine de Bourgh. Every fiber of my being forbids it.”
Mr. Collins looked at Elizabeth expectantly, doubtlessly expecting some dramatic feminine display.
She cocked an eyebrow and smiled archly at him.
“My dear sir,” she said cheerfully, “I release you from any commitments and obligations you believe yourself to be under, and I wish you every happiness in whatever choice of bride you must seek to please your patroness. And by releasing you, your honor is still intact, and my prospects are much as they ever were. I find that I can bear the loss of your affections most cheerfully, knowing it will bring such happiness to so many.”
Mr. Collins smiled widely. “I thank you, dear cousin, for your magnanimous and humble reply. I was quite fearful of hurting your delicate feelings. Please accept my sincere thanks for your generous understanding.”
“You are very welcome, sir,” Elizabeth said, humor coloring her tone.
Mr. Collins bowed awkwardly, excusing himself to return to the house.
Elizabeth continued her stroll through the garden, eventually rejoining Mary and Jane who had risen from their bench and turned toward the little wilderness through the garden gate.
“But how do I know?” Mary was asking Jane when Elizabeth came within earshot. Her sister’s face was turned toward Jane’s, an earnest - almost desperate - expression.
“I suppose one must engage in extensive self-reflection to determine such a thing,” Jane replied calmly.
“I would also venture to say that learning who you are as a person is a life-long study, rather than the work of a moment. People grow and change so much in the different stages of their lives; I imagine that a discerning individual must learn their own identity many times over the course of their time on Earth.”
“Such serious discussion!” Lizzy cried, maneuvering her way in between her two sisters. “What prompts this heavy conversation so early in the day?”
“Mr. Wickham,” Mary sighed.
Elizabeth listened with interest as Mary related her discussion with their uncle’s clerk from the previous evening.
That immovable, judgmental Mary was taking the words of a relatively new acquaintance so seriously was rather remarkable; Mary rarely listened to others, particularly if their ideas were contrary to her own.
“So, you see,” Mary said in conclusion, “I am now left wondering if I know myself at all. And I find myself rather envious of Mr. Wickham’s confidence in his own identity.”
“I do not think I have ever considered who I am meant to be,” Elizabeth mused.
“Women are taught from an early age that our purpose in life is to marry and have children. We are to keep house for our husbands and raise their sons to become masters of the estate. Is one’s identity to be caught up so completely in the roles of our sex?
Are we destined to lose ourselves as we take up the mantle of wife and mother? ”
“I never imagined you to be unsure of who you are, or who you are meant to be,” Mary exclaimed. “You are always so sure of yourself, Lizzy; confident in your opinions and place in the world.”
“And yet, my pride in my judgement has been shaken of late,” Elizabeth mused. “Mr. Wickham seems to be a fount of knowledge and advice to everyone he meets. Tell me, my dear sister, what shall you do to discover who you are meant to be?”
Mary furrowed her brow in thought. “I do not know,” she admitted.
“I thought I knew where my path would lead and who I would become. I always believed that my accomplishments and studious nature were preparing me to become a clergyman’s wife.
In that position, I might serve my fellow men and employ all that I have learned from my studies for the betterment of my husband’s parishioners.
But when presented with an opportunity to attach myself to an eligible man, I was overlooked, despite my best efforts. ”
“Perhaps another chance will present itself,” Lizzy mused. Why not? If Mr. Collins had chosen to withdraw his attentions to her person, why could Elizabeth not redirect her silly cousin toward Mary? Perhaps the most serious Bennet sister could make something of the loquacious clergyman.
“Jane does not seem to question who she is meant to be,” Elizabeth said, hoping to bring a little lightness to the conversation. “Look at how she glows, lost in dreams of her dashing Mr. Bingley!”
Jane blushed madly. She had fallen silent after Elizabeth had joined them. “Hush,” she scolded lightly. “Surely you cannot find fault with me for being lost in my joy!”
“Never!” Elizabeth cried. “I could hardly blame you for being lost in your joy, for there are none so deserving as you.”
The three sisters wandered slowly back to the house, arms linked. Elizabeth tugged Mary and Jane a little closer as they strolled, cognizant of the fact that such wanderings would soon be a thing of the past.
The next three days were rather peaceful.
Kitty and Lydia had deemed it too chilly to walk out and spent the time amusing themselves by tearing apart several of their older bonnets so that they might be remade.
Mrs. Bennet had largely commandeered Jane’s attention in planning her wedding, an event that would occur sometime in the early spring.
Lizzy and Mary were also pressed into service, and they assisted their mother by taking detailed notes and writing lists of all the things that were being discussed.
Elizabeth was rather surprised that Mary had agreed to help; her younger sister’s past declarations regarding vanity and pride seemed to be forgotten as she eagerly made suggestions and scribbled out long shopping lists for London.
Not a single member of the Bennet family wondered what had become of Mr. Collins.
Their cousin had absented himself for many hours of every day since the morning after the ball.
Even Mrs. Bennet was sufficiently distracted with wedding plans so as to not notice the clergyman’s absence.
His whereabouts were explained some four days following the Netherfield Ball when he expressed a desire to make an announcement during the evening meal.
“My dear cousins,” said he, “it is with great pleasure that I relate to you my happy news. This afternoon I proposed to Miss Charlotte Lucas, and she has made me the happiest of men by accepting.”
“Proposed?” Mrs. Bennet repeated. “Proposed what?”
“Marriage, of course, my dear Mrs. Bennet,” Mr. Bennet said sarcastically.
“What other sort of proposal did you think our cousin meant? He could hardly have offered Miss Lucas some other position, now, could he? Mr. Collins has no need for a governess, after all, and as a man of the cloth, I can hardly imagine he would have offered her carte blanche.”
Mrs. Bennet gaped like a fish before spluttering her reply. “But,” she sputtered, “my Lizzy! Were you not… you made your purpose quite clear! Your honor has been engaged, sir! How can you treat my daughter so infamously?”
Elizabeth, though still reeling from the shock of her cousin’s news, ventured to reply to her mother’s outburst.
“I assure you, ma’am,” she said quickly, “Mr. Collins was under no obligation to me. In fact, I wish him very happy in his choice of wife. Charlotte is a wonderful woman.”
“You are most generous and kind in your felicitations, my dear cousin Elizabeth,” Mr. Collins replied.
“My dear Charlotte and I are very pleased with the prospect of spending our years together. Why, when my good friend Mr. Wickham recommended her to my notice, I was quick to see just how suitable she was as a prospective bride and how my every happiness would be ensured by offering her the enviable position of Mrs. William Collins.”
“Mr. Wickham?” Elizabeth said incredulously, striving to ignore her mother’s continued protestations at the end of the table. “What has Mr. Wickham to do with all of this?”
Mr. Collins had the good grace to look rather chagrined. “Perhaps I have said too much,” he mumbled. “I have no wish to offend you or any of my fair cousins.”
“I believe you owe me an explanation,” Elizabeth pressed, curiosity driving her words. “After all, I very kindly released you from any obligations you may have been under regarding my person.”
Mr. Collins opened and closed his mouth several times, appearing to be at a loss for words.
“Mr. Wickham,” he said finally, “simply brought to my attention that certain of your traits might be offensive to my dear patroness.”
Elizabeth cocked an eyebrow. “Oh?” she asked. “And which of my traits did Mr. Wickham disparage?”
“He did no such thing, my dear Cousin Elizabeth, I assure you!” protested Mr. Collins.
“Mr. Wickham is the epitome of a gentleman and would never criticize a lady as you imply. He only pointed out that your temperament might be at odds with Lady Catherine’s expectations regarding my selection of wife.
Her ladyship is very particular, you see, and would not have looked kindly on anyone who did not fit within her desired parameters. ”
Elizabeth felt her ire lessen slightly. Though she remained annoyed at Mr. Wickham’s presumptuous actions, she was forced to admit that the gentleman had likely saved her from a rather embarrassing situation, for she would have been forced to refuse her cousin’s offer of marriage had he deigned to offer it.
“Charlotte is a marvelous woman,” she finally offered by way of reply. “You will both be very happy.”
Mr. Collins beamed, a genuine, unaffected smile spreading across his face. “You are very kind, Cousin,” he replied with sincerity “I thank you.”
Dinner conversation resumed with minimal comments from Mrs. Bennet. Jane had successfully distracted their mother with talks of lace and fabric for her wedding. And while Mrs. Bennet occasionally threw accusing glances at Elizabeth, the majority of her ire seemed to have been squelched for now.