Another Proposal, page 8
“Cousin Elizabeth!” exclaimed the parson. “If I should have known such perfidy, such grasping selfishness would be displayed during my visit, I should never have deigned to come! It is apparent I was not enough of a lure for you to enter the honorable state of matrimony, for you had your sights set on a much larger prize.”
Elizabeth, already feeling her patience with this man waning, began tapping her foot and interrupted his monologue, snapping: “It is clear you know nothing, Mr. Collins, for your conjectures are completely mistaken.”
“Would that they are wrong!” was his dramatic reply. “If it were so, I would happily be proven wrong, for this match to which you have the presumption to aspire can never take place. Perhaps you have not heard, but Mr. Darcy is already engaged. Engaged, I tell you! To that precious jewel, Miss Anne de Bourgh! Now what have you to say?”
It appeared Elizabeth could have nothing to say, for Mrs. Bennet shrieked: “Engaged? No, it cannot be true! He is engaged to my Lizzy!”
“You are lying to yourself if you think Mr. Darcy would ever offer for one such as your daughter,” Mr. Collins sniffed with disdain at Elizabeth, “when the perfection of Miss de Bourgh is before him. Why should he offer for a penniless, impertinent miss such as she?” Mr. Collins made a sound of utter disgust in the back of his throat. “No, it is in every way impossible. You must have misunderstood Mr. Darcy, Cousin, for he would never offer for one such as you.”
“Then why did I hear Mr. Darcy propose to Elizabeth myself?” demanded Mrs. Bennet, folding her arms and glaring at the parson.
“If you overheard, then you must have misunderstood also,” asserted Mr. Collins, holding to his position with a stubbornness, which spoke to the hardness of his head, rather than the firmness of his resolve.
“‘I would be honored if you would accept my proposal and consent to be my wife,’” quoted Mrs. Bennet. “That is what Mr. Darcy said. How is it possible to misunderstand such a simple question?”
“I am sure he could not have said that,” insisted Mr. Collins. “Mr. Darcy would never have said such a thing.”
“Are you suggesting I am lying?”
“It is clear your wish to have your daughters well settled has overcome your sense.”
“You are a silly man, Mr. Collins,” snapped Mrs. Bennet. “If you doubt what I say, I suggest you speak with Mr. Darcy.”
“I most assuredly will, Madam.”
“Then do so. All I can say is my husband’s words for your father appear to have bred true in his son, for you are as odious a man as I have ever met. You may speak with Mr. Darcy, but I will ask you to do so elsewhere, for you are no longer welcome at Longbourn.”
Mr. Collins’s nostrils flared in his offense. “And when I am the master of this estate, you will no longer be welcome.” With a sniff, Mr. Collins turned to Elizabeth. “I am happy to leave, for I would not wish to be contaminated by the excesses of your family. Before I go, however, I will have Cousin Elizabeth’s solemn promise that she will no longer attempt to distract Mr. Darcy from his duty.”
“In your own words,” said Elizabeth, glaring at the parson, “there should be no need. For does Mr. Darcy not know his duty?”
“I am sure he does! But I will not have you continuing to tempt him. Give me your promise, Cousin, and I shall leave.”
“You will not have it,” said Elizabeth. “I owe you no such promise, Mr. Collins. The state of my relationship with Mr. Darcy has nothing to do with you; I am not in the habit of giving consequence to the arguments of those who insert themselves into matters which are not their concern.”
“Promise me now!” shrilled the parson. “I will not return to Lady Catherine’s side with the shame of having failed her in this matter!”
Elizabeth laughed. “I care nothing for Lady Catherine! You may as well depart, for I have no intention of ever promising you anything!”
The parson’s scowl was akin to a thundercloud, but Elizabeth was not about to pay him any more attention. Spinning on her heel, Elizabeth departed from the room, intent upon seeking the solace of the back gardens. No more would she subject herself to the man’s inanities!
Mr. Collins might have followed Elizabeth from the room had Mrs. Bennet not accused him of an unwarranted attack on her family. That, of course, drew his condemnation once again, and the argument began anew, this time Lydia taking Elizabeth’s place, which was of some surprise to Charlotte.
For her part, Charlotte stayed out of the dispute, considering the man before her. When Charlotte had heard of Elizabeth’s refusal of his proposal, it was what she would have expected of her friend, and she was, thus, not surprised at all. Knowing of the man’s character, however, and understanding his silliness, the imagined regard he had for his cousin, Charlotte thought it the simplest thing in the world to turn his attention toward herself and elicit a proposal before he was to return to Kent by Saturday.
Not that Charlotte wished to marry Mr. Collins—in fact, it was difficult to imagine a less attractive man, both in a physical sense and from the perspective of pure inclination. Mr. Collins was a stupid clod, who would not even make a tolerable companion, let alone set a woman’s heart to racing. But he was single, his prospects, as the heir to Longbourn, were good, and given Elizabeth’s refusal and his desire for a wife, Charlotte was willing to endure him in exchange for a situation of her own. Never having thought much of men or the marriage state and being seven and twenty years old and almost on the shelf, the need to avoid burdening her family with her support was the foremost thought on her mind.
What was becoming clear to her, however, was that marriage to Mr. Collins would force her to give up Lizzy’s friendship. If Mr. Darcy had proposed—and Charlotte did not doubt it, despite all of Mr. Collins’s howls of protest—Charlotte was certain Mr. Darcy would not bow down to his aunt’s strictures. Mr. Collins’s veneration of his patroness was such that he would support her ladyship whatever the consequences, his resentment such that he would forbid any contact between his wife and Elizabeth.
Could Charlotte give up Lizzy’s friendship for a man she found irksome, whose society she would tolerate for no other reason than a comfortable situation? The thought made Charlotte shudder—she had counted on Lizzy’s support, her frequent letters and occasional visits to give her strength. In a very real way, Charlotte feared the comfort of her own home would not be enough to sustain her through years of enduring a dullard.
“No, Mrs. Bennet! No!” The parson’s cries again returned Charlotte’s attention to the argument. “I shall not allow it! Your daughter is a fool if she thinks Lady Catherine will ever allow this farce of a marriage, and I shall be Lady Catherine’s agent in this matter! I shall not leave until I have her assurances!”
Then Mr. Collins turned and stalked toward the door. It seemed to Charlotte the rest of those in the room had the same notion—Mr. Collins was in such a state that they were not about to allow him to confront Elizabeth alone.
As it turned out, Elizabeth was not alone, though she wished she was. The sense required to remember she needed to dress against the cold had not deserted her, though it had been a near thing, and as soon as she had donned her spenser and bonnet, she stormed out to the back lawn, intent upon avoiding Mr. Collins until the man departed. She would walk up and down Longbourn’s property to keep warm before she would share a roof with that loathsome man again!
The solitude she sought, however, was only afforded to her for a few moments before another intruded. Other than Mr. Collins, it was, perhaps, the man she least wished to see.
“Miss Elizabeth,” called a friendly voice, and when she stopped, she noted one of the officers approaching. It was Mr. Wickham. “I am happy to see you, for I missed the opportunity to have your company at Mr. Bingley’s ball.”
“It was not I who did not attend, Mr. Wickham,” said Elizabeth, wondering what the man could want with her. By Kitty and Lydia’s testimony, he already knew of Mr. Darcy’s proposal. He must understand that Mr. Darcy would have informed her of their shared history.
“My absence was unavoidable,” said Mr. Wickham, the smoothness of his tone indicating he was either unaware or ignoring the hint of asperity in her voice. “Not only did I have business in London, but I decided it would be better not to attend with Darcy there. I should not wish to disrupt Mr. Bingley’s event should some unpleasant scenes ensue.”
“Is that so?” asked Elizabeth. “Then I must commend you, sir. It seems more likely to me you wished to avoid Mr. Darcy.”
“I have already said I did.”
Elizabeth gazed at him for a moment and turned away. The officer fell in beside her.
“Perhaps the opportunity to dance will present itself at the next party or assembly,” said Mr. Wickham. His long legs were sufficient to keep up with her, though Elizabeth was not setting a slow pace.
“You will forgive me if I doubt the possibility, Mr. Wickham.”
“Oh? And why is that? Before the Netherfield ball, I thought you eager to dance with me.”
Elizabeth stopped and spun to face him. “Let us not play games, Mr. Wickham. When my sisters returned, they informed me of meeting you in town. They also told me of the subject of your discussion. Therefore, I know you are aware of Mr. Darcy’s proposal to me; since my mother has already informed the principal families of the neighborhood, it is no secret that I am now engaged to him.”
“Should that prevent me from having a dance with you?”
“It is when I am the betrothed of Mr. Darcy,” hissed Elizabeth. “Is he not your nemesis? I should think you would curse my name now for marrying your greatest enemy, for thinking so little of your account that I would, only days after hearing it, accept his proposal. And do you not think Mr. Darcy would disapprove of my dancing with you?”
“What should I care if Darcy does not approve?” The gentleman burst into scornful laughter. “I have danced with many married and engaged ladies before—being engaged does not prevent you from dancing with other men.”
“Yes, I know the mores of society. But even you must understand my hesitance. If Mr. Darcy is to be my husband, I must cleave to his side, and that includes in my dealings with you.”
Elizabeth turned and began walking, though the hope that Mr. Wickham would leave after her set-down was in vain. The gentleman followed her as she made her way back toward the house, convinced she should have nothing to do with him, and she should certainly not be alone with him.
“In reality, I am not angry with you for accepting Darcy at all,” said Mr. Wickham in a conversational tone. “Why should I be angry at the notion of another moving up in the world? In fact, I commend you! It is my goal to someday affect a similar raising of my own fortunes. Then, perhaps, we shall be of the same set.”
A snort of disdain comprised Elizabeth’s response, and she jibed: “Methinks you have a high opinion of yourself, Mr. Wickham.”
“I merely understand my potential.”
This time Elizabeth contented herself with shaking her head and increasing her pace. Mr. Wickham stayed beside her, though Elizabeth was getting the sense he was becoming annoyed.
“Come, Miss Elizabeth, shall you not stay and speak with me? Our previous meetings were of such congeniality and interesting conversation that I long to return to that state.”
“I do not believe that would be for the best, Mr. Wickham. It would be better should you turn and depart.”
“Oh, am I to be banned from Longbourn now? It is typical of Darcy to blacken my name wherever he goes. I should have expected it, I suppose.”
This time Elizabeth could not hold in the sardonic laughter. “Hello, pot, this is kettle—you, sir, are most definitely black.” She stopped and turned to face him again. “Is that not what you did when we first met?”
“I told you nothing but the truth, Miss Bennet.”
“Oh, yes—you told the truth, indeed! If you believe that leaving out enough of the facts to tell a story as different from the full truth as night is to day, then I suppose you must be correct. In my experience, however, omitting certain facts to support a different conclusion is nothing less than a lie.
“Then there was the fact you confirmed my feelings for Mr. Darcy, and when you discovered I didn’t care for him, you proceeded to tell me—a complete stranger—your tale of woe. You will forgive me, Mr. Wickham, if I consider you the least trustworthy man of my acquaintance.”
“And yet you have accepted Darcy,” mocked Mr. Wickham. “How typical. You do not differ from any other young lady who accepts a rich man when he offers to share his wealth, and you are eager to despise the poor man at his behest.”
“It is my understanding you are four thousand pounds poorer than you once were,” snapped Elizabeth. Mr. Wickham’s eyes widened; he appeared shocked Elizabeth knew so much of the matter. “Yes, I know exactly what has passed between you and Mr. Darcy. You are wasting your time.”
“Whatever has passed between us is of no concern to you.”
Mr. Wickham glared down at her, his eyes raking over her form, making her feel dirty. For the first time, Elizabeth wondered just to what manner of depravities this man could descend. The corner of the house was nearby, and it would take only a few more steps to reach the safety of the front door. Perhaps it was best if she made her way there directly.
“Come now, Miss Elizabeth,” said Mr. Wickham, his manner conciliatory. “It was not my intention to argue with you, for I have no wish to destroy the friendship we were forming.”
“Then what did you wish?” asked Elizabeth, still distrustful of him.
“I wished to congratulate you on your engagement and inform you I have no ill feelings for your choice. It is clear you made the only decision you could, and I commend you for seeing enough in Darcy to take a chance.”
Mr. Wickham stepped closer to Elizabeth and the words she was about to say were lost to her as she watched him, wary of his intentions. Catching her hand, Mr. Wickham gave her a gallant bow and kissed its back, and when she attempted to whip it away, he held fast, preventing the reclamation of her appendage. When he rose, he gave her a winsome smile, one which seemed calculated to please.
“I hope you will not allow Darcy to dictate with whom you may remain friends.”
“Mr. Darcy, I am convinced, will not require me to give up those friends I wish to keep.”
“Excellent!”
“But that does not mean I consider you a friend,” continued Elizabeth. The charming smile became aggrieved. “I do not know what your purpose is today, Mr. Wickham, but I suggest you withdraw.”
“I understand,” said the gentleman, his head bowed in sorrow. “It is understandable, I suppose, and I do not fault you for it.”
The gentleman again stepped closer and loomed over her. “If you do not wish to maintain our connection, I cannot gainsay you. Then while we have this chance, shall we not have one last meeting of minds? I could send you off to your wedding with a gift so priceless that I doubt you would ever find its like with Darcy.”
It was such a bold innuendo that Elizabeth gasped, her hand moving of its own accord and without prior thought. The fabric of the glove covering her hand muffled the impact against his cheek, but that did not prevent it from echoing loudly off the nearby house, nor what she thought would be a brilliant hand mark on his cheek.
A series of gasps informed her they were not alone, and she turned, noting with surprise that those within the house had come around the corner at that moment. Behind them were both her father and Mr. Darcy. It was on the gentleman she focused, for he glared back at her, an expression of murderous fury etched upon his brow.
Chapter VII
“Wickham!” growled Mr. Darcy.
The single word, spoken with so much anger, wrenched Elizabeth from her consternation, alerting her to the fact that Mr. Darcy was glaring at Mr. Wickham, and not at her. It was strange, but Elizabeth felt a great wave of relief pass through her, though the reason was one she did not wish to investigate at present. An equally curious warmth filled her when she stepped away from Mr. Wickham and situated herself near Mr. Darcy, showing her allegiance without the possibility for misunderstanding.
And Mr. Wickham did not misinterpret her actions, given the way his hard gaze followed her. While Elizabeth could not understand how he might have considered her support possible, given the argumentative nature of their exchange, he was now in no doubt of her feelings.
With Mr. Darcy’s one word, along with Elizabeth removing herself from the side of the detestable libertine, it seemed a dam broke, and the entire party started speaking at once. Mr. Collins attempted to berate her for her behavior while Kitty and Lydia scolded the soldier. Mrs. Bennet, in turn, attempted to inform the parson he was not wanted, seconded by her sister, while Charlotte tried to convince him it was best to return to Lucas Lodge. The only ones not raising a ruckus were Mr. Bennet, who alternated between looking with amusement at the scene and glaring at Mr. Wickham; Mr. Darcy, who seemed to be trying to impale the officer with his eyes; Jane, who stood near Elizabeth and supported her; and Elizabeth herself, who wished it all away.
“Are you well, Miss Elizabeth?” asked Mr. Darcy as the noise continued around them.
“I did not even sprain my wrist, Mr. Darcy,” said Elizabeth, holding the appendage up to show him she was unharmed.
“Need I ask what he is doing here?”
“If you suspect he wished to attempt vengeance on you through me, you know him well.” Elizabeth paused, considering Mr. Wickham, who was now watching her through narrowed eyes. “Though I do not know what he might have proposed had I welcomed him, I suspect extortion and perhaps inducing me to betray you were among the outcomes he wished to accomplish.”
“Then he does not know you as well as he might have thought,” was Mr. Darcy’s short reply.
Elizabeth turned to him askance, and Mr. Darcy found her eyes, his visage softening. “Anyone who knows you must understand you would never engage in such reprehensible behavior. It is in every way against your character.”
