Chapter 14
Elizabeth Bennet
When some days had passed, and Elizabeth had almost convinced herself that no news would ever come, a letter finally arrived from Longbourn. Elizabeth recognised Jane’s hand immediately. For one terrible moment, she could not make herself break the seal.
Every possibility seemed contained within the folded paper.
News of her father. Renewed outrage from her mother.
Some fresh disaster she had not yet imagined.
By the time she finally unfolded the letter, her pulse had begun beating so painfully hard that she scarcely trusted herself to read clearly.
My dearest Lizzy,
I write with the very greatest relief, for I am happy to tell you that your plan has succeeded better than I dared hope.
Everyone in Meryton has accepted without question that you were called suddenly to assist Aunt Gardiner with the children, and I have heard nothing from any quarter to suggest the matter is regarded with any suspicion.
Indeed, Mrs Long told Mama only yesterday that it showed very pretty feeling in you to go so quickly when your aunt had need of you.
I must be honest and tell you that Mr Collins was not at first inclined to let the story stand.
He declared his intention of travelling to London himself and spoke a great deal about feminine agitation and the duties of a clergyman toward his intended.
I reasoned with him as patiently as I could, and at last he saw that publicly contradicting the account of your visit would expose the whole situation to exactly the sort of ridicule he would most dislike.
He was not pleased. But he held his tongue, and that is what matters.
And now, dear sister, I have news which I confess I scarcely know how to write. It is not bad news exactly, and yet you must prepare yourself, for it surprised me very greatly.
You need no longer fear being forced to marry our cousin, for he has married Charlotte Lucas!
The ceremony took place three days ago, for Mr Collins did purchase a license, and Charlotte appears entirely composed and satisfied.
Sir William and Lady Lucas are delighted with the connection, and Mr Collins — I hardly know how to say this — Mr Collins appears to have recovered from all previous disappointments with remarkable speed.
He speaks now of you only as a cousin and seems to have persuaded himself that everything which passed between you was merely a misunderstanding on both sides.
I do not know what you will make of this. I find I hardly know what to make of it myself.
Now for some news of Longbourn. The estate goes on well enough, thanks to your instructions.
However, I can claim little of the credit, for Mary has done far more than I.
She says that you were quite right, and there is not so much to do as there was.
You will never guess what she did next, or perhaps, knowing how studious our dear sister is, you will.
She is reading through everything in Papa’s library that might help her to better manage the estate, and has even sent away for some books too practical for our father to find interesting. I am very proud of her.
And now I must say what is difficult, and you must keep a strong heart.
Mama is still furious. She says things which are unjust, and I am sorry for it.
But I truly believe that time will soften her feelings if you allow it to work.
It would be best if you do not return to Longbourn quite yet, but come home with the Gardiners at Christmas.
By then Mama’s anger must surely have softened, and everything may perhaps begin feeling more natural again.
Write to me soon. I miss you every hour.
Your affectionate sister, Jane
Elizabeth lowered the letter slowly into her lap.
Across the sitting room, Mrs Gardiner looked up from her sewing. “Lizzy?”
Elizabeth blinked once, still trying unsuccessfully to make sense of what she had just read. “It is Charlotte Lucas,” she said. “Or rather, she was Charlotte Lucas, and is now Mrs Collins. Charlotte has married my cousin.”
Both Gardiners stared at her in open astonishment. “Married him?” Mr Gardiner repeated.
Elizabeth looked back down at the letter as though the words might somehow alter themselves upon second inspection. “They were married three days ago.”
Mrs Gardiner set aside her work. “Merciful heavens.”
Elizabeth could not even answer. Charlotte.
Practical, intelligent Charlotte, who had listened with such amusement only weeks earlier while Elizabeth mocked Mr Collins’s absurdities during their walk together.
Charlotte, who knew perfectly well what sort of man he was.
Charlotte, who had nevertheless chosen him deliberately.
Jane’s letter attempted kindly explanations. Charlotte had behaved calmly and rationally throughout. Sir William Lucas appeared delighted by the connection. Lady Lucas considered the match extremely fortunate. Charlotte herself, Jane wrote carefully, seemed perfectly satisfied.
That disturbed Elizabeth most of all. “She cannot possibly esteem him,” Elizabeth said.
Mrs Gardiner looked at her with thoughtful sympathy. “No,” she agreed gently. “Probably not.”
Mr Gardiner frowned slightly. “But she may esteem the life marriage offers more than remaining unmarried.”
Elizabeth folded the letter carefully, though her thoughts still felt strangely unsettled.
She understood the practical advantages perfectly well. Charlotte was twenty-seven, possessed little fortune, and faced diminishing prospects each year she remained single. Mr Collins offered security, a home of her own, and eventual possession of Longbourn itself.
Elizabeth understood every argument. And still the thought of Charlotte voluntarily tying her life to Mr Collins felt deeply melancholy. “She once told me,” Elizabeth said after a moment, “that happiness in marriage was entirely a matter of chance.”
Mrs Gardiner exchanged a quiet glance with her husband. “And what do you think now?” she asked.
Elizabeth looked down at Jane’s letter resting in her hands.
She thought suddenly of Charlotte standing beside Mr Collins in church, speaking vows she did not mean with any real respect or affection behind them.
Yet Charlotte would likely perform them well.
Calmly. Sensibly. She would arrange her life into comfort where she could find it and make peace with the rest.
Perhaps she would even succeed. But Elizabeth knew with complete certainty that she herself could never have done the same.
Then there was the rest of the letter. At the bottom of the final page, Jane had added one last appeal in her careful hand — that she should not return home, at least not yet.
How furious must their mother be for Jane to urge her to remain safely in London until Christmas, to think that she must not come back until tempers had hopefully cooled?
Elizabeth smiled sadly at the thought. Jane still believed time and kindness capable of restoring nearly anything. Perhaps that faith was wiser than cynicism after all.
Mrs Gardiner watched her intently across the room. “You disapprove of the marriage.”
Elizabeth hesitated. “I do not know whether I disapprove exactly.” She folded Jane’s letter more carefully along its crease. “I think I am saddened by it.”
Mr Gardiner leaned back thoughtfully in his chair. “Because you believe your friend capable of happier things?”
“Yes.” The answer came at once. “And because she is too intelligent not to understand precisely what sort of life she has chosen.”
Mrs Gardiner’s expression remained calm. “Intelligent women are often the very ones who make practical marriages.”
Elizabeth looked toward the fire. “I know.” And she did know.
Charlotte had never pretended to have any romantic expectations.
She had spoken often enough of security, comfort, and the dangers awaiting unmarried women without fortune.
None of this ought truly to surprise Elizabeth as much as it did.
Yet surprise remained. Not because Charlotte had acted irrationally, but because she had acted so rationally that affection had not entered the matter at all. Elizabeth could not entirely respect the choice, even as she understood why Charlotte had made it.
“I think,” Elizabeth said slowly, “that part of me believed Charlotte merely tolerated Mr Collins while he was present. I never imagined she observed him carefully and concluded she could endure him forever.”
Mr Gardiner gave a faint smile. “Marriage encourages practical calculations in many sensible people.”
“Yes,” Elizabeth replied. “That may be exactly what troubles me.”
Mrs Gardiner studied her for a moment. “Because you cannot imagine making the same calculation yourself?”
Elizabeth laughed without amusement. “I would sooner flee Hertfordshire entirely.”
The words escaped before she could soften them.
All three of them fell silent afterward. Jane might believe that her sister would be able to return home soon, but Elizabeth herself was less sanguine in her hopes, and she suspected that her aunt and uncle also had their doubts.
At last, Mr Gardiner shook his head. “Well. Fortunately for all concerned, Mr Collins has now transferred his affections elsewhere.”
“Along with his determination to reform female impulsiveness,” Elizabeth added dryly.
Mrs Gardiner smiled despite herself. “Poor Charlotte.”
Elizabeth looked down again at Jane’s letter. Poor Charlotte indeed.
And yet the more she considered it, the less certain she became regarding who deserved pity most. Charlotte would possess security now. A home. Independence of a sort. Respectability guaranteed. Perhaps even contentment, if expectations remained modest enough.
Elizabeth thought suddenly of Longbourn. Of her mother’s desperation. Of the quiet fear underneath all the arguments about duty and prudence.
She now understood more clearly how such marriages happened. Not from foolishness. Nor were they always from coercion. Sometimes, a woman consented from exhaustion and uncertainty, from an understandable desire for safety in a world which offered women so little control over their futures.
The thought lingered unpleasantly with her long after the conversation had moved elsewhere.
Later that evening, alone in the bedroom prepared for her at Gracechurch Street, Elizabeth unfolded Jane’s letter once more before extinguishing the candle.
Her sister’s final lines remained as affectionate and hopeful as she had remembered them. Come home with the Gardiners at Christmas, Jane had written. By then Mama’s anger must surely have softened, and everything may perhaps begin feeling more natural again.
Elizabeth smiled as she read the sentence. Yes, Jane possessed an extraordinary faith in the healing powers of time, distance, and goodwill. Elizabeth only wished that she shared it.
The next morning brought snow. It was not a heavy storm, only a thin, steady fall which softened the noise of the city and left the rooftops beyond Gracechurch Street powdered white beneath the pale December sky.
The Gardiner children greeted the sight with such overwhelming delight that breakfast dissolved into excited discussion regarding boots, scarves, and the absolute necessity of venturing outdoors before the snow disappeared entirely.
Elizabeth watched the cheerful chaos with growing amusement from her place near the fire.
“You encourage them,” Mrs Gardiner informed her as Edward attempted to convince his younger sister that snowballs possessed important military applications.
“I have said almost nothing.”
“You looked interested. That is encouragement enough.”
Elizabeth laughed softly and accepted another cup of tea.
The morning felt almost ordinary. The uncertainty regarding her father remained too constant for true peace, surfacing unexpectedly whenever the house grew quiet or the post arrived later than expected.
Yet life at Gracechurch Street possessed a steadiness which slowly made ordinary thoughts possible again.
Ordinary things slowly resumed their place in her thoughts again, like books, conversations, the children’s endless disputes, and the easy domestic rhythm of Gracechurch Street. Small and comforting things.
And thoughts of Mr Darcy. Elizabeth frowned into her tea. They were not romantic thoughts, certainly. At least she did not believe so. Only reflections which returned with irritating frequency whenever she least expected them.
She found herself remembering the sight of Mr Darcy beside the stagecoach, calmly refusing to let her continue alone to London.
Then came other recollections: his grave conversations with Edward, conducted as seriously as though the child were a man of consequence, and the ease with which he had sat in her aunt’s drawing room, as though Gracechurch Street were the equal of Hanover Square.
None of it aligned comfortably with the man Elizabeth had believed she understood.
“You are thinking very hard again,” Mrs Gardiner observed.
Elizabeth looked up. “Am I?”
“You have stirred your spoon through your tea for nearly a minute.”
Elizabeth glanced downward in embarrassment and set the spoon aside. “I was only distracted.”
Mrs Gardiner’s expression became suspiciously innocent. “How unfortunate.”
Elizabeth narrowed her eyes slightly. “You sound as though you already know the source of the distraction.”
“My dear Lizzy, I know only that your expression has altered considerably since arriving in London whenever one particular gentleman enters your thoughts.”
Elizabeth nearly choked on her tea. “That is absurd.”
“Is it?”
“Yes. How can you say such a thing?”
Mrs Gardiner smiled calmly over the rim of her cup. “You grow defensive remarkably quickly for someone entirely indifferent.”
Elizabeth set down her teacup with unnecessary precision. “I am not defensive. I simply object to being observed like a scientific curiosity over breakfast.”
Mrs Gardiner appeared entirely untroubled by this. “And yet you continue blushing.”
“I am not blushing.”
At that exact moment, Edward looked up from across the table. “Cousin Lizzy is red.”
At that, her aunt and uncle surrendered without dignity to laughter.
Elizabeth smiled to herself, if a little ruefully. The entire household was becoming far too observant for comfort.