Blinded By Prejudice by KaraLynne Mackrory

Chapter Eight

Full of bemused distraction, my gaze travelled the length of the room and back, following the inelegant form of my cousin as he anxiously treaded the carpets. His lumbering body was accompanied by fevered, whispered words to himself, interspersed with abrupt stops where he paused to rework the sentiments he was rehearsing in his head. It was like watching an ill-favoured, inept actor practise his lines. However much entertainment Mr Collins could offer me, it was only a minor respite from my own running thoughts. At least we had reason to hope that he would have a resolution to the source of his discontent today.

Mr Bingley had written to expect him and Miss Bingley a few days ago, and each day since, some impediment had made Miss Bingley continue to postpone. The impediment, I would hazard to guess, was the man treading a path in the rug before me. However, we were told last evening by Mr Bingley—a man whose character was known for his patience, though brought to its very limit now—that Miss Bingley would have no further change of plans. Mr Bingley would arrive at Longbourn accompanied by his sister—today.

I did not wish to miss such a potentially entertaining call, and each day’s delay was a blessing for me. I used it to work diligently to give my sister and father confidence in my recovery, enough to be allowed out of my chambers. Indeed, the change in scenery—if only to the parlour one floor below—was, in a way, healing.

It ought to have been Mr Collins calling on the lady. This alteration to the expected niceties was a concession to the lady, who wished to have the privilege of departing once the onerous, undesired, yet necessary declaration was accomplished.

I felt a smile threatening to emerge at the whole ridiculous scheme. Mr Collins, eager to prove his noble rank of gentleman, had been unrelenting in declaring his intentions to save the poor lady from a ruined reputation, while the ruined lady in question seemed rather reluctant to allow him. Before I could become run away with amusement at the image of superior Miss Bingley as a parson’s wife—and to my cousin, no less—I was sobered by the reminder of my own looming future. I, too, would be the wife of a man I could not like, let alone respect. For certainly, I felt the utmost gratitude for his actions in saving my life, but was gratitude enough to ensure a happy union? Morosely, I thought not. Though in honesty, I shall admit Mr Darcy was a better prospect than Mr Collins, no matter how slim the margin.

How odd that I should feel pity for Miss Bingley.

Mr Collins spied my expression on one of his turns, and in the next moment, availed himself of the open space on the sofa beside me. I reached for Jane’s hand, who was on my other side; a reflex action since his sudden proximity was in equal parts disconcerting and unpleasant. Poor Miss Bingley would have to do something about getting her new husband to bathe regularly.

“Dearest Cousin Elizabeth! Do not think me unfeeling to what this change in my circumstances must mean to you! I cannot but imagine the shock of it once you were made aware.”

My mouth gaped like a fish, yet there were no words. Why should I care? Other than a bout of stunned humour at the thought that those two must be joined together, I had very little invested in the matter.

“I assure you, I am content, Mr Collins.”

He tilted his head and smiled sadly at me, reaching to pat my hand reassuringly. I moved it instinctively out of his reach. This only made my cousin’s expression even more absurd, for he looked at me with miserable understanding in his eyes.

“Believe me, dear cousin, nothing but the obligations of a gentleman would have otherwise pulled me from furthering my suit with you.” He ignored my inelegant gasp and the horrified look towards Jane. “Were it not for the need to save a worthy woman from utter ruin, I should not have abandoned you. Oh, how you must feel it!”

“Mr Colli—”

“You must see it is also my Christian duty. I cannot, in good faith, with the precepts and holy orders I have taken, do otherwise than to offer for Miss Bingley. I did not intend to compromise her, and you must know, I thought only of you while doing so.”

The idea that Mr Collins would concern himself with thoughts of me while rolling entwined with Miss Bingley down a muddy hill effectively painted so amusing a picture that I drew my bottom lip between my teeth to keep from laughing.

“Mr Collins, sir. Your concern for my feelings does you justice.” Jane squeezed my hand in chastisement, for while it was clear my cousin did not detect the mockery in my voice, a sister dear in heart would not be expected to miss it. “But you must not think of it again, for any future between us must be considered no more.”

“Indeed! And I thank you most heartedly for your compassionate understanding. Your delicate, selfless concern does you credit as a woman, and assures me you will not be long injured by my abandonment. I trust you will remember, if not for…but perhaps it is best we speak no more of it. Miss Bingley will arrive shortly, and I must offer her my protection.”

Before I could so much as speak, to my disbelief and outrage, my cousin pressed his thick finger to my lips. “Let us say no more and keep only the memories!”

“Mr Collins!” Jane spoke out at his impropriety, while I removed his hand and wiped my face. Thankfully, our cousin stood and moved away, leaving us to gape at him and each other in astonishment that he should be so forward as to touch my person. A shiver ran through me. I may not have wished to be forced to marry Mr Darcy, but at least his touch did not send revulsion through me or upset my stomach. The reminder of Mr Darcy’s touch in the tomb replaced the sensation of insects crawling under my skin, sending warm currents throughout in their place.

“Are you all right, Lizzy?” Jane whispered to me, pulling me out of the not-unpleasant memory. I could not imagine why I should think of it now.

“Yes, thank you,” I said as I wiped again at my lips with my handkerchief. We both looked to our cousin with sharpness in our eyes. “How much longer must we suffer him, Jane?”

Mr Collins, unmindful of the impropriety and distress he had bestowed upon me, was again set to pacing in anticipation of our guests’ arrival. He was rehearsing to himself words of the growing passion he was developing for his future bride, and I could not help but say a little prayer for the poor lady. I understood with clarity why she should wish to postpone as long as possible such an act that would secure her permanently to him. Thoughts of her unwillingness led me, naturally, to feel sorry for her brother. Mr Bingley, far from unhappy for the need to make frequent calls to Longbourn as it gave him the excuse to see my sister, was still tasked with the unpleasant business of daily persuading his sister’s suitor to stay his declaration another day—for nearly a fortnight.

“I very much hope he will return to his parish as soon as the deed has been done,” Jane said quietly. “He cannot be expected to be gone so long. His original plans were to leave Saturday last.”

“He cannot think to stay until they are married, surely!”

Jane shook her head and lifted her shoulders. “Miss Bingley is unlikely to wish for anything less than a very long engagement.”

We both turned unhappy eyes to the idiotic man in motion as we awaited the arrival of his future bride. Mr Collins was still rehearsing those sentiments he felt most likely to be pleasing to a lady.

“Whatever your feelings are for Mr Darcy, you cannot be but relieved our cousin is no longer courting you.” Although Jane whispered the words near my ear so our cousin would not hear, they nevertheless reverberated through my head like an echo. I insisted that our cousin was not a serious candidate for me, as I would never have countenanced his suit for even a minute. But neither were Mr Darcy’s arrogant and prideful ways much of a prize. This bout of temper only served to disquiet Jane dreadfully. I regretted my heated, whispered rebuttal, for I could see I had wounded my sister. And truthfully, I could not seem to settle these turbulent emotions regarding Mr Darcy. The accident had shown me a side of him that ought to have softened my opinion, yet I still felt such an aversion. ‘The lady doth protest too much, methinks’. The quote from Hamlet came slamming into my thoughts with as much force as the landslide. With determination, I again focused on Jane.

She had wished only to help me reconcile to my future, and her reward was to see how dreadfully unsettled I felt about it all; something I had hoped to keep hidden from her given all the blame she already placed on herself.

“Forgive me, Jane. It is only that you speak of my future marriage to that man as though it is a certainty, but I am neither betrothed nor free! I am in this unhappy flux of ambiguity with which I cannot make peace.”

“But, Lizzy, you understand that you and Mr Darcy must marry. There is no other choice.”

“I do understand the necessity,” I pushed out through clenched teeth, “but until it is a binding and settled thing—which will not happen if he does not make his offer—I cannot make myself try to reconcile a future with Mr Darcy.”

“He will come when he is able, Lizzy. You only just recovered enough a few days ago to venture out of your chambers. You must expect he also needs to heal.”

I groaned quietly. I was not angered with Mr Darcy for not calling and saying those undesirable words to begin our betrothal; rather, I dreaded it perhaps just as much as Miss Bingley must in awaiting my cousin’s address. However, at the same time, I could not feel calm about the wait. We knew that he was waiting to be seen by his London physician and still plagued with a loss of sight. While I had concerns for his well-being, of course, I could not describe the source of my disquiet. I was neither betrothed nor free, and thus my mind could not process or imagine a life with Mr Darcy in earnest.

“I am in no hurry to see Mr Darcy.” Seeing Jane’s brows furrow further, I was quick to finish my thought. “Though I shall admit, until all is settled, I cannot feel calm. What if he should cry off and leave me, and indeed all my sisters, ruined? Calm yourself, Jane. I can see you mean to argue with me over this. I know you believe him to be honourable and good—if only because of his friendship with Mr Bingley—but what can we even know of him?”

“Lizzy—”

What more my sister might have said in his defence was cut off by a piercing outburst from Mr Collins as he rushed from the room. A quick look out the window confirmed the reason for his fevered leave-taking, for Mr Bingley’s carriage was seen pulling into the drive.

“Fear not, dearest sister. I shall, in time, make peace with whatever my future will be. You need not worry for me on this. I am not made for low spirits, and whatever Mr Darcy does or does not do will not have the power to steal my happiness for long.”

I saw the turmoil in Jane’s features and knew she wished to say more. However, the time was not right.

“I would wish only that you not become decided against Mr Darcy at this point, Lizzy. It would do you little good to begin your future life knowing nothing of real value about your husband.”

Of course she was correct in this, and her gentle rebuke, so rarely given from such a sweet-tempered person as she, was all the more lasting in its sting to my heart. I did not wish to think I was, by nature, unfeeling or unfairly prejudiced. If Mr Darcy did honour his plans to redeem my reputation, it would not serve me well to set about hating him for all eternity. It was all just a hopeless mess.

* * *

The heated glare sent my way by Miss Bingley was nothing short of pure loathing. I imagined, added to the indignity of having to marry my cousin, it was the sting of having her favourite stolen right out from under her by a woman she considered of such inferior connexions. Miss Bingley was always quick to forget that although her brother was educated as a gentleman, she was still the daughter of a tradesman, whereas I was not. Even though everyone considered my marriage to Mr Darcy to be as certain as the marriage between Mr Collins and Miss Bingley, I would not allow that lady to know my doubts on the matter, nor my displeasure. Let her believe I was happy with the outcome. I had never detected any particular regard for her from Mr Darcy. Indeed, he rather seemed to avoid her or put off her attempts at allurement.

We were all sitting together most awkwardly in the morning room. Mr Collins had an unusual look of fascination focused on Miss Bingley, causing him to be uncharacteristically silent. His quiet was matched by the others, and other than Jane’s ringing for tea, little was said beyond the initial insincere enquires as to health. Given this was the first instance where the entire party except Mr Darcy had been in company together since the accident at Bodden Chapel, it was no great surprise that everyone was reluctant to broach the reason for the visit.

All except Mr Collins, of course, who now and then would begin to suggest a private audience with Miss Bingley, only to have that lady change the direction of her glare to him or raise a hand to gesture he cease speaking. Much to my surprise—for I had never known anything or anyone to have the power to silence Mr Collins—the gestures and glares produced the desired effect, and the man was made soundless.

However, such an untenable situation could not go on forever, and after several pointed looks and one or two directed clearings of Mr Bingley’s throat, Miss Bingley sighed heavily and reluctantly looked to my cousin.

Mr Collins’s eyes glowed with a strange happiness at her nod, and he was quick to then ask Mr Bingley whether he might accompany Miss Bingley outside to walk in the garden. Permission was granted, Mr Bingley eyeing his sister with a stern brow as he wished them a pleasant walk. The two left the room. Mr Collins reaching for Miss Bingley’s arm, and that lady’s less-than-subtle movement to prevent him was the last the rest of the party saw as the couple slipped through the French doors into the garden.

Those of us remaining were no more able than before to engage in conversation after Mr Collins and Miss Bingley departed, as all our minds were preoccupied with what was happening outside. For myself, I was imagining what humiliations and absurdities a lady might be subjected to when a man like Mr Collins proposed. His manner was neither humble nor proud, but a strange mix of pompous superiority and servile superciliousness.

Jane nudged me with her elbow and gave me a pointed look. I could not imagine what she wished for me to say; Mr Bingley was her suitor. At my confusion, she sighed and turned to the gentleman.

“How is Mr Darcy? Is he much recovered?”

Mr Bingley’s features were transformed into the gentle expression he reserved only for my sister, writ with approval and admiration. “I thank you for asking. Mr Darcy, as you know, was hit quite forcefully, presumably by a rock, on the back of the head. While the rest of his body was, thankfully, largely unscathed aside from some bruises and minor cuts, it is the blow to the head that still troubles him. And then, of course, there is the troubling…situation…with his eyesight…”

We were all quiet for a time. Of all the outcomes of that day, a man’s loss of sight was nothing short of tragic, no matter his identity. I understood then why Jane had nudged me. Naturally, she thought that as his future bride, I ought to be the one to ask after his well-being. And I suppose she was correct. For the second time this morning, I was humbled by my sister’s gentle rebuke.

“I am sorry to hear he still suffers,” I ventured lamely.

Mr Bingley granted me kind eyes, unassuming and free of any suspicion that my words were anything but entirely sincere with regard to his friend.

“Fear not, Miss Elizabeth. Were it not for the severe megrims he suffers daily, he would have accompanied me on today’s visit. He is made most unhappy at Netherfield. The doctors will not allow him to travel even such a short distance until his head aches less. Indeed, it is his physician that believes the blow may have caused swelling in his brain, thus the headaches and blindness. The jostling of a carriage would, I fear, exacerbate the condition. Everyone is hopeful that with constant rest, the use of headache powders, and time, he will recover his sight as well.”

I could hear what he did not say: that although there was hope, there was enough uncertainty to cause much distress to everyone. Mr Bingley managed to rouse my compassion for his friend. I had suffered from debilitating megrims in the past, and I could not wish anyone to have to endure them. I could not imagine what added torture a life without sight would be.

“Are they frequent then? Does he suffer terribly?”

Jane smiled her approval at the obvious sympathy in my voice. Like so many other feelings since being rescued, I could not seem to settle on one particular sentiment. At times I was adamant that Mr Darcy would not honour his word to ask for my hand, then at others, I was certain he would, if only to not appear dishonourable. I was full of dislike for the gentleman one moment and then reminded of his gentle caring during our entrapment the next. At no time during our night together had Mr Darcy acted anything but considerate and solicitous of me. His gentleness had swept over me like a warm blanket, calming me, and it seemed the memory alone had that power still. My breast squeezed with an unfamiliar jolt of pain to think of his suffering now. He had saved my life, and I still could not like him. What type of horrid creature was I? I had never imagined it possible for a person, let alone myself, to be so selfish. It was a loathsome character trait within me that, despite acknowledging Mr Darcy’s suffering to be acute, allowed me to push it aside to assuage my own sentiments. I disliked my feelings being so disordered and unfamiliar. I was in constant flux.

“I have never seen the like, Miss Elizabeth. I am sorry to say so, and perhaps I shall only bring you more distress in telling you, but my friend does not conceal the discomfort he is experiencing in mind and body as well as he imagines.”

“I am sorry to hear that,” I said quietly, having a difficult time imagining a man such as Mr Darcy weakened in any sense. He was much too powerful a gentleman, much too strong. My cheeks pinked suddenly as I recalled just how strong his shoulders felt under my hands in the dark.

“If it is acceptable to you, Miss Elizabeth, might I send word of your recovery to my friend? He has been most eager to hear news of you. Indeed, he plagues me almost daily to know how you fare.” Mr Bingley chuckled good-naturedly.

I was stunned to hear this. It did not sit well with me to know that he had asked about me when I had not much bothered to ask after him. That despite his own bodily discomfort—his pain which, if Mr Bingley was not exaggerating, must be extreme—Mr Darcy was anxious for me. That his concern was so severe as to ‘plague’ his friend for news of me settled into my thoughts like a pin prick. I could not decide why it troubled me; it ought to have called forth my appreciation. I was not angered by the revelation—quite the opposite—but in and of itself, it was a source of disquiet.

“You may tell Mr Darcy that my sister is recovering quite well. The doctor advised that she not take any carriage rides for a little while longer nor venture farther than the gardens for another two weeks; however, beyond this, she is expected to recover fully.”

Again, I was ashamed that my thoughts prevented me from answering for myself and that Jane was obliged to perform the duty. I silently thanked her with a squeeze of her hand and turned to Mr Bingley.

“Please tell Mr Darcy I am grateful for his concern.” I was surprised to realise that I meant every word.

“I assure you, he will be most pleased to hear it.” Mr Bingley smiled his pleasure.

“That is quite unnecessary, Mr Collins, I assure you!”

Startled, we all turned towards the doors where Miss Bingley’s outraged voice could be heard long before she opened them with a flourish and stepped quickly into the room. A pink-faced Mr Collins followed in her wake. She turned to her brother, chin held high, her complexion flushed, and spoke in regal tones.

“I am ready to take my leave, Brother. I am becoming fatigued.”

Mr Bingley stood immediately and frowned at his sister, a clear question in his tone. “Caroline…?”

Miss Bingley growled through a clenched jaw, “The purpose of our visit has been accomplished.”

Immediately, we all turned towards Mr Collins. I was amused to see my cousin looking at Miss Bingley with adoration despite the abrupt way she ended their walk. Furthering my amusement, and to my surprise, he appeared to be truly captivated by the lady. Could Mr Collins actually be attracted to such an overbearing lady, one more apt to demean than compliment a person? From my observation, it looked as though that was the case. I wondered immediately who would garner the greater share of Mr Collins’s devotion now—his future wife or Lady Catherine de Bourgh? By all accounts, the great lady was not terribly unlike Miss Bingley in her air and manners.

Mr Collins babbled on, and I owed him a measure of gratitude for it, as it prevented me from releasing an unwelcome bout of laughter.

“Mr Bingley, your lovely sister has granted me my fondest wish this day and agreed to marry me.”

Miss Bingley flushed deeper but kept her chin high, no indication of her feelings showing beyond her wish to depart.

After hasty congratulations to the pair were presented all around, Miss Bingley turned to her brother and, with eyes burning with anger, was finally successful in her wish to take their leave. Mr Bingley reluctantly said his farewells to myself and Jane and took his sister by the arm to escort her out. Mr Collins followed eagerly behind, speaking compliments and well wishes for when next they met.

As soon as the doors closed, I stood abruptly, forgetting my injury for a moment in my haste to watch through the window as the three of them reached the carriage. My ill-thought actions only produced a minor stabbing, and for that I was grateful.

The reward proved greater than the discomfort. The scene without was more entertaining—and a little perplexing—than I could have imagined. Mr Collins insisted on handing up his betrothed, and after a slight pause and a warning glance to his sister, Mr Bingley accepted and entered the carriage before her. While I could not hear any words spoken between the newly engaged couple, I could clearly see that Miss Bingley did not appreciate the gesture of affection Mr Collins bestowed on the back of her hand. Curiously, although she did speak a protest against his actions, she was silent as he whispered something in her ear, her complexion turning a ruddy red. Miss Bingley eyed Mr Collins with a stone-faced look and then, after a minute, tipped her head slightly.

Whatever Mr Collins had said and she acknowledged must forever be a mystery. I did not want to know what might cause her to calmly allow Mr Collins’s second gesture of affection placed upon the back of her hand. I certainly could not imagine what speech was capable of causing the small flash of a smile I saw on her face as my cousin assisted her into the carriage. Indeed, it was so unfathomable an expression, I was sure I imagined it.