Tact Read online

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty One

  Chapter Twenty Two

  Chapter Twenty Three

  Chapter Twenty Four

  Chapter Twenty Five

  Chapter Twenty Six

  Chapter Twenty Seven

  Chapter Twenty Eight

  Prologue

  Miss Elizabeth Bennet cared very much for her family. The ladies of Longbourn were each, in their own ways, devoted to the well-being of one another. Even Lydia, whose character was naturally more self-focused than that of her sisters, could not be content to see one of her siblings unhappy, and being of a cheerful disposition, would then exert herself to raise the spirits of whichever of them was feeling glum.

  Lizzy was under no illusions that her family were the epitome of propriety. She was aware that her mother's effusions often crossed the line between exuberance and vulgarity and that her younger sisters' high spirits occasionally led them into unbecoming behaviour. Jane and Elizabeth had once or twice invaded the sanctuary of their father’s book room to entreat his intervention in their education and deportment, but he, so used to considering himself a good father if all his daughters were cheerful, well fed, and well dressed, had turned them out with sardonic quips and sallies. Lizzy had left the book room smiling in amusement but dissatisfied with the outcome of their petition.

  Of all her sisters, Elizabeth had the greatest command over language. She had discovered at a young age that the correct selection of words could raise a smile or bring a tear with relative ease. Jane, who in her extreme youth had wept very easily at Elizabeth's more cutting witty remarks, had pointed out that if her younger sister had such an ability to bring joy or pain, she ought, in every instance possible, bring the former.

  It had been her mother, of all people, who had clinched the matter. Heavily pregnant with Catherine, Mrs. Bennet had been confined to the house and thus had little but the squabbles of infants and the ordering of her household to concern herself with. With great wisdom, she had called her bright-eyed child to her bedside and with great care had shown her that the challenge of protecting the feelings of others was rather more difficult than the challenge of wounding them.

  “It is not a sign of stupidity to be kind, Lizzy. The most intelligent lady in the land can use her charm and wit to soothe rather than rile. I wonder, my love, if you would wish to become a lady who is universally liked or one who is avoided. Pass your Mama the vinaigrette before you attend to your lessons, my dear.”

  Such clarity of logic had a great effect on the young Elizabeth and she consequently took great pains to modify her conversation, so that rather than exercising her quickness at the expense of others, she searched with diligence to find the least offensive and yet least dull thing to say in any social situation that she was permitted to attend. It was thus that when her cousin, who was (in all unvarnished truth) a ridiculous creature, honoured her with his proposals after the ball at Netherfield Park, that she found herself making the greatest use of this carefully honed talent.

  Chapter One

  "On that head, therefore, I shall be uniformly silent; and you may assure yourself that no ungenerous reproach shall ever pass my lips when we are married.''

  Elizabeth sat, carefully considering her response. It was very clear that whilst the advantages of an alliance between the heir of Longbourn and a Bennet daughter would be considerable, she was entirely unwilling to subject herself to such an insurmountable challenge as living peaceably with such a man until death did them mercifully part.

  She sat in deep thought, her eyes lowered to her clasped hands. The hopeful suitor eventually realised that his young cousin was looking vaguely distressed by his declarations and drew his speeches to a faltering end.

  Elizabeth looked up, her brows drawn together in an expression so anxious that even Mr. Collins must have been aware that joyous gratitude was not likely to be forthcoming. He waited, though, fairly confident that he could soothe away any maidenly modesty with eloquent and flowing platitudes.

  "Cousin, you do me great honour with such proposals. I am sensible of the kindness and great sense of propriety that must have led you to choose me of all my sisters to speak to of such things. Your very proper decorum in paying respect to the eldest unattached sister in the household does you very great credit, sir."

  Mr. Collins smiled and opened his mouth to accept these compliments and offer due flattery as to her own feminine delicacy and ladylike character. He was waylaid, however, by her rising from her chair with an elegant gesture that made apparent her agitation.

  "You are aware, dear sir – you must be aware of our unfortunate situation in life once my dear father passes; your delicacy in respect to this is much appreciated and..." Elizabeth looked to the floor, managing with some small effort a blush of embarrassment, "were it only my heart, my own situation that I were to consider, I should even now be gratefully accepting your addresses, but," and here she glanced up to see her cousin’s mouth a little agape and a puzzlement dawning in his eyes, "I cannot – nay, I must not – cruelly break my sister’s heart and destroy all her hope of happiness in life even if it were to establish me so respectably."

  Mr. Collins's mouth had now snapped shut and the look of confusion had progressed to decided bafflement. His fair cousin was looking at him, her expressive eyes demanding a response that would show how he understood her perfectly. He had no desire to appear slow-witted or foolish in those eyes.

  It took Mr. Collins a good few minutes to collect himself. He had, of all possible responses, not anticipated this. His cousin Elizabeth seemed to be indicating, in the most delicate, charmingly modest way, that she could not become his wife on account of one of her sisters' romantic preference for his own person.

  He stumbled a little through his response, deeply uncomfortable. "Y-yes? I'm afraid I was unaware that..." He floundered, eventually settling for, "Miss...Miss Bennet had such decided feelings for me. I assure you, cousin, I had no intention of engaging the heart of any young lady other than...I mean, forgive me...but I had seen no indication of…."

  He trailed off and Elizabeth, faintly smiling now, helpfully rescued him. "Oh indeed, sir. No one could accuse you of trifling with her. I believe that this is why she has sought to conceal her feelings. It would be impossible, you know – to anyone other than one of her sisters to have realised – she is so very modest. It is by no means your fault that her heart had so little defence against you."

  Mr. Collins, still bewildered but beginning to feel the compliment of being so apparently irresistible to a female that he could inspire her devotion without even being aware of it, stood a little taller and silently pondered how he could gather more clues as to the identity of the tender-hearted young lady without being so crass as to ask explicitly. He nodded nervously at Elizabeth, hoping to gain more time.

  "Your sensibilities are a testament to your femininity, dear cousin. The bond of sisterly love is one that is shown clearly throughout scripture," he paused, racking his brains, "Mary and Martha, and...er...Rachel and Leah, to name but a few examples." He mopped his now damp brow and looked to Elizabeth, who had resumed her seat, apparently perfectly ready to continue the interview. "Perhaps, in the face of such commendable sentiments, we might, between us, find a solution? I have wished to be of service to your family since even before I arrived, I was sure, and I was quite correct that it would be wrong to deprive such fair maidens of a home once your father...but perhaps the less said of this, the better."

  "You are indeed good, cousin," said Elizabeth, giving every appearance of being in earnest. Her anxious expression had fled and she was now beaming at him, "It would not be right for me to speak of her feelings directly to you sir. That is for you to hear from her, should you wish it, and I should not in the least wish to direct you to propose to anyone not of your choosing. It is only that I was so sure that your kind deference to my seniority over her must have prevented you from permitting yourself to consider offering for her." Mr. Collins, not by any means a quick man, mentally crossed the eldest Miss Bennet off his list and graciously allowed her misapprehension to stand.

  A weak "Oh indeed, cousin," seemed encouraging enough for her to continue.

  "I know she is young, sir, but she has the most devoted heart and you mustn't think she falls in love easily – she is of a naturally retiring disposition," here Mr. Collins removed Miss Lydia from his list, feeling almost smug to have revised the possible Miss Bennets from five to two. To his dismay, Elizabeth rose and extended her hand to him, "but I fear that I have said more than I ought – I must not speak for my sister, even to you who have been all goodness and kindness throughout this awkward situation. Only know," and here she broke off, suddenly shy, "that even though I must deny myself the privilege of being your wife for love of my sister, I should very dearly like to have you for a brother!"

  She smiled at him so engagingly that Mr. Collins squeezed her hand, not in the least bit doubtful that she wou
ld have thought him a very fine husband indeed and promptly accepting the role of a brother with neither remorse nor regret.

  "My dear cousin," and here he patted her hand in a reassuring, fraternal fashion, "please do not allow yourself any anxiety on that score. You did quite right to speak of such things to me and you may rest easy in the knowledge that I shall resolve this to everyone's satisfaction."

  A gleam stole into Miss Elizabeth's eyes and she laughed for a moment, presumably with relief, and murmured, "Thank you, sir. I did so hope that you would." She withdrew her hand and curtseyed, quite unaware that she was leaving him with a now burning sense of curiosity as to which remaining Bennet sister should so dearly appreciate his addresses.

  As she opened the door to quit the room, she paused, as though struck by a sudden thought.

  "My sister always practices the pianoforte in the music room at this time of day. Should you wish to speak to her, she will be there until it is time for luncheon. I daresay that it would be very romantic to surprise her!"

  Much moved by such Providence, William Collins respectfully bowed to his future sister and incoherently gave Elizabeth to understand that he would certainly proceed to do so.

  Elizabeth, pleased with her morning work, skipped up the stairs to her bedchamber grinning. Once there she softly closed the door and flung herself on to her bed, buried her face in her pillow, and gave way to peals of uncontrollable laughter.

  Chapter Two

  As the door closed, the occupant of the room remained stock still, digesting the sudden turn of events. A shock, most certainly, but was it an unwelcome one? Upon reflection, probably not. The situation would turn out rather well.

  What Mary very much wanted to know was how Mr. Collins’s apparent inclination toward Lizzy had undergone such an abrupt change of direction. He had even now left to speak to her father, requesting his blessing for their nuptials.

  Marriage!

  She – plain, awkward Mary Bennet – was to be married first of all her sisters. ‘Twas unforeseen to say the least. Mr. Collins had taken her quite unawares, entering the music room quietly and listening with flattering attentiveness to the last strains of Beethoven, and smiling at her start of surprise when he applauded.

  Mary had been decidedly flustered, and blushed fiercely when he moved further into the room and sat near her. Her cousin did not appear to be put off by her agitation; rather, he spoke gently to her, as though she were something to be handled carefully.

  “Cousin...Cousin Mary. Your diligence in practising the pianoforte is most commendable. I feel,” he said with some deliberation, “that idleness in a female can lead only to ill humour and mischief. I am glad to see, for your own sake, that you have not fallen into the snare that most gentlewomen do and wasted the time and talent that you have been given.”

  Mary, staring at him in some surprise, said ponderously, “I believe that every character must have weaknesses that we must strive to avoid, cousin. Idleness is not one of mine – I like to be busy and I like to be useful.”

  It was not an elegant speech but he nodded, as though affirming something of his own thinking. “Lady Catherine de Bourgh herself is in agreement with you, Cousin Mary – or rather I should perhaps say that you are in agreement with her,” he paused to shake off the mis-thought. “Regardless, your opinions are in exalted company.”

  He reached for her hand and held it firmly. Mary's eyebrows rose and she glanced worriedly toward the door that was ajar. She had opened her mouth to remind him of the proprieties concerning unchaperoned men and women when she was distracted by his dropping, with a flamboyant flick to the lower skirts of his coat, to one knee.

  It was fortunate that he maintained his grip on her hand, as his efforts to avoid tangling the length of his garb were only partially successful, and he wobbled, requiring her assistance for a moment before righting himself and possessing himself of her other hand, looking earnestly up into her face.

  “It was in fact, dear cousin, Lady Catherine herself who advised me to come to Longbourn to seek a wife. My situation at present is very comfortable but it has weighed heavily upon my conscience – this ever-looming calamity that may soon befall my fair cousins. It has long been my desire to heal the breach between our families and I am utterly decided that it must be you with whom I close that breach.”

  Mary flushed and felt her heart begin to beat rather fast. She had secretly hoped from the very first that his eye might fall on her, above her sisters, but she had been so sure that he favoured Elizabeth, whom she had envied and with whom she had been so curt these last weeks. How could this be?

  “I feel that your good character, your usefulness, and your delicate modesty must certainly be eminently suited to the life of a clergyman's wife. Such diligence to duty can only shine forth like the brightest of gemstones and,” he continued after pausing for breath and warming to his subject, “I am convinced that your maidenly modesty, which is entirely becoming in a young female, will not prevent you from feeling true gladness that the delicate situation of your sisters and mother will be secured by your acceptance of my humble addresses and thus bring true happiness to all concerned. It remains, therefore, my dear Mary, for me to assure you that my husbandly affections will be all that any young lady could wish for and that, once you accept me as your affianced husband, you will make me the very happiest of men.”

  Mary, looking down at the eager face of her cousin and seeing her future stretch before her, shakily removed one of her hands from his and raised it to her heated cheek. Of all the possible outcomes to her morning music practice, she had not anticipated this.

  She of all her sisters knew her duty well enough and she would do it as a good Christian woman should. She had carefully studied the pamphlets issued to young ladies with regard to decorum and duty. It would be her honour to provide graciously for her bereaved mother and unwed sisters once her father left this earthly scene of time. She would be the mistress of Longbourn and then her duty would extend to the tenants and the poor surrounding her childhood home.

  Mary smiled tremulously. It was better than she had ever hoped for, to precede all of her sisters to the altar and to do so in a fashion that would be appreciated by them and so earn their respect and esteem. Such an opportunity was not to be wasted.

  “Yes, cousin. I will be your wife.” she felt something else was needed and added, “I will strive to be a good one, sir.”

  “You have made me the very happiest of men. I am quite overcome, my dearest Mary! I shall go to your father immediately – I am certain that he will be expecting to see me. What congratulations will flow in unto us, such felicity we are to expect!”

  He released her hand with a lingering look and a very pleased expression on his face, and quit the room, closing the door behind him.

  Mary, remaining on the piano stool, quietly turned to shut her music books and close the instrument. She supposed she ought to share the news with her mother, but she would take these quiet few moments of solitude to first feel for herself the full extent of her glee. Her cousin, whom she had long considered a good man, had recognised her worth. She might be unable to account for his actions this day but she was prodigiously grateful for them.

  Mary rose, shook out her skirts, and walked out of the music room with a calm unhurried stride. A lady, the manuals assured her, must not allow an excess of emotion to dictate her behaviour. She met her mother, who was lingering in the hallway, and smiled.

  “Well, Mama?”

  Mrs. Bennet fluttered the ever-present handkerchief that was in her grip. “Mary! Mr. Collins has gone to see your father!”

  Mary was unable to meet this announcement with the due giddiness or astonishment that Mrs. Bennet clearly felt it merited. Instead, her smile widened yet further and she swallowed down a laugh that threatened to bubble up. “Has he, Mama? He said he was going to.”

  “But...Mary! Oh, I don't understand any of this!”

  Here the laugh sprang forth and Mary reached forward to embrace her mother, “No, Mama, I don’t either, but I’m quite contented.

  A step was heard behind them and Elizabeth descended the staircase. Her eyes danced and she exclaimed, “May I assume that I am to wish you joy, little sister?”