“Very proper, Mr. Collins—very proper indeed! Charlotte is a sensible girl, and Lucas Lodge wants only a little consequence to make it quite the thing.”
Mr. Bennet glanced up from his newspaper with mild irony but offered no comment, merely permitting himself the faintest twitch of a smile as the two set forth.
The distance to Lucas Lodge was indeed short—a pleasant stroll across the lane with a field by its side, the path familiar and the morning air fresh with the scent of dew upon the grass. Mr. Collins walked with a lightness of step that seemed to betray the agitation of his hopes; his countenance, usually composed in earnest gravity, now shone with an unfeigned radiance that Elizabeth could not but find endearing.
“You appear in particularly good spirits this morning, Cousin,” Lizzy observed after a few moments of companionable silence, her tone affectionate yet teasing. “One might almost suppose you had taken decision of the most gratifying nature.”
Mr. Collins colored deeply, yet his smile did not diminish.
“You are perceptive as ever, dear cousin. The news Mr. Bennet conveyed concerning Miss Lucas has filled me with… with the warmest reflections. To think that a lady of such excellent understanding and steady character might once more be… free to consider… suitable attachments—it is most providential.”
Elizabeth regarded him with gentle raillery, though her heart warmed at his transparent sincerity.
“Providential, indeed. Charlotte bears the disappointment with her usual composure—she has ever valued independence of mind above uncertain prospects.”
Mr. Collins inclined his head with fervent agreement.
“Precisely what renders her so admirable! A lady who unites prudence with kindness, sense with sweetness—such qualities are the foundation of true domestic felicity.”
They continued thus, Elizabeth drawing him out with light questions while privately reflecting upon the contrast between his earnest devotion and the more turbulent emotions she had observed in others the previous evening. The walk passed swiftly, and soon Lucas Lodge appeared before them—a comfortable, unpretending house of red brick, its windows cheerful and its garden neatly kept.
Sir William received them at the door with his customary effusive hospitality, his round face beaming at the sight of visitors.
“Mr. Collins! Miss Elizabeth! What a pleasure—what an unexpected delight! Come in, come in—Lady Lucas and Charlotte are within.”
Lady Lucas echoed her husband’s welcome with maternal warmth, while Charlotte herself rose from her embroidery with a composed smile that yet betrayed a quiet pleasure at the arrival—particularly, perhaps, of one gentleman whose earnest gaze rested upon her with renewed hope.
The party seated themselves in the familiar parlor, conversation flowing easily upon neighborhood news, the events of the previous evening, and the gratifying intelligence that Netherfield was at last to be occupied by a kind gentleman of fair wealth.
Sir William, ever fond of consequence, dwelt with satisfaction upon the arrival of gentlemen of such distinction, whileCharlotte inquired politely after the visitors’ impressions with her usual good sense.
When tea had been served and the general topics somewhat exhausted, Mr. Collins—his countenance betraying a mixture of resolution and nervous deference—requested a private word with Sir William. The gentleman, flattered by the attention, led the young clergyman at once to his small study, leaving the ladies to their conversation.
There, in the quiet of the book-lined room, Mr. Collins addressed his host with that earnest formality which characterized his most serious moments.
“Sir William,” he began, bowing with profound respect, “I have long esteemed your family with the warmest regard, and your daughter Miss Lucas in particular with an admiration that time and reflection have only served to deepen. The intelligence I lately received—of the happy dissolution of a former attachment—has emboldened me to hope that you might not view with disfavor my aspiration to pay my addresses to her. I am sensible of the honor such a connexion would confer, and I venture to solicit your permission to be considered, with your approbation, as a suitor for Miss Lucas’s hand.”
Sir William, whose disappointment over the broken match had been keen, regarded the parson with initial surprise that quickly softened into gratification. A clergyman of steady character, established under the patronage of Lady Catherine de Bourgh herself, represented consequence of a most respectable kind. He knew all these from the letters the young vicar sent to his Cousin Mr bennet and shared by His wife and Lizzy.
“My dear Mr. Collins,” he replied with beaming cordiality, “nothing could give me greater pleasure! Charlotte is a sensible girl—excellent understanding, prudent in every particular. Ihave ever wished her established in a way that reflects credit upon us all. Your situation at Hunsford, your connexion with Rosings—most gratifying, most gratifying indeed! You have my full consent and approbation. Speak to her, sir—speak to her with my blessing.”
Mr. Collins bowed again, his countenance radiant with heartfelt gratitude and scarcely contained joy.
“I am overwhelmed by your kindness, Sir William. Your condescension exceeds all I dared to hope. Thank you.”
The two returned to the parlor shortly thereafter, Sir William’s beaming countenance and Mr. Collins’s glowing satisfaction betraying the happy issue of their conference. Charlotte, perceiving the change with her usual quiet discernment, colored faintly yet met Mr. Collins’s earnest gaze with a composure that held gentle encouragement.
Elizabeth, who had observed the gentlemen’s absence with affectionate curiosity, regarded her cousin with a smile that mingled raillery with genuine warmth, reflecting privately upon the quiet felicities that prudence and steady affection might secure.
Yet when the opportunity presented itself, Charlotte suggested William Collins that they might step into the garden to view the late-blooming roses—Mr. Collins seized it with a deference that betrayed the agitation of his hopes. Elizabeth, perceiving the wish for privacy with her usual quick understanding, remained within doors under pretense of admiring Maria’s embroidery, leaving the two to walk alone upon the gravel path bordered by neatly tended beds.
The air was mild, the sun slanting gently through the leaves, and the garden—though modest—offered that quiet seclusionproper to serious discourse. Mr. Collins walked beside Charlotte with a reverence that rendered his step almost hesitant, his hands clasped behind his back as though to steady the tumult within.
“Miss Lucas,” he began at length, his rich baritone voice low with earnest feeling, “I have long esteemed you with an admiration that time and reflection have only served to deepen. Your kindness upon every occasion—your steadiness of character, your excellent understanding—these have impressed themselves upon my heart with a force I can no longer disguise. The intelligence I lately received—of the happy dissolution of a former attachment—has emboldened me to hope that you might not view with disfavor my aspiration to offer you that respectful and devoted attachment which I have cherished in silence. At Hunsford, under the gracious patronage of Lady Catherine de Bourgh, I enjoy a situation of comfort and respectability. The parsonage, though unpretending, is convenient and well-appointed; the glebe affords sufficient produce for a modest table, and the garden—which I have taken pains to cultivate—yields both useful vegetables and flowers in abundance. The bellflowers, in particular, have thrived this season, their delicate blue recalling to me, with the tenderest pleasure, a certain morning in Hertfordshire when… when I first ventured to offer a small token of regard.”
He paused, his color heightened, yet his gaze remained steady upon her countenance, seeking with hopeful anxiety the effect of his words.
Charlotte, who had listened with composed attention—her fine eyes lowered in modest reflection—raised them now with a gentle smile that held both warmth and decision.
