Title: Be Careful What You Wish For
Author: Sillimaure
Summary: Mrs. Bennet discovers in a most distressing way that achieving her fondest desire may not turn out in the manner in which she expects.
Rating: General
Disclaimer: Pride & Prejudice is public domain, and I'd love to eventually publish a P&P novel. Unfortunately, this story is far too tongue-in-cheek to ever be published!
Author's Notes: I've always been struck in reading fanfiction, that though the author obviously has some reason for a story to progress in a certain manner, that there is no way that the characters could have been so blind as to miss what must have been staring them in the face. P&P stories are a good example of that, as I've often read stories which have frustrated me to no end when certain things have happened, even if I have enjoyed the story otherwise.

I while ago I got to thinking—what should happen in those instances? Thus, a series of shorts was born. While this one has not cropped up so much in fanfiction, I do remember thinking it when I first read P&P. And that has been the inspiration for this story. Right now I have two others in mind that will be written hopefully sometime in the near future. I imagine that I will come across other ideas as I read more fiction. Please note, however, that this is not intended to be completely serious. Please take most of what Elizabeth says with a grain of salt—you will understand why at the end, if you haven't already figured it out by the time you get there! Here now is the first of a set of unrelated short stories.

Be Careful What You Wish For

It had finally come, a day longer dreaded, a day long feared. Her companion of more than three decades, Mr. Bennet, had finally thrown off this mortal coil and succumbed to the infirmity of age. Yesterday his body had been interred in the ground at the cemetery behind Longbourn parish, and today truly felt like it was the first day of the rest of her life without her husband, though he had now been gone for two days. The fact that he had been ill for some time before he had finally passed had not softened the blow in the slightest—he was dead.

But whereas her imaginings of what this day may entail had sometimes been slightly morbid, while at other times had bordered on the morose, on this day, Mrs. Bennet merely stretched her arms and lay in bed for a few moments longer, reveling in the security she felt on this day of all days. For ten years earlier, the miraculous had occurred—Mr. Collins, that odious person who possessed the very great fortune of being the next heir to Longbourn—had visited with the express intention of admiring her daughters. And he had admired them, though perhaps at first he had settled his intentions too high. But she had managed to find success and had eventually succeeded in arranging the match with one of her daughters.

In truth, Mrs. Bennet thought as she lay in bed that day, the absence of her husband was more of an ache in a joint, than the searing pain she had always imagined it to be. Her relationship with Mr. Bennet had been, after all, a strange one, and her husband, such a quick-witted and sarcastic man, prone to avoidance of all social activities and possessed of a teasing nature, had been very sparing in his shows of affection to her over the years. She had never understood her husband, not from the beginning of their marriage, and especially not in the years after Lydia's birth, in which he had retreated from his family, hiding in his bookroom, and maintaining a very aloof and contradictory manner on the occasions when he actually deigned to emerge from his sanctuary.

No, though she found that she did miss the presence of someone by her side, she most certainly did not miss the man himself. Perhaps if he had…

Well, no matter. It was what it was, after all, and Mrs. Bennet did not intend to dwell upon what might have been. She had her home and her daughter would be arriving that day along with the new master. Mrs. Bennet knew exactly what a daunting task it was to assume control of your own home, and she was determined to be of use to her daughter. In fact, she had no intention of ceding her duties to her daughter at all—she had been mistress of the estate for more than three decades, and she was certain she would continue in this manner for the foreseeable future. It was right, after all—a girl should respect her mother.

Indulging in a little more of her fond memories, Mrs. Bennet thought of the past years of her life, and in particular, her greatest successes—the marriages of her daughters. Jane, of course, had married Mr. Bingley as Mrs. Bennet had known she would upon first hearing of his arrival in the neighborhood. Clearly Jane had not been so beautiful for nothing, as she had managed—with Mrs. Bennet's enthusiastic assistance, of course—to snare the wealthiest and most amiable gentleman to have been seen in the community in years. And as Mr. Bingley had eventually purchased Netherfield, Mrs. Bennet still enjoyed the constant society of her eldest daughter, and had been able to ease her into the roll of mistress of her own estate.

Lydia—bright, effervescent Lydia—had managed to snare a most handsome and successful officer, and had followed him in his duties, at times to far off and exotic places. The only disadvantage to Lydia's situation was the fact that Mrs. Bennet was denied the society of her favorite daughter, as Lydia was very rarely close to home these days. As a point of fact, she was currently situated in a far off place, a location, the name of which Mrs. Bennet could never remember, as it was a place she had never before even heard of. But as her husband had risen in the ranks and joined a regiment very much in need of his expertise, there was nothing to be done. Still, Mrs. Bennet hoped that she would be able to convince Lydia to come for a visit, if only to condole over the loss of her father.

Her two favorite daughters now dealt with, Mrs. Bennet's thoughts turned to the three in the middle, two of whom there was not much to say. Kitty, eschewing her younger sister's example, had married a young clergyman, rector of a small parish, and was now living there with him, away from the bosom of her family. Mrs. Bennet found the loss of her society easy to bear, as Kitty had never been precisely visible, except when she had been busily agitating her mother's poor nerves with her constant coughing. And Mary had never married and still resided at Longbourn. But while Mary's companionship had remained constant, Mrs. Bennet had long desired her absence, as Mary's tendency to moralization had become even more tiresome over the years, and her skills on the pianoforte had not improved appreciably. Mrs. Bennet imagined that two cats yowling at one another was a more melodic sound than listening to her middle daughter thrash the keyboard.

Finally, Mrs. Bennet turned her thoughts to her second daughter, arguably her greatest failure, while being her greatest success. Elizabeth had not been pleased upon learning that Mr. Collins had chosen her for the very great honor of becoming the next mistress of Longbourn, and his future companion in life. In fact, it had been touch and go for some time after their tête-à-tête had almost ended in disaster. However, the combined efforts of Mrs. Bennet's insistence that she accept, her husband's indifference, and Mr. Collins's stubborn refusal to believe that her rejection had been serious—she could not expect a better offer of marriage, after all—had finally worn her down, and she had accepted with obvious reluctance. It truly had been a very close thing.

Elizabeth had lived in Kent these past ten years with her husband, and though Mrs. Bennet knew it to be a very good thing, she was still annoyed that her least favorite daughter had managed to do something which she, herself, had been unable—she had given her husband an heir. In fact, Elizabeth had managed to birth two boys, followed by a girl who, at the age of five, was reportedly as precocious and prone to making a nuisance of herself as her mother had been at that age. That, of course, was unacceptable, and Mrs. Bennet was determined that once they arrived at Longbourn, Miss Eleanor Jane Collins would be taken under her wing and taught the proper behavior necessary for any young girl. Regardless of the fact that she would always be secure, due to the fact that her brother would inherit the estate, one could not be too careful of such things. True security was obtained by securing a husband, and it was never too early to begin preparing for one's entrance in society.

Sighing with relish, Mrs. Bennet turned and noted the glorious sunshine coming in through the windows of her room. It had all worked out exactly as she had planned, and now she was left to enjoy the twilight years of her life in true security. Rising, she peered with some distaste at the freshly dyed black dress which had been laid out for her by the maid. All this black was truly depressing, and she heartily wished she was not required to dress in such a dreary color. Still, there were appearances to maintain and society's expectations to be met. And after all, it was not all bad—she would garner quite a bit of pity from her acquaintances due to her newly bereaved state. She would endure, as she had always done. For now, she would rise and visit her sister Philips—she would have all the latest gossip in which Mrs. Bennet had not been able to participate since her husband's death.

With a smile and a light heart, she rose from her bed to begin her day.

The first frisson of unease Mrs. Bennet felt was upon her return to Longbourn later that day. Her reception at her sister's house had been all that she had hoped for, and the gossip in which they had indulged, and the visitors with whom she had spoken had been so engrossing, that she had completely lost track of time and arrived back at Longbourn much later than she had intended. The carriage pulled up into the drive and Mrs. Bennet observed that the house was in some uproar—it was apparent that her daughter and her family had arrived in her absence. Eager to see her grandchildren, who she had met only a time or two in the years since they had entered the world, Mrs. Bennet stepped down from the carriage and hurried into the house. The hall was empty of any servants, but Mrs. Bennet did not allow that to deter her. She slipped her wrap from her shoulders, allowing it to haphazardly fall upon a side table, and rushed into the drawing room, eager to greet her family.

What she met was not at all expected. The sitting room was occupied by just two people—her second eldest daughter, and said daughter's husband. But while the husband was all sympathy and effusive condolences, Elizabeth merely eyed Mrs. Bennet with a most disconcerting coldness evident in her eyes. Mrs. Bennet prided her on her perceptiveness, but she would have had to have been a simpleton to miss the veritable frigidity of the temperature in the room. That, more than anything else, stilled her words on her tongue, and allowed Mr. Collins to go into one of his infamous monologues, which there was no escaping.

"Mrs. Bennet," said he, in a tone more than usually unctuous and patronizing, "please allow me to condole with you on the tragic passing of your most excellent husband, my own father-in-law, and the man who was so clever as to father my own beautiful and wonderful companion in life." Here Mr. Collins halted his words and leered at his wife. Elizabeth, however, ignored him, intent it seemed, upon freezing Mrs. Bennet with the winter's blast of her stare.

"Indeed," continued Mr. Collins after a moment, "your loss is keenly felt by all of your excellent family, including my dear Mrs. Collins and I, and I assure you that regardless of my own elevation due to the death of your most excellent husband, I find myself reluctant to take up his mantle with his loss still so fresh in the minds of us all. You are truly to be pitied, Mrs. Bennet, for suffering such an exquisite loss, but must, I think, take comfort in the knowledge that all is in accordance with the movement of the seasons and the cycle of life, and that your husband is now held within the bosom of our Lord. And indeed I feel I must inform you that I am not unaffected or insensible to this very great loss, yet I feel am compelled to take up my birthright and execute my duties, and I believe I shall not disappoint your excellent husband in the manner in which I fulfill my stewardship. Indeed I shall not!"

As Mr. Collins rambled on, Mrs. Bennet felt two things: one was a certain contempt for this daft man who had just claimed that he could not take up her husbands mantle, while in the next saying he was compelled to do so, while the other was distress at not being able to get in a word of her own while he blathered on, which was truly a novelty for the normally voluble Mrs. Bennet. But while Mr. Collins continued to speak for several minutes and even rose to pace the room, surrendering to grand hand gestures to make his point, Elizabeth continued to sit quietly and demurely in her chair. Mrs. Bennet did not miss the continued coldness of her stare, however, as the ineffectual man continued with his monologue, not noticing that neither of the women who were present were paying him the scantest of attention.

"Mr. Collins!" Elizabeth said at length, interrupting her husband in mid-sentence. The man halted immediately and turned to stare at his wife, his mouth open and his hands comically raised in the air where he had been gesturing in emphasis over some point he was trying to make. "I believe I should like to have a few words with my mother. Perhaps you could investigate the state of the gardens. I know how much you enjoy your vegetable gardens, and though we have only a small one at Longbourn, I am certain you will wish to expand upon it greatly."

"Yes, yes, I believe I should like that," said Mr. Collins, his eyes darting back and forth between his wife and his mother-in-law. But though he professed agreement with his wife, he was clearly reluctant to leave the rom. "But perhaps—"

"In private, Mr. Collins," his wife interrupted him. "My mother and I have not met for some time and I wish to have conversation in private."

The light seemed to enter his eyes and Mr. Collins bowed and with a smile said, "Yes, of course. I understand completely, my dear, indeed I do. Your delicate conversation between two elegant females such as yourselves would undoubtedly be of no interest to a man such as myself. I believe that I shall take your excellent suggestion and remove myself from the house forthwith, and inspect the gardens so that I may immediately begin to plan for their expansion."

It was several minutes, however, before Mr. Collins's words were exhausted to the point where he actually took his leave, regardless of his professed intention to depart immediately. And through it all, Elizabeth watched her husband with a form of exasperation evident upon her countenance while she waited for his words to finally run out. Silence descended upon the room as the man left, Elizabeth looking at the door through which he had exited.

"Whatever else my husband is, his gardens at Hunsford are among the finest in the county," Elizabeth said after a moment, breaking the silence. "Of course, that may be because of the amount of time he spends in them."

"But he is now a gentleman, Lizzy," Mrs. Bennet protested. "It is not seemly for him to be spending so much time in such pursuits."

The cold agates which comprised her second daughter's eyes were once again focused upon Mr. Bennet, and she instantly wished that she had held her tongue and avoided drawing Elizabeth's attention.

"I assure you that there is nothing improper about Mr. Collins tending to his own gardens, Mamma. It is an activity he enjoys very much and has the advantage of being very beneficial exercise. Besides, he is more emotionally and intellectually suited for such endeavors, than… other activities. Since Lady Catherine's death, he has had much more time on his hands; encouraging him to work in the gardens has kept him busy and, more importantly, kept me sane."

Though Mrs. Bennet thought this was a rather singular way of speaking of one's husband, she instantly seized upon the opportunity to change the subject. "Ah yes, I remember hearing of your patroness's passing some years ago. I understand that Lady Catherine had a daughter. Does Mr. Collins hold the same reverence for her that he did for his previous patroness?"

"Anne de Bourgh did not take an interest in the doings of the area," replied Elizabeth. "And Anne Darcy, as she is now called, is even less inclined, preferring to allow her husband full rein of such matters."

"Ah, yes, I remember Mr. Collins mentioning on many occasions the fact that Mr. Darcy was betrothed to Miss de Bourgh. Does Mr. Darcy dispense with his wisdom to the extent that the late Lady Catherine did?"

"I believe that the proud and disagreeable Mr. Darcy would consider it beneath his dignity to bestow wisdom on the likes of William Collins. Mr. Darcy and his wife make their home at his estate in Derbyshire and only visit Rosings a few weeks of the year. And when they are in residence, the Collinses are certainly not grand enough to be admitted to their august presence, only excepting when we should happen to meet in Hunsford church."

Making suitable noises of understanding, Mrs. Bennet allowed the subject to drop. She had frequently seen Mr. Darcy visit Mr. Bingley and Jane over the years, and his manners had not changed in the slightest from the cold, proud, and disagreeable quality he had shown more than ten years earlier when he had first been introduced to the area. Of more immediate concern to Mrs. Bennet was Elizabeth's own manner. Throughout the entirety of the conversation, Elizabeth, though she appeared to be speaking affably, had not allowed her cold expression to waver in the slightest, and Mrs. Bennet was now beginning to become truly uncomfortable. She wondered if she could escape to her room until dinner was served, if only to escape her daughter.

"Mamma, there is a matter about which I would speak with you," said Elizabeth quite suddenly, startling Mrs. Bennet from her thoughts.

"But of course, Elizabeth," replied Mrs. Bennet, thinking that her daughter wished for some advice. "I would be happy to help you with whatever you require."

A faint smile graced Elizabeth's face. "I assure you that I have no need for assistance, Mamma. I have, after all, been managing my own house for above ten years now. No, the matter of which I must speak is somewhat serious, and I require your attention so that there may be no misunderstanding."

During the course of her words, the smile had faded from her daughter's face, and by the end of it, Mrs. Bennet was once again the subject of that hard and piercing expression. Dumbly, she nodded and waited for Elizabeth to speak.

"I understand that you were away visiting my aunt, and have been gone since this morning. Am I correct?"

Mrs. Bennet could only nod once again in response to the question, while she wondered what her daughter was about.

"Though it is, of course, proper for you to visit your sister upon occasion, what is not proper is for you to stay away the entire day indulging in gossip. This is a house in mourning, Mamma, and I will not have my father's memory disrespected."

Never having felt so insulted in her life, Mrs. Bennet sputtered and angrily responded, "I have not broken propriety. I was in the company of Mrs. Phillips today—you may ask her if you doubt my word."

"I have no doubt of the veracity of your words, Mamma," responded Elizabeth evenly. "But I also know that you were gone the whole of the day. A proper length of a visit is half an hour, though as she is your sister it is within her rights to allow that stricture to lapse. However, as we are in mourning, a day spent gossiping as though you had not a care in the world is most decidedly not proper and I will not have it. If you wish to visit your sister, you may do so, but there is to be no gossiping and carrying on as you have done in the past. After six months, the limitations may be relaxed to a certain extent, but not before. You are a new widow, mother—act like one!"

Feeling an offense beyond anything she had previously experienced, Mrs. Bennet felt the familiar onset of an attack of her nerves. But no sooner had she begun to bemoan her situation and berate her thoughtless and ungrateful daughter, that Elizabeth cut her off.

"Mother!" Mrs. Bennet's eyes widened as she trailed off—never before had Elizabeth dared to speak to her in such a manner! "These conditions are not negotiable! Remember, we are in mourning—there will be little entertaining, no balls or parties, and absolutely no disrespect for my father."

Pausing for a moment, Elizabeth peered at her mother, making Mrs. Bennet even more uncomfortable, much like she was the proverbial mouse cornered by the cat.

"One more thing, Mamma. The horses shall be required on the farm most days as we are nearing the planting season. If you wish to visit your sister in Meryton, I am afraid you will need to walk."

This time Mrs. Bennet was unable to speak through her sputtering. To think that she should be denied the carriage to visit her sister and go to Meryton! It was not to be borne.

"I shall leave you now, mother, as I should like to have a look at father's books before dinner. Perhaps it would be wise if you rested before dinner."

With that, Elizabeth rose and glided from the room without a glance back at her shocked mother. It was in a daze that Mrs. Bennet made her way back to her chamber, wondering all the way what had happened. The unease that she felt upon first entering the room with her daughter was now growing to a sizeable attack on her nerves, and she decided that the best thing to do was to rest with the ever-faithful Hill attending her. At least her longtime servant would be willing her hear of her troubles and condole with her. It seemed she could not count on her daughter to do it.

Nothing was right—nothing was as she had intended it to be. That evening at dinner saw the first indignity as, when she arrived at the dinner table, Elizabeth was already seated in her position—her place at the foot of the table!—and none of Mrs. Bennet's subtle hints could induce her to vacate the position in favor of Mrs. Bennet's rights. It was most vexing and severely taxing on Mrs. Bennet's nerves. One sharp look from her daughter, however, and the state of Mrs. Bennet's nerves curiously righted themselves, and she sat at Elizabeth's left side.

Things did not improve from there, unfortunately. Convinced that she was being ill-used and determined that she would assert her rights, Mrs. Bennet returned to the issue regarding the carriage. Her words, as she rehearsed them in her room, sounded elegant and convincing, but Mrs. Bennet was shocked when Elizabeth merely laughed.

"Oh Mamma, the horses are needed on the farm. Besides, we are in mourning—there is not a lot of visiting to be done."

"Indeed we are," said Mary, choosing that moment to inject her morality into the conversation. "It is ever so proper of us to show our respect for our beloved father, by grieving his passing as society dictates."

"That is correct, Cousin Mary," added Mr. Collins. "Your sentiments do you credit."

"Besides," said Elizabeth, "I am certain that should you wish to visit my aunt, a walk of merely a mile will do you good. Mr. Collins has often commented on the very beneficial nature of regular exercise, have you not?"

"Indeed I have," was Mr. Collins's enthusiastic response. And though Mrs. Bennet was familiar with the man's sycophantic ways, she was startled at the overly unctuous nature of his comments to his wife, and the simpering smirk with which they were delivered. Mrs. Bennet had never previously seen such an attitude from the man unless he was droning on about his patroness.

Mr. Collins expounded for some time on the subject which she had given him, but though Mrs. Bennet noticed a tightening around Elizabeth's eyes as the man droned on, she continued to eat her dinner, seemingly content to allow him to blather on in whatever manner he deemed fit. Thus it was that the evening passed and, as it had indeed been a long day, they all retired early that evening. And though Mrs. Bennet's spirits were low, she had no doubt that the next day would be better. It could hardly be worse.

The next day was in fact, much worse and Mrs. Bennet was left to wonder how it all had gone so wrong. It began well enough, she supposed, as the family gathered together for the morning meal, and though Elizabeth still occupied the chair at the foot of the table, the food was good, and the night's sleep in her chambers had done wonders to restore her equilibrium. And, in fact, an event occurred just after breakfast which gave Mrs. Bennet an idea of how to regain her place—Jane arrived for a visit.

As Mrs. Bennet witnessed their tearful reunion—Jane and Elizabeth flew into each other's arms, as they had not been together for more than three years—Mrs. Bennet was struck by the thought that Jane was an exceedingly good and obliging girl. Alas, that Elizabeth was not more like her elder sister! But Jane would see sense, of that she was certain. If she could persuade Jane to the rightness of her cause, then perhaps Lizzy and Mr. Collins would also understand it.

Excited, Mrs. Bennet waited for an opportunity to make her case to her eldest, but it was a long and dreary morning of waiting, as Jane and Elizabeth showed no signs of separating, so engrossed were they in their reunion. In truth, Mrs. Bennet heard little of what they were saying. It seemed to consist of their joy at seeing one another, tales of their children—Jane had three daughters and a son, another Bennet daughter who had succeeded where she had failed—and expressions of delight and contentment that they would now be situated less than three miles from one another. Mrs. Bennet truly thought that all of their expressions of delight and felicity were a little unseemly—it was true that they had always been close, but with husbands and children of their own, one would think that they would be able to get by with their immediate families.

Finally, the moment at had arrived, and Elizabeth left to deal with some matter of the household—something that Mrs. Bennet, as the long time mistress of Longbourn, should have dealt with herself! At that moment, seeing the opportunity to have her conversation with Jane, Mrs. Bennet rose and situated herself beside her eldest, prompting a questioning look from Jane.

Knowing she would have to be sly, Mrs. Bennet decided the approach the subject in an oblique sort of way. They chatted for a few moments about Netherfield and Jane's children, before Mrs. Bennet felt the time was right to bring up her grievances.

"I must admit, Jane, that I am concerned for your sister."

"In what fashion?" asked Jane. Though Mrs. Bennet had been certain Jane's attention would be captured by any concerns expressed regarding her most beloved sister, her response indicated no more than mild curiosity.

Undeterred, Mrs. Bennet pressed on. "I fear she grieves deeply for your father's death."

"As do we all, Mamma."

"Of course," responded Mrs. Bennet. "But Lizzy was so close to your father, even though she has spent the last ten years in Kent. I am afraid she has thrown herself into the work of the house without giving herself the opportunity to mourn properly."

Jane appeared lost in thought and Mrs. Bennet was certain that her words were having the intended effect. "I must admit that I have seen no great alteration in her manner," was Jane's subsequent reply.

"But you have spent only a little time in her company," insisted Mrs. Bennet. "Why, even yesterday she told me how truly grieved she was and that she wished to show respect for your father."

"That is to be expected," said Jane.

"Oh but that is not all. I fear for her ability to run this house properly in her current state."

"I am certain you are overstating the situation, Mamma. Elizabeth has had the management of her own house since her marriage to Mr. Collins. I am sure she is well aware of what is required."

Mrs. Bennet was now becoming exasperated. Could her daughters not see that she knew what was best? Could they not understand that she wanted the best for them? They should show much more deference for her, their mother, and trust that she was correct.

"Longbourn is a completely different prospect than the small parsonage she managed when she lived in Kent. She cannot expect to understand the operation of an estate manor which must be many times larger than her former home."

"I truly believe that you underestimate Lizzy's abilities, Mamma. Have you not always told us that you taught us properly to run our homes once we were married?"

Mrs. Bennet was taken aback and unable to respond, as it was true. She had always taken great care to ensure that her daughters well versed in the duties they would assume when they made their own homes.

Jane, however, continued speaking, completely insensible to her mother's consternation. "Regardless, Mr. Collins has now inherited Longbourn, and as such, she is now mistress of this estate. There is nothing to be done. I am certain she shall settle in and the house shall run as smoothly as it ever did when you were managing it."

Frustrated, Mrs. Bennet decided to try another approach. "Perhaps, but I still worry for her. Would it not be better for me to continue on as I was until Elizabeth recovers from her loss? That will allow her to come to terms with it in her own way, without needing to concern herself with the operation of the house."

At this suggestion, Jane turned her attention to her mother, and though her manner was as mild and obliging as ever, in her eyes there was a hint of steel, which Mrs. Bennet had rarely, if ever, seen in her eldest child. "Mamma, I think you had best cease this unseemly conversation and your attempts undermine Lizzy. She is as capable as anyone I have ever known. If Mr. Collins feels that she is able to run his home, you can have nothing to say on the matter."

At that moment Elizabeth returned to the room, and though Mrs. Bennet was upset that she had not obtained her objective, she was little disposed to continue the subject with Jane anyway. She could not understand how she had failed to win Jane over. Jane was meek and mind and in every way obliging—she should have bowed to her mother's wishes without question and Mrs. Bennet was at a loss to explain how she had failed to persuade her.

Now, it must be said that Mrs. Bennet was not the most discerning and observant creature, her estimation of her own abilities aside, and even if she had not been engrossed in her own self-pity, it was highly unlikely that she would have noticed the amused glance which passed between her two eldest. It is equally unlikely that she would have understood the significance regardless. But she did not notice and therefore was at a complete loss to know what she should do now. The mistress's position appeared to be beyond her grasp forever.

Mrs. Bennet's difficult day, however, was not finished, and later that evening she was beginning to wonder if the fates had completely abandoned her. Mr. Bingley and his children had arrived for dinner with the Collinses, and though Mrs. Bennet sat resentfully in her chair, pushing the food around her plate without appetite, the room had been filled with conversation and general good cheer, or as much cheer as could be expected, with the passing of Mr. Bennet putting a pall upon the party. Still, it was pleasant and familiar and sounded like a home would normally be expected to sound. Even Mary was more animated and included in the discussion than she would normally be, which only served to raise Mrs. Bennet's ire, as she silently listened to the conversation for the whole of the evening.

It was after dinner when the Bingleys left for Netherfield that the latest blow to Mrs. Bennet's world occurred, though she truly should have expected it, she thought after the fact. The subject of sleeping arrangements and bedchambers arose and, as the Collinses' possessions had still not been unpacked from the wagon, which still sat in the barn fully loaded, plans needed to be made for the disposition of their belongings. As such, Mr. Collins raised the subject with his wife in the sitting room, as the children had already been sent to bed.

Now, it must be understood that while Longbourn was a moderately prosperous estate well able to provide a comfortable standard of living to its inhabitants, it by no means provided sufficient funds to allow them to spend in excess. Mrs. Bennet had often lamented the fact that Longbourn manor, though comfortable and pleasant, was not larger, and had badgered her husband several times over the years to contract for an addition to be made on to the house in order to make the estate much more comfortable, particularly when her brother and sister Gardiner came to visit from London. Perversely, Mr. Bennet had always denied such requests out of hand, citing her expenditures as the reason why nothing could be put aside, as though it could conceivably be her fault that the estate was not more prosperous! Regardless, it was one of the few subjects on which Mr. Bennet could not be moved—regardless of how much she pressed him on it, he remained firm and would not yield, rather than simply brushing her off, as he did in most other instances.

As a result, other than the master and mistress's chambers, there were only five other rooms as well as the nursery in the family apartments. The smallest chamber was set aside to be used as a guest chamber to house any visitors to the estate, which meant that there were only four other rooms. When her children had all lived at home, Jane, Elizabeth, and Mary, being the eldest, had each had their own room, leaving the last room for Kitty and Lydia to share. Of course, once the eldest girls had married, the arrangements had changed, allowing them a little more comfort and space, but with Elizabeth's family's move back to Longbourn, with her three children in tow, the issue of bedchambers was once again of material concern.

"My dear," said Mr. Collins, addressing his wife in his usual pompous style, "what directions shall I give the servants for the unloading of our belongings?"

Thinking, Elizabeth glanced around the room; Mary was paying little attention, her eyes focused on whatever dry religious text had lately caught her eye, and while Mrs. Bennet was caught up in bemoaning her recent fate, she still maintained enough presence of mind to pay attention to her daughter's response.

"Since we still have a dearth of available chambers for the moment," responded Elizabeth with a significant glance at Mrs. Bennet, "I suppose James and Henry shall share a room in the near term—Jane's old bedchamber should do nicely I believe. And Eleanor is old enough that I do not believe she needs to stay in the nursery, so she may have my old room."

"Not stay in the nursery?" sputtered Mrs. Bennet indignantly. "Of what are you speaking, Elizabeth? She is but five years old!"

"I believe I know the age of my only daughter, Mamma," said Elizabeth. "She is old enough and responsible enough to have her own room."

Mrs. Bennet continued to try to protest, but her words fell upon deaf ears—Elizabeth would not hear what she had to say, and Mr. Collins even spoke right over Mrs. Bennet's words!

"Indeed, I believe you are correct, Mrs. Collins," said he in his obsequious tone. "There is no need at all for her to reside in the nursery—no need at all!—and we must remember that she did not have the benefit of a true nursery when she was young in any case. Hunsford is not large enough for such luxuries."

Smiling at her husband, Elizabeth continued, "Of course, Mary shall stay in the room she has occupied since she was a girl." Mary and Elizabeth shared a warm glance, which Mrs. Bennet wondered at. Rarely had she seen the two girls together since Elizabeth had left the house, though Mary had visited Elizabeth in Kent on a number of occasions. It appeared that the two had grown much closer than they had been before Elizabeth's marriage.

"I thank you, Elizabeth," said Mary, "not only for your hospitality, but also for not upsetting my routine. I should find it most irksome to be required to change rooms."

Elizabeth reached over and grasped her younger sister's hand with obvious affection, an action Mrs. Bennet could not remember ever seeing before between the two sisters. "You are a valued member of this family, Mary, and I would be pleased if you would continue to consider this your home."

Beaming, Mary inclined her head before returning to her book. Mr. Collins, however, could not allow such an opportunity to pass without inserting his own comments on the situation.

"Indeed, Cousin Mary, we would be most honored for you to remain with us. I assure you that you are as welcome and as dear to us as any of our own children. As my late patroness, the honorable Lady Catherine de Bourgh stated, 'A family is a precious gift from God, Mr. Collins, and you would do well to be kind and generous to any remaining family of your cousin, Mr. Bennet, when he finally leaves this earth to receive his heavenly reward.' I assure you, cousin, that I take Lady Catherine's wise and proper advice very seriously, and would never consider forcing you to find a new home."

Elizabeth was silent throughout Mr. Collins's words, but when he finally concluded them, she continued with her previous thoughts almost without interruption. "Your items should be taken to the master's chambers, while mine can go to the mistress's chambers. Of course, the items from your bookroom can go to my father's library, where they can be put to the best use."

Wide eyed, Mrs. Bennet stared back at her daughter. "In the mistress's chambers?" demanded she. "But… but… where shall I sleep?"

"Why, in Lydia and Kitty's old room, as it is the only one remaining," replied Elizabeth. "For now, that room shall do quite well for you."

Though Mrs. Bennet did not like the sound of Elizabeth's ominous words "for now", she focused on what was important—the fact that she did not wish to leave her rooms. "I have been in the mistress's rooms for many years—I should think it would be a great hardship for me to be removed from them!"

"Mamma," said Elizabeth, but though her tone was kind, Mrs. Bennet could see Elizabeth's iron will which she was rapidly coming to detest, "Mr. Collins shall inhabit the master's chambers. It would be highly improper for you, a woman to whom he is not married, to continue to live in the mistress's suite. The two rooms are, after all, connected by a door, are they not?"

"Heavens no!" cried Mr. Collins. "How can you think of such a thing, Mrs. Bennet? Of course my delightful and beloved Elizabeth shall inhabit the mistress's bedchamber, as is her right and duty. I shall not hear another word in protest. To think that you would assume that I, a member of the clergy and spokesman for our Lord, would even begin to consider staying in a room adjoined to the room in which my mother-in-law is sleeping, is troubling in the extreme. I should never imagine living in such an improper and, indeed, sinful state, even if I did not imagine it would offend the delicate sensibilities of my most beloved Mrs. Collins. I am not certain how you could have come to such an understanding, but I must insist, most emphatically, that you cease all opposition and take up your rightful place in the bedchamber which has been assigned to you."

By the time Mr. Collins's speech had concluded, Mrs. Bennet was eager to agree, if only to silence the man's continual prattling! She did assure him, most eagerly, that she had not considered the situation and that she had never intended to suggest something so wholly improper. The silence which descended upon the room was truly welcome by the Bennet matriarch, and if she did witness the rather noticeable rolling of Elizabeth's eyes, she could only console herself in the knowledge that her daughter found the man's loquaciousness as trying as she did herself.

By the following morning, Longbourn was in flux, as the various rearranging of belongings began. Mrs. Bennet watched with some vexation as her personal belongings were removed from the mistress's chambers and into her new room. In fact, she was unable to witness Elizabeth's things replacing hers, and instead sat in the sitting room, sulking over her treatment by her second eldest daughter, and said daughter's odious husband.

In the midst of her displeasure, she was, however, forced to admit that Elizabeth's handling of the various tasks was admirable. There was very little confusion or uproar, and the rest of the house continued to operate smoothly while the wagon was unloaded and the new articles were distributed throughout the house. Perhaps, Mrs. Bennet reflected, she had been wrong when she had assumed that Elizabeth could not handle a house the size of Longbourn after she had only had experience in managing the parsonage. Of course, the true reason for making such a statement in the first place was, by now, quite forgotten by the Bennet matriarch, and within a curiously small amount of time, she was congratulating herself for bringing her daughter up in a manner which would make said daughter's husband proud.

As for the new master of Longbourn, well he was nowhere in evidence, seemingly preferring to leave the business of settling the family into their new home with his wife. Mrs. Bennet thought this behavior was somewhat singular, but decided it made little difference, as Elizabeth was handling it effectively. Perhaps Mr. Collins was in the study going through Mr. Bennet's books, though Mrs. Bennet could not imagine that the parson would willingly read the kind of texts her late husband preferred.

Knowing that she had lost the battle to retain some control over the running of Longbourn, Mrs. Bennet turned her attention to something that she was certain she could assist with—the improvement of the Collins children. The two boys, though rather rambunctious, as boys were wont to be, were still considerate and quiet when necessary—they were not the problem. Their younger sister behaved in much the same manner as the boys—in short, as Elizabeth herself had behaved when she had been a girl—and not like a demure and proper young girl should behave. That, of course, would not do. Regardless of the fact that Elizabeth had been very fortunate to capture a man despite her own predilection for such behavior—with Mrs. Bennet's judicious assistance, of course—Eleanor could not take the chance that she would be as fortunate.

A few moments after making her resolution, the first opportunity to be of use to her granddaughter presented itself. The young girl in question entered, running after her brothers who had burst into the room playing one of their games.

Ignoring the behavior of the older two boys for the moment, Mrs. Bennet focused her attention on Eleanor and cried, "Eleanor Jane Collins! Stop running this instant and come here, child. I would speak with you."

Though she looked longingly after her brothers and for a moment appeared inclined to follow them, her manners won out and she made her way forward, curtseying prettily. "Yes, Grandmother Bennet?"

Mrs. Bennet nodded in approval, heartened to see the child obey her. Perhaps her task would not be so difficult after all—the child did seem to know how to behave, at times. Hopefully, it would just be a matter of improving her deportment and curbing her tendency toward wildness.

"You must not run, child," said Mrs. Bennet sternly. "It is not seemly."

"Mamma says that I must sit still and attend to my lessons, but when I am playing, I may do as I wish as long as I do not ruin my dress, or go too far from the house."

"I am certain she gave you that instruction when you were younger, my dear," was Mrs. Bennet's reply. "You are now five years old and already becoming a young lady. It is never too young to learn proper comportment, and learn it you must if you are ever to catch a husband."

"But Grandmamma," said Eleanor, an earnest expression on her face as she reached out to touch Mrs. Bennet's knee, "Mamma has told me that I should search for young man to love and who cherishes me in turn."

Considering her granddaughter's naïveté, Mrs. Bennet took a little time to respond. Elizabeth had obviously filled her daughter with the same kind of romantic drivel to which Elizabeth herself had been so prone as a child. The child's deportment clearly needed a little work, but the far more pressing concern was the need to replace these silly notions with those which would serve her properly as she grew into a young lady.

"While that is certainly an admirable goal, you should consider that it is by no means certain that you shall ever find a young man to love, especially considering the fact that you shall have little in the way of your own fortune," instructed Mrs. Bennet, wondering how her daughter could have said such a thing.

"Why should I need a fortune?" asked the girl innocently.

"Why, to induce a young man to offer for you! Since you do not have the advantage of having a great dowry, you must make use of your natural charms to capture a wealthy man, like your Aunt Jane has managed to do."

Her granddaughter's answering frown was perplexed. "Why should I want to capture a husband? My brothers and I capture frogs and grass snakes and put them in a box. I do not believe a husband would enjoy living in a box."

Feeling the familiar sensation of an imminent attack of nerves, Mrs. Bennet forced her panic aside, incidentally feeling proud of her ability to control herself and focus on what was a most critical and upsetting matter. The things she did for her family!

"I do not mean to capture a husband and put him in a box," said Mrs. Bennet with as much patience as she possessed. "I was referring to capturing his attention, and making him wish to marry you."

Her little brows furrowed in thought, Eleanor appeared to be considering her grandmother's words. "But if a man loved me he would marry me. I do not think I should need to capture him."

"But what if you do not find a young man to love you?" pressed Mrs. Bennet. "Whatever shall you do then? Where shall you live?"

"Oh, I am not worried. Mamma told me I may remain here with James as he shall not put me out to fend for myself."

"You would become a burden on your brother?" queried Mrs. Bennet, though even to her own ears it sounded as though her words were approaching a shriek.

"My brother loves me," was Eleanor's firm reply. "He shall not put me out."

Aghast, it was then that Mrs. Bennet realized that there was more to be done to put her granddaughter to rights than she had initially envisioned. Never one to shirk before a daunting task, Mrs. Bennet gathered in a deep breath and with a determined look, held her hand out to Eleanor.

"I see that we have much to accomplish," said she. "Come Eleanor; let us go to your room where I may begin your instruction."

"But Grandmamma—" Eleanor protested.

"Now, Eleanor," interrupted Mrs. Bennet. "I am your grandmother and you shall obey me."

After a brief and longing glance at the door through which her brothers had escaped, Eleanor sighed and grasped Mrs. Bennet's hand, allowing herself to be pulled from the room. Mrs. Bennet decided immediately that disobedience and impertinence were two other qualities which Elizabeth had seen fit to pass on to her daughter, and she was determined to ensure Eleanor learned to behave. It was the least she could do.

The next few days were spent in the correction and education of her granddaughter, though thankfully she was not required at all times. Elizabeth had employed a governess for her children—though Mrs. Bennet was not certain where she had acquired the funds for such an extravagance—and as such, all three were required to spend much of their mornings in lessons though Eleanor, being only five, was still too young to spend all of her time sitting and studying. Had Mrs. Bennet either the inclination or the wit to understand, she might have seen that her granddaughter was highly intelligent for her age, already knowing both her letters, and some simple mathematics, and was already able to play simple tunes on the pianoforte. Alas, Mrs. Bennet was not aware and, perhaps more importantly, did not truly care—in her mind, it was more important for the child to know how to obtain a husband, run her husband's home, and act as his hostess. All of the other book-learning would only scare men away as very few men were able to tolerate a wife who was more intelligent than they.

As Eleanor's lessons generally ended before luncheon and her afternoons were largely her own to play as she liked, Mrs. Bennet was able to spend her mornings in her own pursuits, though she was always careful to take her granddaughter in hand as soon as luncheon was complete. Sadly, however, she soon found that her first impression had been correct—Eleanor was as stubborn and wild as Elizabeth herself had been at that age. It was vexing in the extreme, but try as she might, she could not persuade Eleanor to concentrate on the lessons she was imparting, as the child was always attempting to escape and go chasing after her brothers. Still, Mrs. Bennet was determined that Eleanor should learn, and if it required her to be firm with the girl, then that is what she would do.

Now, it must be said that Mrs. Bennet was not consciously attempting to conceal her instructions from her daughter. Elizabeth, it must be said, was not much in evidence those days. She would often disappear into her husband's library—singular behavior in Mrs. Bennet's book—and would sometimes not appear until almost the supper hour. But though Mrs. Bennet had not given the matter any great thought, she still felt a little uneasy whenever her daughter was near, not only for the coldness she had exhibited since arriving, but also because she understood, on some level, that Elizabeth would most decidedly not be happy with her should she become aware of the way Mrs. Bennet was instructing her daughter. As such, whenever Elizabeth appeared, Mrs. Bennet immediately broke off her lessons, a necessity which vexed her, as Eleanor would soon forget whatever Mrs. Bennet had taught her. Thus, she was always attempting to begin again with little to show in the way of progress.

It was a mere three days later when Mrs. Bennet was teaching Eleanor the things she needed to know, that Elizabeth stepped into the room and observed them. As was her wont, Mrs. Bennet stopped her instruction and smiled at her daughter, but it she was painfully aware of the fact that her daughter did not return the expression in any way.

"Eleanor," called Elizabeth as she approached them, "I believe James and Henry are playing in the park. Would you like to join them?"

Mrs. Bennet's sense of betrayal was keen when the child heaved a sigh of relief and, after curtseying hastily, scampered from the room to find her brothers. It was always this way—with some small words Elizabeth would undo all of her hard work. She would never succeed in teaching her granddaughter all she needed to know. It was all so vexing!

The couch beside her moved and startled, Mrs. Bennet looked up to see Elizabeth had taken a seat—she had not realized that her daughter had not left the room. She was about to smile at her second eldest when she noticed the stern expression which was present upon her daughter's face, causing the beginnings of said smile to drain away, replaced with apprehension. Whatever could be displeasing her daughter now?

"Mamma, I understand that you have been speaking with Eleanor much of late," said Elizabeth without preamble. "May I ask what you have been discussing?"

Instinctively, Mrs. Bennet knew that to admit that she was trying to teach Eleanor better manners would be a mistake, despite how much she believed Eleanor needed to learn them. She therefore attempted to prevaricate:

"I have been listening to her tell me of her lessons. She is such a delightful and intelligent child—I am enjoying her descriptions very much, I assure you."

"She is very intelligent indeed," responded Elizabeth. "But do these… discussions require the entirety of an afternoon to complete? Eleanor is a young child and she should not be kept in the house for the entirety of the day. She should have time to play and behave as a child."

A squeal from outside the window punctuated Elizabeth's words as Eleanor ran past the window, chasing her elder brothers. Mrs. Bennet did not like the manner in which this discussion was progressing, but there was nothing for it.

"Perhaps not, but the little dear has so much to say that there is no stopping her once she begins."

An elegant eyebrow rose at this assertion, and as the eyebrow rose, Mrs. Bennet felt her heart sink to the pit of her stomach. "Mother," said Elizabeth, her voice hard and unyielding, "I beg you do not think that I am witless. It is clear to me, both from my own observation, and also from what I have been told by our governess, that you have been attempting to… instruct Eleanor what you consider to be 'proper behavior'."

"Well it appears that I must since you…" Mrs. Bennet trailed off. She had been about to say, "Since you have filled her head with such romantic nonsense," but she caught herself in time. Surely such a bold statement of censure would not be received with any cordial feelings by her most stubborn daughter. Instead she said, "Since you have been so busy since arriving at Longbourn. It is only right that I should take on the task of seeing to your daughter's education and proper comportment."

A faint smile met Mrs. Bennet's declaration and she had the immediate sense that she had not fooled her daughter in the slightest with her prevarication. "There is nothing wrong with Eleanor's comportment, mother," was Elizabeth's response. "In any case, I am not so busy that I cannot teach my daughter how to act. Your attempts are admirable and appreciated, but unnecessary. I will kindly ask you to cease."

"But Elizabeth!" wailed Mrs. Bennet, throwing all caution to the wind. "You surely must see that Eleanor requires guidance so that she may one day attract a husband. Since I have had very great success with most of my daughters, I feel that I am more than up to the task."

"I am certain you feel that you are, but your assistance is not required. I will not allow you to make my daughter into the image of Lydia. Please desist."

"What is wrong with my Lydia?" demanded Mrs. Bennet. She was becoming exceedingly cross with Elizabeth, and her crossness overrode her caution. "Lydia has caught herself a handsome husband—much more handsome than yours, I might add."

Elizabeth was silent for some minutes, though her gaze was equal parts blazing anger and frosty displeasure. It was into this scene that Mr. Collins entered and Mrs. Bennet felt a surge of relief that he had not entered only a few moments earlier—it would not do to offend the master of the estate, after all. Seeing his wife and mother-in-law in the room, and exercising his customary lack of discernment, Mr. Collins began a long speech concerning his appreciation for the felicity and confidence subsisting between mother and daughter, and his joy at finally being at Longbourn where they might enjoy the benefit of their estate and their position as one of the foremost families in the district. In truth, Mrs. Bennet did not truly listen to him and she had the distinct impression that Elizabeth was paying him no more heed than she.

However, Elizabeth did not allow him to continue for long. "Mr. Collins," said she, interrupting him in mid-sentence. "Should you not visit the parson of Longbourn church? I believe you have much wisdom which you could impart to him."

Mr. Collins blinked once before he began to bow his way from the room. "Of course you are right, my dear. I should have thought of that ere now for, though I am no longer an active member of the clergy, it would behoove me to ensure that the chapel and living is run in a manner which is beneficial not only to ourselves, but also to those of the parish. For as the late honorable Lady Catherine de Bourgh said, 'You must involve yourself in the doings of your parish when you become a gentleman, Mr. Collins, for there is nothing worse than—'"

"Then we shall expect your return by the supper hour," interrupted Elizabeth.

Cut off in the middle of his soliloquy, Mr. Collins bowed yet again before quitting the room in what Mrs. Bennet considered to be almost unseemly haste. Elizabeth, however, did not even once glance in his direction and neither did her disapproving glare wane.

"Perhaps your words regarding the relative handsomeness of our respective husbands is true, Mamma," said Elizabeth. "I could not say, not having ever met the man Lydia imprudently married. However, I believe that as I did not have any input into exactly who I married, I cannot be held accountable for choosing someone who did not meet your standards of comeliness. Moreover, given the manner in which Lydia 'caught' her husband, I cannot consider your efforts in that respect to be a success."
"Whatever can you mean?" demanded Mrs. Bennet. "She is married—is that not what matters?"

"Not when she disappears, elopes with him, and spends almost a week living with him unmarried before they finally found the time to say their vows. Our family's reputation suffered because of Lydia's folly, but as she and her husband have been posted far from Hertfordshire, she has never had to put up with the consequences of her actions. We, her family, have had the great benefit of attempting to minimize the damage of Lydia's imprudent and irresponsible behavior.

"And it is only by the greatest of fortune that Kitty did not prove so ungovernable as Lydia, and that she was willing to be molded into displaying more proper behavior. In that respect, the efforts put forth by both Jane and myself on Kitty's behalf have been, thankfully, successful. Had I had the opportunity, I would have taken Lydia to live with my husband and I, and I would have corrected her behavior myself. Unfortunately, Mr. Collins waxed eloquent on the behavior of your youngest, and Lady Catherine, fearing that Lydia would be of no credit to her parson or herself, refused to allow us to invite her to stay with us. Mr. Collins, as you are aware, was in no way capable of gainsaying his patroness, so Lydia was banned from our home. At least I was able to help Kitty."

Mrs. Bennet was horror-struck—had the great lady truly thought so ill of her youngest and most vivacious daughter? And Elizabeth had not defended her?

"And you could not be troubled to defend your own sister?" Mrs. Bennet fairly shrieked. "How could you?"

"Do you truly think that I had any influence over my husband?" demanded Elizabeth. "You are well aware of the reverence in which he held his late patroness. With her most excellent and condescending—and may I say ubiquitous—patronage and advice, why would you think, even for a moment, that he would give any credence to the words of a mere wife?"

Mrs. Bennet was able to detect the heavy sarcasm in her daughter's voice as she spoke of her husband and his patroness.

"Regardless, mother, I will not allow you to fill Eleanor's head with frivolities and plans for catching a husband, not to mention any other nonsensical matters which you deem necessary for a young woman. She is a spirited, yet sensible child, and needs to be treated as such. I will not allow you to attempt to turn her into another Lydia.

"And I warn you, mother, that if I ever hear the words 'redcoat' and 'suitable husband' issue from your mouth in the same sentence, I shall pack you off to the dowager cottage quicker than you can say 'five thousand a year'!"

Now that was a threat which made Mrs. Bennet sit up and take notice. The dowager cottage was a small, dingy little house with no more than three bedrooms, a tiny dining room with insufficient space to entertain, and the most dreadfully small sitting room on God's green earth. Living there would be no less than a punishment!

"I wonder that Mr. Collins has put up with your impertinence all these years!" blurted Mrs. Bennet without even thinking about the consequences of her words.

Elizabeth smiled most unpleasantly, tapping at her chin in thought. "I believe it is time you understood certain things," said she at length. "Yes, I believe it is high time."

Standing, Elizabeth went to the door of the sitting room and, after exchanging words with the housekeeper to the effect that she was not to be disturbed, closed the door firmly. When she returned, however, she did not sit beside her mother on the couch as she had done before; instead she chose to sit nearby in the high backed chair. She leaned back in the chair, almost appearing to be a monarch sitting in her throne in judgment. Mrs. Bennet began to feel uncomfortable as the silence stretched on, and she gained the sensation akin to that of a hare, who has suddenly realized that the fox had determined that it should be its next meal.

Just when the silence was becoming unbearable, Elizabeth spoke. And though Elizabeth's voice was quiet, her words alarmed Mrs. Bennet more and more the longer she continued to speak.

"You see, mother, you do not seem to understand that I am now in charge and that your fate rests in my hands. And I assure you that I am not in humor to be generous, considering the situation into which you have pushed me."

"Indeed I have pushed you!" cried Mrs. Bennet. "For without me, you would not be in this comfortable situation, and we would have been removed from our home!"

"A situation it is, but a comfortable one it is not," was Elizabeth's sardonic reply. Mrs. Bennet could hardly understand to what her daughter was referring. Did she not wish to be married? Could she not understand the kind of life which awaited her if she had not married? Was she so deficient as to not understand that she really could not have expected much better than to be the mistress of Longbourn? She was not Jane, after all!

"You appear to have no comprehension of what I speak, Mamma, so perhaps it would be of benefit to remind you of our history. For you see, I had no desire whatsoever to marry Mr. Collins, which should come as no surprise to you, considering my refusal of his suit and the subsequent uproar which resulted. Mr. Collins and I do not suit, you see, for I fancy myself to be quite intelligent and sensible, whereas Mr. Collins is stupid and vexing. Given the similar union to which I was a daily witness, I had no desire to enter into so unequal a marriage."

To Mrs. Bennet, Elizabeth's words sounded suspiciously like a censure of her own marriage with her departed husband, but Elizabeth did not allow her any time to think on the matter.

"But you pushed and badgered me, screeching and moaning and wailing as though the sky had fallen, even after I refused him for the fifth time. And finally, though I would have preferred to have done anything but, I agreed to do my duty and save the family. Why it should have fallen to me, rather than my parents who were responsible for us all I do not know—I suppose I shall have to attribute it to my father's lack of willingness to bestir himself from his library, and my mother's lack of anything resembling sense.

"Therefore," continued Elizabeth over Mrs. Bennet's offended protestations, "I was married and joined my husband in Kent. And I must tell you, mother, those first five years of my marriage were the most miserable years of my life. On the one hand, I had my sycophantic twit of a husband who listened to nothing I said, and considered the words of his shrewish and meddling old crone of a patroness to be the very words of God. On the other, I had said husband's patroness, 'advising' me on everything from the proper amount of poultry to purchase, to how the furniture in my home was to be situated. And nothing was beneath her notice, I assure you. There is a reason why Mr. Collins and I were able to create three children in the first five years of our marriage, though there have curiously not been any since."

Mrs. Bennet was almost feeling ill. Lady Catherine having an interest in such things could not have boded well for a happy marriage. Once Mrs. Bennet had given up hope for a son, barring her husband from her bedchamber had been one of her first actions, and she had never been so relieved as when she was able to forego her wifely duties. And Mr. Bennet had not seemed unhappy to be relieved of his duties either.

"But do you know what happened then?" demanded Elizabeth. "Well, do you?"

When Mrs. Bennet shook her head, Elizabeth continued. "A miracle happened, Mamma. Lady Catherine de Bourgh, the meddlesome and overbearing witch and bane of my existence, had the decency to die. As far as I am able to determine, it was the only decent thing she did throughout the entirety of her life!"

"Elizabeth!" yelped Mrs. Bennet. "How dare you speak in such a glib manner of the departed!"

"I am certain that Lady Catherine does not care, Mamma. She was the kind of lady who knew everything but understood so very little, and I do not doubt that anything that I, a mere parson's wife, said would be of little consequence to her.

"So, as I was saying, Lady Catherine died, and I discovered a peculiar thing about my husband. You see, Mr. Collins was raised by a miserly man who kept him very firmly under his control, and once Mr. Collins left his home to make his own way in the world, he unconsciously searched for others who would tell him what to do. Lady Catherine was only the latest in his quest to find someone to direct him. In fact, my husband is emotionally incapable of making decisions for himself—indeed, he requires constant guidance from others if he is to make even the simplest of choices.

"And this is where I found my salvation. For I must tell you, Mamma, that there were many times in the early years of my marriage when I considered the relative benefits of drowning my husband in his own porridge, as opposed to continuing to spend my life in such demeaning circumstances. My children were my only salvation during those years, or I am convinced that I should have gone mad.

"But when Lady Catherine left this world, everything changed. Suddenly, Mr. Collins was adrift without a rudder, and once I perceived his needs I provided that rudder. I was quick to insert myself as someone who he could rely upon to tell him what to do and my life was changed as, though I was still married to an imbecile, at least he was not demeaning me constantly based on the advice of his equally imbecilic patroness."

Mrs. Bennet was quickly feeling the icy fingers of a winter gale pass through her as she listened to her daughter. Elizabeth had been distant since her arrival, but now she was behaving in a downright unfriendly manner and her claim of controlling Mr. Collins was beginning to make a certain sense, given the way the man behaved around his wife.

"Mr. Collins listens to me for everything, Mamma," continued Elizabeth. "I have become the new Lady Catherine in his life, and he does whatever I tell him. Therefore, I run Longbourn and have control of the estate. Whatever suggestions I give to Mr. Collins are expediently carried out, I assure you."

"But what shall the families of the neighborhood say?" fretted Mrs. Bennet. "It is most improper for a woman to run an estate. You shall be censured for such behavior."

"I think you give a little too much credence to such things, Mamma. Lady Catherine herself controlled Rosings for many years, and there are other women who manage their own estates, either because they have not married, or because their own husbands have departed from this world."

"But those ladies you mentioned have all lost their husbands, or at the most have not had a husband to rely upon. Of course they must manage their estates. You have a husband!"

"Do not concern yourself, Mamma," said Elizabeth with a wave of her hand. "No one shall even suspect that I am making the decisions—in truth, Mr. Collins believes that my suggestions are merely that, though he carries them out with alacrity regardless. I allow him to continue to repeat whatever Lady Catherine says as it gives him comfort, but when I give him advice, he is often known to expound upon how thoughtful I am and how Lady Catherine would have said exactly the same thing. It is quite nauseating really, when you consider how much I despised Lady Catherine and how diametrically opposed our opinions were on just about any subject. Still, Mr. Collins wishes to reverence Lady Catherine and, other than having to listen to him prattle on about her, it really does not affect me, so I allow it. It is not as though I wish him to repeat whatever I say almost verbatim in any case—let Lady Catherine have that privilege.

"And besides," said Elizabeth, her lip curled up in a slight sneer, "running an estate of any size is beyond my husband's comprehension. Indeed, a side of pork is beyond his comprehension, but we must forgive him these little failings, do we not?"

Not knowing what to say, Mrs. Bennet chose to keep silent. Her daughter had always been a little different, but now she was not sure that Elizabeth was the same girl she had raised. Whatever Elizabeth had become, one thing was irrefutable—the situation was as Elizabeth said and it appeared that she was now the true power at Longbourn. It behooved Mrs. Bennet to tread very carefully around her daughter.

"Now, you may ask why I am telling you this," continued Elizabeth after a moment. "Perhaps I am overestimating your abilities, but I believe that you have already divined that it is because I wish you to know that as you are now living in my husband's house and that I control this house, that you are here at my sufferance. Do not cross me, mother, or you shall pay the consequences. Are we clear?"

Mrs. Bennet could only mumble an agreement while wondering how it had all come to this. Surely she should be treated better than this—she was Elizabeth's mother and she deserved respect for what she had done for her daughter. She did not feel respected; she felt ill used.

"Good," Elizabeth was saying. "Now, just so that we are clear, you shall not fill Eleanor's head with your nonsense, you shall not interfere in the running of this house, and you will speak to me if you wish something further than your stipend. I cannot promise that I will allow it as money will be tight and the horses are required on the farm, but I will also not see you want for those things that you need. I intend to see that this estate produces as it should, and we will need every advantage to see that it is so."

Elizabeth stared at her for a moment, forcing Mrs. Bennet nod her head vigorously. She had no desire to antagonize her daughter further.

"You should feel grateful, Mamma. I had considered shipping you off to the dowager cottage the moment I arrived. You are fortunate that I was able to stay my anger."

"You would treat your mother in such an infamous manner?" gasped Mrs. Bennet.

"I would." Elizabeth eyes burnt with a cold fire. "You forced me into this unwanted marriage with an idiot and demeaned my own understanding by insisting that I did not know what was best for me. And the worst part of it is that through your actions and machinations, I have lost whatever opportunity I once possessed to find a husband whom I could truly love and respect. Mr. Collins has very little other than my contempt, as do you for forcing this marriage on me. In addition, it is because of you that I have only been in the company of my beloved father twice for very short visits these past ten years, and that I was not able to say a final good bye to him before he left this world. I shall tell you that I was barely able to control my anger as I walked through the door, and even more so when I found that you were off gossiping with your sister as though you had not a care in the world.

"Your move to the dowager cottage will likely still occur at some time or another," continued Elizabeth nonchalantly. "I do not like the fact that the boys share a room and should we have any more children," she paused to snort in derision at the mere thought, "we will require more room. However, until that time comes, you may stay."

It did not miss Mrs. Bennet's attention that Elizabeth did not say that she was 'welcome' to stay. By this time panic was beginning to set in and she grasped at the first straw which came to her mind.

"I will go to Jane!" Her words issued more in the form of a screech. "She will not be so undutiful a daughter as to shunt me off to a small cottage to fend for myself!"

Elizabeth only laughed. "She will not take you in, Mamma. Jane and I have already discussed this. And before you begin to entertain thoughts of Netherfield's dowager house, please remember that Mr. Bingley's elderly aunt resides there and the two of you do not get on at all."

Standing, Elizabeth walked toward the door. "I shall leave you with your thoughts, Mamma. Please remember what I have said."

Though she did not move, Mrs. Bennet's mind was a whirl of thoughts. She could almost feel the walls closing in on her—she was trapped, and there was nothing she could do about it! How could it all have come to this!

"I will say that you have done this to yourself," Elizabeth's words floated to her as though moving through a thick fog. "If you had forced one of the younger girls to marry Mr. Collins, you would not be in this predicament as I dare say you would have been able to control one them better. I will not be controlled. You created your fate when forced me into this union. Remember that when you consider what your life has become.

"Be careful what you wish for, mother."

With a cry, Mrs. Bennet sat up straight in her bed and peered wildly around the room. She was doomed—doomed! Whatever would she do?

"It is merely a nightmare, Mrs. Bennet. Please return to your rest and allow the rest of your family to do likewise."

Stupidly, Mrs. Bennet gazed at the wall which separated her room from the master's chambers. Elizabeth's reprehensible behavior must be causing her to lose her sanity—the voice sounded very much like that of her husband, and she knew that he was…

As she stared, Mrs. Bennet became aware of several things. First, the room in which she slept was not the smaller room to which Elizabeth had assigned her; it was the mistress's chambers. Second, the voice she had heard had been the voice of her husband. Finally, she noticed that she was in her own bed!

Nearly insensible with relief, Mrs. Bennet sank back into her bed, thanking her Lord and maker that it had all been a dream.

As she lay, she considered the events which had occurred since Mr. Collins's arrival, and though Mrs. Bennet was not a woman to give in to fanciful imaginings, she had to admit that the dream had spooked her. Was Elizabeth marrying Mr. Collins the best thing for her future security? All at once, Elizabeth's words from earlier that day floated back to her consciousness.

"Mamma, what are you doing?" Elizabeth hissed furiously. She continued before Mrs. Bennet had time to muster a response. "I will not marry Mr. Collins! All you shall accomplish is to offend him when I inevitably refuse him. And if I should by some means be persuaded to actually marry the man, you shall not like me as the mistress of this estate. Be careful what you wish for, mother, and cease this now before it is too late!"

Elizabeth had stalked off in a snit once she had shared her opinion, and Mrs. Bennet had immediately shrugged her daughter's words off as though they were of no moment. But with the dream fresh in her mind, Mrs. Bennet was not so willing now to simply ignore them. Would Elizabeth behave in such a manner?

Though she could not be certain, Mrs. Bennet had to admit that it was a possibility. Elizabeth had always been a wild and disobliging child, and there certainly existed some possibility for her to behave in such a vindictive manner. No, Mrs. Bennet decided, she could not take the chance. She would have to do something and direct Mr. Collins away from Elizabeth—there was nothing else to be done.

Settling back down into her mattress, Mrs. Bennet closed her eyes with the intention of considering the problem the following morning. As she drifted off to sleep, one final thought penetrated her consciousness.

"I wonder if it's too late to direct Mr. Collins toward Mary."

A/N:

1. There you go. I've always wondered why Mrs. Bennet never considered the fact that Elizabeth being the mistress of Longbourn might not be for the best if she wants a secure life after Mr. Bennet dies, especially once Elizabeth had refused Mr. Collins. I suppose you could chalk it up to the fact that she really is a stupid woman!

2. And why did no one ever consider how Mary would be perfect for him? Of course, I've read some very good stories where Mary is appalled at the thought of marrying the twit—I often think Mary would be such an interesting character if writers would take the trouble to develop her a little.

3. If some of you snickered at Mrs. Bennet's thoughts about how intelligent or discerning she is, keep in mind that I was often laughing while I wrote it!