Love and Laughter Page 11

  “What I wish to correct is my behavior. I asked you to marry me while feeling the arrogant confidence that you were waiting for my addresses, and it was only afterward that I realized my pretensions at pleasing a woman such as yourself were entirely insufficient. I would like the opportunity to improve upon my previous efforts, though I hardly think I could do worse.”

  “Are you asking for a courtship?” asked Elizabeth, her voice a little shaky.

  “If you are willing. If you are not ready for such a step, then I merely wish for the opportunity to call upon you. I will withdraw at any point you decide against me, I assure you.”

  The revelations of the past hour had badly hurt Elizabeth’s equanimity, and she felt entirely unequal to the task of responding with any sort of coherent intelligence. But one thing she knew was that there was no indifference in her feelings for this man. Whatever they consisted of—from the time of their first acquaintance to the present—they had always been alive, passionate. The question was: could that passionate dislike which had comprised her initial feelings be transformed into the passionate love which she desired in a marriage partner?

  In that moment, something shifted within her. Looking into the blue depths of his eyes, seeing his earnest look, his slight fidget which announced his nervousness, Elizabeth found herself mesmerized. She was not able to interpret her feelings for this man any more than she had been able to only minutes before. What she did know was that it truly did not matter at present. Such an earnest man could not be denied such a simple request, and though she had scarcely given him credit for any good quality in the past, she now knew that she would welcome the opportunity to know more of him indeed. Think only of the past as its remembrance gives you pleasure. It was a maxim by which she was determined to live in the future.

  The thought that a future might contain an alliance with the intriguing Mr. Darcy was now a thought to look upon with anticipation. And Elizabeth anticipated it very much.

  The End

  A Mawkish Proposal

  by

  Lelia Eye

  This story was born from a short story challenge that Jann and I did with each other. It was yet another exploration of the foolishness that is Mr. Collins. The title was inspired, of course, by Jonathan Swift’s “A Modest Proposal.” While the idea of marrying Mr. Collins may not be on quite the same level as the idea of selling children to eat as food, certainly the great distastefulness of them both cannot be ignored!

  Why are you so glum, Papa?”

  Mr. Bennet looked up from his desk to see his second-eldest daughter standing in the doorway of his library. She bore a look of concern on her face, and her question seemed to have been made in earnest. Though she was only ten years of age, he knew she was in possession of superior faculties of understanding, and so he brought himself to answer her honestly.

  “It is this letter,” responded Mr. Bennet, waving the offensive piece of paper in the air for emphasis. “My cousin seems to be of the desire to effect a reconciliation between us.”

  “Is that not good, Papa?” asked his favorite daughter cautiously.

  “No, it is not. You see, Lizzy, because I do not have a son, my estate is to be entailed to my cousin.” He paused thoughtfully and amended: “Well, likely to his son, William. The elder Mr. Collins is not strong of body, and I suspect his time upon this earth grows short.” He turned his eyes back down to the letter. “The very fact that he is coming here means he believes there will never be a male heir to prevent his son from attaining Longbourn when I die.” He closed his eyes, a pained expression coming over his face. “And I am afraid he is correct. I have doomed all of you, Lizzy. If I had only commenced financial preparations long before now—”

  “Oh, Papa!” exclaimed Elizabeth. “Jane and I can take care of everyone. She is so handsome, and I am sure she will marry someone with a great fortune. Surely she shall help us all!”

  Her father opened his eyes and gave her a weak smile. “You are such a fine girl, Lizzy. You will certainly find a worthy husband yourself . . . though I am not certain if a man exists who I could possibly believe to be worthy of you.” He sighed and buried his head in his hands. “I am only sorry that you are to pay for the sins of your father. But such is life, I am afraid. You must forgive your dear father for wallowing in his misery for a while.”

  “Do not worry, Papa. All will be well one day.”

  “I hope so, dear Lizzy. I hope so.”

  Mr. Collins and his son, William, were scheduled to arrive on what turned out to be a very beautiful day in May. The beauty of the day actually made Elizabeth feel discontent, for instead of being allowed to traipse through the countryside, as was her usual wont during such a time, she was forced to listen to her mother’s constant complaints about the cruelty of Mr. Bennet’s cousins.

  “Oh, what inhumane beasts these people are!” moaned Mrs. Bennet. “To come and gaze on Longbourn as if it were almost their very own—as if Mr. Bennet were on his deathbed, gasping out his last breaths! Why, it is cruel!” She began fanning herself as she leaned back into the padding of the sofa. “I might be on my very own deathbed right now. If the estate were entailed through me instead of through Mr. Bennet, why, I am certain Longbourn might soon be in their grasp! And then where would you poor girls be? And little Lydia? And darling Kitty?”

  “Mama,” said Jane soothingly, “I am sure you and Papa will live a great many years yet.”

  “Oh, Jane! How I wish this entail did not exist. If only it did not, then Longbourn would belong entirely to you. That is how it should be! This entail business is utter nonsense!”

  Elizabeth, trying to ignore her mother, moved to look out the window. She was just in time to see a carriage pull up. It stopped, and a thin and feeble man with gray hair was helped out of it. He was soon followed by a corpulent boy of perhaps fifteen years of age with brown hair and broad hands. These, then, were the distant relations who would one day be in possession of her family home. Somehow, she was less than impressed!

  With a sigh, Elizabeth turned and informed her mother, Jane, and Mary of the arrival of their cousins. Lydia and Catherine were playing in the nursery, as they were young enough to be excused from greeting visitors. How Elizabeth wished she was of such an age herself!

  There was a flurry of activity—and several more complaints from Mrs. Bennet—and then introductions were finally made between the Bennets and the Collinses. The cloud which had been hanging over Mr. Bennet since his receipt of the letter from Mr. Collins was as thick as ever, and he spoke only the minimum number of words required of him by propriety.

  They moved to the drawing room to allow Mr. Collins some time to rest before he was given a tour of their home, and Elizabeth soon grew bored. Finally, she requested leave to go outside, and William Collins, who had been staring at her for some time, requested to accompany her. Seeing no other possible option available, Elizabeth acquiesced.

  “I have a bad feeling about this, Lizzy,” whispered Jane as her sister stood.

  Elizabeth gave her a dour look and mumbled back: “I certainly know I will regret this.”

  Though William was actually five years older than Elizabeth, he followed her outdoors in the same dogged fashion that a duckling follows its mother. While Elizabeth’s strides were quicker, William’s legs were unfortunately longer, which meant that he was able to maintain the same speed. She had scarcely walked thirty steps before she reached the conclusion that he was loquacious, fawning, dull-witted, and the worst companion she had ever had.

  “My dear cousin, I must say that the grounds are imbued with such munificent splendor! While I am not much of a walker—much to my determinedness, I am sure—I am certainly a proponent of the healthful benefits such activity may bring. Fresh air and exercise can bring color into the pale faces of many young girls—though you, of course, my fair cousin, do not need to worry about the complexity of your face.”

  Elizabeth stopped to stare at her cousin incredulously. “I cer
tainly hope you mean ‘complexion’ rather than ‘complexity,’ as I was not aware that my face was formed in an unusual way. Do you always speak in such a fashion?”

  His bushy eyebrows drew down together. “I am afraid I do not take your meaning.”

  She considered him for several seconds. Her father delighted in the foibles of others, and she was always keen to align her preferences with his. Here was the perfect opportunity for some mischief! If she could pull some minor tricks on this ridiculous boy, then surely word would reach her father and perhaps extract him from his gloom. As garrulous as he was, surely William would run swiftly to Mr. Collins as soon as something went awry. And his father would be certain to complain to her father.

  She began moving again, though her cousin was slow to restart his pace. “Do you wish to see our pond?” asked she.

  “Ah, my dear cousin, that would be delightful, I am sure. The calm coolness of a clear body of water is suiting for the soul. I find that—” But he suddenly cut off with a loud shriek and a surprisingly high jump.

  Mystified, Elizabeth turned and followed his gaze to the ground. There, nestled in the grass, was a small and motionless reptile.

  “Why, it is just a tortoise, cousin. It is not a snake,” said Elizabeth. “You need not be frightened.”

  But William shook his head vehemently and commenced backing away. At last, he told her: “Reptiles are vile creatures. You must never reproach them, my fair cousin.”

  With some amusement, Elizabeth knelt beside the tortoise and reached out a finger to touch its back. As she did so, the creature retreated into its shell, and her cousin let out a loud gasp.

  “Eli—Elizabeth,” stuttered he, “what are you doing?”

  She mirthfully stroked the animal’s shell a few times before standing. She lifted a hand to her mouth to cover her smirk and suggested: “Let us continue to the pond.”

  Giving the reptile in the grass a wide birth, her cousin concurred, and they resumed their journey to the pond, William Collins chatting cheerfully all the while.

  When at last they reached their destination, Elizabeth began scouring the surrounding area with her eyes. The heavy-looking boy started rambling about the “picaresque” nature of the site, but Elizabeth continued her hunt. At last, a smile touched her face, and she took out her handkerchief. She had spent quite some time embroidering tiny flowers in the corner of it, and though her mother had compared it rather unfavorably to Jane’s, Elizabeth herself thought it handsome. Now, however, she cared about its function rather than its beauty, and she reached down to pick up something with it which she quickly covered.

  She turned to her cousin with her hands cupped and said: “I have something for you.”

  “Oh, you do not need to give me anything, dear cousin,” said William as he eagerly took the package from her. A few seconds later, he had peeled back the handkerchief and dropped its contents with a noise akin to a scream. As the unassuming frog that had been his “gift” hopped away from him, he sprinted to the other side of the pond.

  Elizabeth looked over at him with a quirked lip. “I thought you just disliked reptiles. Frogs, you know, cousin, are amphibians.”

  “It does not matter if they are amph—amph—”

  “Amphibians,” supplied Elizabeth. “Really, cousin, you should concentrate on improving your speech. You spout off more malapropisms than Dogberry.”

  His face red, William Collins told her: “I am afraid I do not know what you are talking about.”

  “Do not use words unless you are certain you know what they mean. Otherwise, you will sound like a pompous fool.” She omitted telling him that he truly was a pompous fool.

  “I am sorry my speech offends you,” said he stiffly.

  She walked around the pond to stand beside him, and she was beginning to feel guilty about what she had said when he told her:

  “But I assure you that when I inherit Longbourn, I shall certainly see that I am better educated. And if, when you are old enough, you should decide to be my wife, we could then completely heal the rift between our families. At that point, I am sure, you shall not care what I say. You will simply rejoice in the harmony which we are bringing to our families.”

  He opened his mouth to say something further.

  Elizabeth pushed him into the pond.

  William came up, sputtering, and watched as his young cousin marched away from him. Dripping wet, he climbed out of the water and tried to wring out his clothes.

  He noticed something white on the ground, and he bent down to pick up the handkerchief he had dropped not long before. He put it in his pocket pensively. His cousin was perhaps a little immature now, but she would one day certainly see the sense in his proposal. Her family was not wealthy, and she did not have much of a dowry to speak of. And it was certainly unlikely that she would ever receive a better offer. He was being quite generous in his proposal.

  One day, Elizabeth Bennet would see that.

  Elizabeth was fuming as she walked up to the front door of the Longbourn home.

  She had no words to describe the rage she felt toward her cousin. Marry him, indeed! Why, she never intended to marry at all! Jane would do well enough to afford her some comfort. Marriage was of absolutely no use to Elizabeth. She would rather marry the frog she had held in her hands than her cousin. He would certainly make a better prince!

  She scowled and entered the house. No, she decided, she would one day marry a man, and he would be a hundred times the quality of William Collins. He would be handsome and tall and intelligent—and he would know how to properly pronounce “complexion.” And if he happened to have a beautiful estate that she could enjoy walking upon, why, then he would be the perfect man indeed!

  The End

  The Power of Pemberley

  by

  Jann Rowland

  I have read a lot of Pride and Prejudice variations, and one of the things which has always mystified me is an idea that a lot of writers promote: the notion that Caroline Bingley behaves as if she is mistress of Pemberley when she visits as a guest. Thus, I combined Caroline as mistress of Pemberley with her distinct way of doing things and came up with this little story.

  Pemberley.

  The sight of the majestic estate rose above the verdant woods, its welcoming warmth extending tendrils to soothe the soul and calm the mind. It was always thus when returning to Pemberley after an absence. No one leaving such a magnificent estate could do anything but repine its loss, making the reunion something to be savored, much as one would roll the finest wine upon the tongue.

  Caroline leaned back in the seat of the carriage which bore her steadily toward the estate, luxuriating in the plush fineness of the well-appointed conveyance. The sight of Pemberley looming in the distance was a balm to her soul. It spoke of contentment and peace. It spoke of home.

  Within moments, the driver of the carriage brought it up to the front entrance, where Caroline prepared to debark, grateful to be able to finally stretch her legs after her long and tedious journey. If there was one drawback concerning the estate, it was that it was so distant from town. Really, Caroline would have appreciated it if it had been only a short distance, so that she could more easily travel the distance between the two. She did so love to partake of the delights society could offer.

  Soon, however, all thoughts fled for the demands of the moment. For there, standing on the front steps, waiting for her arrival, was Fitzwilliam.

  Caroline waited while the carriage came to a stop, and then she allowed the footman to open the door. Smiling, she accepted Fitzwilliam’s hand as he stepped forward to hand her out of the coach.

  “Welcome back to Pemberley,” said Fitzwilliam.

  “Thank you,” said Caroline, preening under the attention of the dear man. “I am excessively happy to be back, I assure you. London has its attractions, of course, but they pale in comparison to what can be found in this picturesque corner of Derbyshire. I dare say that I might never wish to leave it aga
in.”

  Fitzwilliam turned away to signal for the footmen to approach and unload the carriage. Then he turned back to Caroline and said in a regretful tone:

  “I apologize that we were not all gathered to greet you. I am afraid—”

  “I hope your dear sister is not ill!”

  “Not at all. But your arrival was earlier than expected, and—”

  “It is of no consequence. I shall greet her as soon as I have refreshed myself.

  “Do not trouble yourself,” Caroline called over her shoulder as she walked into the house. “You need not escort me to my room, as I dare say that I can find my way well enough.”

  Caroline tittered at her own joke, but she did not wait for Fitzwilliam’s reaction, as she was eager to get to her room and wash the dust from her person.

  A change of clothes to one of my day dresses would not be amiss, thought Caroline as she looked down at a smudge of dust on the sleeve of her gown.

  Though there was no precise reason for her to hurry, Caroline had washed and changed with alacrity. Every time she returned to Pemberley, there was ample evidence that the running of the house had suffered in her absence, which necessitated a firm hand in restoring matters to rights. In Caroline’s opinion, Mrs. Reynolds had served as housekeeper long enough and needed to be pensioned off to some small cottage in an out-of-the-way corner of the estate. Unfortunately, Mrs. Reynolds had served the Darcy family for so long that Fitzwilliam, dear man that he was, had no memories of Pemberley without her presence and was adamant in keeping her on. Thus, Caroline had to be content with fixing the damage which was inevitably done every time she left the estate. For him, she would bear more than this.