November 18th dawned gray and damp, with low clouds pressing upon Longbourn as though the sky itself had come to listen for gossip. Mr. Collins was expected before dinner, and Mrs. Bennet had turned the house into a theater of preparation. The best sheets had been aired, the silver inspected, the dinner argued over three times, and the younger girls warned not to laugh at the heir until everyone knew whether he was rich enough in compliments to be endured.
Elizabeth did not laugh.
By late afternoon, Mr. Collins arrived.
Within ten minutes, Elizabeth knew his letter had not misrepresented him.
If anything, it had been charitable.
He was a tall, heavy-looking young man with an air of solemn importance and a manner that seemed to require admiration before every sentence could proceed. He apologized for being late, then explained why his delay was unavoidable, then apologized for explaining at such length, then assured them that Lady Catherine de Bourgh would approve of punctuality when possible and explanation when not. He admired the hall, the stairs, the drawing room, the fire screen, the chimney piece, Mrs. Bennet’s daughters, Mr. Bennet’s condescension in receiving him, and the excellent arrangement of the dinner table, all with the same ponderous sincerity.
Mrs. Bennet was delighted.
Mr. Bennet was entertained.
Mary was attentive.
Lydia whispered that he bowed like a pump handle, and Kitty nearly choked attempting not to laugh.
Elizabeth listened, weary beyond words, and thought that no woman in England had ever been less inclined to receive an olive branch.
Dinner was an exercise in endurance. Mr. Collins spoke of Lady Catherine, of Rosings Park, of the great chimney piece at Rosings Park, of Lady Catherine’s daughter, of the smallness of his parsonage only when compared to the grandeur of Rosings Park, of his humble gratitude for preferment, and of his delicate wish to heal the breach between himself and the Bennet family. Every subject, no matter how distant its beginning, found its way back to Lady Catherine before the course had ended.
Mr. Bennet withdrew to his bookroom as soon as the ladies left the table, claiming letters with a gravity that deceived no one. Elizabeth watched him go with a flicker of resentment. He had brought this man into their home—or rather, had allowed him to come with no preparation beyond a joke—and now abandoned them to him.
In the drawing room, Mr. Collins seated himself near Mrs. Bennet with the air of a man prepared to bestow great benevolence.
“My dear madam,” he began, “I cannot express how sensible I am of the awkwardness which must naturally arise from my position with respect to this estate. The entail is, I assure you, a matter upon which I reflect with all proper humility.”
Mrs. Bennet pressed her handkerchief to her lips. “It is a very hard thing, Mr. Collins. Very hard indeed. Five daughters, and all to be turned out when their poor father dies.”
“Indeed, indeed. A most affecting situation. It was precisely such reflection, encouraged by the wise counsel of my noble patroness, Lady Catherine de Bourgh, which moved me to consider whether some manner of reconciliation—some domestic olive branch, as it were—might not soften the unhappy circumstances.”
Elizabeth sat very still.
Her mother’s eyes darted, just once, toward Jane.
“You are very thoughtful, sir,” Mrs. Bennet said, with a delicacy so uncharacteristic it could only mean strategy. “And I am sure any attention to my girls must be received with gratitude. Though, of course, my eldest daughter is very likely soon to be engaged.”
Jane’s head lifted sharply. “Mama.”
Mrs. Bennet waved the protest away. “Not engaged, perhaps, but very admired. Very much admired. A mother cannot be blind, Mr. Collins, particularly when the gentleman has five thousand a year and the sweetest temper in the world.”
Mr. Collins blinked, adjusted himself in his chair, and looked from Jane to Mrs. Bennet with solemn comprehension. “I understand. Miss Bennet’s beauty must naturally have attracted admiration.”
Jane’s cheeks were scarlet now. Elizabeth wished she could take her hand, but they sat too far apart.
Mrs. Bennet leaned slightly nearer to Mr. Collins and lowered her voice just enough to ensure every person in the room heard. “Elizabeth, however, has no prior attachment that I am aware of.”
The words struck Elizabeth like cold water.
She did not move. She did not trust herself to move.
Mr. Collins turned toward her with a look of grave appraisal. “Indeed?”
Mrs. Bennet smiled eagerly. “Oh yes. Lizzy is very useful about the estate. Very clever in her way. Not so handsome as Jane, of course, but lively. Very lively. And she knows all the tenants and accounts, which must be a great comfort to any gentleman who will one day possess Longbourn.”
Elizabeth’s throat tightened until speech became impossible.
