Three
Longbourn awoke to the grey, misty calm of an early autumn morning. In the dining room, the family gathered for breakfast with a determined air of hospitality—at least on Mrs. Bennet’s part.
The table was set with more ceremony than usual: a large dish of eggs, toasted bread stacked high, and freshly brewed tea poured steaming into the best cups.
Mr. Collins took his seat with elaborate courtesy, flourishing his napkin before laying it neatly in his lap.
Mrs. Bennet beamed at him across the teapot. “I hope you slept well, Mr. Collins. I trust the bed was sufficiently aired?”
“Most comfortably, madam, I thank you.” He inclined his head solemnly. “I am grateful for such Christian hospitality. I must admit I had feared the sheets might be damp—but they were perfectly dry.”
Elizabeth, sitting beside Jane, shared a brief, knowing glance with her sister.
“I have always believed it a duty to treat family well,” Mrs. Bennet went on with determined cheer. “Now, sir—you must tell us all about your living at Hunsford! It must be such a comfort to have a secure situation.”
Mr. Collins straightened with pompous satisfaction. “Indeed, madam. Hunsford is a most respectable parish. The house itself is small but well arranged—thanks in no small part to the invaluable advice of my esteemed patroness, Lady Catherine de Bourgh.”
Elizabeth’s spoon clinked deliberately in her teacup. “Does her ladyship often inspect your arrangement of furniture?”
Missing the irony entirely, Mr. Collins nodded earnestly. “She is gracious enough to give her opinion on every improvement. She recommended the shelves in my study be moved to the opposite wall—such discernment in the matter of symmetry!”
“Ah, symmetry.” Mr. Bennet raised his brows. “The foundation of a happy marriage, I am told.”
Mrs. Bennet ignored this. “And you are so very fortunate to have it all settled! A secure living, your own house… It is every young woman’s dream, you know.”
At this, Elizabeth choked back a laugh.
Mr. Collins’s small eyes darted along the table, resting a moment too long on Jane, then on Elizabeth, as though weighing their virtues.
“Indeed, madam,” he said heavily. “Lady Catherine herself advised me that such advantages ought to be shared with a suitable companion. It is…my intention, in coming here, to seek—”
Mr. Bennet interrupted swiftly, voice mild but cutting. “More toast, Mr. Collins? Or perhaps you will favour us with your thoughts on the drainage of Hertfordshire farmland?”
Collins blinked. “The—ah—drainage?”
Elizabeth gave him a bright, innocent look. “Yes, sir. We hear you have a keen eye for improvement.”
“Well—I must say—I had meant rather to speak of…domestic felicity.” Mr. Collins flushed slightly. “The choice of partner is a weighty matter, of course.”
Jane lowered her gaze quickly to her plate. “Yes—so weighty one should be very sure.”
Mrs. Bennet shot her a prompt glare, then turned back to Collins with forced brightness. “Our Jane is so modest. She says little of her own merits.”
Her husband regarded her circumspectly.
Mr. Collins puffed with satisfaction. “Ah! Modesty—a true feminine virtue. Lady Catherine says—”
“We are always eager to hear of Lady Catherine,” Mr. Bennet interjected again. “She is, I gather, a woman of remarkable powers.”
“Unrivalled in moving shelves, probably,” Elizabeth replied, her eyes dancing.
Mr. Collins looked offended. “Indeed, her judgment is most sound.”
After listening with an expression of patient martyrdom, Mary spoke at last. “I should rather wish to live in London myself. There is so little intellectual society in the country. All one hears is gossip of neighbours and the state of the roads. Hunsford must be terribly dull, Mr. Collins.”
The table fell momentarily silent.
Elizabeth bit her lip to contain a laugh, and even Mr. Bennet’s mouth twitched.
