First Impressions: A Tale of Less Pride & Prejudice (Tales of Less Pride and Prejudice) (10 page)

“
I do love a fine library. One with such comfortable appointments would be a pleasure to use.”

A shy silence fell upon the usually ready tongue of Mr. Collins while Mary shifted nervously into a chair. She spoke first, “My father had to attend to a family matter, Mr. Collins. He thought I might be of assistance until he can attend you personally.”

“
Yes indeed, the folios. There seem to be several fine volumes he has set aside. I would appreciate your attention.” The two happily immersed themselves in the books and for several minutes found comfort in each other’s company but, as more and more time slipped by, both began to grow uneasy.

“
What keeps my father?” Mary silently wondered, becoming deeply concerned about the propriety of remaining alone with Mr. Collins for much longer. How often had she read of the fragility of feminine virtue and how its loss is irretrievable – that only one false step can lead to endless ruin, that a lady’s reputation is no less brittle than beautiful, and that she cannot be too much guarded in her behavior towards the undeserving of the other sex? But was Mr. Collins undeserving? She was here at her father’s behest, with his cousin and heir, a respectable man of the cloth in favorable position. She decided she would stay put until her father arrived. He would not appreciate her looking for him. Besides, like so many of those sad ladies led astray, she was enjoying herself in spite of the potential consequences.

Mr. Collins thoughts were similarly occupied, though his were focused less on matters of propriety and more on the awkward sensations Mary’s close presence produced in him as they bent over their book. He had certainly been attracted to his fair share of ladies but never to the degree that he need forsake the opinion that one comely face was as good as another. It was this very belief that made him so confident a suitable wife could easily be found amongst one of his many unwed cousins. But as he watched Mary’s profile, occasionally sensing the brush of her arm against his coat as she turned the pages, he felt something quite different than he had ever experienced before. We need not ponder whether the novelty of his sensations was due to the miraculous power of Cupid’s arrow or merely to no lady having ever before encouraged his advances – either way, the end result is the same.

Mr. Collins provided commentary on the volume while Mary listened carefully, though she had read it many times before, occasionally asking astute questions which flattered Mr. Collins. Never before had someone attended to him with such deferential interest, except perhaps in the pulpit. “How did I ever believe her plain?” he wondered, as her eyes sparkled with interest. Instantly the image of the two together at Hunsford, cozy together in his library, which would have to be expanded immediately, made him so crave peaceful domesticity that, without much thought for his words (and he had always intended to put an excessive amount of thought into these words), he dropped the subject of a particularly interesting finch to pose this disjointed question: “Did you know, Miss Mary, that the very Saturday night before I left Hunsford I spent the evening at Rosings, for I am often asked, I should mention, and I do not reckon the notice and kindness of Lady Catherine de Bourgh as among the least of the advantages of my appointment, that very noble lady condescended the very night before my departure – between our pools at quadrille, while Mrs. Jenkinson was arranging Miss De Bough’s footstool – to tell me (unasked too!) that I must marry forthwith, that a clergyman like me must marry?”

“
No I did not, sir,” Mary replied, looking down and blushing furiously.

“
She did indeed. My views were directed on Longbourn with this intention, for Lady Catherine had already condescended previously to make known her opinion on this matter, as I am to inherit the estate after the death of your honored father, who I sincerely hope will live many years longer. I could not satisfy myself without resolving to choose a wife from amongst his daughters, that the loss to them might be as little as possible, when the melancholy event takes place.” Mr. Collins paused self-consciously, wondering if he was proceeding in a manner all wrong.

“
That is very kind of you sir.” Mary said quietly, hoping he would continue.

“
I do not mean to dwell upon such matters. I have not prepared ahead, as is my wont, my words before proceeding just now. The truth is I am struggling to find the most animated language with which to assure you of the violence of my affection for you, Miss Mary. Almost as soon as I entered the house I singled you out as the companion of my future life. Will you, Mary, marry me?”

It hadn’t gone at all the way he would have liked; never had Mr. Collins felt more discomfited in his life, though he often had reason to. He prayed she would simply say yes – he had heard some elegant young ladies might reject the addresses of the man whom they secretly meant to accept and he hoped Mary was not of their kind. He didn’t want an elegant young lady who would toy with his affections when they had never before been so vulnerable. He wanted what Lady Catherine wanted: a gentlewoman, active, useful, a Mary Bennet.

“
Yes, Mr. Collins,” she said simply, “I would be honored.”

They smiled at each other with giddy grins before Mr. Collins clasped one of Mary’s hands and kissed it. When Mr. Bennet entered the room he found two changed beings: Mary aglow with delight and Mr. Collins bashful. “It will be a good match,” he thought contentedly before laughing aloud and good naturedly clasping Collins on the shoulder.

Chapter 13

Upon exiting the house, Darcy and Elizabeth could see Jane and Bingley wandering aimlessly near the shrubbery. Despite Mr. Bennet’s request for chaperonage, without a word they agreed to not disrupt the lovers and discretely headed in the opposite direction. Darcy felt all the awkwardness of Mr. Bennet’s maneuvers to get the two alone and, while he was grateful to be so conveniently relieved of the company of most of the Longbourn household, he wasn’t sure that he hadn’t unleashed a matchmaking monster of far greater proportions than Mrs. Bennet. He was equally unsure what, or how much, the man expected him to relay to Elizabeth, but that lady relieved him of the burden of introducing conversation in her ever charming, sympathetic way, “You must excuse me Mr. Darcy, but I fear I am totally distracted. I know not whether to apologize for my cousin’s effusiveness, remark on his uncanny connection to your relation, marvel at my father’s behavior, or resume our interrupted discourse on a certain scoundrel you encountered this morning!”

Darcy, though ashamed of his cowardice, took the easy way out, “It is astonishing to learn that my aunt’s rector is heir to Longbourn. A remarkable coincidence.”

“
I must say it begs one to question just what sort of character your esteemed aunt may be – we enjoy Mr. Collins’ company through an accident of kinship; I cannot imagine we would have the pleasure were the relationship voluntary.” Elizabeth, of course, did not know it was in the process of becoming so.

Mr. Darcy smiled, feeling the easiest he had in hours, “My aunt is quite the character, perhaps even equal to your cousin, from what I have seen of him. They must get on famously. Aunt Catherine surely enjoys her domination over such a fawning minion.”

“
Our colorful relations aside, Mr. Darcy, I still find my curiosity unsatiated regarding your conference with my father. Indeed it has been inflamed by his subsequently uncharacteristic behavior. I feel as if a plot has been hatched to which I am not privy. Like a spoiled child, I must know all. Will you enlighten me sir?”

Darcy spotted a nearby bench and directed Elizabeth towards it, buying himself a few moments to compose his thoughts. Should he indicate his affections, so recently acknowledged, or just inform her of the details of Wickham’s character? How much of Wickham was he willing to tell her? More than he told her father? He looked at Elizabeth as she calmly waited for him to commence. He knew he could trust this woman and could think of no better way to display his affection than by confiding to her his most tightly held secret.

“
Thank you for your patience Miss Bennet,” he began with a steadying breath. “This is difficult for me. George Wickham is a man I have the misfortune to be intimately acquainted with, as he was the son of my father’s steward, a man who was everything he is not. We were raised together, side by side. My father was excessively attentive to George: in gratitude to his father, providing him with a gentleman’s education. When we encountered him amongst your sisters this morning, I knew it was imperative that I prevent him from insinuating himself into your society. He is dangerous, playing the role of a gentleman, but do not be fooled for there is nothing gentlemanly about him.”

He paused but Elizabeth did not speak. Intuitively, she knew that this was only the beginning of his tale; he was clearly composing himself before the revelation of something dreadful. She braced herself for whatever was to come, ignoring the flutter of happiness she experienced when he looked at her so sincerely. He was reaching out to her for support and she refused to fail him.

“
I spoke with your father about a particular incident to illustrate Wickham’s untrustworthiness. Last summer I was called upon to prevent his elopement with a fifteen-year-old girl who, God help me, I confess for your ears alone was my very own sister, Georgiana Darcy.”

Elizabeth gasped. Darcy watched a medley of emotions play across her face. Astonishment, outrage, and tenderness all betrayed one decisive fact: she cared deeply for both him and his sister. He knew then that he unequivocally loved her, as sure of the fact as he was trusting of her discretion with this sordid tale. He told her of how he unexpectedly arrived in Ramsgate before the planned elopement and Georgiana had confessed all – of how her companion, Mrs. Young, plotted with Wickham to make the impressionable girl believe herself in love and hide it from her brother. It felt as if he were purging himself of their corruption as he shared this burden with Elizabeth. Unthinkingly, he took her hand.

She squeezed back. It was a reflexive gesture of compassion, born simply from an instinct to comfort. They looked into each other’s eyes as she began to speak, rather rapidly, “How is your sister now? Is she recovered from such an ordeal? What an utter knave! To play upon his benefactor’s daughter, of all people, in such a horrific way, and at such an age!”

Darcy smiled at her indignation; it brought warmth to his soul. Suddenly they became conscious of their clasped hands and dropped them promptly. Both regretted the release the moment after it happened: aware of the lost warmth, an uncomfortable silence ensued. Darcy determinedly gathered himself and replied, “Georgiana was quite shaken, as you can imagine. The incident has increased her natural shyness in public and, in many ways, she is far from recovered. Fortunately, the entire affair remains unknown. I cannot express how thankful I am that I arrived when I did and prevented the worse. I was horribly mistaken in the character of Georgiana’s companion. It was a long time, I assure you, before I found someone I considered a suitable replacement. Georgiana has come far under Mrs. Annesley’s guidance. Her fate is not in Wickham’s hands – I saved her from that wretchedness, at least.”

“
What is to be done regarding Wickham?”

“
Your sister has unfolded his purpose – to join the militia. I know not where he procured the money to buy a commission but am pleased to be assured he did not follow me here. Truthfully, I probably would rather not know from whence the money springs. Your father will no doubt urge Colonel Forster to keep a tight watch on him and the families in the neighborhood will be warned to keep him beyond arms length from their daughters.”

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Yes my father, that begs another question,” Elizabeth replied. “I hold him in very high esteem, as you know, but he has always been known to be a bit, shall we say, lax in his parenting. This sudden burst of paternal enforcement on his part is quite astounding. Whatever did you say to provoke it?”

Darcy allowed a bashful but playful smile which made Elizabeth’s heart race, “Yet you know not the half of it. I imagine that at this moment he is informing your youngest sisters of his intention to send them to school.”

Elizabeth truly was all amazement. “What a remarkable man this is,” she marveled internally, “who in one hour can so amend my father’s ways!” Imagine school – what a wonderful opportunity! “Longbourn will be quiet indeed,” she speculated aloud. But she was suspicious of Mr. Darcy’s self-satisfied look, “You seem quite proud of this unexpected turn of events, sir.”

He responded seriously, “Indeed I am. I admitted to your father my grave concerns that for men like Wickham, your family provides an enticing temptation.” It was an honest response, as all Darcy’s responses were, but he worried she might take offense at the intimation. She did not, instead noting the implication of such attentive concern on his part, as well as that of the confidential conversation they were having. There was a stubbornness about her that could never bear to be frightened without her courage rising, often in the form of impertinence, to the occasion. She had to know the nature of his feelings for her. “My family certainly is one in which havoc wrecks easily but why do you, Mr. Darcy, take such an active interest in us?”