Chapter 13 #2
Mr. Collins stared at his hostess in amazement, and then he turned to look at Mr. Bennet, who now sat with hands clasped on his lap and his legs extended casually in front of him, and then back at Mrs. Bennet.
“A Season? For my two older cousins?” he blurted out. “Is that not terribly expensive? Moreover, I would have thought, that is, in order to be invited to parties in London, one must…”
He trailed off, and Mrs. Bennet said, “Please drink your tea before it gets cold.”
He obeyed, and as his mouth was occupied, she said, “Mr. Collins, you would have no way of knowing this, of course, but my sadly deceased father was the fourth Viscount Langdon, master of Wrayburn in Sussex, and thus I have many relations who are members of the nobility. I am confident we will have no trouble earning invitations to the routs, balls, and Venetian breakfasts of the Season.”
Mr. Collins felt his jaw drop, and he turned a wide-eyed stare on Mr. Bennet, who grinned and said, “Indeed, I definitely married up for my second marriage. It is no small thing for a simple country gentleman to gain a viscount’s daughter as a wife!”
This was, undoubtedly true, and Mr. Collins’s mind, never quick, slowed even more than usual as thoughts of his own humble beginnings, and of nobility, and of wealth, and of age, and marriage, and Lady Catherine’s directives, all jumbled together in his mind.
“I see,” he lied. He most definitely did not see. And for the first time since he arrived, he did not speak, even though no one else was.
“I am glad,” Mrs. Bennet said, standing up with a bright smile. “Now, I am certain you wish to refresh yourself, so permit me to escort you to our best guest bedchamber.”
This mollified her guest somewhat, and he obediently followed her out of the door and up the stairs to a very comfortable bedchamber, where the fire was already blazing.
“Feel free to enjoy a few hours here before dinner, or come down to the drawing room when it is convenient to you,” Mrs. Bennet said.
“Thank you,” Mr. Collins replied.
***
Mr. Collins’s Guest Bedchamber
That Night
Mr. Collins sank into the chair that had been drawn up before the fire and comfortably stretched his long legs out before himself, which were appropriately clad in sober black breeches.
He rested his hands on his knees and looked around the room appreciatively.
Lady Catherine de Bourgh, patroness of the Hunsford living, kept the parsonage in excellent repair, but it could not at all be expected, and indeed would be entirely too odd, for a mere parsonage to be as luxurious as a true estate manse.
Mrs. Bennet had said that this was the nicest guest room, and Mr. Collins believed her, but it stood to reason that the chambers for the family were even nicer.
Mr. Collins was not such a churl as to wish illness and death on a cousin who was so plainly the picture of robust health, but he rather believed he could be forgiven his excitement at the prospect of one day stepping into Mr. Bennet's shoes.
Not, he hoped piously, for some many years yet.
It did not seem unreasonable to think that Mr. Bennet would grace the earth for some twenty or even thirty more years.
Nonetheless, God willing, Mr. Collins would someday introduce himself, not as Mr. Collins the rector at Hunsford, but as Mr. Collins, Master of Longbourn.
It was a blissful thought, and a little thrill of excitement shot through him from head to toe.
Only one flaw marred his bliss. He had expected to marry one of the Misses Bennet, thereby ensuring the ladies could keep their home through the vehicle of his generosity.
He had been nobly prepared to sacrifice the finer points of his desires and marry even a homely girl, but he had been utterly delighted when he had walked into a room filled with fine examples of feminine beauty.
All of the Bennet daughters were uncommonly pretty; nay, in truth, the younger four, even the two children, were remarkably pretty.
The eldest Miss Bennet could not accurately be described with any word short of exquisite.
It was a pity, indeed, Mr. Collins thought with a sad little pang, that Miss Bennet would not become his bride.
He would very much enjoy being married to such a beautiful wife.
Alas! He must resign himself to his disappointment.
A viscount's granddaughter, even a step-granddaughter, could have her pick and choice of husbands, short of the upper nobility. No lady of such position with any good sense at all would settle for a mere rector. Moreover, considering that the two eldest were having a Season the following year, there must be a fair amount of money in the family, far more than he had anticipated. He was not, he realized gloomily, the kindly cousin coming to save his cousins from destitution. No, given Miss Bennet’s beauty and the entire family’s connections, he was nothing more than a distant connection.
Mr. Collins would have to swallow his disappointment and salve his wounded spirits with the prospect of learning more of this fine estate that would one day be his.
It would be well for him to learn the boundaries of the estate, and what sort of land it was, and how much income it made.
It would behoove him to visit the nearby town, for he would need to know of what types the local shops were, and he could begin to meet his future neighbors.
He would also, of course, need to carry back a full report to his esteemed patroness.
Lady Catherine, herself a wise and experienced mistress of an estate, could instruct him on how he should best proceed when he took possession of his inheritance and what preparations he should begin making.
Mr. Collins sighed glumly. He hoped that she would also condescend to advise him further in the matter of finding a wife.
Now that his designs of marrying one of the daughters of Longbourn had been frustrated, he found himself entirely at a loss as to whom and how he should marry.
Perhaps his patroness could direct him as to where he should next seek for a bride.