Page 11 of A Mismatched Compromise

“We are very much obliged to you for your trouble,” Elizabeth interrupted coldly.

“I shall send a follow-up letter this very afternoon,” he warned, growing even more red-faced. “A substantial addition, indeed!”

“Mr Collins,” Charlotte said suddenly with a gracious smile. “I wonder if you would be so kind as to escort me back to Lucas Lodge and join my family for luncheon. My mother has been asking about you, and I know she would value your company most particularly.”

Mr Collins blinked, as the momentum of his outrage collided with his pleasure in being particularly valued.

“She is most anxious,” Charlotte added, “to hear your thoughts on those you met at the ball.”

“Well,” Mr Collins said, standing and straightening his coat. “I suppose — It is always a pleasure to see Lady Lucas…Yes. Yes, I should be very happy to oblige.” He looked around the room, his expression that of a man choosing to maintain his dignity despite the outrageous way he has been treated. “Good day,” he said stiffly, and offered Charlotte his arm.

“Good day,” Elizabeth called after them as the door closed.

Elizabeth looked at her mother, who was staring at the space Mr Collins had just vacated. Her eyes moved to Jane, who looked back at her with exhausted relief, then to Mary, who sat staring fiercely at her book, attempting to give the impression that none of the last ten minutes had happened.

“I am sure,” Mrs Bennet said, in a voice that aimed for airy but landed on pained, “that there was no need to refuse his offer quite so firmly, Elizabeth. He is… He will inherit this house, you know.”

“Yes, Mama,” said Elizabeth. “I know.”

“I only meant to suggest Mary,” Mrs Bennet said, somewhat plaintively. “That was all I meant. Mary might well have…”

“He didn’t ask for Mary,” Elizabeth said, as gently as she could. “And Mary did not ask to be suggested either, Mama.”

Mrs Bennet’s lips pressed together. Through the window, Elizabeth could see Charlotte steering Mr Collins down the lane with the calm purpose of a woman used to managing difficult things. She felt a wave of gratitude toward her friend so strong that she was almost physically swayed. She could only hope that Mr Collins would find Lucas Lodge so pleasant that it would temper his letter to Lady Catherine.

Chapter 6

The turbulence of the morning thankfully proved temporary, though Elizabeth suspected most of the credit for the fragile peace belonged to Charlotte and her self-sacrifice in taking on the burden of Mr Collins. By noon, Longbourn had subsided into something resembling its ordinary rhythms, though nothing quite seemed the same as it had yesterday. Mrs Bennet had worn herself out with her fluctuations between glee and worry and retired upstairs to rest. Lydia and Kitty were in their room, their voices rising and falling in excited tones, while Mary was grimly practicing the pianoforte in the music room.

Elizabeth attempted to concentrate on her novel, but found herself quite out of patience with the hero, who first lamented that he was unlikely to inherit his family estate, then complained about the weight of new responsibility when he inherited it. Jane stoically embroidered, though Elizabeth noted that she took out nearly as many stitches as she put in.

The observation did not result from watching her sister, or at least, not exactly. Rather, she was trying hard not to watch Jane while simultaneously attempting to ascertain if Jane was watching her.

Though in practice, Elizabeth admitted to herself, it had the same result as watching her would.

Jane looked up, and caught Elizabeth looking. “Yes?” she asked mildly, tilting her head.

“You’ve taken out and restitched that vine three times,” Elizabeth observed in an attempt to invent some benign reason for watching her sister.

Jane coloured slightly. “I’ve not been satisfied with it,” she explained, looking back down at the fabric. She made a few small stitches. “There,” she said, holding out her work.

“That is much better,” Elizabeth said solemnly.

Jane smiled. “It is the same leaf exactly, Lizzy,” she objected.

“It is not. This leaf has suffered, and therefore it has built character, making it superior to the earlier versions of itself.”

Jane’s smile faltered. “Building character sounds like a good thing, but I cannot help but wonder if the leaf feels it is worth it.”

Elizabeth bit her lip, knowing her sister was not talking about embroidery. “Jane,” she began hesitantly.

“Don’t,” Jane interrupted firmly. “It’s all right, Lizzy. But if you force me to discuss it, it will not be.”

For a long moment, Elizabeth did not speak. “I would venture to say that if something is bearable only in silence, then it is not ‘all right’ at all,” she said carefully.

They sat quietly for a moment. Outside, the December wind swept through the garden, and in the music room, Mary began the same passage over again from the beginning.

“Do you think he will come today, Lizzy?” Jane asked quietly.