After Mr. Bennet handed it to him, and he unfolded it and read it carefully. When he got to the signature, a small smile of relief came across his face. “I thought so. Mr. Bennet, this was not written by the reverend Mr. Smethurst.”
“I knew it!” exclaimed Mary. “It is a fabrication by that dreadful Mr. Collins to force you to fire Mr. Yarby, Papa.”
“No, Mr. Collins did not write this,” Yarby said. “I recognize the hand quite well. It was written by Mr. Smethurst’s elderly father—also a reverend and now retired. He suffers from senility, you see. However, he still sometimes thinks himself the rector there and has been known to wander into his son’s office when it is not occupied and attempt to do some work—answer letters and so on. You see here”—he pointed to the signature—“He signed it Thomas Smethurst. The reverend Mr. Smethurst who wrote my recommendation is Charles Smethurst. Thomas did know me, of course, but as I said, his senility was becoming rather pronounced. Things from the past were still fresh in his memory, but more current situations or people—such as me and my service—seemed to fade from his mind rather quickly.”
“Wait a minute.” Mr. Bennet hurried from the sitting room and after a moment, returned, holding a bundle of papers. “Ah! I knew I had not thrown out or burned your application. See here—the sermons you included and”—he pointed to another page—“the letter of recommendation signed by Charles Smethurst. And I can see now it is written in a very different hand than this page from his father. I cannot think why I did not consider checking these old papers at once when Mr. Collins showed me the letter.”
Everyone gave a relieved sigh.
“Well. Forgive me for having doubts yet again, Robert, Amelia. But this letter arrived, and things have been so befogged of late—I fear I was far too quick to accept the letter as authentic,” Mr. Bennet said sadly.
“What else could you think?” Yarby finished for him. “I understand your concerns, and pray do not give it any more thought. It seems our minds have been at sixes and sevens for some time now, but at last, I hope we can put any doubts to rest.”
Mr. Bennet crossed over and extended his hand to Mr. Yarby who shook it firmly.
“I think we could all do with some tea,” Mr. Bennet said, going to the bell pull. When he returned and sat, a puzzled expression crossed his face. “Just one more thing, Robert. When you first came in—what did you mean by your statement that you did not anticipate Mary breaking the news to me so soon. What news?”
Smiling, Mr. Yarby rose and went to Mary, taking her hand and kissing it. “That your daughter and I are engaged, sir. I asked Mary to be my wife while at Pemberley, and she has graciously accepted me.”
“Is this true, Mary?” Mr. Bennet asked.
Mary looked up at her fiancé, her face glowing with joy before answering. “Yes, Papa. Robert loves me. We love each other! Oh, can you believe things would work out in this happy way?”
Before Mr. Bennet could reply, Mrs. Hill was at the door.
“What did you need, Mr. Bennet, tea for everyone?”
“Hang the tea, Mrs. Hill. We need two bottles of our finest wine—at once! We have an engagement to celebrate!”
Whooping with excitement, Mrs. Hill congratulated Mary and Yarby, then hurried off to retrieve the wine. By now, everyone was on their feet, hugging each other, laughing, and even crying with happiness.
“What is going on?” Kitty’s voice cut through the celebration. Beside her stood Phillip Yarby. “Mr. Yarby and I were taking a walk, and when we got back to the parish, Ellen told us you were here. Is it Lydia? More bad news?”
“You have only to look at their faces, Miss Catherine, to see something quite special is taking place.” Phillip grinned as he looked at Robert and Mary, arms around each other. “I believe my little brother has just become engaged to your sister.”
Kitty screamed with delight and rushed to hug her sister just as Mrs. Hill returned with the wine. Mr. Bennet and both Mr. Yarbys helped fill the glasses.
“I was so afraid you would be upset,” whispered Mary to Kitty. “For was he not a favorite of yours at one time?”
Kitty tossed her head, and giggled. “As if I would want to be married to a stuffy preacher—even one as nice as Mr. Yarby. No. My heart is set on another now, and Mary”—she lowered her voice to a whisper—“I do believe he feels the same.”
The two hugged again, then broke apart to take the proffered glasses of wine.
“A toast!” Mr. Bennet cried. “To Robert and Mary. I am glad to know that my book-loving daughter will not stray far from my library but live contentedly next door.”
“To Robert and Mary!” echoed everyone.
As they drank, Mr. Bennet and Amelia exchanged a loving glance. Words were not needed to know what they both were thinking: the time to reveal their secret love would come soon.
Chapter 37
As soon as his official mourning period was over in late May, Mr. Bennet called on Mr. Collins at Lucas Lodge. He considered inviting his cousin over to Longbourn in order to have their discussion in his own library, but this way, he could end the appointment and leave Lucas Lodge when he wished. The news he was about to deliver would be such that Mr. Bennet was certain Mr. Collins would begin to grovel and beg, which might be tedious at best. Better that he should state his piece and depart.
It had not been easy putting off the pushy rector for the past month and a half while Mr. Bennet waited for the anniversary of his wife’s death and the end of his mourning period. He did not want to give Mr. Collins any opportunity to make good on his threat to expose his romantic attachment to Amelia and cause a scandal. The gossip was likely to be minimal, but he did not wish to hurt his future bride. Whenever Mr. Collins sidled up to him after church services and quietly inquired about the letter from Thomas Smethurst, Mr. Bennet merely demurred and begged patience, saying he was “still investigating, but no doubt the truth would be a revelation to all once he got to the bottom of it.” Then he would pat Mr. Collins’s arm and give him a bit of a wink as if they shared a great secret.
So, Mr. Bennet knew Mr. Collins would have no reason to suspect anything when the two sat down in the Lucas Lodge salon that spring day. Indeed, he noted that Mr. Collins had the appearance of one who eagerly anticipated hearing happy news.
“I so appreciate your coming to visit me, my dear Mr. Bennet,” Mr. Collins began when the two sat down and he had ordered tea be brought in. “Your thoroughness in confirming what the reverend Mr. Smethurst’s letter revealed is to be commended.”
