Mrs. Bennet turned on Mary with exasperation. “Mary! Pray do not talk nonsense. London is full of sin and temptation. Besides, you are too young yet to think of marriage before your sisters are settled.”
Mary flushed, blinking behind her spectacles. “I was speaking only of society and libraries, Mama.”
Embarrassed, Mr. Collins cleared his throat heavily. “The city has many dangers, it is true. I am fortunate to have such a respectable living in the quiet of the country—where a sensible, pious wife might be content with domestic comforts and parish duty.”
Considering, Elizabeth tapped her fork lightly on the table. “I suspect some might find that life…unexciting.”
Collins’s gaze swung to her, offended but determined. “It is the very essence of propriety, Miss Elizabeth. Lady Catherine herself approves of simplicity and regular habits in a wife.”
Elizabeth smiled sweetly. “How…very instructive.”
Mr. Bennet set down his cup with a decisive clink. “Well, sir. Your intentions do you credit. But do not be hasty in choosing, I beg. One would not wish a hasty match to result in misery. Or—worse—discord in the furniture arrangement.”
Elizabeth let out an unrepentant snort of laughter.
Mr. Collins frowned, looking at Mrs. Bennet for rescue. She fluttered her hands. “Yes, yes, of course. Plenty of time to talk in the parlour later! We shall discuss everything properly.”
Sophocles, who had been curled under Elizabeth’s chair, chose that moment to emerge and stretch, brushing against Elizabeth’s legs before hopping onto the window seat. He yawned extravagantly and blinked at Collins with heavy-lidded disdain.
Elizabeth reached down to smooth his fur, voice silky. “Don’t trouble yourself, old friend. We shall discuss domestic felicity in the drawing room later. If we must.”
***
The parlour was brighter than usual, the autumn sun slanting through the tall windows in pale gold. Mrs. Bennet had seen to it that the best cushions were arranged just so, and the good hearth rug was freshly beaten.
Kitty and Lydia had been shooed away with muttered instructions to help Hill and the maids with linens. Mary had withdrawn in offended silence, a book pressed tight to her chest.
That left only Mr. and Mrs. Bennet, Jane, Elizabeth, and their uncomfortably distinguished guest.
Mr. Collins cleared his throat heavily, glancing from Jane to Elizabeth and back again as he took his seat.
Mrs. Bennet perched primly on the edge of her chair. “Well now, Mr. Collins, we are quite comfortable. No need to stand onceremony. Do tell us more about Hunsford. I am sure the girls are all attention.”
Elizabeth folded her hands in her lap, face composed into polite neutrality, while Jane offered her mildest, most careful smile.
Collins sat forward slightly. “Ah—yes. Hunsford. A very compact but convenient parsonage. Two parlours, a small garden—quite suitable for...a family. I am fortunate in possessing a respectable living of nearly £246 a year, and I keep two servants in constant employ—arrangements Lady Catherine herself considers perfectly proper for my station.”
His gaze lingered a moment too long on Jane before shifting to Elizabeth with anxious significance.
Mrs. Bennet positively glowed. “How charming! So practical! I have always said a small house is easier to manage. Why, a sensible wife would find such contentment there.”
Elizabeth’s brows rose faintly. “Especially if she loves dusting.”
Mr. Bennet gave a light cough, eyes twinkling behind his spectacles. “Or rearranging shelves. I believe Lady Catherine is an authority on the subject.”
Appearing pleased, Collins puffed with solemn satisfaction. “Indeed. Her Ladyship has taken an interest in every aspect of the parsonage. She is a model of considerate guidance. Any gentlewoman residing there would benefit immensely from her advice.”
“Yes. Imagine being so...supervised.” Elizabeth bit back a smile.
Mrs. Bennet waved a hand at her. “Nonsense, Lizzy! Advice from such a great lady would be an honour. Jane, do you not agree?”
“I think it might be...a little intimidating.” Jane blushed slightly and lowered her gaze.
Mr. Collins blinked at her, flustered. “Oh—but Lady Catherine means only to improve! She expects order and obedience, qualities essential in a clergyman’s household.”
“I fear I lack the obedience required.” Elizabeth’s eyes danced. “My cat refuses even to sit when I ask him.”
As if summoned, Sophocles, who had been dozing on the hearth rug, rose, stretched with theatrical care, and leapt into Elizabeth’s vacant lap when she shifted. He settled with his back firmly to Collins.
