Chapter 22 #3
The thought steadied her.
She did not have to marry him.
Her mother might rage. Her father might retreat behind a book and leave her to endure it. Mr. Collins might be offended, Lady Catherine might be insulted, and every neighbor in Meryton might speak of her foolishness. But she was not trapped in the way her mother believed.
In six months, she would be of age. Netherfield was hers, though hidden beneath layers of secrecy and legal protection.
She had a dowry large enough to make her independent of desperation.
She could support her mother and sisters if the worst came.
Longbourn’s entail was still unjust, still frightening, still a shadow over them all—but it was not the abyss it had once seemed.
Her fingers stilled upon the ribbon.
Would she feel so brave without that knowledge?
The question pierced through her misery with uncomfortable force.
If she had not found the Roman treasure, if the Crown had not rewarded her, if Netherfield and her dowry did not stand quietly beneath her feet like unseen ground, would she feel free to refuse Mr. Collins?
Or would she, too, look upon him and see not a pompous fool, but shelter?
Would she look at Longbourn and calculate her family’s future by the narrow measure of one disagreeable man’s condescension?
Her mother’s desperation had always been embarrassing. Today, for the first time, Elizabeth felt the fear beneath it.
Five daughters. No son. A husband who laughed but did not act.
An estate that would pass away from them the moment Mr. Bennet died.
No woman of sense could live beneath such a threat for years and remain perfectly calm.
No wonder Mrs. Bennet’s nerves plagued her.
No wonder she clutched at every eligible gentleman who came within reach.
No wonder she saw in Mr. Collins not a man, but a door that might keep the family from being turned into the road.
Guilt crept into Elizabeth’s chest, unwelcome but deserved.
Perhaps secrecy had protected her, but it had also left her mother afraid.
Perhaps it was time to tell her.
The thought alarmed Elizabeth at once. Mrs. Bennet, with a secret fortune?
Mrs. Bennet, told that Elizabeth owned Netherfield while Mr. Bingley leased it?
Mrs. Bennet, given a confidence that touched the Crown, the Gardiner children, Mr. Philips, Darcy, and half a dozen legal protections she might forget the moment excitement overtook prudence?
No. Not without counsel.
She needed her uncle.
Elizabeth turned toward Jane. “Jane, I must speak with Uncle Philips.”
Jane looked up at once. “Now?”
“Yes. It is a private matter, but I shall not be long.”
Mr. Collins broke off mid-sentence in his lecture upon the moral dangers of excessive lace. “Dear cousin Elizabeth, I shall be most happy to accompany you. A walk to your uncle’s office would afford an excellent opportunity for—”
“No, thank you,” Elizabeth said quickly. “It concerns a private matter upon which I must seek his advice.”
Mr. Collins’s expression changed at once into solemn comprehension. Unfortunately, it was the wrong sort.
“Ah.” He bowed, lowering his voice in a manner that made it carry farther. “Say no more. A young lady’s delicacy upon certain subjects does her the greatest credit. I shall await your return here and have the honor of escorting you home afterward.”
Elizabeth nearly answered that he should not trouble himself if the shop caught fire and he alone could save her. She restrained herself.
“How thoughtful,” Jane said, before Elizabeth could speak too sharply. “But Mr. Collins, would you be so kind as to accompany Mary? She wished to look at Fordyce’s Sermons in the bookseller’s window, and I know she would value the opinion of a clergyman.”
Mary straightened, both surprised and gratified. Mr. Collins turned toward her with evident satisfaction at being consulted in his proper sphere.
“Indeed, cousin Mary, I should be delighted. Fordyce is a most improving author, though Lady Catherine has occasionally observed—”
“Mr. Bingley and I can wait for you here, Lizzy,” Jane added softly.
“With pleasure,” Mr. Bingley said at once. “That is, yes, of course. We shall remain as long as necessary.”
Mr. Collins bowed to Elizabeth with a tenderness that made her wish to hide behind the ribbon display. “Then I bid you a temporary farewell, dear cousin. May your consultation be blessed with wisdom.”
Elizabeth curtsied, murmured something civil, and escaped before he could say anything more.
The moment the shop door closed behind her, the cold air struck her face and she drew it in gratefully. Meryton’s street was still busy, still full of voices, wheels, horses, and neighbors who might wonder where she went so quickly. She did not care.
She gathered her shawl closer and walked toward her uncle’s office with determined steps.
For once, the problem before her was not Darcy.
It was not even Mr. Collins.
It was whether a secret kept for protection had become another kind of harm.