Page 28 of Strange Happenings at Longbourn (Darcy and Elizabeth Variations #11)
Chapter Nineteen
“I hope, my dear, that you have ordered a good meal for this evening.”
Mr. Bennet looked over the top of his newspaper, a peculiar gleam in his eyes.
Elizabeth, seated halfway down the table, recognized it instantly.
It was the same glint that heralded one of her father’s more mischievous turns—a moment when he was prepared to bait his wife for his own amusement.
She smothered a sigh, silently willing Mrs. Bennet not to grow too overwrought before the fun had run its course.
The breakfast room was awash with the pale gold of a late autumn morning, the sunlight streaming in through the tall sash windows and pooling on the polished floorboards.
The table was laid with a modest but hearty spread—thick slices of ham cooling on a platter, a dish of eggs gone slightly cold from waiting, a basket of rolls wrapped in a linen cloth, and a small plate of Mrs. Bennet’s prized quince preserves, already half-empty thanks to Lydia’s generous appetite.
A faint clatter of cutlery and the occasional rustle of the newspaper were the only sounds until Mrs. Bennet, perched at the head of the table with a teacup in hand, looked up sharply.
“Are we to have guests?” she asked curiously, her voice edged with a brightness that hinted at excitement.
Elizabeth could almost see the wheels turning in her mother’s mind—some unlooked-for dinner guest meant the possibility of good gossip, or better yet, a romantic prospect for one of her daughters.
Mrs. Bennet leaned forward slightly, her eyes narrowing with speculative hope.
“Oh, it is Mr. Bingley, is it not? I invited him to dine weeks ago. Finally!”
Mr. Bennet, unhurried as ever, carefully folded the newspaper and set it aside, taking up his teacup with maddening leisure. “It is not Mr. Bingley,” he said at last, savoring the pause. “In fact, it is a person who I have never before set eyes upon over the whole of my life.”
Mrs. Bennet’s brows drew together in confusion. “ Who then?”
With a slow, almost theatrical air, he reached into the pocket of his coat and produced a folded letter, holding it aloft like some rare and curious artifact. “A few weeks ago, I received this letter from the man who, on my death, can throw you all out without a second thought.”
“Mr. Collins!” Mrs. Bennet’s tone was like the crack of a whip, so sudden and sharp that Lydia, buttering a roll, jumped in her seat and nearly upset the preserves. “I will not have him in my house, Mr. Bennet.”
Elizabeth watched her mother’s color rise—high spots of pink on each cheek—and thought it a pity that her father seemed to enjoy fanning the flames so thoroughly.
“I am afraid it is too late to deny him, my dear,” Mr. Bennet replied with infuriating calm. “Mr. Collins will be here today and stay for a fortnight. I do hope you will all be hospitable.” He unfolded the letter with deliberate slowness, the paper crackling in the quiet.
Mary looked up from her book, her expression caught between mild curiosity and the sort of silent judgment that suggested she already suspected the gentleman’s character might be lacking.
Kitty and Lydia exchanged gleeful looks, no doubt already imagining what manner of entertainment a new visitor might provide.
Mr. Bennet’s eyes twinkled with private amusement. “I have every expectation that his visit will be highly diverting.” He grinned and, with the air of a man about to share a grand piece of theater, began to read aloud.
My Dear Sir,
It is with a mingled sense of humility and triumph that I take up my pen to address you for the first time.
The former sentiment arises from my awareness that, owing to the entail on Longbourn, I am destined—whether by Providence, the laws of the land, or the peculiarities of your late grandfather’s legal arrangements—to inherit that respectable estate; the latter from the happy circumstance of my having lately been appointed, through the gracious patronage of the Right Honourable Lady Catherine de Bourgh, to the living of Hunsford, which, I assure you, is as comfortable in situation as it is adequate in emolument.
I must confess that I am scarcely yet recovered from the condescension shown to me by her Ladyship.
That she would deign to enter into the minutiae of my domestic arrangements, my manner of sermon delivery, and even the precise distance I ought to place between my dining table and the hearth fire, is a degree of solicitude to which I was wholly unaccustomed.
Indeed, I have been given to understand that Lady Catherine is universally acknowledged—at least by those within her immediate acquaintance—to possess a discernment unrivalled in all matters, whether of theology, agriculture, or the most trifling household contrivances.
My dear sir, if the highest in the land were to take an interest in such a one as myself, what greater proof could there be of her wisdom and liberality?
Before proceeding further, I feel it my duty to advert to the unfortunate estrangement that once existed between your honoured father and my own late father.
It would be presumptuous for me to speculate on the precise nature of their disagreement—though I have heard it concerned the disputed placement of a hedgerow and the borrowing of a cart without sufficient notice—but whatever the particulars, I am convinced that both were men of principle and that their quarrel was the natural, if regrettable, result of strong opinions firmly held.
In the spirit of Christian charity, and mindful of my sacred duty as a clergyman, I am eager to set aside all remnants of past discord and to extend to you, sir, the proverbial olive branch.
You will perhaps forgive me for remarking that my position as heir to Longbourn is not without its burdens.
Indeed, many a night I have lain awake, pondering how best to shoulder the responsibility of an estate so well known and esteemed in Hertfordshire.
That I should one day take possession of it—unless Providence ordains otherwise—is, of course, a happy prospect, yet it weighs heavily on my conscience that my gain must inevitably arise from the loss of others.
I assure you, no one could be more sensible than I of the delicacy of my situation.
It is in this spirit of conciliation and familial duty that I propose to visit you at Longbourn, not merely to assure you of my good intentions, but to cement the bonds of kinship that ought naturally to unite us.
Lady Catherine insists an olive branch must be extended .
I therefore beg leave to announce that I shall have the honor of waiting upon you on Monday, the eighteenth of November, at precisely four o’clock in the afternoon.
As my purpose is entirely friendly, I trust you will forgive the presumption of my inviting myself—an act rendered necessary by the press of my parish duties and the limited opportunities afforded to me for travel.
I remain, dear sir, with the highest respect for yourself, your good lady, and your amiable daughters, your most obedient, humble servant,
William Collins Rector of Hunsford, Kent
“What a peculiar sort of letter!” Elizabeth wrinkled her brow, the corners of her mouth twitching in both amusement and curiosity. “Is he so nonsensical?”
“I know not, but I anticipate finding out with great pleasure.” Mr. Bennet’s smile was positively cat-like, his eyes glinting over the rim of his teacup. “And now that you and Jane have returned from your short stay at Netherfield, you both might enjoy the absurdity as well.”
“What can he mean by an olive branch?” Mrs. Bennet snapped, her voice sharp enough to cut the quiet. Her hands fluttered in the air as though attempting to pluck the answer from the ether, the familiar signal of her fragile nerves being unsettled.
Mr. Bennet shrugged in mock helplessness. “I can only speculate as to what he means, my dear. Until he arrives, I am as uninformed as you.” Folding his napkin with deliberate care, he set it neatly atop his plate. “If you have need of me before four o’clock, I shall be in my study.”
With that, he left the breakfast room, the door closing with a soft click.
Immediately, the remaining diners broke into a hum of conversation.
Lydia, leaning eagerly over the table, spoke first. “Do you suppose he is handsome?” she asked, her eyes bright with anticipation.
“If he is, I shall do my best to woo him. Though he is a rector now, one day he will be master of Longbourn!”
Kitty scoffed, tossing her head. “He would not look at you before he looks at me. You are still a child, though you convinced Mama to allow your come out.”
“A man of the cloth will not appreciate a silly wife.” Mary’s voice cut through their bickering with calm disdain. “I have made God’s law my study. If he looks at any Bennet sister, it will be me.”
Kitty and Lydia collapsed into giggles, their laughter ringing off the walls. “You?” Kitty repeated, still snickering.
“Mary, you are the least favored of us sisters. Man of the cloth or not, he has eyes.” Lydia tossed her curls with careless triumph, clearly satisfied with her barb.
“That is unkind.” Jane’s quiet admonishment silenced the two youngest, her gentle expression nevertheless carrying enough reproach to make them falter. Mary’s cheeks had turned alarmingly red, and Elizabeth’s heart ached for her sister.
“Beauty fades. All that remains is character. If the latter is lacking, then what will there be when you are old and gray?” Mary’s voice trembled, her words sharper than usual. She stood abruptly, her chair scraping the floor, and hurried from the room before anyone could reply.
“Goodness, I only meant to speak the truth.” Lydia’s tone was falsely apologetic, her eyes still dancing with mischief. The pretense only deepened Elizabeth’s irritation.