Page 31 of Miss Bennet's Dragon
“I do not believe it,” I said. “Not Mr. Bingley. Or if he is angry, it is not with you. He loves you too much.”
At that, Jane finally began to cry, and I comforted her a long time before we slept.
But, when the morning sun lit our window, I was optimistic and told her so. Jane had done nothing wrong. And I was certain I knew Mr. Bingley’s feelings. What harm could the ruffled pride of his sister achieve?
We went down to breakfast and found my sisters, my mother, and Mr. Collins. Only my father was missing, having requested a tray in his library. Hiding, in other words.
Mary was red-eyed but resolute. Mamma and Mr. Collins were fidgety and silent—a relief, but peculiar.
Mamma ate a single bite of toast, then stood. “Come girls! I want you upstairs.” I rose, but she said, “No, Lizzy. I insist you stay.” Mystified, I watched them troop out the doorway.
As Mary passed, she bent and whispered fiercely in my ear, “Do not surrender!”
Surrender what? If they were not back soon, I would have to eat breakfast alone with Mr. Collins. Surrender my sanity, most likely.
With a sigh, I prepared for a most dull morning.
To the empty room, Mr. Collins stridently announced, “Miss Elizabeth Bennet!”
I jumped a foot. “Yes?” I said, then tried, “I am… here?”
“You can hardly doubt the purport of my discourse,” he said with great enthusiasm. “My attentions have been too marked to be mistaken!”
The only object of marked attention I saw was the piece of toast he was waving in one hand. The butter was already beside him, so I moved the marmalade within reach, achieving the last two inches by pushing with an extended finger, for he was not seated very close.
“My dear Miss Elizabeth, your modesty only adds to your other perfections!”
My mouth fell open in complete astonishment, and he continued:
“Almost as soon as I entered this house, I singled you out as the companion of my future life! But perhaps it would be advisable for me to state my reasons for marrying—and, moreover, for coming to Hertfordshire to select a wyfe.”
A wyfe? Just in time, I realized I must not laugh, so I clapped a hand over my lips. But that prevented any attempt to stop him, and he was off again.
“My reasons for marrying are…first, it is a right thing for every clergyman…”
He continued in this vein, but I was now reviewing his visit in my mind. Had I given the slightest impression of interest in marriage? He paid more attention to me than my sisters, but I had attributed that to a clergyman’s effort to reform the worst of the lot.
“…as I am to inherit this estate after the death of your honored father, I resolved to choose a wyfe from among his daughters, that the loss might be lessened when the melancholy event takes place…”
Oh.
If I said yes, and we bound a draca, Longbourn would be secured for my family.
The import sank in. My mother’s behavior. And Mary’s warnings. What an idiot I was not to anticipate this.
I rolled that back and forth for a few minutes. I was practiced at ignoring Mr. Collins, so his endless monologue was no distraction.
I could never marry Mr. Collins. I should rather be a maid to support my destitute family. But what if my parents insisted? Perhaps I could accompany Mary and drag her harpsichord across the American plains.
“… andthird… although perhaps, I should have stated this first… so,first!Lady Catherine de Bourgh, as mistress of the most exalted draconian breed, a wyvern—”
“Lady Catherine has awyvern?” I interrupted.
He came to a stumbling stop. I could not blame him for being surprised. I had said nothing thus far. I suppose, as a preacher, he could sermonize for an hour even if I were asleep.
“Her ladyship, indeed, has a wyvern,” he answered.
“Is she not widowed?”
