A Splendidly (Un)suitable Match, Chapters 1-3

9 Things Forget Me Not, Elizabeth Tau... A New Regency Romantic Comedy!

A Splendidly (Un)suitable Match, Chapters 1-3

CHAPTER 1

Darcy brushed the sweat trickling down his cheek, the folded messages sliding against the lining in his waistcoat pocket propelling him to Matlock House.
It was a rare occurrence for Darcy to receive correspondence from his relatives when they lived walking distance from his own residence. They preferred simply to call.
One note on any day was unusual. Two notes on the same day was disconcerting. To receive one from his aunt, followed by another summons a quarter of an hour later from his uncle, was alarming.
Picking up his pace, Darcy ran down the damp sidewalk, his boots slapping against the wet pavement and marring their polish.
A long string of grand houses lined one side of the street facing the park, the grass vibrant green against the dull gray sky. His uncle’s house was on the corner, five bays wide, the whitewashed stucco overwhelmed by the gloomy weather threatening to break yet again.
The first drops pelted against Darcy’s hat just as he reached the bottom step.
The butler flung open the painted black door, taking Darcy’s hat and gloves. “His Lordship is expecting you, sir.” Despite Perkins’ decades of experience repressing emotion into a tone of bland indifference, Darcy heard his relief and felt it with the efficiency with which the butler relieved him of his damp hat and greatcoat.
Apprehension rippled through Darcy. The situation must be dreadful if the servants were uneasy.
A shadow fell over the marble from behind him, and the squeak of wet boots slipping on the slick floor and the subsequent, “Thunder ‘an turf!” identified the newcomer before Darcy turned to see Charles Bingley, arms flailing to catch his balance.
“You got the summons as well?” No sooner had Bingley uttered his question than the obvious answer struck him. He grimaced. “Of course you did. The colonel must be in a proper fit of the blue devils.”
Darcy grimaced. He had warned Richard, but his cousin had refused to listen. And now, here they were….
Bingley babbled, betraying his nerves with senseless chatter. “I am horribly ill-equipped to be of any help. Really, I have no experience when too often I am the one in the suds and in need of your and the colonel’s counsel to bail me out. But if Lord and Lady Matlock consider my presence necessary, I will do what is within my power to do. However little that may prove to be. Not that I am completely useless.” He shoved his hands through his hair. “But — dash it all, Darcy — I had hoped to be celebrating with the colonel. Not this.”
Far from senseless, Bingley had hit the mark squarely on the nose, and Darcy was reminded to give his younger friend more credit. Bingley had matured a great deal since those simpler days when he, Richard, and Darcy spent their summers away from Eton between Matlock and Pemberley. Richard, being the oldest, had been in his final year, whereas Bingley was in his first — the son of a man who had made his fortune manufacturing cotton in the North, shorter and skinnier than the other boys, and possessing the unfortunate tendency to blush at the slightest provocation. While the importance of choosing one’s associates meticulously had been ingrained into Darcy since birth, his sense of justice did not allow for him to turn a blind eye to his peers’ bullying of the newcomer. He had been quick to agree when Richard suggested that they extend Bingley their protection and friendship, elevating him to acceptability through their association.
Quick to draw right conclusions. Quick to act. That was Richard. It felt odd to be here for his sake. He should have been able to see what had been painfully evident to Darcy.
Aunt Helen descended the stairs, her lips thin and her eyes strained. “Thank you for coming, boys.” The tenderness with which she addressed them made Darcy feel like a stripling.
He took her hands in his. “How is he?”
Her lips disappeared completely. “As well as a gentleman in his place would be. It is your uncle’s wish, as well as mine, that you both exercise some influence over him. Especially you, Bingley.”
Bingley’s jaw dropped. “M-me? I mean, if you are certain — It is only that — Are you sure you mean me?”
She patted his arm. “It is not my custom to misspeak.”
He colored. “Of course not. It is only that I cannot recollect any occasion in which anyone at all has sought the benefit of my advice. Not one.”
With the overbearing sisters Bingley had, Darcy was not surprised. It was amazing he had managed to form any opinions of his own at all without one of them harping on him to change it.
Lowering her voice, Aunt said, “I hope you will not take offense, but I was under the impression that you have suffered more than one heartbreak and, therefore, are in an excellent position to help my Richard.”
Bingley brightened considerably, his chest puffed in pride. “If I am an expert in anything, it is in falling in and out of love.”
Calf love, Darcy considered. He gladly yielded to Bingley’s expertise. Darcy would not give his heart until he was certain the lady not only suited him perfectly but also returned his affection (based on his own merits and not those which his wealth, position, and connections would guarantee her).
“Precisely,” said Aunt, holding her hands out for them to take and walking up the stairs like a queen between her bodyguards. “I am convinced that Richard’s attachment was more fanciful than genuine — you know how impulsive he can be — and I am counting on you boys to convince him not to waste any more time on a coquette beneath his touch.”
The coquette, in this instance, was Miss Arabella Honeyfield, the beauty of the season with a string of beaus vying for her hand. There was a reason she remained unmarried, but Richard would not hear anything against her. Affection had muddled his brain, eclipsed his sense. Darcy’s warning had ended in a quarrel, and even now that his point had been irrevocably proved, he took no delight in it. Richard was too good a man to fall for a flighty, senseless miss. Better to cry a thousand tears now than weep one’s regret for a lifetime.
They passed Uncle Matlock’s study — where the best brandy and whiskey in the house could be found.
His aunt must be taking them to the billiard room. Darcy took a deep breath, preparing himself for the stench of cigar smoke and the unsightly clutter of empty bottles, decanters, and glasses.
Aunt Helen breezed by the billiard room without so much as a glance.
Darcy sucked in a breath. Was Richard so foxed he could not find his way out of bed? Added to the image of whiskey-rimmed tumblers staining tables were untouched trays of food in a dark, stuffy room. He took another deep breath as they neared Richard’s bedchamber door.
But Aunt Helen passed it by without a pause.
Where was she taking them?
Bingley caught Darcy’s glance, eyes wide with uncertainty. Darcy could only shrug.
Finally, Aunt Helen stopped in front of the library. It was the last room in which Darcy would have suspected his cousin to seek solace. Richard was more of a man of action than of books. And yet, that was the door before which they stood. Gripping her hand around the knob, Aunt said, “He has not left this room in five days,” then pushed open the oak barrier.
No bottles. No decanters. No glasses. Not so much as a tea tray was visible. Only a leather wingback chair surrounded by tables toppling with towers of tomes. And in the middle sat Richard — neck deep in books.

CHAPTER 2

“Goodness me,” Bingley whispered in a hushed library voice.
Darcy was equally astonished. He tilted his head to the side to read the titles — philosophy and military strategy padded with pamphlets of sermons and narrow tomes on etiquette. Themes much too diverse to tell him anything.
He pondered his cousin’s appearance. There was a wildness to Richard’s hair and unclipped whiskers, but he did not appear unhinged.
Aunt Helen touched Darcy’s shoulder. “I will be in my sitting room if you need me.” Her eyes remained trained on her second son, her soft singsong the same tone Darcy used to calm a riled dog.
At the sound of his mother’s voice, Richard looked up. Dark circles rimmed his red eyes. Bingley, too, gasped at the shadow of a man before them. One glance, and Darcy understood his aunt and uncle’s urgency.
Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam had always been a model of vitality and exuberance, as quick to stand up in a fight as he was quick to laugh, the first to adapt and advance. He was a favorite at the dinner table, his conversation lively and emotive. A man highly respected by his subordinates in the army — certainly not the sort to lose all sense of his surroundings or allow for anyone to sneak up on him lest he wanted a pistol trained on his person. Darcy did not know this disheveled book enthusiast hiding behind walls of theories, manners, and stratagems.
Stepping forward cautiously, Darcy spoke as softly as his aunt had. “Good afternoon, Rich.” What did a person say to a man undone? “I trust you are in good health?” He pinched his lips closed before he could utter anything else so stupid.
Richard snapped the book in his hands closed, jabbing the cover with his thick finger, his cheeks feverish and his words rushed. “It is all here, Darcy. All the wisdom of the world distilled through the centuries from the greatest minds of the past.”
Bingley stepped closer, curiosity getting the better of him. “Have you found the secret of happiness? The purpose of life? The key to understanding women? Or how to best Darcy at a game of poker?”
A sly smile gave Darcy a promising glimpse of his steady cousin. “Until you learn to master your emotions as he has done, you would do well not to waste your time in that endeavor, Bingley. And, no, I found no such other treasures of wisdom, however I found the next best thing — a slip of paper with our dearly-departed-and-sorely-missed Cook’s recipe for plum cake.”
Darcy’s gaze roved over every surface for a glimpse of that slip of paper. His aunt’s Cook’s plum cake was as great a source of happiness as anything else Darcy had experienced in his lifetime.
“I can only imagine an under-cook copied it and hid it in one of the pamphlets to retrieve later,” Richard added, stretching his legs out in front of him. “You know how closely Cook guarded her receipts.”
Darcy did. In the fifteen years since her passing, he had yet to sample her cake’s equal. And he had sampled many.
Shaking his head at himself, Darcy pulled his attention away from the promise of plum cake and turned it back to the grieving cousin he was supposed to recall to his senses.
Bingley rubbed his chin. “I remember the cake well and declare that one slice would fill me with enough contentment to last the rest of my life. A man would be happy with a woman who could bake like her.”
Darcy considered that Bingley was altogether too easy to please. Left to his own devices, he would engage Richard in a discussion of food, avoiding the issue for which they were summoned to Matlock House and making their stomachs miserable with hunger.
He motioned to the buttress of books surrounding Richard. “I see you are deepening your intellect. Have you found any information of use?”
Richard shoved his fingers through his hair, the feverish expression heightening the color in his cheeks. “You strictly adhere to the strictures with which we were raised, Darcy. Your judgment has been impeccable, and while I have always wished you would relax and enjoy the advantages you have been born into, I now understand why you are the way you are … especially in new society.”
Darcy raised his eyebrows, intrigued at his cousin’s newly gained insight.
Bingley scratched his head. “Taciturn?” He startled, coloring as he realized he had spoken his thought aloud, and added hastily, “Not with us, mind you. Merely, I have noticed how…” He waved his hand in the air like one attempting to conjure an elusive word.
“Cautious,” Richard supplied.
“Precisely!” Bingley said, snapping his fingers. “You are magnificently cautious … er, around new acquaintances.”
Darcy had no desire to be the means by which Richard would distract them. “Come, Richard. My character is neither so interesting nor complex to merit five days’ study. Your mother and father are worried. This is not like you.”
Richard leaned back with a groan. “I fear there is something inherently wrong with me, Darce. I have lived resourcefully, saving every extra penny to invest in the percents. It has always been my firm belief that my sacrifice would be rewarded with a comfortable establishment, and once I secured that, with a loving wife with whom to share it.”
“A reasonable expectation, and one you are hardly at fault for holding.”
“Ah, but it is not enough, is it?” Richard said with an edge. “Even with my recent good fortune inheriting my uncle’s estate, the lady would not have me.”
“Her loss, certainly not yours.”
Bingley nodded vehemently. “I cannot imagine why any lady would refuse you. You are a jolly chap. Normally. Under better circumstances.”
“I am not wealthy, and while I am the son of an earl, I will not inherit the title. And no one would consider me handsome.”
Darcy opened his mouth to object, as did Bingley, but Richard raised his hand to silence them. “All circumstances beyond my power to change fully, and I assure you that I do not resent them. Harry can have the title and all the responsibilities that come with it. His time will never be his own, and I consider the money and properties poor compensation. No, gentlemen, what I have to offer a lady is only myself.” He sighed. “And I have been forced to see that I am not suitable enough to tempt a lady into matrimony.”
“If a lady loves you, sincerely and truly, she will accept you for who you are with no need for change.”
“We will have to agree to disagree on that point, Darcy. My character is the one thing I have in my power to change, and change it, I must. I will.”
“To what? Your character is exemplary and agreeable on all accounts.” Darcy would not have Richard alter his nature for the world … and most certainly not for an indecisive female who senselessly refused a man who would have done anything to make her happy. Fool woman.
His agitation heightened, Darcy forgot he had asked a question until Richard replied.
“I aim to be more like you.”
Darcy’s mouth opened, but no words, not even breath, passed his lips. A deep sense of foreboding sucked the air out of his lungs, such a dread he could not explain. He took great pride in his dignified character, so why did it chafe his consciousness for Richard to adopt his manner? He only knew he did not wish it.
The door to the library swung open, and the swishing skirts and padding slippers announced the arrival of Harriet, Richard’s youngest sister. Darcy’s only sister, Georgiana, followed behind her, making no noise at all.
Harriet flicked a wayward curl over her shoulder, her voice equally flippant. “Is he still a gloomy philosopher, casting his melancholy net over those of us who wish to meet with greater success for our upcoming first season, or is he the older brother I know and adore?”
Richard made a face. “Not gloomy, only awakened to my faults. I trust I will soon resume my place in your affection, Harriet.”
She shrugged. “There is a glimpse of my favorite brother, at least. Mr. Bingley’s influence, I trust?” Smiling at him, she added, “It is difficult to persist in an unhappy manner when in the company of your most affable friend.”
She did not so much as glance at Darcy. What was he — a surly ogre? He tried not to let it bother him, but it did. Surely, Aunt and Uncle would not have called for his assistance unless they thought he would have an uplifting effect on Richard.
Bingley sat taller in his chair, the light of a brilliant idea shining in his face. “I have just the thing! What you need is to leave dreary London. Why do you not join me at Netherfield Park? The fields are favorable for riding, and the hunting, the bailiff assures me, is excellent. Come, Richard, Darcy, bring your sisters and accept my invitation. We shall make a merry party, and you will soon forget your troubles.”
Harriet immediately declined. “Just because that fluff-brained nitwit refused my brother’s offer—”
A shadow crossed Richard’s face, and the muscles at his jaw twitched.
“I can see you would defend her still, but I will call her what she is,” Harriet continued. “One Fitzwilliam’s failure does not condemn me when I am determined I shall meet with greater success. If I am to marry by the end of the year, I would do better to stay where I am more easily caught.”
“Do not say that, I beg you, Harriet,” Georgiana said quietly. “Just because you do not feel his heartbreak does not make it any less real.”
Darcy encouraged her boldness with a smile, knowing how difficult it was for her to speak at all, and much less about the heart. She was so young, not quite sixteen, but Georgiana knew heartbreak. If Darcy ever needed a reminder of the value of honesty and loyalty, he had only to think of George Wickham — breaker of innocent hearts, dasher of dreams, charming prince of deception.
Darcy caught Richard’s look, and from the stiffness in his cousin’s posture, Darcy understood that he too thought of their foe.
Impervious to the tension in the room, Harriet laughed. “Do not allow me to put a damper on your fun. Please, Mr. Bingley, take my brother away. At least, remove him from the library where he has been camped the better part of this week. I daresay he could use a good airing out.”
Before Darcy could refuse, Aunt Helen breezed into the library. Clapping her hands, she said, “I knew you boys would know precisely what to do.”
Uncle Matlock followed behind her, his hands clasped behind his back and a smile peeking through his thick whiskers.
Between his aunt and uncle’s visible relief, the anticipation growing in Georgiana’s face, and the way Richard rose to stand behind one of the towers of books on the table as though it might protect him from the other occupants in the room, Darcy’s decision was swift.
He dared not speak for Richard, but he trusted Georgiana’s influence would persuade his cousin.
Looking over at Bingley, Darcy nodded. “I am pleased to accept your invitation.”
Bingley beamed. “Excellent! We depart on the morrow.”
“Jolly good!” exclaimed Uncle Matlock. Leveling a more somber look at his son and niece, he added, “I suggest you begin packing.”
Once again, Darcy found himself dashing down Upper Brook Street as though Bingley’s sister Caroline was chasing him. Had he given any consideration to himself, he would not have accepted Bingley’s invitation. The threat of months in Miss Bingley’s company was enough to set Darcy’s teeth on edge. But Aunt and Uncle Matlock were happy, Richard was out of the library, and Georgiana seemed content. He would endure Miss Bingley and the onslaught of new acquaintances they were bound to meet in Hertfordshire.

CHAPTER 3

Elizabeth Bennet set her novel aside when her dearest friend, Charlotte Lucas, was announced. Rising to her feet and taking Charlotte’s hands, Elizabeth pulled her over to the corner where she and her eldest sister, Jane, attempted to escape the usual ruckus and mayhem created by their vociferous mother and younger sisters inside Longbourn’s drawing room.
“This is a pleasant surprise, Charlotte. Do you have news?” Elizabeth settled beside her friend on the settee.
Charlotte glanced about, lowering her voice so that Elizabeth and Jane leaned closer to hear.
“I do have news — of the best kind.” Another glance about the room. Elizabeth had to read her lips to understand her now. “I was fortunate enough to be near my father when my brother asked about the gentleman at Netherfield Park.”
Jane smiled dreamily, leaning forward to look at Charlotte. “How did Sir William describe Mr. Bingley?”
Glancing around the room once again to ensure they were not being overheard, Elizabeth noticed her sisters fighting over ribbons while their mother absentmindedly plucked at a piece of plum cake, no doubt dreaming of a pack of unmarried gentlemen who would come marching into Meryton to sweep her daughters off their feet, carrying them away from Longbourn and out of her anxious concern.
Elizabeth had hoped her father would call on the recently arrived gentleman who had only recently let Netherfield Park, but Mr. Bingley had returned to London to fetch the rest of his family, and her own father delighted in avoiding the question when Mother, Elizabeth, or any of her other four sisters pressed him for an answer.
She understood his humor well enough to know he would not reveal what he had or had not done until he could extract the greatest amount of vexation from it from Mama. Thus, he stood to benefit more fully from Mama’s attention and favor when he finally revealed that he had, in fact, not overlooked his fatherly duty entirely by doing what he could to advance the prospects of his five unmarried daughters.
While Elizabeth appreciated his cleverness, she would never understand why he played these games. Papa took too much pleasure in vexing Mama. Mama, in turn, took great pleasure in being vexed. And Elizabeth had long ago drawn the conclusion that if she were to have any advantage at all in her life, or be of any help to her sisters, she would have to be the one responsible for it. Not her father. Certainly not her mother.
All this, Elizabeth thought before Charlotte replied, “My father professes Mr. Bingley to be everything a gentleman ought to be. As I could extract neither a description of his person nor a more thorough account of his character, I must rely on my knowledge of my father’s most highly held virtues and thus conclude that Mr. Bingley is jolly, attentive, and familiar with St. James.” She pressed her lips closed, her eyes dancing impishly. Charlotte had a tremendously under-appreciated sense of humor. It was one of her features Elizabeth most loved, besides her infallible reason.
She teased in turn, “In other words, Sir William managed to establish an acquaintance with a gentleman in which he learned nothing of advantage or import.”
Charlotte laughed. “Certainly nothing helpful to us unmarried females. Did Mr. Bennet do no better?”
Jane sighed. “He remains maddeningly silent on the subject.”
“You? Mad?” Charlotte asked in feigned shock.
The three ladies eventually fell silent, and Elizabeth imagined their thoughts had all taken the same turn. She dearly wished to know what Mr. Bingley looked like, or, more important, if his presence at Netherfield Park would improve their society … or their prospects.
But Sir William was not one to fix on such details, and her father was not one to share them if he had.
Charlotte sat back, cleverly changing the topic before their alternate whispers and silence drew unwanted attention from the other side of the room. “Delayed expectations aside, our new neighbor appears by all means to be a generous sort who will not refuse to widen his circle of acquaintance. And he mentioned his intention to invite more friends over the course of the hunting season.”
Elizabeth’s heart lightened considerably. “How considerate of Mr. Bingley to bring friends. I pray for his sake that he brings enough to satisfy our mothers, although for myself, I am inclined to agree with Sir William and declare him to be the finest gentleman to set foot in all of Hertfordshire.”
Jane looked down at her feet, struggling to control her smile. A lovely blush brightened her cheeks. Gentlemen were scarce in their limited society, and while they both were several years younger than Charlotte — and, therefore, had time enough to find matches — neither of them could afford not to recognize an opportunity when it was presented to them. They had a pittance of a dowry, an entailed estate, an undistinguished family, two sisters whose wild tendencies caused them no little concern, and few enough accomplishments of the sort society expected of the landed gentry. Their mother, ever optimistic when she was not wallowing in the depths of despair, held out high hopes for them to marry advantageously, but she had done precious little to prepare them for such a splendid match.
Had the bearer of their good news been anyone but Charlotte, Elizabeth might have let her heart soar higher at the brilliant prospect before them. But Charlotte, at the ripe age of seven and twenty, had made no secret of the burden she felt herself to be to her family … and her determination to accept the first man who favored her with an offer of marriage. Elizabeth’s heart sank with a heavy drop. She hated to think of her friend settling for anyone less than what she deserved — a gentleman who would cherish her and make her feel beautiful and appreciate her humor and treat her well.
“What do you wish for in a husband?” Elizabeth asked, hoping Charlotte would say more than a secure establishment.
Charlotte replied instantly, “I only wish to be asked. I am not romantic and require very little. Only a modest home to manage. Nothing grand, just comfortable.” Her smile was thin and her eyes dull. Was that what the threat of being shelved did? Dull dreams and extinguish hope, thus stealing a lady’s spark?
While Elizabeth prayed she and Jane were spared such a cruel end, she wished to spare Charlotte from an unhappy, unsuitable union.
Charlotte tilted her head toward Jane. “I hold the highest expectation of you marrying very well, Jane, and I am convinced you will be happy with whichever gentleman you choose to marry. Such is your gentle, forgiving nature.”
Jane’s only disadvantage was a lack of suitable gentlemen in a position to propose. Her blush deepened over her porcelain skin. “I should very much like to fall in love with the gentleman I accept,” she whispered, as though her wish was too outrageous to speak aloud. Knowing Jane, she thought her desire selfish.
“Only do not be so shy in displaying your affection,” Charlotte counseled. “We know your nature, but most gentlemen are insecure creatures in need of reassurance. You must not allow for him to doubt the depth of your attachment.”
“You cannot expect Jane to flirt,” Elizabeth gasped.
Charlotte pursed her lips. “That is not at all what I mean, Lizzy, and you ought to know it. I only mean to point out that those of a shy disposition are too often understood as aloof or indifferent.”
What her astute friend said was probably true, but Elizabeth frowned at the care a lady had to take, at the unfairness to their gender. “I know we must do our duty to our families, but I cannot help but lament the disadvantages we must overcome if we are to marry for love and not merely for convenience or, worse, lack of any other option.” She took Jane’s and Charlotte’s hands into her own. “Both of you are more likely to place everyone else’s desires above your own. More than anything, I want to see you both happily settled, united with gentlemen you deeply love.”
“You often say that you will not be persuaded to marry at all unless it is for the deepest love, but you cannot truly mean it, Lizzy? Can you?” asked Jane.
“Why should we marry for anything less?”
Charlotte arched her brow. “What would a gentleman require to persuade you to marry?”
Elizabeth’s smile spread over her face. “Only that he be devastatingly handsome and disgustingly rich,” she teased.
Charlotte’s sharp eyes examined Elizabeth. “Balderdash. That is what you say, but we all know your tendency to favor the disadvantaged and wronged. You would sooner fall in love with a poor foot soldier than a wealthy gentleman, no matter how much we wish otherwise.”
“Or a gentleman denied his inheritance or tricked out of his fortune,” added Jane.
Elizabeth laughed. They knew her too well.
Charlotte continued, “Furthermore, you are far too clever by half and independent to a fault.”
Jane nodded. “No ordinary gentleman will do.”
“An extraordinary gentleman, then? Does such a man exist?” Elizabeth teased.
“He would have to satisfy your intellect and fill your heart, otherwise you would soon grow bored of him.” Charlotte sighed. “Really, Lizzy, I pity you.”
Clasping her hands over her heart, Elizabeth failed completely in keeping her high humor out of her voice. “When you put it so plainly, Charlotte, I am absolutely doomed! I suppose there is nothing left for me to do but accept my lot. If Jane is bound to marry to save our family, and you are determined to marry the first man who proposes, then I declare I shall marry a perspicacious … and penniless … pauper.”
Jane looked askance at her. “Marry a pauper if you must, only do not marry an officer.”
Elizabeth giggled, leaning in conspiratorially to keep her voice low. “Never that! We would hear of nothing but red coats and brass buttons for years to come. Mother would praise me, and Lydia and Kitty would become so jealous they would not rest until they have secured impoverished officers of their own. Poor Papa would never have any peace.”
Charlotte took a deep breath, shaking her head as she exhaled. “We must face the harsh truth, ladies. Unless the right gentlemen come to us, there is little else we can do to improve our prospects. We would sooner strike a deal with Napoleon himself and end the war. I hate to agree with you, Lizzy, but we are all three of us doomed to snatch up whomever we might. Jane, I have no doubt, shall fare the best of us, for I truly cannot envision any other ending but the happiest for someone so sweet-natured. I would do well to marry a clergyman, whom I will encourage to attend generously to his parishioners and his garden, leaving me free to make our cottage as comfortable as his modest income will allow. And you, Lizzy are bound to surprise us all by marrying either exceedingly poorly or exceedingly well.”
“And be accused of marrying above myself? I would rather not,” Elizabeth scoffed. “All the sideways glances from people who would assume the worst of me, who would gossip amongst themselves that I had bewitched him with my cunning manipulative arts. I would rather marry a gentleman with no prospects, or, as you so eloquently put it, a penniless poet or philosopher.”
“How terribly prejudiced of you, Lizzy. Really, though, if you must choose between the two”—Charlotte said dryly—”then I beg you to consider the disadvantaged son over the impoverished wordsmith. There is no quicker way to kill a stout love than with an empty stomach and an earful of bad poetry.”
They laughed at their situation, making light of their prospects because they were powerless to do anything more. Too much — their happiness, well-being, security, their very freedom — rested solely on their ability to marry advantageously. Elizabeth hated the unfairness of it. She hated the desperation wrapping its cold fingers around her stomach and stealing her breath. And she hated how her expectations rose just like everyone else’s at the thought of Mr. Bingley and the company he might bring with him to Netherfield Park.