James raised a brow. “You mean us?”
“Indeed,” Mr. Collins said. “Your presence was not a courtesy—it was a consideration. Her ladyship is most discerning in whom she receives. That you were both included speaks well of your conduct and prospects.”
Elias gave a half-smile. “Prospects can be as misleading as appearances.”
“Not always,” Mr. Collins said. “Indeed, I would venture that her ladyship perceives in you, Mr. Elias, a seriousness of purpose most uncommon in young men of independent education. Mr. Darcy himself is not insensible to such qualities. Should he make mention of a promising associate to his solicitor, it would not be the first time a career began over tea. The Lord has His ways, you know.”
Elias blinked, then looked out the window. “I had not considered tea a professional avenue.”
Mr. Collins beamed. “Nonsense. It is precisely so—conversations, introductions, quiet commendations. That is the rhythm of advancement in refined society.”
“And Miss Darcy?” James asked, his tone measured.
Mr. Collins hesitated, then said with gravity, “A young lady of sweetness, education, and discretion—yet not easily contented, I am told. She is gentle, but observant. Highly accomplished, but difficult to impress. One must not expect her to be led—she will choose of her own mind, if at all.”
“She does not wish to leave Pemberley,” Elias murmured, recalling something Lady Catherine had said.
“Indeed not,” Mr. Collins confirmed. “Her brother is accustomed with her presence in that great house, and her loyalty to him is such that she would only wed a man capable of winning both her confidence and his. Still, she is of marriageableage, and the dowry is… not insignificant, as we talk about a measly forty thousand, plus some—”
“Forty thousand?” James asked dryly.
“She will not come empty-handed,” Mr. Collins added with a knowing nod. “Indeed, her dowry of forty thousand pounds is but the most public portion of her settlement. I have it on the best authority that Mr. Darcy, ever mindful of his sister’s comfort, has made provision for a residence in London—furnished and staffed—and settled certain rents from Derbyshire lands in her name, to ensure her independence even within marriage. Not to mention the heirloom jewels, which her late mother passed on, and which Lady Catherine has, on occasion, praised as ‘worthy of presentation at court.’”
Elias raised a brow, though his manner remained composed. “That is a remarkable provision. More than most heiresses receive outright.”
Mr. Collins nodded eagerly. “Just so, just so. And it shows, I think, the level of care Mr. Darcy intends for her—she is to be no man’s burden, but a partner of consequence.”
James made a low sound—half sigh, half laugh. He leaned back against the seat and looked at the ceiling of the carriage. “Well. If I were inclined to marry for lands, income, and jewels, I suppose I would have no cause to complain. However—”
Elias turned his gaze toward his brother, thoughtful. “She would bring security to Longbourn, James. Not only in fortune, but in association. The Darcys are well connected, and discreet about their influence. If one were to think of the future…”
“I do think of the future,” James replied sharply. “And of our brothers, and our father, and the roof that leaks above the north rooms, and the tenants who wait longer each season for the seedgrain to arrive. But I will not trade my name for coin, nor my peace for a drawing room in Grosvenor Square.”
Elias did not flinch. “Nor would she expect you to. I do not suggest it as transaction—but if one found regard where there is also advantage, would you cast it aside out of principle alone?”
James gave him a look—wry, but not unkind. “Elias, if you are interested, do not pretend it on my behalf. I have no wish to stand in the way.”
“I am not interested,” Elias said evenly. “At least not in the way you suppose. I admire her composure, her wit. That is all. But I will not ignore that such an alliance—were it to happen—could change our fortunes as a family. Just imagine how Mother would react to such news.”
James was silent a moment. Then he said, quietly, “You speak of fortune with more ease than you used to.”
“Perhaps because I begin to understand its weight,” Elias murmured.
Mr. Collins, who had been watching the exchange with the wide-eyed admiration of a man witnessing prophecy fulfilled, could no longer contain himself.
“My dear cousins,” he said, nearly beaming, “you do not realise how rare it is for merit to be met with such opportunity. I have always believed your family to be worthy—and now others see it as well. If I may be so bold, I consider it a privilege to have assisted in the connection.”
“You were the very hand of Providence,” James said dryly.
But Elias, still watching his brother, added more gently, “No one asks you to sell your peace, James. Only not to close the door before it’s been opened.”
To this, James said nothing. But his hand, resting on his knee, curled slightly into a fist—as if holding something tightly. Or perhaps letting it go.
Mr. Collins inclined himself forward, lowering his voice conspiratorially as though imparting a confidence of the greatest delicacy.
“Of course,” he said, his tone reverent with admiration, “she is not easily won. Miss Darcy is sweet in temper, but particular in judgment—she would sooner remain at Pemberley than marry without esteem. Yet should a gentleman of character and principle meet her regard... well, such a union would not be opposed. Quite the contrary.” Mr. Collins gave a nod that was nearly reverent, his eyes gleaming with hopeful satisfaction.
James exhaled slowly, his expression thoughtful as he considered the evening's events. “She seems refined. Pleasant enough. But rather cold,” he observed, pausing before adding with a teasing glance toward his brother, “Though I did notice a flicker of sympathy toward Elias. And perhaps he returned it, did you not, brother?”
