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  A BETTER

  UNDERSTANDING

  A Pride and Prejudice Variation

  Jennifer Kay

  For Mrs. Vink

  and Mrs. Griffith

  Thank you for believing in me when my writing was really, really, really bad.

  This work is, of course, based on Jane Austen’s masterpiece, and I have taken the liberty of adapting some of her original dialogue to meet my version of the story. I do not claim to own that writing, nor do I claim the original plot ideas reproduced in this novel. Any mistakes are my own.

  Cover by London Montgomery Covers.

  Excerpt from Chapter 18, Pride and Prejudice

  When the dancing recommenced, however, and Darcy approached to claim her hand, Charlotte could not help cautioning her, in a whisper, not to be a simpleton, and allow her fancy for Wickham to make her appear unpleasant in the eyes of a man of ten times his consequence. Elizabeth made no answer, and took her place in the set, amazed at the dignity to which she was arrived in being allowed to stand opposite to Mr. Darcy, and reading in her neighbours' looks their equal amazement in beholding it. They stood for some time without speaking a word; and she began to imagine that their silence was to last through the two dances, and at first was resolved not to break it; till suddenly fancying that it would be the greater punishment to her partner to oblige him to talk, she made some slight observation on the dance. He replied, and was again silent. After a pause of some minutes, she addressed him a second time with:

  “It is your turn to say something now, Mr. Darcy. I talked about the dance, and you ought to make some kind of remark on the size of the room, or the number of couples.'”

  He smiled, and assured her that whatever she wished him to say should be said.

  “Very well. That reply will do for the present. Perhaps by and by I may observe that private balls are much pleasanter than public ones. But now we may be silent.'”

  “Do you talk by rule then, while you are dancing?'”

  “Sometimes. One must speak a little, you know. It would look odd to be entirely silent for half an hour together, and yet for the advantage of some, conversation ought to be so arranged as that they may have the trouble of saying as little as possible.'”

  “Are you consulting your own feelings in the present case, or do you imagine that you are gratifying mine?'”

  “Both,” replied Elizabeth archly; “for I have always seen a great similarity in the turn of our minds. We are each of an unsocial, taciturn disposition, unwilling to speak, unless we expect to say something that will amaze the whole room, and be handed down to posterity with all the eclat of a proverb.'”

  “This is no very striking resemblance of your own character, I am sure,” said he. “How near it may be to mine, I cannot pretend to say. You think it a faithful portrait undoubtedly.”

  “I must not decide on my own performance.”

  He made no answer, and they were again silent till they had gone down the dance, when he asked her if she and her sisters did not very often walk to Meryton. She answered in the affirmative, and, unable to resist the temptation, added, “When you met us there the other day, we had just been forming a new acquaintance.”

  The effect was immediate. A deeper shade of hauteur overspread his features, but he said not a word, and Elizabeth, though blaming herself for her own weakness, could not go on. At length Darcy spoke, and in a constrained manner said, “Mr. Wickham is blessed with such happy manners as may ensure his making friends—whether he may be equally capable of retaining them, is less certain.”

  “He has been so unlucky as to lose your friendship,” replied Elizabeth with emphasis, “and in a manner which he is likely to suffer from all his life.”

  Darcy made no answer, and seemed desirous of changing the subject. At that moment Sir William Lucas appeared close to them, meaning to pass through the set to the other side of the room; but on perceiving Mr. Darcy he stopped with a bow of superior courtesy, to compliment him on his dancing and his partner.

  “I have been most highly gratified indeed, my dear Sir. Such very superior dancing is not often seen. It is evident that you belong to the first circles. Allow me to say, however, that your fair partner does not disgrace you, and that I must hope to have this pleasure often repeated, especially when a certain desirable event, my dear Miss Eliza (glancing at her sister and Bingley), shall take place. What congratulations will then flow in! I appeal to Mr. Darcy—but let me not interrupt you, Sir. You will not thank me for detaining you from the bewitching converse of that young lady, whose bright eyes are also upbraiding me.”

  The latter part of this address was scarcely heard by Darcy; but Sir William's allusion to his friend seemed to strike him forcibly, and his eyes were directed with a very serious expression towards Bingley and Jane, who were dancing together.

  Chapter One

  Elizabeth

  “Are unions in your neighborhood often decided in such a way?” Darcy asked, voice cold. His eyes remained fixed on Jane and Bingley, although he did not miss a single motion of the dance.

  “I do not follow, Mr. Darcy. What way do you mean?”

  He glanced back at her, derision clear on his face. “By parties wholly unrelated to the couple in question, and formed on the slightest amounts of evidence. By Sir William’s logic, I suppose I ought to congratulate you on our impending marriage.”

  For a moment Elizabeth could only gape at him, unsure of what to protest first. “I believe you would discover, Mr. Darcy,” she managed at last, “that even if Sir William’s way of thinking could influence you, the lady’s consent is still required. Jane would be delighted to receive an offer from Mr. Bingley; the same cannot be said for me where you are concerned.”

  His eyebrows shot up, surprise and something she couldn’t name flashing across his face for only a moment before the usual haughty mask fell again. “I do not question Miss Bennet’s willingness, but rather the happiness of a union based on opportunity instead of true feeling.”

  Surely she had misunderstood him. Surely not even Mr. Darcy could find fault with Jane. But no, she could see no other way to interpret the words. How dare he! Was this how Mr. Wickham had been treated? Weighed, found wanting, and cast aside without a single chance to make his case?

  “You must find it excessively tiring, Mr. Darcy,” Elizabeth remarked, trying to control the slight quaver of repressed anger.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Why, being able to glean the true emotions of everyone in a room, and without once consulting them! I know I would be overwhelmed. How do you manage it?”

  The dance separated them, and Elizabeth used the reprieve to suck in a deep breath. Calm. Controlled. She would not behave like her mother, even if the urge to shriek and rage had never been so great.

  Darcy was scowling as they came back together. “So you believe that your sister feels something for my friend and does not simply engage him at the direction of your mother?”

  Her face had to be bright red, if the roaring in her ears was any indication. Through clenched teeth, she spat out, “My sister is a private person, Mr. Darcy, and I feel no need to divulge what was told to me in confidence, especially not to someone so wholly unconnected to her. You would do well to remember, however, that we women are not all built on Caroline Bingley’s model. Although I do suppose it is lucky for you that women like her exist—if someone was required to accept your hand without factoring in your estate and ten thousand a year, you would find yourself quite lonely. Your manners are tolerable, I suppose, but certainly not enough to tempt me.”

  The music faded and Elizabeth spun on her heel, stalking off without a curtsey or a backwards glance. How dare he? How dare he! And for heaven’s
sake, why had she said any of that? Had she been loud enough for someone to overhear? She couldn’t remember. She could only recall the disdain on his face and the incessant pounding of her heartbeat in her ears.

  The evening was utterly ruined, Elizabeth decided as she wove her way through the crowd blindly. Mr. Wickham had failed to attend—for quite obvious reasons—her toes still ached from Mr. Collin’s horrid dancing, and now—now this.

  “Ah, Lizzy, I wondered where you were. Quite an evening, eh? You look in high spirits.”

  Elizabeth blinked rapidly and her father came into focus before her. He was likely teasing, finding her distress as amusing as the rest of her family’s antics. She did not care to deal with it, not now. If he had behaved as a head of household ought, her mother might have held her tongue and her sisters might have made it through the evening without creating a spectacle. Lydia might even have been at home, as befitted a silly fifteen-year-old girl!

  “Hello, Papa,” she replied, once again fighting for calm. “In truth I feel poorly. Do not concern yourself—I will be well, but I do not feel like dancing more tonight. I intend to fetch my pelisse and see myself home.”

  “What, you don’t mean to walk?” Mr. Bennet asked.

  “I do. It is a full moon, after all, and I have made the walk many times before.”

  Mr. Bennet frowned. Tell me no, Elizabeth thought. Do something. Do anything.

  Her father sighed. “Be careful, Lizzy. I do not like you out at night with the militia here.”

  “The officers have been perfect gentlemen!” she protested in spite of herself.

  “That might be true, but they are men, and I think I understand their thoughts and motivations far better than you. If you meet any of them tonight, you are to not speak with them, understand?”

  Well, at least he cared for her safety, if not propriety. “Yes, Papa.”

  He kissed her forehead and disappeared back into the crowd, likely searching for a quiet corner and a glass of something stronger than the punch. Elizabeth made quick work of collecting her pelisse and slipped out into the cool evening. Charlotte and Jane would worry—if Jane managed to tear her attention from Mr. Bingley long enough to notice her absence, of course—but Elizabeth could not stand to be in the ballroom for another moment. How could Darcy think Jane was indifferent? Arrogant, unfeeling man!

  Gathering her pelisse tighter around her, Elizabeth hurried down Netherfield’s steps and strode off towards Longbourn, anger keeping her warm as she made her way through the night. How dare he!

  *

  It would have been preferable, Elizabeth thought the next morning, for an officer to have abducted her on the way home. She’d had a perfectly boring—if beautiful—walk to Longbourn in the moonlight and been fast asleep when the others arrived.

  The next morning ought to have dawned on a better day, but Elizabeth had not counted on Mr. Collins. He applied to her mother shortly after breakfast and, despite Elizabeth’s attempts at protest, been eagerly granted a private audience with her. It seemed he had selected her as the cousin destined to become Mrs. Collins.

  Of course, being himself, Mr. Collins was content to talk with no input from his intended bride. She listened with a disbelieving ear. Had the words been directed at anyone else, Elizabeth would have found them hilarious. Indeed, she thought she detected a giggle from whichever sister or sisters undoubtedly listened from the other side of the door. Addressed to herself, however, they were repugnant. And not once did he pause, not once did he ask the requisite question that would excuse her from this dreaded situation! Mr. Collins had decided to marry her, and it appeared that he considered the matter quite settled.

  Elizabeth had almost made up her mind to walk out of the room, on the chance that such an action would catch his attention, when his speech at last seemed posed to end.

  “And now nothing remains for me but to assure you in the most animated language of the violence of my affection. To fortune I am perfectly indifferent, and shall make no demand of that nature on your father, since I am well aware that it could not be complied with; and that one thousand pounds in the four per cents, which will not be yours till after your mother's decease, is all that you may ever be entitled to. On that head, therefore, I shall be uniformly silent; and you may assure yourself that no ungenerous reproach shall ever pass my lips when we are married.”

  Really, Elizabeth seethed silently. Really, he “must assure her of his affection,” and did so by reminding her she had no true dowry and a pitiful inheritance.

  She could stay quiet no longer. “Then perhaps, dear cousin,” the words twisted on her lips, “you should have remained silent now as well. If your intent was to assure me of your affection, which you claim is violent, then you have utterly failed. Before you go on, consider also that I have made no answer. While I feel gratitude that you have considered my family’s situation, and am sensible of the compliment to myself, I find it impossible to accept your proposal.”

  He dismissed her, quite literally waving her words away as if they did not signify. “I am not now to learn that it is usual with young ladies to reject the addresses of the man whom they secretly mean to accept, when he first applies for their favor; and that sometimes the refusal is repeated a second, or even a third time. I am therefore by no means discouraged by what you have just said, and shall hope to lead you to the altar ere long.”

  Someone was definitely giggling outside the door, and Elizabeth gritted her teeth. Further entreaties gained her no ground, and the reason became abundantly clear: Mr. Collins could think of no reason she should refuse him.

  “You must give me leave to flatter myself, my dear cousin,” he said with his horrible simpering smile, “that your refusal of my addresses is merely words of course. My reasons for believing it are briefly these: It does not appear to me that my hand is unworthy of your acceptance, or that the establishment I can offer would be any other than highly desirable. My situation in life, my connections with the family of de Bourgh, and my relationship to your own, are circumstances highly in my favor; and you should take it into further consideration, that in spite of your manifold attractions, it is by no means certain that another offer of marriage may ever be made you. Your portion is unhappily so small that it will in all likelihood undo the effects of your loveliness and amiable qualifications. As I must therefore conclude that you are not serious in your rejection of me, I shall choose to attribute it to your wish of increasing my love by suspense, according to the usual practice of elegant females.”

  Elizabeth stared at him. Retorts rose easily to her mind, but she held her tongue. She had refused him four times, by her count, and yet he remained unconcerned. What in the world could be said to a man so deluded? Were any words capable of penetrating his conviction? Possibly, she decided—but not if they were spoken by her. Giving him a mocking curtsey and well aware the gesture would be misconstrued, Elizabeth yanked the door open, causing Kitty and Lydia to stumble backwards, and strode out of the room in search of her father.

  She found him in his book room, but had only begun to explain the situation at hand when they were interrupted. Mrs. Bennet did not bother to knock as she entered, still speaking over her shoulder to Mr. Collins. “—she is a very headstrong, foolish girl, and does not know her own interest, but I will make her know it.”

  Mr. Bennet raised an eyebrow at Elizabeth. “Your mother gives you quite the recommendation, Lizzy,” he murmured for her ears alone, ignoring Mrs. Bennet as she began to beseech him for assistance.

  The self-satisfied look had left Mr. Collins’ face, however. “Pardon me for interrupting you, madam,” he cried from the open doorway, “but if she is really headstrong and foolish, I know not whether she would altogether be a very desirable wife to a man in my situation, who naturally looks for happiness in the marriage state. If therefore she actually persists in rejecting my suit, perhaps it were better not to force her into accepting me, because if liable to such defects of temper, she could
not contribute much to my felicity.”

  “I said as much to you myself, Mr. Collins,” Elizabeth replied as calmly as she could manage. “We would make each other miserable, and I do not believe I could perform well as a parson’s wife. You and your congregation, including Lady Catherine, would surely despair of me.”

  Mrs. Bennet’s nostrils flared and she opened her mouth in protest, but Mr. Bennet held up a hand. “Is there something that you needed from me, Mrs. Bennet?” he asked.

  “Yes!” she exclaimed, cheeks turning red. “You must tell Lizzy that you insist on her marrying Mr. Collins, and to stop with this foolishness.”

  “It seems to me,” Mr. Bennet replied, picking up his pocket watch and examining the case, “that Collins is no longer sure he wants to marry her.”

  Mr. Collins took a short step into the room, face full of uncertainty. “I would not think of dishonoring my dearest cousin by retracting the offer made previously. Why, Lady Catherine—”

  “Yes, yes, I am sure Lady Catherine would have much to say on this matter,” Mr. Bennet said. “However, Lady Catherine is not present, and it is not her opinion that matters.” He looked at Elizabeth. “Lizzy, do you desire to wed Mr. Collins?”

  “I do not,” she replied succinctly.

  Her father nodded once. “There is your answer, Collins. I have nothing against you, and if Lizzy was inclined to accept your offer, then you would receive my blessing. However, do not mistake me: I will not have my daughter forced into a marriage she does not desire. I trust you will understand my position, should you ever have daughters of your own, even if you are not able to do so now.”

  Throughout the speech, Mr. Collins’ eyes had widened considerably, while Mrs. Bennet’s narrowed. Elizabeth barely noticed either, tension and anxiety giving way to heady relief as her father spoke.