Papa wouldnot, most likely, have approved, she thought, with the faintest trace of guilt. He was gone, however, and Milton Palmer, a young curate of good, if not genteel family, was here.
She had deposited Mary with the Palmers and a warm, if slightly awkward Milton and had just begun her search for Lydia when a beaming Mr Collins approached her to pay his respects.
“My dear Mrs Ashwood,” he said, taking both her hands. “How wonderful to see you. Are you doing well?”
“I am desperately unhappy, thank you,” she replied cheerfully. She always answered him with similar words, and he always offered her the same puzzled expression in return, thereafter ignoring whatever she said in favour of paying her a highly amusing compliment. Even though she was no longer nearly as miserable as she once had been, it entertained her to continue the tease, and she waited in real anticipation for his verbal posy.
“Here, allow me to present you to our new neighbour,” he said instead, practically dragging her to the side of Mr Bingley, who had had the misfortune to be wandering nearby at that precise moment. Thankfully, Mr Snubs, Mrs Jaded, and Miss Disapproval had remained far enough away that Elizabeth was not required to acknowledge the other members of the Netherfield party—who plainly wouldnotwish to acknowledge her.
“Mr Bingley, may I present to you my beloved wife’ssister, Mrs Elizabeth Ashwood?” He did not wait for agreement, but plunged on with almost embarrassing earnestness. “Mrs Ashwood, Mr Bingley. Dear Mrs Ashwood has been widowed for over a year—I am sure you will, tonight, meet her husband’s heir, Mr John Ashwood, as well. I would be happy to introduce you. Mrs Ashwood, did you have a pleasant ride from Stoke with the Ashwoods this evening? How do they fare?”
She nearly laughed; Mr Collins wassoobtuse. “They do not share their carriages with me, sir. I begged a ride with the Harringtons.” There was an awkward pause as Mr Collins struggled with a response.
Mr Bingley jumped manfully into the breach. “So very good to meet you, Mrs Ashwood. Your neighbourhood is such a pleasant one.”
“Thank you,” she replied, curtseying, as her elder sister joined the little group.Now, here is something interesting.Jane had not approached Elizabeth apurpose since their estrangement—she must not have managed an introduction before this moment, andtrulydesired it.
Jane was beautiful, still, perhaps even more so since her marriage four years past. Mr Collins obviously thought so, as he proudly extended introductions to her. “Ah, my dearest perfection, here you are at last. Mr Bingley, allow me to present my lovely wife, the splendour of Hertfordshire, the shining star of Longbourn, Mrs Jane Collins. Mrs Collins, meet Mr Bingley of Netherfield.”
Elizabeth saw the surprise in Mr Bingley’s eyes—and it was obvious what he thought.What is the greatest beauty in the room doing withyou?
Unfortunately, and as if Mr Bingley had asked the question aloud, Mr Collins provided answers. “Sir, my wife’sfamily has held Longbourn, our estate, for generations, and I, being fortunate enough to have been its heir, was privileged to receive her hand in marriage along with her home and family not many months before my cousin, her dear papa, died. We are only some three miles distant from you, with many rich acres of forest and farm betwixt us. Oh, how difficult it must have been for Mr Bennet, her proud father, to leave his fair lands! It is the most beautiful country on earth.”
Ah, Mr Collins, why must you serve up every detail, especially those which provide unnecessary explanation?
Jane, as usual, ignored her husband’s blathering, just as Elizabeth ignored her desire to defend the silly man. He truly was good-hearted, and seemed to Elizabeth a sympathetic, if not sagacious husband. In her opinion, he treated her mother, Mary, and Lydia very kindly—which was not always easy. Mama resented him, always, but especially when he denied her requests for new gowns or something extravagant for Lydia. Mr Collins had not grown up with excess, and he watched his pennies. In money matters he did not pretend to genius, but he listened scrupulously to Longbourn’s steward—as Mr Bennet seldom had.
However, neither was Longbourn’s master miserly; for instance, he had a set schedule of when new clothing was due each, and he stuck to it. Whenever there were complaints—and there were bound to be, in a household once presided over by the unconsciously liberal Mr Bennet—Mr Collins simply dragged out all the account books and repeated, in minute detail, the steward’s financial advice informing his decision. He used so many words in these explanations that he no longer had to make them; if it didnot stop Mrs Bennet from her huffs and sighs, it at least often convinced her to keep them to herself.
To Jane, he had allocated a generous sum in pin money, and he spoke of her beauty to anyone who would listen. Elizabeth believed that their marriage, for all its unromantic beginnings, was sound enough.
Mr Bingley’s smile was wider as he made his greetings to Jane, and it was obvious he was somewhat dazzled by ‘the splendour of Hertfordshire’. He bowed over her hand, and asked her for the set after he had fulfilled his obligations to his sisters. Regally, she agreed.
“Good evening, Jane,” Elizabeth said, unable to prevent the formality in her tone.
“Good evening, Elizabeth,” Jane replied, equally formal.
With what Elizabeth termed her sister’s ‘false smile’—the one she used when feeling uncomfortable or awkward or even angry, Elizabeth no longer knew which—Jane departed as quickly as she had come. Mr Collins faithfully trotted after her. Mr Bingley watched them go.
2
STUPID MANNERS
Elizabeth had kept a desultory eye on the newcomers, in between attempting conversations with those who would meet her eye and finally cornering an undisciplined youngest sister—whom Mrs Bennet simultaneously spoilt and ignored, seldom providing the supervision or safeguards Lydia needed. Even though disappointed in the friendliness of the Bingley sisters, Elizabeth still wished to make inroads in reclaiming some sort of place in society. Her unexpected melancholy at Mr Ashwood’s death, and a mourning period spent alone in the inhabitable portion of the dower house, had allowed Fanny’s vindictiveness to hold sway over the neighbourhood.
It might have been easier to be here tonight, had not Charlotte abandoned the neighbourhood in favour of becoming a companion to a maiden aunt in Oxford. Then again, perhaps she would not have helped after all. Although they still exchanged the occasional letter, it had been clear before she departed that Charlotte resented the marriageElizabeth had so unwillingly entered into, angry that old Mr Ashwood had never consideredheras a bride and chosen a too-young Elizabeth instead.
Determinedly, she shoved these thoughts away. Her personal goal this evening was to rejoin society, to cease dwelling upon the past and point herself towards a calm and interesting future. She watched as Mr Bingley interrupted his set with Jane in order to press his friend to join it.
“Come, Darcy,” said Mr Bingley. “I hate to see you standing about by yourself in this stupid manner. You had much better dance.”
The stranger called ‘Darcy’ practically sputtered his reply. “I certainly shall not. You know how I detest dancing. Have you botheredlookingat those surrounding you? I was introduced to a linen draper. A linen draper, Bingley!”
Mr Snubs is a much better fit than ‘Darcy’, Elizabeth observed.
“I would wager he was amongst the best dressed here, old boy! I would not be so fastidious as you for a kingdom! Have you eyes in your head? How can you prefer your own dull company to so many comely girls surrounding you on every side?”
“I am not one who collects admirers like you collect your snuff boxes. Besides, you are already dancing with the handsomest one. I hear her hand has already been claimed, else I presume you would by now be offering a polish to her halo and wings.”
