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Meryton Church – Inside the Nave - Mr Collins

M r Collins sat very straight.

Beside him, Mr Harper-a local curate in the service of the Meryton vicar, of lesser income and, Mr Collins suspected, lesser consequence-offered a genial nod.

“Fine weather for November,” the man murmured.

Mr Collins gave a modest smile. “Indeed, though the roads are sadly afflicted by the damp. I am thankful Longbourn boasts a serviceable carriage.”

“You are newly come to the area?” Mr Harper asked.

“From Hunsford, in Kent,” Mr Collins said with mild grandeur. “I am honoured to be in the service of Lady Catherine de Bourgh.”

Mr Harper blinked. “Lady Catherine? A most distinguished name.”

“And how long are you visiting the area?” Mr Harper asked, adjusting his cuffs politely .

Mr Collins straightened a little more. “Until the end of the month, unless Lady Catherine should express a preference otherwise.”

“I trust the congregation here is of good number and attentiveness?” he added, glancing across the nave.

Mr Harper nodded. “Fairly so. Weather keeps some away this time of year, but the regular families are steadfast.”

“Steadfastness is indeed the root of good parish life,” Mr Collins intoned. “Lady Catherine always says that visible piety reflects inward strength.”

“Does she?” Mr Harper said, with polite vagueness. He cleared his throat. “I believe the vicar is nearly ready. Shall we be seated?”

He had positioned himself with what he considered admirable foresight-toward the front of the nave, far enough to demonstrate respect for the pulpit, but not so near as to appear ostentatious.

Lady Catherine, he had no doubt, would have approved.

She often spoke of the value of visibility in spiritual matters.

The Bennet pew was just across the aisle. He had noted, with satisfaction, the arrival of his rest of his cousins, though he had also noted-with mild confusion and then mounting interest-that both Mr Bingley and Mr Darcy had chosen to join them.

At first, he had assumed it was merely practicality. Seating was limited. The pew was spacious. Miss Bennet was present, and Miss Elizabeth, and the younger girls as well. But then-

He frowned, almost imperceptibly.

It was not that Mr Darcy had seated himself there, but that he remained there. That he had walked in beside Miss Elizabeth, holding the umbrella. That he had stood beside her in the porch, as though the act were unremarkable.

Mr Collins shifted in his seat.

He had, only days ago, entertained certain thoughts.

Possibilities. He had not yet spoken them aloud, but he had thought Miss Elizabeth might be a suitable partner-modest, intelligent, not without spirit.

Lady Catherine had spoken often of the importance of choosing a wife with a proper understanding of economy and family duty.

Miss Elizabeth, he had thought, might be made to understand such things.

But now-

Now Mr Darcy was seated beside her. Not beside Miss Bennet, the beauty. Not near Miss Mary, whose moral reading Mr Collins had come to respect. No, beside Miss Elizabeth.

Mr Collins cast another glance across the aisle.

They were not speaking, of course. But there was a shared stillness between them. A sense of… presence. Of understanding.

He did not care for it.

He did not know quite what it meant, but he had the uncomfortable feeling that it meant something.

And Mr Darcy had not even acknowledged him-not as a clergyman, not as a fellow gentleman, not even with a nod of recognition.

Mr Collins pressed his lips together and opened his prayer book with unnecessary precision.

Perhaps it was nothing. Perhaps it was mere indifference.

Still, he resolved to keep a careful eye on the matter-and to proceed with appropriate discretion.

Lady Catherine would expect nothing less.

And perhaps, he considered uneasily, he ought to reevaluate his own intentions.

Mrs Bennet, for all her hints, might not have been entirely reliable.

If Miss Elizabeth had drawn Mr Darcy’s attention-however unexpectedly-then perhaps his eye ought to wander elsewhere.

Miss Mary, after all, was pious and serious-minded, though rather plain and inclined to solemnity.

Miss Kitty seemed to smile when spoken to, which Mr Collins considered a promising sign of amiability, though she lacked the same moral fortitude.

Miss Lydia, on the other hand, was lively and often the centre of attention, but Mr Collins found her manner rather too forward for his taste.

Lady Catherine would not approve of such unchecked high spirits.

Mr Collins’s gaze drifted past his cousins and towards the other pews, scanning with mild curiosity.

There were a number of young ladies in attendance, though few of distinguished bearing.

One or two turned their heads when he glanced their way, and he made a mental note to inquire discreetly as to their names and situations.

A sensible clergyman, after all, could not afford to attach himself prematurely.

It was, as Lady Catherine often reminded him, a sacred duty to select a wife with both discernment and prudence.

Across the aisle, Miss Elizabeth had taken her seat beside Mr Darcy.

She adjusted her shawl with quiet composure and opened her prayer book, her gloved fingers brushing the edge of the page.

Mr Darcy did not speak, but there was something in the way he turned slightly toward her-as if attuned to her presence even in stillness.

Mr Collins narrowed his eyes.

He had seen such attentiveness before-in drawing rooms, at dinners, between couples not yet engaged but clearly nearing that precipice. And Mr Darcy, though lofty and reticent, was not immune to the subtler expressions of regard.

He glanced down at his prayer book again, frowning inwardly.

He would need to give the matter further consideration.

* * *

Meryton Church – Inside the Nave – Miss Elizabeth

Elizabeth sat very straight, her spine barely touching the back of the pew. The cushion beneath her did little to relieve the quiet throb in her ankle, but she kept her expression composed. It would not do to wince. Not here.

She was aware-keenly, impossibly aware-of Mr Darcy beside her.

He had not spoken since helping her down from the carriage, nor since they entered the church. But his presence seemed to settle around her like the hush before a hymn.

She opened her prayer book with care, her fingers grazing the edge of the page as if that would steady her thoughts. It did not.

Mr Darcy remained still. But she could feel that stillness as one feels a held breath-silent, watchful, present.

She glanced sideways. Just a flick of her gaze. He was looking ahead, composed as ever.

And yet, when she looked back to her book, she felt it again.

That he was aware of her.

That she was not imagining it.

When the first notes of the hymn rose, she sang-softly, steadily. Not to draw attention. But to hold her ground.

And beside her, Mr Darcy remained quiet. But not distant.

The sermon came and went in a gentle monotone, with Mr Ford speaking of patience in adversity and the quiet strength of forbearance. Elizabeth listened with half an ear; her mind wandered too easily. She was not in pain, not truly, but sitting so still for so long left her ankle aching again.

When the final prayer was offered and the congregation began to rise, Elizabeth stood slowly, leaning just slightly on the pew as she regained her balance. She had only just found her footing when a voice called softly from behind .

“Lizzy!”

Charlotte.

She turned to see her friend approaching, weaving her way politely through the crowd with a warm, relieved expression.

Several other familiar faces turned as well-neighbours and acquaintances, some with smiles, some with barely concealed curiosity.

She was aware, suddenly, of how many eyes flicked toward her. Not rudely. But knowingly.

She had not been seen in public since the accident, and this was the first time many had seen her walk with the aid of a stick.

“Charlotte,” Elizabeth said with a smile. “I had not seen you slip in.”

“We heard you had a guest,” Charlotte replied, glancing briefly toward the rest of the Bennets. “And of course you needed time to recover. I thought it best to wait until things were quieter. I am so glad to see you well enough to be here.”

Elizabeth thanked her, and a brief conversation followed-but it was impossible to ignore the movement around them.

People greeted Jane with polite cheer. Lydia and Kitty were already whispering to Maria Lucas, who looked as though she had been hoping to reach Elizabeth first. Even Mrs Long gave her a look of excessive sympathy.

And through it all, Elizabeth was acutely aware of the fact that Mr Darcy stood just a few paces away, speaking with Mr Bingley and Mr Bennet. She did not look toward him. But she felt the stir.

It was not only the accident that drew their attention.

The carriage. The rain. Her recovery at Netherfield.

It lingered in the air like a half-remembered story-one everyone thought they already knew.

She did not hear her name spoken aloud. But she saw it in the glances.

She adjusted her gloves and turned her attention fully to Charlotte.

From a little distance away, Mrs Bennet’s voice rang out with characteristic clarity as she spoke to Lady Lucas.

“So fortunate, so very fortunate! Of course Lizzy required some time to recover after her accident-but she’s nearly well again, as you see!

And Mr Bingley’s ball has been rescheduled, most kindly, so that she might enjoy it too.

I daresay she will be quite herself in a week or two. ”

Around them, the congregation had begun to drift out in slow, chattering clusters. Cloaks were lifted from hooks, bonnets adjusted, umbrellas raised. The air filled with the pleasant rustle of movement, and the occasional echo of parting phrases.

Elizabeth closed her eyes briefly, half a sigh escaping before she caught it. Charlotte looked away with polite interest, feigning not to notice.

“Come to Longbourn tomorrow?” Elizabeth asked, lightly.

“Of course,” Charlotte said. And she understood, as she always had, not to ask more.

At the churchyard gate, the Bennet carriage had already returned, and Mrs Bennet was gathering Lydia and Kitty with an air of great bustle.

Mr Collins, flushed with the afterglow of public devotion, made a low bow to Lady Lucas before declaring the need to hasten the younger girls home to dry their shoes.

As he turned, he caught sight of Miss Lucas and Miss Elizabeth in conversation.

Stepping forward with an expectant smile, he gave a bow in Elizabeth’s direction.

Elizabeth, catching his look, turned to Charlotte. “Mr Collins has not yet been introduced to you, has he?”

“No,” Charlotte said quietly.

“Mr Collins,” Elizabeth said, “may I introduce Miss Lucas, a dear friend of mine. Charlotte, this is our cousin, Mr Collins, who is visiting from Kent.”

“Miss Lucas,” he said, his voice swelling slightly with importance, “I trust you found the sermon edifying. Mr Ford’s manner is not unpleasing, though Lady Catherine has often remarked that- ”

Elizabeth, thankfully, heard little more as Mr Collins was at that moment called away by the arrival of the carriage for her mother and younger sisters.

Charlotte offered a pleasant smile. “Yes, it was a thoughtful sermon.”

“Indeed, indeed,” Mr Collins said. “Lady Catherine frequently remarks that sermons on patience are among the most improving.”

Before Charlotte could reply, Elizabeth caught the sound of her mother’s voice summoning Mr Collins toward the carriage.

“I believe you are wanted, Mr Collins,” she said, not without a trace of warmth.

He looked flustered for a moment, then gave an awkward bow. “Indeed-indeed, duty calls.” He turned to Miss Lucas. “A pleasure, Miss Lucas. I trust we shall speak again very soon.”

Charlotte inclined her head politely, and once he was out of earshot, shared a quiet look with Elizabeth-one of mutual relief.

Elizabeth, left for a moment with only Jane and Mary at her side, turned slightly-just enough to glance toward Mr Darcy.

He was a little apart now, speaking with Mr Bingley in quiet tones. She hesitated, her hand tightening lightly on the top of her walking stick. Then she stepped forward.

“Mr Darcy,” she said.

He turned at once.

There was a moment-half a heartbeat-before he bowed.

“Miss Elizabeth.”

As he turned away, Elizabeth let out a breath she had not realised she was holding.

She was smiling.

“I-” she paused, then offered a small smile. “I wanted to thank you again. For earlier.”

His expression did not change, but his eyes searched hers .

“You are very welcome,” he said simply.

She glanced past him, toward the drive. “I believe my carriage will return shortly.”

“I am glad you came today,” he said.

She looked up. “I am glad I did too.”

He hesitated. Just a breath.

“If you are well enough,” he said, quietly, “may I hope for the honour of a dance at the Netherfield ball?”

Elizabeth met his gaze, surprised. And then, slowly, she smiled.

“If I am able, sir, I shall be glad to accept.”

He bowed, and said no more.

And then, as the distant sound of hooves returned to the gravel, she gave the smallest nod.

“Good day, Mr Darcy.”

“Miss Elizabeth.”