Chapter Nine Back to Previous Chapter Henry arrived back at Netherfield Park on Tuesday afternoon, weary from the two-day trip from Woodston and thinking for the first time that he might prefer to stay in Gloucestershire. He passed the reins to a groom and went up the curving stairs to the house, only to be met by a footman who handed him two letters. One was from Darcy, the other from Bingley, both sent from London. As he stared at the letters in some confusion, he slowly became aware that the house was unusually still. He walked down to the drawing-room and glanced inside. Two servants were covering the furniture with sheets of muslin. He turned to the footman. "Is there a room ready for me?" "Yes, Mr. Tilney. Mr. Bingley told us to make sure you were taken care of. He thought that his letter might not reach you in time to prevent you from traveling here, but we are to make you comfortable for as long as you care to stay, then follow him to London." "If Mr. Bingley is not here, I cannot stay. I shall return to Gloucestershire in the morning." "Very good, sir. I'll see that your curricle is ready for you." Henry allowed the footman to see him to his room. A servant soon brought hot water, helped him remove his boots, and took away his dusty greatcoat. Henry stripped to his shirtsleeves, washed off the dirt from the road, and poured himself a glass of wine, then settled down in a cushioned chair by the fire. Bear, who seemed lost without the company of Bingley's and Darcy's dogs, lay down at his master's feet with a whooshing exclamation of breath followed by a small canine moan that sounded so world-weary that Henry had to laugh in spite of himself. He opened Darcy's letter first. London, 30 November My dear Tilney, If you are reading this letter, then mine did not reach you at Woodston in time to prevent your return, and I am sorry for your trouble. Mr. and Mrs. Hurst determined to return to Grosvenor-street, and Miss Bingley would accompany them. I am eager to return to town as well, to see how my sister gets on with her new governess and to spend Christmas with her. I do not like to be away from her for very long. As you know, Bingley was confident that his business in town would be finished in some three or four days, but I do not believe it to be possible. Indeed I believe Bingley will not return this winter. I must confess that I see this as a good thing. Bingley's attentions to Miss Bennet were putting him in some danger. If they continued, he would find himself in a position where he might feel obliged to make her an offer for the sake of propriety when neither heart was really attached to the other. I do not fear for his peace. How many times have we seen Bingley fall violently in love, and then fall as violently out of love after only a few weeks? I am convinced that any affection he felt for Miss Bennet will be forgotten when he meets another pretty girl. Will you visit us in town? My home is yours, as always. However, if your situation requires that you return to Gloucestershire, go there with every good wish for your health and happiness from your most devoted friend, FITZWILLIAM DARCY Henry stared at the letter, caught between friendship and anger. How could Darcy interfere in Bingley's life in such a way? Naturally Miss Bingley wished to return to town and renew an acquaintance with Georgiana, hoping it would excite Darcy's interest, but why did Darcy feel it necessary to accompany them, and to prevent Bingley's return? Henry could not help suspecting that Darcy left Hertfordshire to get away from Elizabeth Bennet, and wished to prevent Bingley's romance with her sister for the same reason. He broke the wafer on Bingley's letter impatiently and opened the sheet. London, 2 December My dear Tilney, You must forgive (blot) way I have treated you, press you return to Netherfield and you arrive at empty house! I have left servants behind to care you, (blot) stay as long as you wish. Business here very pressing -- cannot return. Darcy tells me he has invited you stay with him -- do, Tilney, we all (blot) see you. Here for winter, I think. Christmas, then season, (blot) invitations already. Caroline trying to get vouchers for Almack's. Comical to watch her (blot) the patroness, you know which I mean, the (blot) one, at a ball last night. Should not laugh at my sister, I know, but sometimes cannot help it. Do not understand -- one ball good as another. Tea at Almack's dreadful. Do come to London, Til(blot). Will not be as enjoyable without you. Best wishes Miss M. -- Miss T. -- yourself, from your affectionate (blot) CHAS. BINGLEY It was impossible not to smile at such a letter, so typical of Bingley, his good nature and affection evident even in the blots and missing words. Well, there was nothing for it; he would return to Gloucestershire in the morning. He took out his watch; it was not quite two. There was plenty of time to call at Longbourn and take his leave of Elizabeth. Henry sincerely regretted the social conventions that did not allow an unmarried woman to correspond with a man; otherwise he should have asked Elizabeth to write to him. An hour later he presented himself at Longbourn and was admitted to the drawing-room, where Elizabeth sat with Miss Lucas. "Mr. Tilney!" cried Elizabeth, rising to greet him. "I am delighted to see you, but I confess I am astonished! You know that Mr. Bingley and his party have gone to town." "Yes, I know. Unfortunately their letters did not reach me in time to prevent my return from Gloucestershire." "I am sorry for you, of course, but glad on my own account. Although I suppose you will return to Gloucestershire now?" She indicated that he should sit in a chair by the fire, and he did so. "Yes, I cannot stay in Bingley's house when he is absent, although his good nature would allow for any imposition from a friend." "I can well believe it of Mr. Bingley." Henry wondered at the odd, bitter emphasis of her sentence but did not pursue it. "Miss Lucas, I am glad that you are here. I can take my leave of you both. I depart in the morning." Elizabeth glanced briefly at her friend and said, "Mr. Tilney, you must congratulate Charlotte. She is to be married." "Indeed!" cried Henry with real delight. "My felicitations, madam! Who is the fortunate man upon whom you have bestowed your hand?" "I have had the honour of an offer of marriage from Mr. Collins," said Miss Lucas mildly. Henry stared at her and worked to control his countenance. "Collins? William Collins?" "Yes." "I am surprised--forgive me, Miss Lucas, but I did not know that you and Collins--" "Yes," said Elizabeth with some asperity, "you have been away a whole week, Mr. Tilney. Affection blossomed quickly in this case." She threw an incomprehensible glance at Charlotte. Lizzy cannot be jealous? thought Henry in astonishment. No, that is not the rub. Lizzy is revolted by the thought of her friend married to Collins, and who would not be? Charlotte's gentle voice interrupted his thoughts. "Neither Mr. Collins nor I wished to delay, so the matter was decided very quickly." Her cold description told Henry everything he needed to know. Miss Lucas had accepted Collins simply because she wanted to be married, and he had offered for her. He had to admit that it was an excellent match for her. She had no fortune, and Collins was well-established at Hunsford; in addition, there was always the possibility that Lady Catherine would bestow other livings on him, and he was to inherit Longbourn someday. Yes, it was an excellent match, and judging by Charlotte's serene and satisfied countenance, that was her sole criteria for accepting Collins' obliging offer. Henry understood the social conventions that dictated her decision, but regretted it nonetheless. He could countenance a woman marrying for security even in the absence of love, but in the absence of respect such a union was abhorrent. And he could not imagine a young lady of good common sense such as Charlotte Lucas ever having respect for William Collins. At that moment the Longbourn housekeeper entered the room and curtseyed. "Miss Elizabeth," she said, "your mother requires you upstairs." Elizabeth frowned. "Hill, please tell my mother that I cannot leave my guests." "She was very pressing, ma'am." Hill looked at Elizabeth pleadingly, twisting her apron between her hands. Elizabeth sighed and said, "Very well. Mr. Tilney, Charlotte, do forgive me, but--" "Of course," said Henry, rising as she exited the room. He glanced over at Charlotte, who had become very interested in her embroidery. He watched her for a few moments, then finally said, "Miss Lucas--" She looked up at him with a faint smile. "I know what you are thinking, Mr. Tilney. I read it in your face. You think I am foolish to go through with this marriage." "How can you marry Collins?" he blurted out. "You have such good sense, you must see what he is!" She laughed shortly. "Yes, I have good sense. And that is exactly why I accepted Mr. Collins." She set down the embroidery and looked into his eyes. "I am not romantic, Mr. Tilney, and never have been. I have no fortune. I am seven and twenty, and even in the first blush of youth was never considered a beauty. I have no wish to be a burden on my father or my brothers. I desired an establishment of my own, and in spite of my personal misfortunes, one was offered to me. I am not foolish to marry Mr. Collins; I would have been foolish to have turned him away." "And someday you will be mistress of Longbourn," he said, keeping his tone neutral. "That must have been a great attraction." She shook her head impatiently. "A thousand things could prevent Mr. Collins from inheriting Longbourn. I do not consider it as certain at all. His situation at Hunsford was sufficient recommendation. I look forward to helping my husband with his duties as rector, and to having a comfortable home of my own. That is all I have ever sought." Henry had only one argument to that. "What of your heart, Miss Lucas?" "What of my heart?" She stood and turned away toward the window. "My heart cannot be indulged. I have given it where it cannot be accepted." A-ha! She IS in love, and not with Collins! "You do not know that," he said urgently, rising and following her. "This man to whom you have given your heart--is he married?" "He is not." "Then there is hope, Miss Lucas." He moved in front of her and took her hands, despite her protests. "It is not for us to question why or how we learn to love. Why did the Creator give us hearts, if not to use them? Do not disdain love, Miss Lucas, and do not disdain hope. And do not throw them away for a comfortable establishment and an unloving marriage." She lifted her eyes to his, and in that moment Henry understood everything. "Your words are wise, but it cannot be, Mr. Tilney." They gazed at one another for a moment, she offering what he was unable to accept. "Miss Lucas," he whispered. "I am so sorry. I did not know." "I took very good care that you should not know." She gave him a faint smile. "If you were not engaged, sir, I assure you that I would have made my feelings very clear. I am of the opinion that women should not hide their affection from the object of it; rather the opposite." "I regret that I cannot return your affection. My heart and my faith alike are pledged. That shall not change." "I would not have it so. That has been the most difficult part of my dilemma. Oh, I longed for you to throw over Miss Morland, to turn your affections toward me, but even if you had I could not have accepted you. Such a breach of honour would make you less than you are, less than the man who captured my heart." "I did not intend to do so, madam. I am very sorry indeed that I have injured you." "Mr. Tilney, I assure you I shall not pine. I told you that I was not romantic, and I was in earnest. Would you be surprised if I told you that I set out very purposely to attach Mr. Collins once I understood that Eliza intended to refuse his offer?" He was a little surprised, but shook his head. Charlotte continued to speak. "I am convinced that my chances of happiness with Mr. Collins are as good as they would have been with you." Henry opened his mouth to protest, but she gently covered it with her fingers. "I have seen couples violently in love who marry, and only a few years or months later their affection cools and they discover they have nothing in common. I shall enter this marriage with my eyes open. I have no illusions about Mr. Collins. However, he is a respectable man, his situation in life is unexceptionable, and has assured me that he will allow me to order the housekeeping as I think best. Many a woman has worse prospects in beginning her married life." Despite her reassurances, Henry could not be at peace with her decision. "Miss Lucas, I regret if my behaviour toward you was unguarded. If I have said anything or done anything that gave you a mistaken impression of my intentions--" "You have behaved with perfect propriety." She hesitated, then added, "I shall always remember you, Mr. Tilney. The memory of the time we have spent together will always be with me, and will always bring me pleasure. I thank you for that, sir." He gazed down at her sorrowfully and took her hands once again. "I cannot convince you to reconsider your decision?" "No, sir. My mind is quite made up." "Then there is nothing else for me to do but kiss the bride. May I?" Charlotte looked surprised, but nodded, and Henry leaned forward and kissed her on the cheek as he would his sister, gently brushing her skin with his lips. "I wish you every happiness, Charlotte." He pulled away and looked down at her. Her cheeks showed the attractive blush he had noticed before, and she gazed up at him with an expression in her eyes that made Henry think, just for a moment, that had he never met Catherine Morland his stay in Hertfordshire might have ended very differently. "Papa! Papa!" cried Lydia, running into the sitting-room, where Mr. Bennet had taken a seat by the fire, wishing to spend some time in the congenial company of his two eldest daughters while his wife was busy in her own chamber. "Mary says that I am not to read The Mystery of the Ancient Castle of the Rhine, which I have been waiting these three months to get from the circulating-library! Tell her that Kitty and I may read it!" Mary was close on her sister's heels. "Father, such books do nothing to improve the female mind. A small amount of novel reading is all very well, especially if the stories are chosen carefully for their moral content and didactic value. I have told Lydia that if she wished to read about castles on the Rhine, it would be better to peruse the journal of a learned traveler who can describe such sights in elegant and refined language that will illuminate the mind." "I do not wish to have my mind illuminated," Lydia cried stubbornly, glaring balefully at Mary. Mr. Bennet's expression reminded Elizabeth of a portrait she had seen of a martyred saint in the throes of his death pangs. "That is fortunate, child, for I fear it would be a hopeless business. Let me see the book." Lydia handed it to him, and he opened it and squinted at the pages. "I cannot read this type. Lizzy, fetch my spectacles from the top drawer of my desk in the library." Elizabeth, grateful for even a moment's escape from her squabbling sisters, obediently went into the library and to her father's desk. She smiled at the papers and books negligently piled there, eliminating any useful work space. Hill and the maids kept the rest of the house spotlessly clean and neat, but they were forbidden to touch Mr. Bennet's desk. He insisted that he knew exactly where everything was and the servants' interference only resulted in necessary papers and books being irretrievably mislaid. Indeed he was able to produce any wanted item from the desk after only a few moments' search, to the unceasing amazement of his wife. She opened the drawer and was greeted with a similar jumble, in which her father's spectacles did not immediately display themselves. Elizabeth smiled and shook her head, then began to gingerly poke and prod at the drawer's contents. She noticed a wink of gold peering through a white handkerchief wrapped round a small bundle tucked into one of the drawer's many compartments. Thinking it might be her father's spectacles, she picked up the bundle and unwrapped it, only to find a gold-framed miniature portrait of a woman she had never before seen. She stared at it for several moments, wondering why the miniature had been so carefully preserved in her father's desk drawer. Judging by the clothing, it had been painted during Elizabeth's own childhood, or not long before. Her father had no sisters, and the woman was too young to be his mother. She heard a noise and glanced up to see Mr. Bennet standing in the open library doorway, gazing at her steadily but with a touch of sorrow. "Father, who is this lady?" asked Elizabeth curiously, then added hastily, "That is, if you wish to tell me." "'tis no great secret, Lizzy." Mr. Bennet shut the door and advanced toward her. He removed the miniature from her hands and gazed at it tenderly. "This is the first Mrs. Bennet," he said softly. "My first wife." Elizabeth was all astonishment. "Father, I did not know--why have you never told me?" He glanced up at her keenly. "It is not a subject that I can speak of in front of your mother." "No, I suppose not." Elizabeth took the miniature back from her father and studied it. "She was very beautiful." "Aye, she was, and had an elegant, cultured mind and a lively temper. You remind me of her in many ways. You are named for her, you know." "Am I?" Elizabeth was rather startled to discover that this revelation pleased her. She looked at the portrait again, trying to discover why this other Elizabeth Bennet's countenance seemed so familiar, although she knew she had never seen it before. "What happened to her?" "She died of a consumption, or so the doctors said." Elizabeth looked up at her father in surprise. "You did not agree?" "No. Well, I suppose there was an infection of the lungs, but she lost the desire to live when our son was lost." "Your son? You had a son? Did he die as well?" A shadow passed over her father's face, and for a moment he looked very old. "No, Lizzy, as far as I know he is still alive. He was taken from us, and I was unable to find him." "Taken from you? How dreadful!" She stared at the miniature and felt sorrow for the pretty, delicate woman depicted there. "But that means--I have a brother?" "Aye, you do. He would be six and twenty now. His name is Thomas." "Thomas. My brother Thomas." Elizabeth turned over the idea in her mind. A brother! "Oh, Father, if you could find him now, it would be so wonderful! You would have someone to help you with the estate--" "And someone to assist me in ending the entail so that you and your sisters should have dowries." Elizabeth blushed. "I was not thinking of that." Mr. Bennet smiled at her and brushed an errant curl away from her face. "No, dearest Lizzy, you would not. But I was thinking of it, and often do." He sighed heavily. "I often think about finding Thomas, for my own selfish sake as well as yours and your sisters', but after all these years I fear it would be impossible." "What was he like?" she asked. She tried to picture a younger version of her father, tall and dark-haired and intelligent and cynical. An imperfectly-formed idea played about the corners of her mind, but she was unable to grasp it; it teased, it advanced, it retreated, but it never revealed itself to her, and at last she reluctantly allowed it to escape. "I cannot give you that information. He was still an infant when he was taken from us. A little more than three months old." Her father's expression wrenched her heart. "Oh, Father, forgive me! I did not mean to make you sad." "It does not make me sad to remember young Thomas." He touched her chin. "And I still have my Lizzy, who is a constant joy to me." Elizabeth impulsively embraced her father and kissed his cheek. He held her for a moment, then said, "There now, child, go out to your sisters." She obeyed with a smile, knowing that her father was uncomfortable with excessive displays of emotion but never doubting his affection. At the door she paused for a moment and glanced back at him; he stood by the desk, gazing down at the miniature with a sad, loving smile. Continued in Next Chapter ~ Table of Contents By A Lady Comment on this story Home ~ Site Map ~ Contact Original Images and Content Copyright © 2002 by Margaret C. Sullivan. All Rights Reserved.