Pride and Prejudice (The Wild and Wanton Edition) (39 page)

“You are then resolved to have him?”

“I have said no such thing. I am only resolved to act in that manner, which will, in my own opinion, constitute my happiness, without reference to you or to any person so wholly unconnected with me.”

“It is well. You refuse, then, to oblige me. You refuse to obey the claims of duty, honor, and gratitude. You are determined to ruin him in the opinion of all his friends, and make him the contempt of the world.”

“Neither duty, nor honor, nor gratitude,” replied Elizabeth, “have any possible claim on me, in the present instance. No principle of either would be violated by my marriage with Mr. Darcy.

And with regard to the resentment of his family, or the indignation of the world, if the former were excited by his marrying me, it would not give me one moment’s concern — and the world in general would have too much sense to join in the scorn.”

“And this is your real opinion? This is your final resolve? Very well. I shall now know how to act. Do not imagine, Miss Bennet, that your ambition will ever be gratified. I came to try you. I hoped to find you reasonable, but depend upon it, I will carry my point.” In this manner Lady Catherine talked on, till they were at the door of the carriage, when, turning hastily round, she added, “I take no leave of you, Miss Bennet. I send no compliments to your mother. You deserve no such attention. I am most seriously displeased.”

Elizabeth made no answer. Without attempting to persuade her ladyship to return into the house, she walked quietly into it herself. She heard the carriage drive away as she ran up stairs. Her mother impatiently met her at the door of the dressing room to ask why Lady Catherine would not come in again and rest herself.

“She did not choose it,” said her daughter, “she would go.”

“She is a very fine-looking woman. Her calling here was prodigiously civil for she only came, I suppose, to tell us the Collinses were well. She is on her road somewhere, I daresay, and so, passing through Meryton, thought she might as well call on you. I suppose she had nothing particular to say to you, Lizzy?”

Elizabeth was forced to give in to a little falsehood here for to acknowledge the substance of their conversation was impossible. Whatever she mumbled must have been sufficient, though she hardly knew what came out of her own mouth. She wanted nothing more than to escape to the privacy of her room. Once there, she threw her parasol and bit her lip in an effort to keep from crying out. Every muscle in her body was tense and she had never felt the urge to hit someone so much in her life.

“How dare she accost me thus!” She whispered to herself, pacing the length of the room. “To insult my family, myself and threaten me with every tool within her power!” Then, suddenly, she stopped as she thought of the subject of meeting. Mr. Darcy. How did the rumors come to be spread of them? Had someone observed a moment passing between them? For Elizabeth had told no one of her feelings. Only Jane knew of the proposal, and a more secure vault than Jane’s discretion did not exist. Had Mr. Darcy himself spoke of it? With his naturally secretive nature, it did not seem likely, and in knowing him she knew that she had no reason to hope that the rumors Lady Catherine had heard were circulated by a creditably informed source. Undoubtedly, it was Mr. Collins who heard such a thing, and had run to Rosings to instantly tell Lady Catherine the news, for he could hardly see a bird fly overhead without feeling the need to describe the event to her ladyship.

“Detestable cousin,” she muttered, thinking of Mr. Collins. “Poor Charlotte, I wonder if you now regret your hasty decision to marry so poor a choice.”

Then, remembering each word of Lady Catherine’s speech, she began to pace anew and did not think to stop for quite some time.

T
HE DISCOMPOSURE OF SPIRITS which this extraordinary visit threw Elizabeth into could not be easily overcome, nor could she for many hours learn to think of it less than incessantly. Lady Catherine had actually taken the trouble of journeying from Rosings for the sole purpose of breaking off her supposed engagement with Mr. Darcy. It was a rational scheme, to be sure, but from what the report of their engagement could originate, Elizabeth was at a loss to imagine — till she recollected that
his
being the intimate friend of Bingley, and
her
being the sister of Jane, was enough to supply the idea at a time when the expectation of one wedding made everybody eager for another.

It had not escaped her hopeful mind that the marriage of her sister must bring them more frequently together. Furthermore, she concluded that her neighbors at Lucas Lodge, through their communication with the Collinses, had instigated the report that reached Lady Catherine, and had set down as almost certain and immediate, which she had looked forward to as possible at some future time.

In revolving Lady Catherine’s expressions, she could not help feeling some uneasiness as to the possible consequence of her persisting in this interference. From what she had said of her resolution to prevent their marriage, it occurred to Elizabeth that she must meditate an application to her nephew. How
he
might take a similar representation of the evils attached to a connection with her, she dared not pronounce. She knew not the exact degree of his affection for his aunt, or his dependence on her judgment, but it was natural to suppose that he thought much higher of her ladyship than she could do; and it was certain that, in enumerating the miseries of a marriage with one, whose immediate connections were so unequal to his own, his aunt would address him on his weakest side. With his notions of dignity, he would probably feel that those arguments, which to Elizabeth had appeared weak and ridiculous, contained much good sense and solid reasoning.

If he had been wavering before as to what he should do, which had often seemed likely, the advice and entreaty of so near a relation might settle every doubt, and determine him at once to be as happy as unblemished dignity could make him. In that case he would return no more. Lady Catherine might see him in her way through town, and his engagement to Bingley of coming again to Netherfield must give way.

“If, therefore, an excuse for not keeping his promise should come to his friend within a few days,” she added, “I shall know how to understand it. I shall then give over every expectation, every wish of his constancy. If he is satisfied with only regretting me, when he might have obtained my affections and hand, I shall soon cease to regret him at all.”

The assertion was much easier said than felt. In truth, if all hope of Mr. Darcy was taken away from her, she feared her heart may never love again and she would be miserable in her old age, either a burden on her parents and sisters or the unlucky bride to an undesirable man. The thought instantly brought Charlotte to mind and Elizabeth felt she understood her friend’s motivations better than she ever had in the past. Oh, to have such a heartless fate! She never considered herself destined to a life of heartbreak and misery, yet that is what she felt must be her fate if Darcy did not come back to Netherfield and give her the smallest reason to hope.

The surprise of the rest of the family, on hearing who their visitor had been, was very great, and they obligingly satisfied it with the same kind of supposition which had appeased Mrs. Bennet’s curiosity. Elizabeth was spared from much teasing on the subject.

The next morning, as she was going downstairs, she was met by her father, who came out of his library with a letter in his hand. “Lizzy, I was going to look for you. Come into my room.”

She followed him back into the library. Her curiosity to know what he had to tell her was heightened by the supposition of its being in some manner connected with the letter he held. It suddenly struck her that it might be from Lady Catherine, and she anticipated with dismay all the consequent explanations.

She followed her father to the fire place, and they both sat down. He then said, “I have received a letter this morning that has astonished me exceedingly. As it principally concerns yourself, you ought to know its contents. I did not know before that I had two daughters on the brink of matrimony. Let me congratulate you on a very important conquest.”

The color now rushed into Elizabeth’s cheeks in the instantaneous conviction of its being a letter from the nephew, instead of the aunt. She was undetermined whether most to be pleased that he explained himself at all, or offended that his letter was not rather addressed to herself; when her father continued, “You look conscious. Young ladies have great penetration in such matters as these, but I think I may defy even your sagacity, to discover the name of your admirer. This letter is from Mr. Collins.”

“From Mr. Collins! What can he have to say?”

“Something very much to the purpose of course. He begins with congratulations on the approaching nuptials of my eldest daughter, of which, it seems, he has been told by some of the good natured, gossiping Lucases. I shall not sport with your impatience, by reading what he says on that point. What relates to yourself, is as follows, ‘Having thus offered you the sincere congratulations of Mrs. Collins and myself on this happy event, let me now add a short hint on the subject of another; of which we have been advertised by the same authority. Your daughter Elizabeth, it is presumed, will not long bear the name of Bennet, after her elder sister has resigned it, and the chosen partner of her fate may be reasonably looked up to as one of the most illustrious personages in this land.’ Can you possibly guess, Lizzy, who is meant by this?”

Her father looked at her expectantly. Elizabeth did not answer, merely stared with a feeling of wonder and apprehension at what might come.

At her silence, her father continued, “Listen, my dear and all will be revealed. ‘This young gentleman is blessed, in a peculiar way, with everything the heart of mortal can most desire — splendid property, noble kindred, and extensive patronage. Yet in spite of all these temptations, let me warn my cousin Elizabeth, and yourself, of what evils you may incur by a precipitate closure with this gentleman’s proposals, which, of course, you will be inclined to take immediate advantage of.’ Have you any idea, Lizzy, who this gentleman is?”

Again she remained silent.

And he continued, “But now it comes out. ‘My motive for cautioning you is as follows. We have reason to imagine that his aunt, Lady Catherine de Bourgh, does not look on the match with a friendly eye.’ You see, Lizzy, Mr. Darcy is the man! I think I
have
surprised you. Could he, or the Lucases, have pitched on any man within the circle of our acquaintance, whose name would have given the lie more effectually to what they related? Mr. Darcy, who never looks at any woman but to see a blemish, and who probably never looked at you in his life! It is an admirable rumor to be sure!”

Elizabeth tried to join in her father’s pleasantry, but could only force one most reluctant smile. Never had his wit been directed in a manner so little agreeable to her.

“Are you not diverted?” he inquired.

“Oh, yes. Pray read on.”

“‘After mentioning the likelihood of this marriage to her ladyship last night, she immediately, with her usual condescension, expressed what she felt on the occasion. When it became apparent that on the score of some family objections on the part of my cousin, she would never give her consent to what she termed so disgraceful a match. I thought it my duty to give the speediest intelligence of this to my cousin, that she and her noble admirer may be aware of what they are about, and not run hastily into a marriage which has not been properly sanctioned.’ Mr. Collins moreover adds, ‘I am truly rejoiced that my cousin Lydia’s sad business has been so well hushed up, and am only concerned that their living together before the marriage took place should be so generally known. I must not, however, neglect the duties of my station, or refrain from declaring my amazement at hearing that you received the young couple into your house as soon as they were married. It was an encouragement of vice, and had I been the rector of Longbourn, I should very strenuously have opposed it. You ought certainly to forgive them, as a Christian, but never to admit them in your sight, or allow their names to be mentioned in your hearing.’ Ha! That is his notion of Christian forgiveness. The rest of his letter is only about his dear Charlotte’s situation, and his expectation of a young olive-branch. But, Lizzy, you look as if you did not enjoy it. You are not going to be
missish
, I hope, and pretend to be affronted at an idle report. For what do we live for but to make sport for our neighbors and laugh at them in our turn?”

“Oh,” said Elizabeth. “I am excessively diverted. But it is so strange!”

“Yes,
that
is what makes it amusing. Had they fixed on any other man it would have been nothing. But
his
perfect indifference, and
your
pointed dislike, make it so delightfully absurd! Much as I abominate writing, I would not give up Mr. Collins’s correspondence for any consideration. Nay, when I read a letter of his, I cannot help giving him the preference even over Wickham, much as I value the impudence and hypocrisy of my son-in-law. And pray, Lizzy, what said Lady Catherine about this report? Did she call to refuse her consent?”

To this question his daughter replied only with a laugh, and as it had been asked without the least suspicion, she was not distressed by his repeating it. Elizabeth had never been more at a loss to make her feelings appear what they were not. It was necessary to laugh, when she would rather have cried. Her father had most cruelly mortified her, by what he said of Mr. Darcy’s indifference, and she could do nothing but wonder at such a want of penetration, or fear that perhaps, instead of his seeing too little, she might have fancied too much.