Page 59 of A Prudent Engagement

“Elizabeth, I watch you with Mr. Darcy. You sometimes smile, but more frequently you frown, your gaze looks clouded, and you cannot meet his eyes. There is nothing of happiness in your behaviour with him.”

“What do you mean? We laugh and smile and talk. Mrs. Gardiner said that she thought we look exactly as a couple ought to.”

Jane firmly sat up. “Mrs. Gardiner has sorely disappointed me. She is as mercenary as Mama. I had not expected her to preach prudence at the cost of feeling. She wishes you to imagine yourself happy and content so that she can quiet her own conscience. I dare say she imagines that his wealth and the connection to him will prove of some aid to Mr. Gardiner in his business.”

“You have a very low opinion, not only of me but of all involved.” Elizabeth had come to reconcile with Jane, but now she was suddenly on the verge of screaming at her sister.

“I do,” Jane agreed. “I begin to think that there are few who ever act as they ought, few who stand by their own truth and who will allow principle to regulate their behaviour. You always accused me of being blind and thinking too well of the world, but when even you—”

Her sister fell silent.

“When even I am a mercenary creature?” Elizabeth growled. “Now you despise all of the world and see them as worse than they are, when you used to think that they were better.”

“I hope that I am now only honest in my appraisal.”

It seemed more and more to Elizabeth that there was nothing to say to Jane. That her sister had become as prejudiced about the matter of Mr. Darcy as Elizabeth had been before.

The two sat there in silence.

“Elizabeth, you still may end it. Did not your heart quail to hear the banns read? Do you not realise that you condemn yourself and Mr. Darcy to misery if you continue along this course? He will inevitably discover your lack of affection, and when that happens, it will extinguish his affection towards you. You will be miserable, and you will have made him miserable. Is not any temporary unpleasantness worth avoiding such a fate? And one in which you will only have yourself to blame, and not only for your own suffering but for the suffering of one who does not deserve it.”

“That will not happen,” Elizabeth said, though a cold anxiety clawed at her throat, for Jane had spoken of a fear that she harboured in her chest. “It will not.”

“It will,” Jane replied. “But I fear it will only happen after you are married and it is too late to save you both. Oh, if only he could discover now how mistaken his trust in you is.”

“How mistaken his trust in me is? You have a low opinion of me, Sister.”

“I have observed you both together most carefully,” Jane replied. “And while his affection for you shines from his eyes—oh, it reminds me of Mr. Bingley, but that thought is painful—you have no concern for him. That is clear in your frowns.”

“I only frown because I know how you are judging me,” Elizabeth said angrily. “I cannot be free and happy in your presence. It is not Mr. Darcy whose gaze makes my skin prickle.”

“You say that,” Jane replied, “but I shall not be fooled. I have watched you two together, and I shall trust in my own judgment.”

“You are determined to think we shall be miserable. Is it because you are determined to be miserable yourself? Is it because you were jilted? You do not think that I can be happy?”

“It is because you do not know what it is to be in love. I have felt the pain. What would you feel if Mr. Darcy suddenly left you? Would you not in fact have a sudden sensation of lightness, of freedom, rather than pain?”

Elizabeth’s face was still. Her lips did not move.

The simple thought of that was a horror to contemplate.

Losing Mr. Darcy was something she refused to consider. She could not consider it. She would not consider it.

Elizabeth rose from her seat. “I see that we have nothing further to say to each other.”

“No. I have much to say,” Jane said. “I see my duty now. But there is no purpose in saying any of it to you.”

Chapter Thirteen

Upon his arrival to call upon Elizabeth at Longbourn the Monday after the first reading of the banns, Darcy was informed that she had gone to Lucas Lodge to spend the morning with Mrs. Collins before her friend left to return to Kent.

Mr. Collins had departed several days previously, eager to apprise his patroness of everything that had transpired in Hertfordshire. Mrs. Collins had requested to remain with her family for the rest of the week, and the rector had agreed with surprising ease, his wife’s presence seemingly far less necessary to him than that of his revered Lady Catherine.

Elizabeth had left a note for Darcy:

My dear,

I apologise for my absence, but only yesterday Mrs. Collins received a note from Mr. Collins begging that she immediately return to Hunsford as it seems that Lady Catherine is, as all anticipated, less than wholly pleased by our engagement. For my part, I still find it confusing that everyone in the world is not happy about it, but the world is filled with many odd persons. I do, of course, apologise for categorising your aunt with the common run of odd person. She is far too distinguished for such an appellation.