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Mr Collins appeared with admirable promptness at four o’clock. Unfortunately, as far as Elizabeth was concerned, it was the last admirable thing he did.

The early evening before supper was filled with talk… and talk… and talk… and talk. The man was inexhaustible on every subject, repetitious to a nauseating degree, and a bit on the silly side. Elizabeth could not quite escape the man, though she tried her best to ignore him as much as possible.

The parson talked in superlatives and comparisons.

Everything from the furniture to the paintings to the articles of plate were compared to something it vaguely reminded him of in his parsonage or at Rosings.

Of course, every comparison to Rosings had to show the superiority of that abode and his noble patroness, Lady Catherine de Bourgh.

The dining room must be compared to the small breakfast parlour.

The silver was judged against the second or third best at Rosings.

The paintings could have been made by a man who might, later in life with more skill and experience, grace a wall on Rosings.

What little of the garden he could see in November reminded him of his own plot at the parsonage, which he managed himself.

(That part was sensible, but nobody was listening at the time.)

On and on it went until Elizabeth would have screamed had she not enjoyed one advantage over her sisters.

She did not care in the least what Mr Collins said, did, or thought.

She was not engaged , but she was being courted, which put her safely out of Mr Collins’s reach, even if she never did accept Mr Darcy.

Her mother and some of her sisters were still unaware of any connexion at all, but her father knew, and that was all that counted.

After all, it was not as if Mr Collins would enter the house one day and pick the companion of his future life that very same evening.

Such a thing would be preposterous even for Mr Collins and Mrs Bennet. Nobody could possibly be that stupid.

~~~~~

Dinner was more of the same, with the parson praising the cooking, place settings and the like.

He made a major faux pas in asking which daughter could take credit for the meal.

It was bad enough that he did not understand the mechanics of an estate the size of his future inheritance to know it would have a cook.

Even worse, he had been in the presence of said ladies since his arrival, so they could not possibly have made it to the kitchen.

Mrs Bennet was mightily offended, but Mr Collins managed to get back in her good graces with sufficient grovelling, a skill that seemed well-practised.

Elizabeth was grateful she was seated across and down the table several places from the man.

Mrs Bennet had tried to place her next to him, but she simply refused to do so at a time and place where Mrs Bennet could not make too much of a fuss.

It seemed likely the matriarch had not quite worked out why Mr Darcy was so prevalent at Longbourn; but since his prevalence consisted of only two visits, she had not whiffed the matrimonial scent yet.

Elizabeth did not wish to lay a trail prematurely.

While Elizabeth had her own things to think about, she was mildly curious about Mr Collins. Not having to worry about being shackled to him allowed her to view the man dispassionately.

For certain, he was a foolish man, but many men were.

Lady Catherine sounded like an interfering busybody, but her interference at least included spending money on the parsonage, which was…

not so terrible. It did not bode well for the future Mrs Collins’s ability to run her own home; but having a generous benefactor had certain advantages.

Overall, she thought Mr Collins might make someone a marginally adequate husband—with the natural proviso that someone was not her.

~~~~~

Between the first and second courses, Mr Collins made his play for the evening’s entertainment. “I thought I might read for an hour or two from Fordyce’s sermons.”

Elizabeth looked to her father, who was having the best night of his life (or at least his recent life). Lydia and Kitty looked horrified, while Jane and Mrs Bennet looked resigned.

Mary surprised everyone. “We shall be happy to listen to the good reverend if you allow me to choose the passages.”

The gentleman looked stunned, while Mr Bennet looked highly amused, and most of the other diners looked at her in shock or curiosity.

Lydia and Kitty were astonished that Mary was saying something that was not a direct quote from Fordyce, while Elizabeth and Jane were surprised she said it so sweetly.

“Why would you wish to pick the passages? I can assure you that I know the good reverend very well. My profession and Oxford education give me excellent insight into the education required…” and then he paused to look meaningfully at Lydia and Kitty, then continued, “…though of course, I will take any suggestions under advisement.”

“While I dislike disputing, I must insist.”

Mr Collins looked to Mr Bennet in a bid to get him to bring his recalcitrant daughter in line but found the patriarch grinning. “I have no horse in this race, sir.”

“Why would you wish to choose, Miss Mary,” Collins finally asked in a flustered voice.

“Because I have been fixedly studying the reverend for the last year or two, and even recently been discussing it in detail with my elder sisters. We concluded that much of what he has to say is pure gold, but much is also harmful drivel. If your intent is to educate, I prefer more of the former and less of the latter.”

Nobody at the table had the slightest idea how to react to the newly assertive Mary—even Mr Collins.

After about a quarter-minute, Mary said, “Well, that is settled then,” and returned to her meal.

~~~~~

Just before the next course was cleared away, Mrs Bennet asked a bit more about Rosings and Lady Catherine, seemingly unable to get enough.

“The garden in which stands my humble abode is separated only by a lane from Rosings Park, her ladyship’s residence.”

“I think you said she was a widow, sir? Has she any family?”

“She has only one daughter, the heiress of Rosings, and of very extensive property.”

“Ah!” said Mrs Bennet, shaking her head, “then she is better off than many girls. And what sort of young lady is she? Is she handsome?”

“She is a most charming young lady indeed. Lady Catherine herself says that, in point of true beauty, Miss de Bourgh is far superior to the handsomest of her sex, because there is that in her features which marks the young lady of distinguished birth. She is unfortunately of a sickly constitution, which has prevented her from making that progress in many accomplishments which she could not have otherwise failed of, as I am informed by the lady who superintended her education, and who still resides with them. But she is perfectly amiable, and often condescends to drive by my humble abode in her little phaeton and ponies.”

The ladies found the idea of being sole heiress to a large estate terribly romantic. Even though Elizabeth thought Mr Collins was contradicting himself by calling her both handsome and sickly, she was not one to quibble on any improvement in the conversation.

Lydia and Kitty loved the idea of a rich heiress and spent a good quarter-hour pestering the gentleman for more details on the lady, how she dressed, how she lived, and most importantly—all about her phaeton and ponies.

The more he talked, the more Mrs Bennet thought Lady Catherine might be of some use if she could somehow manage an introduction. That lady obviously had only one daughter to marry off, which should be child’s play.

With that in mind, she started her attempt to work out an appropriate scheme. “How old is Lady Catherine’s daughter?”

“She is five and twenty.”

Mrs Bennet scrunched her face in confusion, unable to make any sense out of the statement.

The matriarch finally decided to just ask. “How is it possible she is not married? Even though you say she is sickly and has not been presented, with an estate of that size for a dowry I should imagine she bats suitors away by the dozen.”

Only the three elder daughters winced at the vulgarity, while the two youngest looked on in eager anticipation and Mr Bennet looked on in amusement.

Mr Collins beamed with all the pleasure of one who had the juiciest gossip to share.

“She has been engaged to her cousin for many years, and Lady Catherine anticipates the long-awaited event will occur this year. Lady Catherine observes they are formed for each other. They are descended on the maternal side, from the same noble line; and, on the father’s, from respectable, honourable, and ancient—though untitled—families.

Their fortune on both sides is splendid.

They are destined for each other by the voice of every member of their respective houses.

The combined estates will be one of the largest in England. ”

All Mrs Bennet got out of that description was that the young heiress would soon be out of the way, and Lady Catherine would have nothing to do once Miss de Bourgh’s husband took over Rosings.

It seemed a perfect opportunity to get the great lady to aid her with some of her more troubling offspring, such as Elizabeth and Mary.

“Who is this paragon she will wed?” she asked in breathless anticipation.

“Her cousin is the master of a grand estate in the north. I understand it bests Rosings in size and productivity, while nearly matching in elegance.”

“And the name of this estate?” Elizabeth asked suspiciously.

“Pemberly!” he blithely replied, having completely missed the threat in her voice.

Elizabeth frowned until her teeth were ready to break, and she might have said something very intemperate if Mary had not squeezed her hand beneath the table. “Are you implying that Miss de Bourgh is intended for Mr Darcy of Pemberley?”