Gay Pride and Prejudice (17 page)

“Mr. Bingley’s friends see that he is in love with you, but they are committed to his marrying Miss Darcy. Therefore, they are following him to town in hope of keeping him there, and Miss Bingley is writing in an attempt to persuade you that her brother does not care about you.” This idea had risen as Jane read, and was now a near certitude in Elizabeth’s mind. Miss Bingley, despite the occasional glimpse of interest and solicitude she had allowed Elizabeth, was the conniving, selfish woman she had initially shown herself to be, interested only in lifting the consequence of her family—and herself.

Jane shook her head.

“Indeed, Jane, you ought to believe me. No one who has ever seen you together can doubt his affection. But the case is this: We are not nearly rich enough or grand enough for them; besides which, Miss Bingley may be the more anxious to get Miss Darcy for her brother, from the notion that when there has been one intermarriage, there may be less trouble in achieving a second. But my dearest Jane, you cannot seriously imagine that because Miss Bingley tells you her brother greatly admires Miss Darcy, he is in the smallest degree less sensible of your merit than when he took leave of you on Tuesday, or that it will be in her power to persuade him that, instead of being in love with you, he is very much in love with her friend!”

“If we thought alike of Miss Bingley and the others,” replied Jane, “your representation of all this might make me quite easy. But I know the foundation is unjust. They are incapable of willfully deceiving anyone; and all that I can hope in this case is that they are deceived themselves.”

“That is right. You could not have started a more happy idea, since you will not take comfort in mine. Believe Mr. Bingley’s sisters and Mr. Darcy to be deceived, by all means. You have now done your duty by them, and must fret no longer.”

“But, my dear sister, can I be happy, even supposing the best, in accepting a man whose sisters and friends are all wishing him to marry elsewhere?”

“You must decide for yourself,” said Elizabeth; “and if, upon mature deliberation, you find that the misery of disobliging his connections is more than equivalent to the happiness of being his wife, I advise you by all means to refuse him.”

“How can you talk so?” said Jane, faintly smiling. “You must know that though I should be exceedingly grieved at their disapprobation, I could not hesitate.”

“I did not think you would; and that being the case, I cannot consider your situation with much compassion.”

“But if he returns no more this winter, my choice will never be required. A thousand things may arise in six months!”

The idea of his returning no more Elizabeth treated with the utmost contempt. It appeared to her merely the suggestion of the interested wishes of others, and she could not for a moment suppose that those wishes, however openly or artfully spoken, could influence a young man so totally independent of everyone.

She represented to her sister as forcibly as possible what she felt on the subject, and had soon the pleasure of seeing its happy effect. Jane’s temper was not desponding, and she was gradually led to hope, though the diffidence of affection sometimes overcame the hope, that Bingley would return to Netherfield and answer every wish of her heart.

“There is one more line you should hear,” Jane said, worrying Caroline’s letter on her lap. “Shall I read it?”

“Certainly.” Elizabeth leaned forward, as something in her sister’s manner told her the excerpt was intended for her.

Jane read: “If I may ask a favor of you in return, my friend, it would be to ask your sister Eliza to write to me at Grosvenor Street. If she does not choose to do so, I shall bear her no ill will. I only thought perhaps she matched me in believing our acquaintance yet unfinished.”

Here Jane stopped and looked at Elizabeth with searching eyes that found no answer in her younger sister’s quickly averted gaze. “Is she right? Is your acquaintance yet unfinished?”

Even if Elizabeth had thought to match Caroline’s sentiments, she could not imagine caring to do so now. Caroline clearly afforded little regard for Jane, if she could set her aside so easily; the disgust she evidently bore toward Jane’s connections, she must feel equally toward Elizabeth’s, as they were the same. “No,” answered she. “In fact, I can say in truth that I have no interest in forwarding any sort of relationship with Caroline Bingley.”

“Oh, Lizzy,” said Jane, “is it not high time you placed your trust in me?”

Elizabeth coloured, and stared, but did not answer.

“You know I love you best,” added Jane warmly, “and wish for your happiness even more sincerely than my own.”

This, Elizabeth knew, was entirely accurate. But would her sister continue to love her if she knew all? “To what, exactly, do you refer?”

“I would think it obvious,” said Jane, folding the letter where it lay on her lap.

“Even if it were, I am not sure I would know where to begin.”

“With Charlotte Lucas, perhaps?”

Elizabeth started. She had not expected shy Jane, sweet Jane, to challenge her so directly. Clearly her sister had no intention of leaving the matter be. With this realization, she began, haltingly, to tell Jane everything she had worked over the last few years to hide—how Charlotte had become increasingly important to her, and she to Charlotte; how their innocent friendship had slowly evolved into something else; how each had worried that there was something wrong with them before finally deciding that love could never be wrong, not even a love such as their own.

“On that count, I must agree with you,” said Jane, leaning her head against Elizabeth’s shoulder as they sat together on the bed. “I am so happy that you finally told me, dear Lizzy. How it has pained me to think of you alone with a secret of this magnitude!”

“How long have you known?”

“Since the summer, when I spied the two of you having a picnic by the lake. You believed you were quite on your own.”

Elizabeth blanched, thinking how fortunate they were that it had been Jane who had discovered them, and not either of their mothers; or, worse, someone entirely unconnected to either family. And yet, the event they had always most feared had happened, and neither of them had even known it. Jane had not gone to their parents, or to the parish priest; Elizabeth and Charlotte had not been arrested or placed in the stocks, as habitually happened to men of their disposition. Life had continued on, mostly unaffected, except that Jane had known all these months that Elizabeth was lying to her by omitting to include her, in what might be considered the most important aspect of her daily life.

“You have told me of Charlotte, Lizzy, but what of Caroline Bingley?”

Elizabeth frowned. “There is nothing to tell.”

“I thought for certain you disliked Caroline, at the outset.”

“I did. I do.”

“Do you? I rather thought she became somewhat less detestable, in your opinion, during our stay at Netherfield.”

Elizabeth tossed her head. “Be that as it may, rest assured that I have no intention of writing to her.”

“I beg of you, do not allow your conjectures of Caroline’s attitude toward me, to affect your opinion of her. She is not all what she appears on the surface, you know; no more than you are.”

“Nonsense, I am exactly the same person.”

“I love you, Lizzy. Never worry yourself on that account, understood?”

“Understood. Thank you, Jane. A thousand times, thank you.”

“You do not need to thank me, dear sister.”

“Ah, but that is where you are wrong,” said Elizabeth, thinking of the tension she had observed between Caroline and her ever-watchful elder sister.

After a pause, they returned to the letter, and discussed in earnest the dissemination of certain parts. They agreed that Mrs. Bennet should only hear of the departure of the family, without being alarmed on the score of the gentleman’s conduct; but even this partial communication gave her a great deal of concern that evening, and she bewailed it as exceedingly unlucky that the ladies should happen to go away just as they were all getting so intimate together. At this comment, Jane sent Elizabeth such an uncharacteristically wicked look that she nearly choked on her dinner roll. Mr. Bennet noticed this exchange, and was intrigued. Mrs. Bennet, however, missed it entirely. After lamenting the loss of Mr. Bingley’s sisters at some length, she had the consolation that Mr. Bingley himself would be soon down again and soon dining at Longbourn, and the conclusion of all was the comfortable declaration, that though he had been invited only to a family dinner, she would take care to have two full courses.

Chapter Twenty-Two

T
HE
B
ENNETS WERE ENGAGED TO DINE
with the Lucases, and again during the chief of the day was Miss Lucas so kind as to listen to Mr. Collins. Elizabeth took an opportunity of thanking her. “It keeps him in good humour,” said she, “and I am more obliged to you than I can express.”

Charlotte assured her friend of her satisfaction in being useful, and that it amply repaid her for the little sacrifice of her time. This was very amiable, but Charlotte’s kindness extended farther than Elizabeth had any conception of; its object was nothing else than to secure her from any return of Mr. Collins’s addresses, by engaging them towards herself. Such was Miss Lucas’s scheme; and appearances were so favourable, that when they parted at night, she would have felt almost secure of success if he had not been to leave Hertfordshire so very soon. But here she did injustice to the fire and independence of his character, for it led him to escape out of Longbourn House the next morning with admirable slyness, and hasten to Lucas Lodge to throw himself at her feet. He was anxious to avoid the notice of his cousins, from a conviction that if they saw him depart, they could not fail to conjecture his design, and he was not willing to have the attempt known till its success might be known likewise; for though feeling almost secure, and with reason, for Charlotte had been tolerably encouraging, he was comparatively diffident since the adventure of Wednesday. His reception, however, was of the most flattering kind. Miss Lucas perceived him from an upper window as he walked towards the house, and instantly set out to meet him accidentally in the lane. But little had she dared to hope that so much eloquence awaited her there.

In as short a time as Mr. Collins’s long speeches would allow, everything was settled between them to the satisfaction of both; and as they entered the house he earnestly entreated her to name the day that was to make him the happiest of men; and though such a solicitation must be waived for the present, the lady felt no inclination to trifle with his happiness. The stupidity with which he was favoured by nature must guard his courtship from any charm that could make a woman wish for its continuance; and Miss Lucas, who accepted him solely from the pure and disinterested desire of an establishment, cared not how soon that establishment were gained. She had been content to let circumstances unfurl as they might, these past several years; but Mr. Collins had provided a most timely vehicle for her removal from Lucas Lodge and Hertfordshire. Aware that Mr. Collins was on the search for a wife, and knowing too that he would one day inherit Longbourn, where she had passed so many pleasant days and nights, Charlotte had set about directly to win his affection. Never had she supposed it would be so easy, nor so quick.

Sir William and Lady Lucas were speedily applied to for their consent; and it was bestowed with a most joyful alacrity. Mr. Collins’s present circumstances made it a most eligible match for their daughter, to whom they could give little fortune; and his prospects of future wealth were exceedingly fair. Lady Lucas began directly to calculate, with more interest than the matter had ever excited before, how many years longer Mr. Bennet was likely to live; and Sir William gave it as his decided opinion, that whenever Mr. Collins should be in possession of the Longbourn estate, it would be highly expedient that both he and his wife should make their appearance at St. James’s. The whole family, in short, was properly overjoyed on the occasion. The younger girls formed hopes of coming out a year or two sooner than they might otherwise have done; and the boys were relieved from their apprehension of Charlotte’s dying an old maid. Charlotte herself was tolerably composed. She had gained her point, and had time to consider of it. Her reflections were in general satisfactory. Mr. Collins, to be sure, was neither sensible nor agreeable; his society was irksome, and his attachment to her must be imaginary. But still he would be her husband.

Without thinking highly either of men or matrimony, marriage had always been her object; it was the only provision for well-educated young women of small fortune, and however uncertain of giving happiness, must be their pleasantest preservative from want. This preservative she had now obtained; and at the age of twenty-five, she felt all the good luck of it. She had always believed that what Elizabeth and she shared was not a type of attachment that could survive outside their narrow domestic felicity. Still, the least agreeable circumstance in the business at hand was the disappointment it must occasion to Elizabeth, whose friendship she valued beyond that of any other person. Elizabeth would wonder, and probably would blame her for betraying their secret attachment; and though her resolution was not to be shaken, Charlotte’s feelings must be hurt by such a disapprobation. She resolved to give Elizabeth the information herself, and therefore charged Mr. Collins, when he returned to Longbourn to dinner, to drop no hint of what had passed before any of the family. A promise of secrecy was of course very dutifully given, but it could not be kept without difficulty; for the curiosity excited by his long absence burst forth in such very direct questions on his return as required some ingenuity to evade, and he was at the same time exercising great self-denial, for he was longing to publish his prosperous love.

As he was to begin his journey too early on the morrow to see any of the family, the ceremony of leave-taking was performed when the ladies moved for the night; and Mrs. Bennet, with great politeness and cordiality, said how happy they should be to see him at Longbourn again, whenever his engagements might allow him to visit them.