Chapter 8
Elizabeth Bennet
Elizabeth walked briskly towards Longbourn, for she was going to return home considerably later than she had intended.
An afternoon spent with Charlotte Lucas seldom failed to improve her spirits, and that day’s had been no exception.
After the confusion and noise that had lately overtaken the household, the quiet good sense of her friend’s company had been particularly welcome, and she had stayed perhaps longer than she ought.
Even as she hurried, Elizabeth noticed the beauty of the countryside through which she walked.
The day had grown colder toward evening.
A pale light lingered over the fields as she crossed the lane toward the house, and the air carried the stillness that could only be felt at the close of autumn, when the last colour had nearly vanished from the trees and the earth seemed waiting for winter.
She entered by the side door, removing her gloves as she crossed the hall. Her thoughts lingered upon Charlotte’s observations of the Netherfield ball and Mr Collins’s attentions throughout it.
Her friend had been amused, but advised caution. “He admires you vastly,” she had said. “And admiration, in some men, requires very little encouragement to believe itself returned in full.”
Elizabeth had laughed then, but she was not laughing now. On reflection, it seemed considerably more worrying than it was amusing.
As Elizabeth pushed open the door of the drawing room and stepped inside, she called out cheerfully, “I am returned! I am sorry to have stayed so late, Mama, but I was talking with Charlotte and lost track of the time.”
“Oh, Lizzy —” Mrs Bennet began, but before she could say another word, Mr Collins rose abruptly from near the fire and all but ran to Elizabeth.
“Ah, my dear Cousin Elizabeth!” Mr Collins seized both her hands before she could retreat a step. “Such happiness!”
Elizabeth stared at him in astonishment. His countenance glowed with satisfaction so complete that for one confused moment she wondered if some extraordinary good fortune had befallen him elsewhere.
“Ah, Cousin Elizabeth,” he exclaimed, “allow me to congratulate both myself and the object of my dearest hopes upon the happy conclusion of every difficulty between us!”
Elizabeth attempted gently to free her hands, but his grasp only tightened with earnest warmth. “Sir,” she said, laughing slightly from pure bewilderment, “I do not understand you in the least.”
“No modesty, I beg!” cried Mr Collins. “Your excellent mother has already granted her full approval, and I flatter myself that every obstacle to our union is now removed.”
Elizabeth stared at him. “Our union?”
“Most certainly!” Mr Collins beamed at her. “What greater happiness could await either of us? Indeed, I consider myself the most fortunate of men.”
Elizabeth finally succeeded in withdrawing one hand, though the effort scarcely seemed to register with him. “Mr Collins,” she said firmly, “I am afraid you are under some serious misunderstanding.”
He only smiled with patient indulgence. “I am aware, cousin, that young ladies are expected to display a becoming reluctance upon such occasions —”
“I am displaying no such thing, I assure you,” Elizabeth interrupted. “Sir, you have not asked for my hand in marriage, and if you had, I could not give it to you.”
For the first time, something like uncertainty flashed across his face — but only for an instant.
As quickly as it had come, the uncertainty vanished beneath renewed confidence.
“My dear Miss Elizabeth,” he said, lowering his voice as if appealing to her reason, “your modesty does you the highest credit, but there can be no necessity for such reserve between persons so soon to be united.”
“We are not soon to be united.”
“You are agitated,” Mr Collins continued kindly. “Naturally so. Such transitions in a lady’s life are always attended by strong feeling.”
Elizabeth stared at him. Across the room, the others had fallen silent. Lydia looked openly entertained. Kitty appeared confused. Mary watched with grave attention. Jane alone seemed alarmed.
Mrs Bennet, however, looked triumphant. “Now, Lizzy,” she said, “you need not pretend to be so surprised. Mr Collins has made you an excellent offer, and I advised him at once to settle the matter without delay.”
Elizabeth turned toward her mother slowly. “You advised him?”
“Certainly I did! And very right, too. I told him there could be no objection to it.”
“On the contrary,” Elizabeth said in astonishment. “There is one very significant objection — namely, mine.”
Mrs Bennet gave an impatient wave of her hand. “You cannot suppose I would allow you to throw away such an establishment merely because you choose to be fanciful.”
Elizabeth felt something cold and unfamiliar begin to settle beneath her confusion.
“Mr Collins,” she said carefully, forcing herself to remain calm, “whatever my mother may have told you, you are mistaken if you believe me engaged to you.”
“My dear cousin,” he replied, with smiling perseverance, “your feelings do you honour, but I am not discouraged by a little feminine delicacy. Your excellent mother understands you far better.”
“I assure you she does not.”
“You are too modest to know your own mind at present.”
“You think me incapable of understanding whether I wish to marry?”
Mr Collins looked uncomfortable. “I think,” he said, with increased solemnity, “that young ladies are sometimes inclined to reject the addresses of the man they secretly mean to accept.”
“I secretly mean no such thing, I assure you!” Elizabeth cried out. “Mr Collins, I assure you I would never sport with a gentleman’s sincere feelings in such a way. Please do me the compliment of believing that I mean what I say.”
Mrs Bennet rose abruptly. “Lizzy, do not be ridiculous. I will not have you behaving in this absurd manner when Mr Collins has done you such an honour.”
“An honour?” Elizabeth repeated, turning toward her in disbelief.
“Yes, an honour! Your father absent for months, the estate entailed away from us, and Mr Collins generous enough to offer marriage despite it all. I declare I do not know what more you could want.”
Elizabeth looked from her mother to Mr Collins and back again. For one disorienting moment, the room itself seemed altered around her. Everything she said appeared to pass through them without effect, transformed at once into something else.
She had refused him plainly, and they behaved as if she had not spoken at all.
Mr Collins recovered first from the interruption caused by her refusal. His expression settled once more into patient satisfaction, as though her objections had merely confirmed the delicacy of her feelings.
“My dear cousin,” he said, drawing himself up with increased solemnity, “you must permit me to assure you that I am not discouraged. As I have said, a modest young woman often rejects the addresses of the man whom she secretly means to accept, and I think myself fortunate indeed that my future wife has such modesty, such delicate reserve.”
“There is no reserve in it,” Elizabeth said in exasperation. “I mean exactly what I say.”
Mr Collins smiled. “That playful spirit,” he declared, “could not fail to recommend you to any man of taste.”
Elizabeth stared at him in open disbelief. “Mama,” she said, turning abruptly away from him, “you cannot seriously suppose I will consent to this.”
Mrs Bennet’s satisfaction vanished into irritation. “And why should you not? I desire to know what objection you can have.”
“I do not wish to marry Mr Collins.”
“My dear Lizzy, what nonsense you speak! Girls always say such things at first.”
“I do not say it at first. I say it entirely.”
Mrs Bennet shook her head impatiently. “You are the most ungrateful creature alive. Here is Mr Collins prepared to marry you at once, and after all the anxiety I have endured on your account, you stand there arguing as if you had the right to refuse him!”
“I have every right,” Elizabeth said grimly. “I have every right, for it is my life, and I who must give myself over entirely to the man I wed.”
“My dear Cousin Elizabeth,” Mr Collins interposed gently, “you distress your excellent mother.”
Elizabeth turned toward him with growing alarm. “You cannot possibly imagine,” she said carefully, “that a marriage may be settled without the consent of both parties.”
“I am persuaded your consent will follow naturally from reflection.”
“It will not.”
He waved this aside with alarming calmness. “At present, your spirits are agitated. Such delicacy does honour to your character. Indeed, I admire it exceedingly.”
There was no arguing with him, Elizabeth thought with mingled astonishment and horror. Every objection she raised returned transformed into evidence in his favour.
“You forget,” she said quickly, grasping at the first practical obstacle she could find, “that my father is absent. Nothing of this nature can proceed without his knowledge and approval.”
For the first time, Mr Collins’s expression altered into something more serious. “On the contrary,” he said, “it is precisely because of your respected father’s absence that the matter ought not to be delayed.”
The words chilled her to the bone. “I do not understand you.”
“My dear cousin, your situation demands protection. Your family cannot remain indefinitely without proper guidance and support. As the future master of Longbourn, I consider it my duty to secure the comfort of the household as soon as possible.”
“I require no such protection.”
He looked at her with painful kindness. “You are naturally unaware of your own vulnerability.”
Elizabeth could not believe the words had truly been spoken.
Jane rose from her seat. “Mr Collins,” she said with gentle firmness, “perhaps this discussion would be better postponed until my father returns. Surely it would be the better part of respect to —”