Posted on Tuesday, 20 December 2005
“How droll, to be married before any of my sisters!” cried Lydia as she rushed from the church with her new husband.
The gentleman only smirked and puffed out his chest.
“Mrs Collins! How wonderful that sounds,” she sighed, and clung to her husband’s arm, gazing up at him lovingly.
“You are my finest ornament,” he whispered. “Even more beautiful than Miss Anne. But you must never tell Lady Catherine I said that.”
“Oh no indeed, my dumpling,” giggled Lydia. “Lady Catherine must be pandered to at all times! What fun we shall have!”
Lizzy looked on in shocked disgust. When she had rejected Collins she had never expected Lydia to snap him up like she did. But it turned out Lydia had unaccountably fallen in love with the man. She said his eloquence amused her greatly, and that she never knew how very stimulating Fordyce could be until her own dear Collinsey Wollinsey read his sermons to her.
Mr Collins had not initially intended to propose marriage to the youngest Miss Bennet, but after they had been found together in a compromising situation, orchestrated by Lydia, he had no choice but to beg for her hand. And he’d had no reason to regret it ever since. In fact he was thanking his lucky stars that he had not become shackled to Lizzy. Not only did she terrify him with her outspoken ways and scathing wit, she had recently undergone a very debilitating transformation. Lydia, happily, was as buxom as ever.
Lizzy was finding it very difficult to accept what had lately befallen her. Truth be told, it was her disappointment in the reduction of the largesse of her attractions which made her wit even more cutting than usual. Previously she had not been made for ill humour – now it was quite the opposite.
She had to wear Mary’s gowns while the bodices of hers were being made less accommodating. It was most embarrassing. She dared not show her . . . face in Meryton anymore. Wickham was no longer dangling after her, but a fulsome, freckled young thing. Lizzy knew it was more than her ten thousand pounds that attracted him. So when Lydia invited her to come to visit at Hunsford, she jumped at the chance. Nothing would be better, she thought, than to be in society where her former attributes were entirely unknown.
It was not long after she arrived to stay with the Collinses that she discovered that Mr Darcy was coming to visit his aunt at Rosings. He was a gentleman that she wanted to avoid above all others. She knew his critical eye would not fail to note the difference in her appearance, and though she despised him thoroughly, she could not bear for him to be anywhere in the world thinking her flat-chested.
Lizzy was in the garden by the pond when Mr Collins came running, announcing the treat that was in store for them.
“They are but now hard upon my heels!” he exclaimed.
“Who, my delight?” cried Lydia.
“Why, Mr Darcy and his cousin Colonel Fitzwilliam!” Mr Collins was jumping about and sputtering. “Make haste, make haste!”
“I do so love it when he gets into a tizzy like this,” said Lydia in an aside to her sister. To Mr Collins she said. “The visit must be on my account, for Mr Darcy never found Lizzy tempting at all!”
Lizzy frantically thought of an excuse not to have to face the man, but none came to mind. Providentially two plump toads chose that moment to hop through a flowerbed and she quickly scooped them up and stuffed them in her bodice. She studied her reflection in the pond and was satisfied that she now shelved quite naturally.
They arrived to the parlour just before the gentlemen were announced.
“Mr Darcy and Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam,” said the maidservant.
The colonel glared at the maid and then elbowed Darcy. “What is she talking about? That’s not my name.”
“Of course it’s not, Montgomery,” said Darcy.
“Don’t you start now!” Then he realised the ladies were staring at him and he smiled and bowed politely. “A pleasure,” he said.
Lizzy thought the colonel delightful and chatted with him enthusiastically, as she attempted to ignore the fact that Mr Darcy was staring most attentively at her neckline. She glanced down and saw one little webbed foot sticking out above the lace. Surreptitiously she tucked it back in and then darted her eyes in Mr Darcy’s direction. His expression was bland. She hoped that meant that he had noticed nothing.
The next evening they were invited to dine at Rosings. Lizzy put the toads in her bodice again before they set out.
“Your figure appears to be fluctuating,” giggled Lydia. “And it seems to be more rounded whenever we are about to see Mr Darcy. Hmmmmm!”
Lizzy blushed and silently wished the same affliction upon her sister.
Lady Catherine was more condescending than usual. She aimed all her conversation at her two nephews.
“Fitzwilliam,” she said.
“Yes aunt Catherine,” responded the colonel.
“I’m not talking to you, Harold,” said his aunt, “I’m talking to Darcy.”
“Who is Harold?” asked the colonel.
“Don’t mind Mama, Colin,” said Anne in her sickly little voice. “She has always preferred Darcy over you, but my feelings are quite the reverse.”
The colonel’s eyes boggled. Could no one get his name straight? He excused himself and went over to the piano where Miss Bennet was about to play. At least she wouldn’t call him something outlandish. And besides, she had a lovely set of . . . shoulders.
He was busy admiring said shoulders when Miss Bennet came to a lively part in the piece she was playing and one of them suddenly leaped right out of the bosom of her gown and landed with a plop on the floor.
The colonel had never been more startled in his life.
Lizzy stopped playing. Her hand moved to her chest and then she got up from the bench and began crawling about on her hands and knees.
Darcy had quickly left his aunt’s side and was crawling about on the floor also. As their heads almost collided Darcy cried, “There it is,” and dove headlong into the corner of the room.
“Whatever is going on?” asked Lady Catherine. “Reginald! What are your cousin and Miss Bennet doing crawling about the floor? I must have my share in the amusements.”
The colonel did not answer his aunt. He did not think it necessary because he was almost certain his name was not Reginald, nor ever had been, and he was too intrigued by the sight of Darcy swimming about under the curtains with Miss Bennet to give any thought to anything else.
Meanwhile Lizzy was sitting on the floor behind the draperies, too embarrassed to come out. A hand and then a head suddenly appeared from under the heavy damask.
“Mr Darcy!” she exclaimed.
“Miss Bennet,” he said, and then he stretched his hand towards her. “Your toad.”
“Thank you sir,” she said, but she made no move to take it.
“Do you not want it now, after all the trouble I have gone to retrieve it for you?” he asked.
“There seems little point anymore,” she replied. “I am ruined.”
“You are not ruined, merely asymmetrical. Maybe if you were to remove the other one too . . .”
Lizzy reached inside her bodice and pulled forth the other toad. “Here!” she cried. “Now laugh at me if you dare.”
“Indeed I do not dare,” he said, taking the other toad and sitting up against the wall beside her.
“You knew all along.”
“Well, yes. They wriggled, you know.”
“This is beyond everything!” she said and covered her face in her hands.
“It is not the end of the world,” said Darcy. “Some men appreciate a quick wit and impertinent nature above such physical attributes.”
“They do?” asked Lizzy, brightening.
“I think it is time we set these toads free.”
“And where, sir, do you suggest we do that?”
“I think you know as well as I,” said Darcy with an impish grin.
Lizzy’s eyes sparkled. “Lady Catherine will be most seriously displeased.”
As if on cue Lady Catherine’s voice rang out.
“Fitzwilliam! Miss Bennet! Come out from behind those curtains at once! Are the shades of Rosings to be thus polluted?”
In the background Lydia giggled merrily. “Oh Collinsy Wollinsey! Evenings at Rosings are ever so much fun! I am excessively glad that I married you.”