Mr. Collins led them to the front parlour, where a tray had been set with cooled wine, plum cake, and crisply folded napkins. He poured with solemn flourish, then sat with his hands folded upon his knee, adopting what he clearly believed was a statesmanlike pose.
“I am glad that you accepted to come,” he began.
“We did,” Elias said evenly. “With all its insight and… subtlety.”
Mr. Collins inclined his head, accepting the compliment at full value.
“I take no credit, of course. It was Charlotte who first suggested your attendance. Her ladyship was quite receptive to the notion once I conveyed it with suitable care.” He leaned forward. “Miss Darcy is to be present throughout. And Colonel Fitzwilliam—naturally—will be the focus of the evening, but I venture to say that other… alliances may be quietly encouraged.”
James helped himself to a piece of cake. “So we gathered, Cousin Collins.”
“Her ladyship is a woman of rare discernment,” Mr. Collins went on. “She knows the difference between a gentleman of standing and a pretender. And as Miss Darcy is under her surveillance—though her brother, Mr. Darcy, is of course the principal figure—it is thought suitable that eligible gentlemen ofcharacter and education might attend. She trusts me to know the difference.” He beamed.
Charlotte, from the settee near the window, glanced at Elias with a familiar flicker of amusement. It was clear her husband had not read every nuance of the invitation. Elias inclined his head slightly in silent thanks.
“I believe your presence will be… observed,” Charlotte said quietly, looking at James.
James met her gaze and gave a small, respectful nod. “Then I hope we behave accordingly, Mrs. Collins.”
Charlotte’s smile reached her eyes this time.
Mr. Collins clapped his hands together. “Excellent! You shall find your rooms upstairs—Charlotte has overseen every comfort—and we dine at half-past six. Tomorrow, we are to call at Rosings for tea. Her ladyship insists.”
He stood. “I must prepare my address for Sunday—our theme is fortitude in the face of trial, drawn from Corinthians and from the ongoing demands of child-rearing.”
Mr. Collins bowed himself out with excessive courtesy, leaving them alone with the wine and their thoughts.
After a pause, Elias said, “We have been summoned, examined, and offered plum cake. The battle begins tomorrow.”
James sipped his wine, gaze distant. “I do not think we are the first gentlemen sent to Rosings under such cheerful pretences.”
“No,” Elias said. “But perhaps we are the first to see through them before arriving.”
***
Charlotte Collins sat comfortably in the drawing room of the parsonage, her ankles modestly elevated on a small embroidered cushion and her hands folded around a cup of nettle tea. The room was neat, modest, and suffused with the golden light of an afternoon that threatened to become too warm for comfort.
Elias Bennet, seated near the window, had been speaking of the road from London—though not at great length. James, beside him, had thus far commented only on the surprising neatness of the garden hedge. Now both brothers looked to Charlotte with expressions of polite interest, and perhaps a hint of familial curiosity.
She met their eyes with a calm smile and said, “You may as well know what to expect, if you are to make a good impression at Rosings.”
Elias arched a brow. “Any suggestion is welcome. Are there many, or only a few?”
“A few, but important.” Mrs. Collins looked at them with the quiet vigilance of a protective mother.
“Oh, a few sounds promising,” Elias said, attempting to pose bravely.
Charlotte gave a soft chuckle. “Oh, it is never easy—provided one is well-armed with patience, a tolerant ear, and the ability to remain upright through three hours of selective conversation.”
James leaned forward, intrigued despite himself. “Selective?”
“Her ladyship selects the topic, and you nod,” Charlotte said gently. “That is the first and simplest rule. Geography, drainage, and the superiority of Kent to any other county are safe ground. As is her daughter Anne’s delicate health, though you must never ask what ails her. Even Lady Catherine does not know—only that she must remain near the hearth and wear layers regardless of season.”
“Fascinating,” Elias said, with a dryness that made her laugh.
“I recommend standing where you can be noticed, but not cornered,” Charlotte added. “My poor Mr. Collins once spent an entire evening listening to Lady Catherine enumerate the precise dimensions of every window in Rosings. I fear he still dreams in inches and mullions, and wakes reciting cornice measurements.”
James smiled. “And is that why he sends us in his stead?”
