“He said it must be the same as what I had done, when deciding if he was worthy of being my husband,” Jane continued. “That I must have considered his connections and his wealth. I told him that I love him, and that it would not matter if he were poor, or if his sisters were married to cobblers, and that was why I knew I must tell him the truth about my circumstances, because love is more important than connections, and that if he loved me as much as I do him, he w-would not have k-kept secrets f-from me.” With a sob, Janepulled her knees up to her chest and collapsed sideways on the bed.
Wrenched from her confusion by her sister’s sorrow, Elizabeth smoothed back Jane’s hair. “Oh, Jane, he loves you. Anyone can see that he loves you. He is simply a man. They are foolish. You must know that.”
“I want him to trust me. I want to have faith in our love,” Jane sobbed. “Instead he was appraising me, like a sow at market.”
“I am certain he was not.” Elizabeth made her voice as soothing as possible. “Why do you not stay here tonight? Come, we will ready you for bed, and I will fetch you tea, and by morning, all will seem right again.”
Jane sat back up, rubbing her eyes. “Do you truly believe so? You do not think I have made a horrible mistake, marrying a man who does not truly love me?”
“He loves you,” Elizabeth reiterated. “Tomorrow all will be well.”
At least, all would be well for Jane. Elizabeth’s head whirled with her sister’s revelation about Mr. Darcy.
The following morning, Elizabeth went down to breakfast, a rather wan Jane trailing her, to find only Mr. Bennet. The remainder of the household, mercifully, showed no inclination to rise any earlier than was their custom, and with Mary gone, it might be nearly noon before anyone disturbed their quiet.
Looking up from his paper, Mr. Bennet greeted them with, “Good morning, my dears,” and returned to reading.
Visibly relieved by this reception, Jane went to the sideboard and gathered a few pieces of toast. Even Elizabeth, who had very little appetite of late, usually put more on her plate than that. Today, in fact, she felt hungry for the first time in weeks.
They joined their father at the table, where Jane set to tearing her toast into smaller and smaller pieces. For her part, Elizabeth found the bread lighter and tastier than usual. The butter, too, seemed quite creamy and rich, and the preserves delightful. She realized she hadn’t eaten any preserves since the morning they’d seen the announcement of Colonel Fitzwilliam and Miss Bingley’s engagement in the paper.
“I wonder if Mary is happy,” Jane said at length, her gaze abstract as she continued to pull apart her food, having taken not a single bite.
“What did she say in her letter, Papa?” Elizabeth asked.
Mr. Bennet’s paper dipped enough that he could see them over the top. “Who?”
“Mary. What did her letter say, other than that she will be in Kent soon.”
He patted about, checking his pockets, then pulled a folded page from his waistcoat. He passed the letter to Elizabeth.
She opened it and smoothed it out on the tabletop, turning the page so Jane could read right side up. Elizabeth imagined she would do well enough deciphering Mary’s words upside down.
Dear Sir,
You will undoubtedly be pleased to know that I am now Mrs. Collins. I have not besmirched the family name, nor put my sisters’ futures in jeopardy. I understand the importance of such things.
It would please me to be able to apologize for the abrupt and intractable nature of my previous missive, but I cannot. I stand by the sentiments enclosed therein. If I, and Mr. Collins, had not been treated so infamously, the drastic measure of elopement would not have been necessary. I cannot apologize for that which I am not at fault.
We will arrive at Mr. Collins’ parish in Kent tomorrow, likely the same day this letter reaches you. Do not expect to hear from me again until you, sir, and Elizabeth, have delivered sincere apologies for how myself and Mr. Collins have been treated. I undertake this letter only out of a regard for my sisters, that they may know I am not a fallen woman.
Dutifully,
Mrs. Mary Collins
P.S. I expect said apologies in writing. You are familiar with the address.
P.P.S. Mr. Collins sends his regards as he feels that his patroness, Lady Catherine de Bourgh, would advise him to be cordial to even those not worthy of cordiality.
Elizabeth read the letter through twice, then sat back, shaking her head. “She seems quite happy to me.”
“Do you believe so?” Jane sat back as well, and tore off another bit of toast. “Can she be truly happy when she is so at odds with you and Papa?”
“I believe being at odds with us is what makes her truly happy,” Elizabeth countered.
Jane pursed her lips, her fingers squeezing and ripping toast.
“She is not like you,” Elizabeth clarified. “Mary is made happy by feeling that she is right and others are wrong. You will never be happy until all is resolved and forgiven.” Feeling daring, she added, “So perhaps you should forgive Mr. Bingley?”
