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  The two women broke apart, Mrs. Bennet still struggling for words, contenting herself with a disjointed giggle and another flutter of the lace in her hand.

  Mary, who was not without natural suspicion, held out her hand to Lizzy. “Elizabeth, can you be responsible for this? Mr. Collins has asked me to marry him and I have accepted him!”

  Lizzy nodded, “Then I certainly shall wish you joy, Mary. If you are indeed happy then I am very glad of it. I hope he will continue to make you so; in fact, I believe I shall visit you when you are Mrs. Collins to ensure my new brother is treating you with all the kindness one should expect of a new husband.”

  Mary was not to be put off, and said impatiently, “Yes, of course, you must visit me, Lizzy, but...what did you do?”

  “I? What makes you think I had anything to do with anything, my dear? If a man sensibly decides to propose marriage to one of my sisters I can only applaud his good taste. We Bennets are an illustrious lot, I believe.”

  She would not be drawn further on the subject, and Mary, seeing the easy good terms that existed between her betrothed and her sister in the coming days, allowed the matter to drop and very soon forgot all of the petty jealousies she had held against Elizabeth since Mr. Collins had first set foot in Longbourn.

  Great was Mrs. Bennet’s triumph in the engagement period during which she visited all her acquaintances in Meryton. Her future and the futures of her daughters were secured, the very real fear of the future poverty that was to be hers receded in her mind and, for the time being, at least, she was able to enjoy life without the ever-present spectre of homelessness to keep her company. It would be too much of a stretch to suggest that she became sensible, but a little of her silliness seemed to leave her and she became less liable to desperation, even facing Mr. Bingley’s departure from Hertfordshire with more equanimity than she might otherwise have displayed.

  The thing was done with all the pomp that Mrs. Bennet could contrive, and although Mr. Bennet offered a token complaint, he too realised the good fortune in the alliance between the families and so permitted his wife to have her way, only shrugging in resignation when she thrust the entire household into near madness in her plans for the wedding. Mr. Collins, having secured his bride and feeling extraordinarily at ease with the world for having fulfilled the duty charged to him by his noble patroness, was all that Elizabeth could wish him to be for Mary. He was still irritatingly obsequious and pompous by turns, of course, but at the heart of him, he was a kind man and he delighted in doing countless little things to please his bride, so long as he was permitted to congratulate himself at length in each instance.

  As the happy couple departed Longbourn the morning after their wedding, Mary clung to Elizabeth for a moment, and whispered in her ear, “Lizzy! Do come before Easter – you said you would wish to see how well we were settled together. Come in March. Mr. Collins last night,” and here she flushed from forehead to toes, “he said that surely you loved me more than all of my sisters and that I should encourage you to visit soon. He wouldn’t say more. Please come.”

  Lizzy kissed Mary’s cheek and led her towards the carriage where Mr. Collins was waiting to hand her in. “Oh certainly, Mrs. Collins,” watching with amusement as both husband and wife seemed to swell slightly at the appellation, “I would be very pleased to come.” She turned to Mr. Collins and said, “I need not urge you to take good care of her, brother. I am certain she will be the most cherished wife in the kingdom.”

  Mary’s new husband nodded, rather liking the turn of phrase, and turned it over in his mind for much of the journey into Kent. By the time they drew nigh to the parsonage, he had determined that the original thought was not that of his sister Elizabeth’s but that of his own designing. Being well pleased with himself for the sentiment, he set out in his mind that his dear Mary should be made the happiest of women.

  Chapter Three

  With the departure of Mr. and Mrs. Collins from Hertfordshire, a new normality settled over the household of Longbourn. Mrs. Bennet still visited her acquaintances in Meryton, Lydia and Kitty were still permitted rather too much free rein, and Elizabeth resumed her usual practices and patterns of behaviour, knowing that disaster had been narrowly averted by her own cleverness.

  For Miss Jane Bennet, however much she had rejoiced in Mary’s happiness and her mother's relief at the match, a gentle melancholy had settled upon her that seemed impossible to entirely conceal or shake off. She was a reticent lady by nature, never comfortable with the eyes of others upon her, be they either in admiration or, worse – as of recent – pity. Mr. Bingley had smiled at her and asked her to dance, and she had been lost from that very same moment. She was glad for his sake that her friends in Meryton must have known, as she did, that Mr. Bingley’s behaviour was above reproach; he had left as free as he had arrived and it was only her heart that had been put in jeopardy. She could not blame him, as Elizabeth did.

  Elizabeth did blame Mr. Bingley. She also blamed Miss Bingley, Mrs. Hurst, and Mr. Darcy. She felt sure she ought to feel angry at Mr. Hurst as well for his brother-in-law's cruel desertion of her sister. She felt certain that given ten minutes alone with Mr. Bingley, she could have him either writhing in shame or asking for her best advice upon when to approach her sister to propose. Probably both, in fact. It seemed a pity that he was so far beyond both her and her sister. Poor, sweet Jane! Her deep kindness was such that she tried not to burden her family with her heartbreak but it was clear to all who knew her that she suffered. Mrs. Bennet tried to cheer her with promises of other, worthier young men; Lydia and Kitty brought ribbons and bits of lace that they had purchased and handsomely offered to retrim her bonnets. Elizabeth watched her closely and waited for any opportunity she could seize upon to mend matters to everyone's satisfaction. Inspiration struck when she received a letter from her aunt in London, and Elizabeth wrote back immediately, begging that they might extend an invitation for a few weeks to her poor sister.

  It was thus, in the interim, that she found herself at the pianoforte more often than had been her wont in the past. Mr. Bennet had caustically remarked that the place seemed nearly peaceful in its quietness of a morning since Mary had left them, and Jane, taking him quite seriously, said, “Oh yes, Papa, it has been so strange to spend a morning in the stillroom and not hear the strains of Mary’s practice floating throughout the house. I do rather miss it.” The very next morning, after her ritual exercise, Elizabeth had resigned herself to the music room for an hour and doggedly practiced the music that Mary had left behind, there being no instrument in Hunsford Parsonage. Jane noticed, of course, and, touched by Lizzy’s sweetness, had summoned up more cheer at luncheon than she had recently evinced. Counting this a partial success, Lizzy had persisted and accepted music as a temporary method of consolation until she received a reply to her letter to aunt and uncle Gardiner.

  The weeks passed and a long letter arrived from Mary. Some of Elizabeth's worry was alleviated by the buoyancy of spirit that flowed from Mary’s pen. She wrote in some detail of her comfortable home and happy circumstances. Upon reading the letter, Mrs. Bennet paid a call to her sister in Meryton with it in hand, and returned fluttering excitedly with the gossip that Mr. Wickham had very recently become engaged to Miss Mary King.

  Elizabeth found herself remarkably sanguine about her favourite’s seeming defection. She even discovered in herself a startling lack of jealousy over Miss King's good fortune. She rather thought that once she did fall in love with a young man, she might very well be the jealous sort, and it was to be supposed from this that she, although liking the young man very much, Lizzy was not in any way in love with him. She smiled at him, then, when she next saw him at Lucas Lodge, and congratulated him without any ill feeling or rancour. He appeared surprised by such genuine unconcern, and then a little embarrassed to be in her company. Miss King, it seemed, was a jealous girl, and when she saw him speaking to Miss Elizabeth Bennet (who, although she might not have the benefit of great fortune, was acknowledged to be a very pretty and charming lady by all of Meryton), very soon made her way over to them and slid her arm through Mr. Wickham’s.

  Elizabeth was amused by this, and intrigued to see how Mr. Wickham behaved in the face of his intended bride's protective manoeuvres. She was disappointed to observe that his manners lost some of their charming openness with Miss King; his compliments seemed somehow more practiced and studied than when he had plied her with them.

  Mary King did not appear to notice in the slightest, and preened at his low words in her ear. She glanced at her rival and was disgruntled to see that the charming Lizzy Bennet did not look in the least bit put out. When Mr. Wickham was summoned over to attend Mrs. Forster, he bowed to the ladies and left them standing together.

  Elizabeth exerted herself and said kindly, “I have heard that I must congratulate both you and Mr. Wickham, Miss King. I wish you both every happiness. We at Longborn are only just recovered from the planning of my sister Mary’s wedding so I know from experience that you are likely to be in a flurry of activity.”

  Unable to resist speaking of her designs in the face of such encouragement, Miss King did so at length, ending with, “But of course, before we are able to make any of these arrangements, my uncle must give his official consent as I am under age still. My uncle King is in Newcastle at present and so very busy that dear Mr. Wickham has not been able to speak to him at all, and he is much needed for his work in the regiment you know.”

  Lizzy thought it odd that the engagement should be public knowledge before her guardian had given consent, but said nothing, assuming that Miss King was unable to contain her excitement in having secured such a handsome betrothed. Instead of questioning the girl, she quipped, “You will be able to say with absolute truthf
ulness that you have the King's approval to marry – how happy a thought!”

  After some moments, Mary caught the gist of Elizabeth's joke and laughed heartily. “Indeed, yes! The King's approval – that is very good.” Having now warmed to the other lady marginally, she leaned closer and asked if Mr. Bingley and his party were likely to return to Netherfield soon.

  Her eyebrows drawn up, Elizabeth replied that she had no more information than anyone else in Hertfordshire. “You were wishing to invite them to your wedding, I suppose,” she said.

  Judging by the revolted expression on her companion’s face, she had concluded quite wrongly. “Oh no indeed, Miss Elizabeth! No indeed.Not, of course, that I have anything to say against Mr. Bingley but I should not wish to see any of the others again in town.” She lowered her voice and spoke in a conspiratorial tone, “You could not know this, Miss Elizabeth – for dear Mr. Wickham has spoken only to me, as I am going to be his wife, but Mr. Darcy is not at all the gentleman he seems and he has quite overset my fiance's whole life.”

  Lizzy, surprised that Miss King should think it such a great secret, enquired as to the nature of her information, but the lady shook her head.

  “I cannot speak of it, Miss Elizabeth. Mr. Wickham said that while he remembered the father with such great affection, he could not harm the reputation of the son, even if it is richly deserved.” She left it at that, and, seeing that Mr. Wickham was now in lively conversation with an equally lively Lydia Bennet, hastily made her way over to the two of them.

  Elizabeth, upon being approached by Charlotte Lucas to open the instrument, drew her friend aside and enquired of her if she did not think the conversation absurdly odd. Charlotte, with her customary good sense, replied that she could not possibly expect a young man to be entirely honest with his wealthy fiancee about the secrets he had shared with other young women.

  “Think, Eliza! Mr. Wickham has taken a rare opportunity to marry into money. He would be a very great fool indeed to inform Miss King that she is not the only lady to have heard his unfortunate tale.”

  This did not sit well with Elizabeth, for it appeared to lessen the integrity of Mr. Wickham, whom she herself had judged to be so honest and engaging. Charlotte smiled and teased Elizabeth that she was more put out by the implication that she had made an error than that she had been thrown over for ten thousand pounds. Lizzy shook her head and sat down to play a spirited air.

  “Do sit and turn my pages for me, Charlotte, for you know I shall lose my place and I shall play the same measure thrice before finding it again.” Miss Lucas did so and accused her friend of changing the subject. Lizzy laughed, “Oh very well, we shall have it your way – he is a deceitful wretch and I am a gullible fool! Really, Charlotte, I am hardly in any danger. You ought to be warning Miss King if you are so very convinced that he is a fortune hunter. Indeed, if he were a fortune hunter it makes even less sense that he should have paid me any attention whatsoever. No, my dear, I am afraid you are quite out on this and shall pay the forfeit of my being quite insufferably smug in my wisdom.”

  Elizabeth's surety in her judgment remained soundly unshaken for yet a week longer, until her aunt Gardiner said much the same thing as her friend. Both were women of good sense, but Aunt Gardiner had the advantage of knowing neither Miss King nor Mr. Wickham and was therefore acknowledged to be impartial in the matter. Elizabeth laughingly countered her aunt’s arguments in much the same way as she had Charlotte’s, and skipped off to assist Jane with her packing. Jane had consented, at Elizabeth's persuasion, to go to London for a change of scenery. Lizzy had great hopes that her sister would call upon the Bingleys and all heartache would be resolved, regretting only that she was unable to journey in support of Jane as she herself was bound for Kent in a small matter of a week.

  The thought that Wickham might have misrepresented himself stayed with her, though, and she dwelt upon the facts of the matter at some length. After much thought, she reluctantly concluded that she could not be easy with his conduct, and although she would not condemn him, she was relieved that her heart had not been touched by his charm.

  March came in like a lion, and it was a long and muddy journey that Elizabeth had into Kent. There was much delay on account of toppled trees and waterlogged roads and, all in all, it was a most irksome journey. By the time she arrived at the parsonage and darted inside with Mr. Collins, who had come out with an umbrella held aloft, she was delighted to find herself in a warm and dry home. She said as much when she was bidden into the parlour by her sister, and exclaimed at the comfort of the room in general.

  She could not have said anything better calculated to guarantee her a ready welcome in Hunsford. Mary, smiling fondly at her sister, took the compliment for herself, and Mr. Collins did likewise. She was given a hearty supper and shown about the house with much ceremony, and from each aspect of the house various areas of the garden were pointed out for her approval. She dutifully admired each in turn and was as obliging a guest as she could manage to be.

  “It is a great pity, dear sister Elizabeth, that the weather is so lamentably inclement, for, on a fine day, one need only step out as far as the end of the garden nearest to the lane and look up towards Rosings. One cannot see the house from here of course, but its location is readily apparent by the smoke emanating from the chimney stacks. Perhaps we will be able to show you in the morning.”

  Chapter Four

  Hunsford Parsonage was just the sort of home that pleased Elizabeth. It was neither too ostentatious nor too shabby. The rooms were of a comfortable size and the arrangements well thought out. Privately, she wondered how much her sister was responsible for the general air of neatness that pervaded the house and how much was due to Lady Catherine de Bourgh's influence upon her brother.

  The surrounding area she took great delight in exploring, when the rain finally ceased three days after her arrival. Those three days had been tedious; being cooped up inside a small house nearly constantly in the company of two others, without opportunity for exercise, made it difficult for Lizzy to maintain her equanimity. After being called upon, every half an hour or so, to exclaim in delight over some piece of furniture or another, or being asked her advice or opinion by Mary, she had longed for a good walk.

  Mary was a happy bride. It was plain to see that even should her husband never be the master of Longbourn, she could live quite contentedly in Hunsford. What was surprising, but perhaps ought not to be, was how much respect Mr. Collins gave to Mary’s opinions. He sought her advice on parish matters, and it was clear, even before attending church, that Mrs. Collins had the final right of approval on whichever sermon he intended to deliver.

  Lizzy took to wandering out after breakfast for a long walk of several miles, and very much admired the scenery and nature that Kent provided. The village itself did not appear so very different from Meryton in terms of the personalities contained therein, but the well-maintained buildings and the quality of the goods in the shops suggested a greater general prosperity. As Mrs. Collins’s sister, Elizabeth found herself welcomed with great affability by the shopkeepers, and upon purchasing a new pair of thick gloves, for hers were quite inadequate for the unseasonably cool weather, she was pronounced to be a very welcome visitor indeed.

  It was fortunate that the return to regular exercise restored her temper to its usual cheer or she might have found the initial meeting of Lady Catherine and her daughter Miss de Bourgh to quite overset her.

  Receiving gracious nods from both grand ladies, after morning services, did not appear to be of particular note, except that Mr. Collins did insist upon continually exclaiming over such affability in ones so far above them in rank. Elizabeth had quietly remarked one evening, after they had all sat down in the parlour with tea before bed, that Lady Catherine's condescension was indeed remarkable but, “Perhaps, brother, her Ladyship recognises you for being the nearest person to them in rank – you are, after all the heir to an estate, you have been educated at Oxford, and have married,” with her sweet smile and a nod of thanks to Mary, who had just handed her a cup of tea, “a gentlewoman.”