Mr. Collins noticed her immediately. His spoon halted midair. “Good heavens. The dog joins the table?”
Mrs. Bennet gasped. “Lizzy! Why must that creature follow you everywhere? Pray, take her out at once before she alarms our guest.”
But before Elizabeth could move, Mr. Bennet intervened, perfectly calm. “Nonsense, my dear. Pippin is an honourable member of the household. She has the best table manners of us all.”
The girls stifled laughter. Mr. Collins attempted a smile, though his eyes betrayed a flicker of unease. “I see,” he said cautiously. “Lady Catherine maintains that animals are best kept at a distance from refined company—but no doubt every family has its own… customs.”
“Indeed,” said Elizabeth sweetly, “and ours is to keep company only with those who behave.”
A ripple of amusement travelled round the table. Mr. Bennet’s mouth curved, Jane hid a smile in her napkin, and Lydia made an unladylike snort that she turned into a cough. Mrs. Bennet, however, coloured violently and hurried to change the subject, urging their guest to try the pie.
“Do have a slice, Mr. Collins,” she said with nervous zeal. “It is my own receipt, quite famous in Meryton, I assure you.”
Mr. Collins complied at once, taking a liberal portion. “Exquisite,” he declared solemnly. “So light, so decorous. I daresay Lady Catherine herself would approve such temperance in sweetness.”
Elizabeth, deciding she had heard enough of Lady Catherine for one meal, dropped a small piece of pie beneath the table. Pippin accepted the offering with silent dignity, chewing daintily before resuming her watchful position at her mistress’s feet.
“I hope you are taking notes, my love,” Elizabeth whispered, her tone low and conspiratorial. “You see? Civility begins with flattery and may ends with pastry.”
Pippin looked up, dark eyes gleaming, then turned her head toward Mr. Collins and released the faintest huff through her nose, as though her opinion of him had been firmly settled.
Elizabeth bit back a laugh. “Quite so,” she murmured. “You and I understand each other perfectly.”
Later that evening, when the house had quieted and the candles burned low, Elizabeth found herself alone in her chamber. Pippin lay curled upon the rug, still drowsy from her supper.
“Well, my dearest friend,” Elizabeth said, unpinning her hair, “our cousin is everything I expected, humble to the point of vanity, and pious without an ounce of sense. He reveres a lady he cannot equal and offends everyone else by imitation.”
Pippin blinked up at her, tail stirring faintly.
“Oh, you agree,” Elizabeth laughed softly. “I daresay you have more discernment than half the clergy in England. Still, he means no harm. We shall endure him, my dear, as we endure the weather.”
She knelt to stroke the dog’s silky head. “But if he speaks one more word of Lady Catherine de Bourgh, I shall expect you to howl for mercy.”
Pippin yawned in perfect approval, settled her chin on Elizabeth’s slipper, and sighed as though the matter were closed.
Elizabeth smiled faintly. “A wise creature. The best company in Hertfordshire.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Longbourn – October 1811
AS IF FEARING THAT the family might have forgotten he was a clergyman overnight, Mr. Collins resumed the next morning precisely as he had left off, by preaching. From his chair at breakfast, he delivered a solemn discourse on the duty of family affection and the virtue of Christian forgiveness.
Elizabeth, seated beside Jane, hid her smile behind her teacup. The cadence of his speech, the moral tone, and his frequent nods to “propriety” reminded her of Mr. Fordyce’sSermons—though without Fordyce’s elegance.
When he paused at last to sip his tea, Mr. Bennet said mildly, “You must find Longbourn a most suitable parish, cousin. There is sin enough here to furnish every sermon.”
Mrs. Bennet frowned at her husband’s levity. “Nonsense, Mr. Bennet. We are a most moral household.”
Mr. Collins inclined his head gravely. “Indeed, ma’am, I perceive it at once. The harmony of this family quite overpowers me. I flatter myself that, during my stay, I may be permitted to cultivate a closer acquaintance with my amiable cousins. A clergyman cannot discharge his duty more respectably than by uniting prudence with affection—especially when Providence has placed before him such opportunities for domestic felicity.”
His eyes passed thoughtfully around the table, resting a little longer upon Jane.
Mrs. Bennet brightened. “You are most considerate, sir. And speaking of family felicity, it is no secret that our eldest, Jane, has lately attracted the admiration of the most eligible gentleman in Hertfordshire. Only last week, Mr. Bingley asked her to dance twice. Twice, Mr. Collins! And he has already called at Longbourn to pay his respects.”
Elizabeth’s spoon paused halfway to her mouth. She understood her mother’s maneuver at once. Mrs. Bennet was steering their cousin away from Jane, but toward whom, if not herself?
Mr. Collins looked momentarily disappointed, then recovered with a smile of benevolent resignation. “I rejoice to hear of Miss Bennet’s prospects. Such a union, founded on mutual esteem, must bring comfort to all concerned. Still,” he added, bowing slightly toward Elizabeth, “I trust there is no scarcity of amiability among her sisters.”
