The Wager
~
Elizabeth Bennet tried her best. She really did.
She gave it her all. She vowed she would keep a straight face for at least half a minute if it killed her; but alas, her discipline was not up to the task.
First there was a smile, then a snigger, followed by an uncontrollable giggle, then a snort, and finally she could contain herself no longer.
She started laughing, and once she started, she could not stop.
She laughed until tears rolled down her cheeks, and laughed some more, even slapping the table in a vain attempt to restore some sense of decorum—all while Mr Darcy watched in absolute alarmed perplexity.
She nearly got herself back under regulation, until his expression was so perfect it set her back to laughing again.
Finally, at long last, she managed to get herself under control and addressed the gentleman. “Oh, Mr Darcy, I thank you. That was absolutely perfect… pure genius! You just made me five guineas from a wager everyone thought I was mad to make. Let us see them laugh now. HAH!! I am the victor.”
Darcy looked at her in absolute confusion. “I do not have the pleasure of understanding you, madam!”
That set off another round of laughing, but Elizabeth eventually restored her equilibrium. “Ah, that delivery was perfection itself. Absolutely wonderful! Do you mind if I ask a few questions and make notes?”
Without waiting for an answer, she jumped up and ran over to the desk to obtain paper, quill, and an inkpot. While the gentleman looked on in complete befuddlement, she wrote down a series of what looked more like chicken scratches than anything else.
At the end of a few scratchy lines, she said, “Let me be certain I get this down correctly! 'I do not have the pleasure of understanding you, madam!' Oh, that is perfect. Absolutely perfect.”
Darcy looked even more confused. “I still do not understand you?”
Elizabeth laughed again, unable to contain her good humour. “Oh, you are such a treasure. May I ask you a few questions? I must have the details; Mrs Long will kill me if I return with insufficient information.”
Feeling as if he had entered Bedlam, Darcy nodded, more in confusion than acquiescence.
“I have so many questions, I hardly know where to begin,” she said enthusiastically.
“Is your wager recorded at White's, Brook's, or Boodle’s; or is it just a private wager?
Is it a one-on-one bet, or are there several gentlemen involved?
If it is not too impertinent, could you tell me the stakes and the odds?
Did you write the speech yourself, or did you have assistance?
Some of the language had to come directly from Lady Catherine; did she assist you directly or do you just know her so well you could borrow her words with impunity?
Was the colonel's conversation this morning when he told me about your part in separating my sister from Mr Bingley part of the wager, or was he perhaps trying to influence the outcome? Please! I must know these things. Do I actually have to answer your faux proposal to make the wager complete, or was the bet just dependent on your delivery? I am dying to comprehend the full scope of this endeavour!”
Darcy’s perplexity increased apace. “The more you speak the less I understand.”
Elizabeth laughed gaily. “Wonderful!! Absolutely wonderful! Do you mind if I write that down? It is even better than the first one. I must say, you are really turning out to be very diverting,” at which point Elizabeth sat back to her chicken scratches and wrote down his last statement word for word.
Darcy watched this in even more confusion. “Pray, explain this to me in the King's English, as I am inordinately confused.”
Elizabeth looked at him like she might a particularly thick child, although she suspected the whole interaction was surely all posturing by that point. “I am speaking of the wagers of course!”
“Wagers?”
“Oh yes, yes! Now I understand! You know of your own wager, of course, but you could have no way to know about mine! How thick can I possibly be?”
Elizabeth smacked herself in the forehead a few times to accentuate her general lack of good sense. “Pray, allow me to explain.” She looked at him conspiratorially, and whispered, “I assume you know that ladies wager just like gentlemen, though it is rarely admitted?”
He looked even more confused, but she carried on.
“Yes, yes, of course, I know it is not considered strictly proper, but we bend the rules just a touch.
I won twelve shillings the night of that first assembly you attended when you spent twenty-nine minutes sitting next to Mrs Long without saying a word.
Charlotte was mad as a wet hen because she bet on twenty-five minutes, whilst I won with a wager of thirty.
Everyone thought I was insane, but after you called me ‘tolerable and not handsome enough to tempt you’—I suspected there was no limit to your rudeness.
I would have bet on an hour if I could find anyone to give me better odds.
Mrs Long keeps all of our simple wagers…
she has a prodigious memory, so all the ladies depend on her for fairness and accuracy.
We share the burden of writing down the more complex bets, though I take the lion's share of the work because I enjoy it.”
Darcy just shook his head confusedly. “Mrs Long?”
“Yes, Mrs Long. You would not know it to look at her, but she is more important to Meryton society than Sir William. He is just the magistrate, but she is the judge of wagers.”
Darcy, getting more and more lost in this conversation that had left the realm of the sane some time ago, cast around for anything to say. “You said you won five guineas?”
“Yes!” she laughed. “I can hardly wait; Lydia will kill me.”
“How so?”
Elizabeth replied perfectly seriously, “When Charlotte wrote that I would be in company with you again, Mrs Long pooled a dozen ladies to bet me at ten-to-one odds that I could not prove you have a sense of humour!
You have done so admirably, and I have the proof right here if you would be so kind as to initial it.
I fear the other ladies will be sore losers—but really—they all thought they had a sure bet.
The general consensus was, 'Mr. Darcy! Sense of Humour!
Preposterous!' HAH! They will not be laughing now. I intend to savour my victory at every opportunity, and my mother will be quite insufferable. Lady Lucas will weep in frustration.”
“My sense of humour or lack thereof was a matter of wagers?” he asked, getting more befuddled by the minute.
“Have no fear,” she replied conspiratorially.
“This is only among women. The men of the county and outsiders like the Bingley sisters know nothing of this; and of course, you will never be in Hertfordshire again anyway, so it is of no import one way or the other. You would not deny us the same amusements you yourself partake in, would you? It is only fair!”
Fitzwilliam Darcy just shook his head trying to clear it and gestured at a chair.
“Oh, where are my manners! Pray be seated. Will the other gentlemen take your word on the outcome of the wager, or will you need a statement from me? Like Mrs Long, I have an excellent memory. I would offer to write out your proposal word for word, but you obviously wrote it out in advance so if you will just show me your copy, I will be happy to initial it to certify its delivery.”
“You keep discussing a wager, but I still have not the slightest idea what you are talking about; and why would you believe I wrote the proposal in advance?”
Elizabeth looked at him in exasperation. “Really, sir! You need not keep the charade up. The wager is over, and unless you need a specific answer, I imagine we are finished.”
“Just to humour me, would you tell me what wager you believe was made?”
“Do not play ignorant, Mr Darcy. The cat is out of the bag.
You obviously have a wager with someone…
probably the colonel, or perhaps your uncle the earl, or Mr Bingley.
I imagine the terms were something like 'Deliver the most insulting proposal ever spoken to a woman you dislike and see how she rejects you'. I am curious, were you betting on a verbal set-down, general anger, rebellion, tears, or smashed pottery? Also, I am curious what you would have done if I answered in the affirmative? What was your plan to escape the entanglement? I am most fascinated with your escape strategy. Please, I must know!”
Elizabeth dipped her quill and watched him in rapt attention, ready to write down all the particulars.
“You believe this proposal was deliberately insulting?”
“Of course! No one could come up with something like that off the cuff, though I must admit that Mr Collins came close—although I strongly suspect he did practise—I must remember to ask him if he had a wager on it.”
“You believe this proposal was specifically designed to be rejected?”
“Of course! No man of sense and education, who has been in the world, would ever make a proposal like that if he wished to be accepted! Really, nobody would expect a woman to accept a suit after such a debacle. I must say it was pure genius to profess love and admiration in one breath and insults in the next. I admire your cunning! I wish I were half that clever, but you can clearly see the whole scheme is preposterous—”
Elizabeth paused in deep thought. “Now that I think about it, there probably are some women who would accept any proposal from you. I imagine you must have received quite good odds since you were taking a small risk I would accept—but then again—I imagine you must have a plan to deal with that possibility. I believe I interrupted you before you could outline your stratagem for escaping the connection if I accepted. Would you mind telling me how you would accomplish that?”
Darcy's head was spinning and he was nearly ill, but he needed to somehow resolve this madness. “You believe I dislike you?”
“Of course, our mutual dislike is obvious to everyone. Mary took a wager at a hundred to one that I would marry you within the year. I always thought she was too sensible to take such a long shot at less than a thousand to one, but she is not always the most sensible of the sisters.”
Darcy leaned back in the chair with a sigh, just beginning to comprehend the size of his blunder.
It was quite a mess. This must have been the most humiliating experience of his or anyone else's life; and he spent several moments thinking furiously about what to do next, while the love of his life sat across from him in rapt attention, her quill poised and ready to write down in exacting detail how he planned to jilt her.