“Thank you for allowing me to visit your home.” Collins sat opposite the master of Longbourn, gaze roving with interest over the rows of books. “In truth, I had expected my letter to be refused.”
Bennet raised a brow. “And why would you think that? I have never been known for rudeness, and it would ill become me to begin with a cousin.” He smiled at the folly of the notion.
“My father spent many years vilifying you,” the young man confessed. “He accused the Bennets of cheating him of his inheritance. His accusations were seldom coherent, if I may speak plainly. You will recall, sir, that my father was an illiterate and miserly man of mean understanding. His want of education occasioned many hardships in my youth. Your offer to buy out his claim on the entail was a blessing beyond price.”
Bennet’s brows rose. “Was it? Pray elaborate.” Leaning back in his chair, he folded his hands across his waistcoat. “I was under the impression that your father resented the necessity of surrendering his claim to Longbourn.”
Collins grew thoughtful. “He did at first,” he admitted. “The need for funds to satisfy his debts was great. A supposed friend nearly swindled him out of our estate. As I said, he was not a man of intellect, and his ignorance almost cost him everything. Your timely intervention preserved the estateand enabled him to send me to university, that I might take orders. He died soon after Lady Catherine awarded me the living.”
“Do you still hold your father’s property?” Bennet enquired. It was small—more farm than estate—and brought in less than Longbourn, hardly large enough to warrant being called an estate, if he recalled.
“I have leased it to a newly married friend. I offered him a fair rent—one he could not refuse. With that income and my living, I make twelve hundred a year.” He swelled with pride, then added, almost sheepishly, “I am not suited to estate management,” he confessed. “I am content with my little flock. Perhaps, when I marry, my opinions will alter.”
“Aye, marriage has a way of changing a man’s perspective.” Bennet frowned. “You seemed to get on with my Mary very well.”Too well,he thought.Dare I trust the man?Collins, like any suitor, would be measured and weighed before he was found worthy. He would not subject any of his daughters to another man like Fiennes—not everagain.
“She is very kind—and quite amiable. I should be glad to know her better. But you must understand, Cousin, I did not come to Hertfordshire in search of a wife, nor to strengthen my connexion with Longbourn. If I marry, it shall be from inclination alone.” He paused, frustration flickering crossing his face. “Lady Catherine urged me to come. She desires me to find a bride with all possible haste. I have learnt that acquiescence spares me much contention. Yet if I should meet the lady of my heart whilst here, I shall have no cause to complain. Her edicts will never govern my choice—nor its timing.”
Mr Bennet nodded approvingly. “I suspected as much from your careful phrasing of the lady’s virtues. Is she as formidable as I presume?” He toyed idly with a button on his waistcoat as he waited for the reply.
“What words could I use to describe the great Lady Catherine de Bourgh that would not be impolitic?” Collins asked with arueful smile. “When I was offered the living, I accepted it without question. Never once did I consider she supposed me malleable and easily led. I am neither, though once I might have been. The financial relief you afforded my father changed him. He became a different man before his death, and counselled me to be all he was not.‘Do not allow others to dictate to you,’he said.‘Be your own man and live rightly.’I have endeavoured to follow that advice. I want to believe my patroness means well, but her interference remains…exasperating.”
“You will need a wife equal to withstanding her,” Mr Bennet observed. “My Mary is strong-minded and walks her own path. It is too soon to say whether you might suit, but it bears consideration. I would never wish a husband for my daughter who valued another woman’s whims above her own.”
Collins’ tone grew earnest. “Never! A man is to cleave unto his wife and no other, as Scripture declares. I would do just that.”
Bennet regarded him a moment, then inclined his head. “There are few gentlemen whose presence I can tolerate with equanimity. I believe you may be one of them. Welcome to Longbourn, sir.”
“I thank you.” Collins hesitated. “Is your wife well, sir? Have I said aught to offend her?”
Bennet gave a dry laugh. “Pray forgive Fanny,” he said. “She is ever in a flutter where family matters are concerned, but she has been especially fraught with anxiety over your visit. Five daughters, you see—and the entail hung above her head for so long. Your arrival has reawakened those old anxieties, though they are now needless.”
His guest looked stricken. “Then I should take my leave at once!” he cried. “It would be unpardonable to make your wife uncomfortable in her own home.”
“Peace, son. Your visit was discussed at length before I sent my reply. She will be well—especially if you continue to favour one of her daughters. I must, however, inform you that Jane is attached to our neighbour, and Elizabeth has no wish to marry a second time. These cautions may be unnecessary, but I give them for my wife’s sake—her nerves being rather overset at present.”
“Acknowledged, sir,” Mr Collins replied gravely. “I thank you for your candour and trust this visit will prove agreeable to all in your household.”
Mr Bennet smiled and extended his hand. He found himself liking Collins, at least as far as he knew him thus far. He hoped he would not be disappointed—or deceived.
Chapter Thirty-One
19 November 1811
Meryton
Elizabeth
“Imeantowalkinto Meryton,” Elizabeth announced to her family at breakfast. “I have books to return to the lending library, and I must purchase ribbons for Elinor.”
“I shall accompany you.” Jane spread fresh butter on her scone. “Perhaps we might call at Aunt Phillips’s while we are out.”
Mary, brightened at the thought of an outing, declared she would join them. Kitty and Lydia exchanged glances but held their peace; they were required at their lessons, and complaint would only bring further restraint.
“May I walk out with you?” Mr Collins enquired cheerfully. “I should like to see more of the neighbourhood while I am here.”
“Of course, sir! We should be pleased for your company.” Mary spoke before anyone else could answer, her eagerness obvious; Elizabeth and Jane merely nodded their assent.
“I shall ask Elinor if she would like to come,” Elizabeth turned to her eldest sister. “She has been begging for a sweet from the confectioner’s for days.” To Mr Collins she added, “Elinor is my daughter, sir. I shall be pleased to introduce her to you.”
