Page 40 of Miss Bennet's Dragon
I prodded my intact,finny bream through a slow circle on my plate. Ever since that unexplained splashing in the river, fish seemed much less innocent. Even when smoked.
It had been eight weeks since Mary and I suggested the blacksmith project to our father. After some daughterly cajoling, he was enthusiastic. I was rather proud of that. It was good to have a success, for I had made no progress in my draca research over the last two months.
I poked my fork into the fish and made the tail wiggle. One darkened, dried eye observed me, unamused.
Such huge splashes could not have been bream. Even Mr. Darcy agreed. I vividly remembered him saying so while he dangled me above the grass. Thinking of that, I experimentally grabbed my own sides. His hands were much broader than mine.
“Jane, darling,” our mother said. “You must eat something. You are skin and bones.”
“Yes, Mamma,” Jane said and put a flake of fish in her mouth.
Jane’s mood had darkened these two months, and it frightened me. She tossed at night, then rose so exhausted that her head nodded while our maid did her hair. Her face, now pensive and quiet, had thinned. Silence from Mr. Bingley had ground away whatever hopes she held—and mine for her as well,although I would never admit that. But even as one bright future faded, she seemed caught, unable to return to her prior happiness.
“I amonlybones. I shalldieof despair!” moaned Kitty.
Yesterday, we learned the Meryton militia regiment was moving to Brighton to be closer to the French threat. Many ladies, including Kitty, considered this a calamity. I would miss a few friends, but I was relieved that Mr. Wickham was leaving.
Lydia was eating with an almost smug expression. My eyebrows narrowed as she beheaded her bream.
The footman entered with a letter on his tray. “Miss Elizabeth Bennet. An express, from Mrs. Collins.”
I recognized Charlotte’s hand, although her married name was new. Their wedding had been two days ago at Mr. Collins’s parish on the Rosings estate, south of London and almost fifty miles from Longbourn. That was far enough that I had not attended—or that was my excuse. Since the engagement, our letters had become reserved and stiff. The loss of intimacy hurt. I was not sure how to restore it.
“How rude!” said mother. “Crowing about her wedding by express. Lady Lucas has been eyeing my property ever since the engagement. They are a most vulgar, grasping family.” In my mother’s world, Charlotte and Lady Lucas had replaced Mr. Collins as chief villains.
But Charlotte would never crow about her wedding.
I said, “Excuse me,” and went outside to our park.
It was January and cold, even on a sunny afternoon. I stood on the gravel walk behind our house, feeling the chill on my neck, and opened the letter, dated yesterday:
“Dear Lizzy, I wished to write privately with news. You will hear publicly soon enough.
Mr. Collins and I have failed to bind a draca.
That is so little to write but so confusing in practice. Mr. Collins hunted for draca outside our house this morning, even roaming through Rosings Park and searching the attic. He found nothing.
I was not surprised, for reasons I shall not write, and you know I wasalways ambivalent about binding. But I am most worried for the response of Lady Catherine, who has formidable opinions on all things marriage and domestic.
I am also relieved, for the guilt of my situation with respect to Longbourn has preyed greatly on my mind. Oh, but I am upset as well, for I fear it will be difficult here.
Very affectionately, Charlotte”
“Lizzy?” Jane asked, stopping beside me.
“Please do not tell Mamma,” I said slowly, my mind racing, “but the Collinses have failed to bind.”
“Oh. Poor Charlotte!”
“Yes.” Even though some dismissed binding as archaic, it was a pillar of standing among landed gentry. As gentry herself, Charlotte would retain the honorificwyfe, but it was a distressing loss of status, and Mr. Collins had been eager for that prestige. “Jane, I should visit her. I feel terrible that she is in unfamiliar company, and I did not bother to travel a few days to attend her wedding. That was selfish.”
“I am certain she would welcome you. Although, perhaps you should not go immediately, or there will be gossip that it is you who are crowing.”
“I shall write immediately, though.” I turned to her. “What does it mean for the entailment?”
“It is unexpected.” Jane’s lips pursed, and I was relieved to see her attention caught. She seemed so adrift otherwise. “It has always been Mr. Collins who would inherit. But he cannot if he is not bound. It will be the next male heir, I suppose.”
I led us into the house. Papa was still at dinner, his library open, so I retrieved a document with the Longbourn entailment.
