What Mr. Collins relayed was only sufficient to provide some clarity to the others regarding what had occurred, as he, understandably, would not wish to expose the extent of his humiliation.
Nor did Sir William allow him to continue once the source of the clergyman’s distress had been grasped. “Refused, you say?” he gasped, one hand rubbing his chin pensively. “My good fellow, I take it you have quit Longbourn? Where are you staying presently?”
“I have taken a room here for the night. I intend to rehearse my reason for returning unbetrothed to Lady Catherine.”
Sir William draped his arm over his shoulders. “A man of the cloth staying at a public inn? As fine an establishment as this is, it pains me to hear it! I would be happy to welcome you as my guest at Lucas Lodge, sir. Who knows… perhaps we might come to an… arrangement… to assuage your patroness’s wish? My eldest daughter is known to be a sensible creature. She would do any gentleman credit.”
This prospect cheered Mr. Collins greatly, again proving his pride had suffered far more injury than his heart. Eager to pursue his goal—or rather, Lady Catherine’s—he went to settle accounts with the innkeeper.
Mr. Lucas clapped his father on the back. “Well done, Papa! Charlotte will be pleased.”
I was at a loss to understand how any lady would be pleased to receive a proposal so soon after the man had made an offer to another. Did Collins possess no romantic inclination at all?
As though sensing my doubt, Sir William nodded at me. “My Charlotte is not romantic. She is practical and will act sensibly. I dare anyone to find fault in her steady character.” He jabbed me in the arm, leaning in. “I am aware Her Ladyship is your aunt. Pray inform her of my presentation at St. James’s. It should predispose her toward my Charlotte.”
In the face of his certainty that his daughter would accept a marriage proposal not yet offered, I promised what I could. “If Mr. Collins makes an offer and Miss Lucas accepts, I will make a point to speak favorably of her to my aunt.” Indeed, I thought highly of Miss Lucas?much higher than I did of my aunt’s choice of rector. It was difficult to believe a man such as Mr. Collins was capable of inspiring tender emotion in any woman, or even respect.
What would Elizabeth think of such a match? Would she seek to dissuade her friend, as I would have tried to dissuade Bingley had I not been locked in the library at the ball? I suspected so. She would see it as her duty as a good friend, just as I would.
And I would have been wrong. Perhaps Elizabeth would also be wrong to advise Miss Lucas. Unlike Bingley, however, her friend had a more decisive character. If she wished to marry and held no romantic expectations, she could do far worse than to accept Mr. Collins. He had a home and a gentlemanly profession that would provide for them well. If she managed her husbandand circumstances wisely, she could live comfortably. In that regard, her happiness was entirely in her control.
What had seemed distasteful at first became rational the more I thought about it, though I doubted Elizabeth would find anything to recommend the match. She would never be satisfied with such an arrangement, and she would not understand how her close friend could be content with her choice.
Sir William chuckled and rubbed his hands together. “Oh, but Mrs. Bennet will be vexed! I would love to see her face when she hears the news!” A devilish grin spread over his jolly face. “I shall allow my wife the privilege of calling to share in our joy.”
His son cackled. “We ought to thank Miss Lizzy for refusing the poor man!”
“Such are the consequences of encouraging extensive reading.” Sir William shook his head. “Miss Lizzy always has her nose in a book. She is lively company, though. Never a dull moment when she is in the room.”
Those were some of the very qualities in the lady that I most admired. She was not content to live in ignorance or accept the views of others without examining them. Granted, she was blind to false charm, but I could not fault her for that. Wickham had spent his lifetime perfecting the art of deception. He had fooled my own father for years.
Bingley and I departed before Mr. Collins returned from collecting his belongings. Darkness would soon make the return to Netherfield more difficult, but Bingley insisted that, if we did not stop at the stables just then, he would likely forget on the morrow.
He was likeably persuasive, and the owner of the stables was obliging. They arranged for the horse to be brought early on the morrow to Netherfield Park, where Bingley and his groom might examine him at their leisure and run him through his paces.
As Bingley was more inclined to purchase the horse than not, I said nothing about the overly generous arrangement. Instead, I took to inspecting the horse as quickly and thoroughly as I could in the dimming light for obvious injuries the owner’s groom might later accuse my trusting friend of inflicting. Bingley would never think of being taken advantage of in such a manner, as he always thought the best of people.
The groom watched me and nodded knowingly. “You are cautious for your friend, sir. It is fair. Allow me to assure you the horse is sound as of this moment.”
I nodded, still skeptical but more inclined to believe him honest.
To Bingley, he added, “He is a touch flighty, but you do not strike me as a man who is easily unseated.”
Bingley chuckled and stroked his hand down the horse’s neck. “I hope not!”
The stable boy set down his wheelbarrow. “He won’t hang around if you end up on your backside in the mud.”
His employer shushed him with a look. “That is no business of yours, lad.” He nodded at the horse. “He is right, though. This one is not likely to stand around waiting for you to get off the ground. He’ll find his way back here, where we’ll see to his needs and keep him for you. No doubt, though, if you choose to buy him, he’ll get so comfortable at Netherfield that he will soon forget this place.”
The following day, the horse was delivered and received the approval of both Bingley’s groom and mine. I donned my brushed riding coat and polished boots to meet my friend out in the stables and test the newly arrived gelding.
My groom met me at my horse’s stall, twisting his hat in his hands. “He’s off his feed this morning, Mr. Darcy. Seems sound in every other respect, but I should keep an eye on him.”
“You are welcome to my horse,” offered Bingley, his eyebrows furrowed in concern. Turning to the stable boy laying fresh straw, he said, “Have the new horse saddled for Mr. Darcy.”
“The horse from Meryton? Would you not rather ride him yourself?” I asked.
Bingley shoved his hand through his hair. “I have a great deal too much on my mind to give examination of the horse my full attention.”
