The Longbourn Chaos #2
“Do you even speak English?” Elizabeth hissed. “I have stated in no uncertain terms that I will not marry you. In fact, even before this unseemly display, I felt you were the last man in the world whom I could ever be prevailed on to marry."
"You are uniformly charming!" cried he, with an air of awkward gallantry; "and I am persuaded that when sanctioned by the express authority of both your excellent parents, and of course, Lady Catherine, my proposals will not fail of being acceptable."
Elizabeth’s frustration rose to hitherto unknown heights; an accomplishment of some note in that family.
“Father, you have heard his assertion and my denial. You can end this unseemly display by simply telling Mr Collins you will not force a marriage, since he seems impervious to reason and sanity.”
“Why would I do that?”
She gaped at him a moment and lost the last shred of respect she had been trying unsuccessfully to nurse.
“Because I will not marry him! You cannot make me, and I will not do it! The law does not allow marriage without the lady’s consent.
There is a reason they ask if anyone can show just cause, and lack of consent from the bride is the most likely objection.
No clergyman would marry me, as it would violate canon law! ”
“There you are wrong,” he snapped in a hard voice. “While the law does not strictly allow me to force you, per se, it is silent on what forms of coercion I am allowed. You need to stop whingeing. Mr Collins has not even proposed. If he does, I will give him your answer.”
“You will entirely disregard my wishes?” she squeaked, making Lydia giggle, and Kitty follow.
“I will do what is best for this family,” he answered implacably.
“Why start now?” she snapped in consternation.
“I have allowed you far too much latitude if you think you can speak to your father that way,” he said, as if all the world’s problems were suddenly her fault.
Desperation seized Elizabeth. It seemed obvious both parents were happy to sacrifice her life to pay for twenty-five years of indolence, but she found the part of the sacrificial lamb not to her taste.
Mary naturally chose the worst possible moment for some drivel from Fordyce.
“Woe to the rebellious daughter who spurns her parents' commands and follows her own sinful inclinations. A woman's role is to submit meekly to authority.”
“Mary, had I spent a twelve-month studying Fordyce, I could not have come up with a more offensive or misguided quote; though most of his writings are similar drivel, so I suppose it is to be expected,” Elizabeth snarled. “What else do you have?”
“Let the women learn in silence with all subjection. A proper young lady accepts her parents' guidance without protest, however unpleasant she may find it.”
With a low, seething voice, Elizabeth said, “I will not meekly submit to my cousin, parents, or any other person. Mr Collins, you must look elsewhere, as I will die before I marry you, nor will I ever submit to an interfering and ignorant old busybody like Lady Catherine. Based on that strongly stated desire, I must request you release me from those first two dances. As you can clearly see, Mary would be a far better choice for you, and Lady Catherine would find her vastly preferable to me.”
Would Mary gasp in shock and finally recognize the hypocrisy of her position?
Her sister surprised her yet again. “You are a shameful, sinful, daughter, Elizabeth. I would jump at the chance to accept the proposal you so spurn.”
“AHA! Problem solved!” Elizabeth yelled triumphantly. “Mr Collins, you have found your perfect helpmeet. Release me from our first two dances, and you may acquaint yourself with your future bride.”
“NO!” he snarled. “I shall not have my hand turned at the first obstacle, nor have my life dictated by an obstinate-headstrong girl. I understand it is the practice of elegant females to first deny a match they will ultimately accept, to increase their suitor’s love by suspense.
I will lead you to the altar ere long! I will not give up the privilege of the first set!
That is how a gentleman publicly stakes his claim.
Lady Catherine herself could not advise otherwise.
I shall dance the first with you and remain by your side the rest of the evening. ”
Jane looked paler than she had in the worst of her sick days at Netherfield, while Kitty and Lydia giggled, Mary looked at her disapprovingly, and Mrs Bennet looked ready to jump into the breach.
“I will not dance with you! Not now! Not ever!”
“Then you shall not dance at all. Those are the rules of propriety, as you would well know had you a better upbringing, but I believe I am up to redressing the lack in your understanding of your place in the world once we are married and under Lady Catherine’s tutelage.”
“Do you plan to allow him to speak to you like that?” she seethed at her father, barely keeping her temper in check.
“He seems to be speaking to you.”
“And what do you have to say about his extraordinary claim that my wishes are of no importance? That he will somehow browbeat me into kowtowing to the wishes of a brute? That my life will be plagued by his senile patroness?”
“I daresay you will survive two dances with the man. Should he ever propose, then I will decide your fate at the time. Do not mistake my customary laxness with weakness. You will submit to my will in the end.”
“FINE!” she bellowed in a tone suitable for Lydia.
With a huff, she snatched her father’s walking stick from his hands and bashed the top of the coach about twice as hard as necessary, then continued banging away relentlessly until the coachman came to a panicked stop, while the rest of the occupants were briefly stunned into silence.
The second motion ceased, she yanked the door open, jumped to the ground, turned around, and yelled furiously at the top of her lungs.
“As I said, I will not dance with Mr Collins…not now… NOT EVER! There is no point going to a ball where I not only cannot dance but will have to put up with such a despicable man—despicable men—all night.”
“You will not!” Mr Collins screamed, and he dragged himself out of the seat, as if he meant to reach out and return her by force.
The cleric was a tall, heavy, balding man, though he looked more like a man of forty around the middle than his twenty-five.
He was certainly far bigger and stronger than Elizabeth.
He may well have managed to drag her back in had she not slammed the door on his face, breaking his nose and setting up a ruckus to end all ruckuses.
She yelled at the top of her lungs. “DRIVE ON! NOW!”
There were well over a hundred yards between herself and the coach before anybody had a chance to react, by which time she had taken off towards Meryton, running as if chased by wolves, as Mr Collins cursed loud and long using very un-cleric-like language, and her family looked on with expressions suitable to their natures.
It said quite a lot that running headlong down a gravel drive, an hour after full dark, in a ball gown and dancing slippers, in late November with a thin cloak, substantially improved her situation!