Lydia giggled; Mary looked scandalised at the levity. Mr. Bennet continued:
“‘Having completed my ordination and, through the gracious condescension of my noble patroness, Lady Catherine de Bourgh, now happily settled in the rectory of Hunsford near Rosings Park, I feel it incumbent upon me to set an example of humility by making the acquaintance of your esteemed self and wife, and of course, your fair daughters.’”
“Humility indeed,” murmured Elizabeth, earning a stifled laugh from Jane.
“‘…And as it is my intention, while under your hospitable roof, to solicit the honour of one of your daughters’ hands in marriage—thus making amends for the entail which has so long deprived them—’”’”
“Marriage!” cried Mrs. Bennet, sitting bolt upright and nearly upsetting the gravy boat. “Oh, Mr. Bennet, did you hear? He means to marry one of them! We are saved!”
Mr. Bennet, still perfectly composed, said, “So it seems our cousin’s Christianity is of the most practical kind. Continue? Very well.”
He read on a few lines about “dutiful gratitude” and “Lady Catherine’s excellent advice,” then folded the letter with a wry smile. “In short, my dear, we may expect him on Saturday, prepared to sacrifice himself to whichever of you girls looks least disagreeable.”
Mrs. Bennet clasped her hands in delight. “Oh, what a charming man he must be! To think he should wish to make reparation in so genteel a way—and he arrives in only two days’ time! We shall lose Longbourn to no stranger after all.”
Her gaze drifted—significantly—to Elizabeth.
Elizabeth raised her brows. “Why look at me, Mama? Surely such heroism deserves the eldest.”
“Jane has Mr. Bingley,” Mrs. Bennet said promptly, “and you are next in beauty and age.”
“I thank you for so delicate a compliment,” Elizabeth returned with perfect composure.
Pippin, who had been dozing under the table, gave a low, expressive bark, as if offering her own opinion on the matter.
“There, even Pippin agrees!” cried Lydia between laughter.
“I should hope,” said Mr. Bennet, stroking his chin, “that she barks in protest, not consent. One sensible female in the house is quite enough.”
Mrs. Bennet waved the jest aside. “Oh, Mr. Bennet, you may laugh, but if Mr. Collins should take a fancy to Lizzy, we shall all be well provided for.”
“I cannot think so, my dear. From his letter, Mr. Collins does not appear to be a man who could manage Lizzy for a single day. Indeed, I suspect he would spend the first sermon seeking divine assistance, and the second begging for mercy. As for Pippin, she would bite him long before Lizzy had the chance.”
The room erupted in laughter. Even Mary tried, unsuccessfully, to hide a smile behind her napkin.
Mrs. Bennet, however, was not amused. “You may all laugh, but I tell you, Lizzy, if that dog so much as growls at Mr. Collins, I shall have her turned out into the yard where she belongs. I will not have your prospects ruined a second time by that creature!”
Elizabeth reached down to stroke Pippin’s silky ears, her tone sweetly innocent. “You hear that, my dear? If you disturb Mr. Collins, Mama will send you to live among the servants.”
Pippin wagged her tail once, as if wholly unmoved by the threat, and laid her head upon Elizabeth’s slipper, perfectly content and quite indifferent to both Mr. Collins and the yard.
When the family at last dispersed and the room had fallen into a companionable quiet, Elizabeth lingered by the fire, her gaze upon the dying embers. The pompous turns of Mr. Collins’s letter still echoed in her mind, and she gave a soft sigh.
“A most dutiful gentleman,” she murmured to Pippin, who blinked drowsily up at her, “and already I am persuaded I shall not like him.”
Pippin gave a faint yawn of agreement and nestled closer, her tail giving one last contented thump upon the hearthrug.
CHAPTER FIVE
Longbourn – October 1811
THE FOLLOWING MORNING, Elizabeth found a seat at the end of the parlour after breakfast. She had a small book in her lap and Pippin at her feet, the little spaniel’s tail wagging lazily in time with her mistress’s voice.
“A lady should cultivate her mind with gentleness and propriety,” Elizabeth read aloud, her tone dry, “and never allow her opinions to appear too decided, lest she discourage the admiration of men.”
She lowered the book, arching a brow at her four-legged companion. “Well, my dear Pippin, I am sure Mr. Darcy, and perhaps our cousin as well, would think most highly of this author. A man who prefers obedience to wit must find such counsel exceedingly sound.”
Pippin gave a brisk bark, as if in lively protest.
