22. Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Two
December 26, 1811 Longbourn, Hertfordshire Mr. Collins
M r. Collins stepped down from the coach, instructing the footman who waited to remove his things and take them into the house. He gazed up at Longbourn, grinning. Tomorrow, he would marry Miss Lydia Bennet, and his duty to heal the breach between his late father and his cousin would be complete.
After contemplating the ladies that Mr. Bennet said he could choose from, Mr. Collins had decided that Miss Jane Bennet would do. She was by far the loveliest of the Longbourn Ladies, and the eldest, too. Therefore, she was the most deserving of his attentions.
Yet, when he left his room to find her, he collided with a tall, solid, yet very soft form.
“Oh! Mr. Collins! Pray, forgive me! I was just off to Kitty’s room to find help with my stays.” Miss Lydia blushed and giggled.
His gaze went to her attire, and he paled before flushing in mortification. He could not look away, so fascinated was he by her pleasing form. Never had he beheld a lady anything less than meticulously dressed. Never had he imagined that they were so lovely. He swallowed hard and forced his gaze to her face.
“Miss Lydia,” he said weakly.
A door opened, and the eldest Miss Bennet entered the hallway. “Lydia!” she said shrilly. “Go to your room at once!”
“ You are not Mama, Jane.” Miss Lydia stuck her tongue out at her sister.
He idly thought that it was rather childish to do so, but his mind felt rather scrambled at the moment.
“Besides,” Miss Lydia continued, “Mr. Collins has just proposed, have you not, sir?”
In his confusion, he said, “Hmm? Yes, of course I did.” Had he? He could not recall, but the idea of marrying his youngest cousin suddenly greatly appealed to him.
“There, you see?” Miss Lydia declared. “I am to be Mrs. Collins and someday mistress of Longbourn. Ha!” She looped her arm through her cousin’s and pressed into his side. He swallowed and patted her hand.
“I have more right to it than you, anyway,” she said hotly. “ You are not a Bennet!”
This drew his attention and shocked him out of his dazed stupor.
“Not a Bennet?” he asked curiously. “Then what is she?” Had she not been introduced to him as such? What devilry and deception occurred
“Her true name is Jane Younge!” Lydia turned and pecked Mr. Collins on the cheek, causing his heart to speed. He licked his lips.
“Now, darling,” the brazen yet attractive young miss said, “I shall just go put on a lovely yellow morning gown whilst you go and speak to Papa. Shall we meet in the drawing room in fifteen minutes?”
He nodded distractedly, still wondering about Miss Bennet—Jane… Miss Younge, he supposed. Yes, Lydia was correct. She had more claim to Mr. Collins than the curious interloper did. Oh, he realized. I almost made a grave error. If I had married her, then I would not have successfully mended the breach. Oh, dear.
Coming back to himself, he entered the house, handing his hat and gloves to the waiting butler. “Where are the Bennets?” he asked.
“In the drawing room, sir,” Mr. Hill replied.
Collins nodded and stopped in front of the mirror in the hallway. He ran his fingers through his golden locks, fixing the mess his hat had made. Smiling, he admired his reflection before nodding once. It was time to seek his bride.
“Mr. Collins! You are most welcome, sir. Come in!” Mrs. Bennet bustled up to him and took his arm, guiding him to the settee where Lydia sat. His bride looked beautiful. Her blond hair had been arranged in a becoming fashion, and the dark green dress she wore in honor of the season set off her blue eyes nicely.
“My dear Lydia,” he said, sitting beside her and taking her hand. “Never have I beheld such exquisite beauty.”
“I am pleased to see you as well, sir,” Lydia said, giggling and patting his arm. “I have missed you so! A month is too long to wait to become your wife.”
“Then it is good that we will marry tomorrow.” He grinned, and Lydia fanned herself with her free hand.
He had known for years what his appearance did to women. He was always a beautiful boy and grew into a handsome man. Unfortunately, he knew his looks did not come with intelligence. His father had been illiterate and miserly, and his mother was the poor daughter of a farmer. But Collins knew from a young age that he felt destined for greater things than managing the struggling plot of land his father owned. Father always spoke of Longbourn and how he had been cheated of the property. Inheriting it gave him something to look forward to.
Unfortunately for the late Mr. Collins, he had died before his cousin, leaving his son as heir. Collins had hastily sold his property to a neighbor for enough funds to attend university and then had embarked on securing his future.
Giving sermons seemed a sensible direction to go. He need not write his own, for there were many already published that he could draw upon. All he needed to do was take orders and find a living.
Many that studied the church already had promised livings. They were second sons, or their uncles had held one for them. Collins had no such good fortune. Yet, God seemed to approve of his mission, because after he completed his education, he heard of a vacant living in Kent. Hastily, he wrote to Lady Catherine de Bourgh, using flowery and complimentary language to request an audience with her.
The lady did not reply for a month complete. When she did, it was to extend the offer immediately. He accepted and moved to Hunsford within a week. Why she had offered him the living without meeting, he did not know, nor did he care to inquire. Once the living was bestowed, she could not cast him out, and so his future was secure.
Lady Catherine seemed more than usually interested in her new parson. She peppered him with questions about his mother’s line first, of which he knew very little. The former Mrs. Collins had been disowned when she married her husband, and her son did not even know her maiden name. He knew more about his father’s family and told Lady Catherine all he knew.
She did not seem satisfied with the information, for it was hardly a complete picture of his cousin and his family. That was when she directed him to Meryton to secure a wife.
And here he was, ready to marry Miss Lydia Bennet.
“I see you have other guests, Mrs. Bennet,” Mr. Collins said pleasantly. “Pray, will you introduce me?”
“It is not for you to seek the introduction, Cousin,” Mr. Bennet chimed in, “but I imagine Mavery will allow me to introduce you. ”
So, the guests were higher placed than he. That was unsurprising. Mr. Collins could not yet be considered a gentleman, despite his gentlemanly profession.
“Please, do the honors, Bennet,” the man called Mavery said.
“Lord Elmwood, my cousin and heir—and soon to be my son-in-law, Mr. William Collins. Mr. Collins, the Earl of Elmwood, James Mavery.”
Collins gaped. “An earl! I had no idea you were so well-connected, sir! What an honor!” Mr. Collins rose and bowed low to the earl.
“I did tell you I knew Lady Catherine,” Mr. Bennet said amusedly.
“But I did not believe it. You are but a country squire, sir, and my patroness is of a noble line.” Mr. Collins shook his head in awe and sat once more by his betrothed. “Are you going to attend my wedding, sir? I would be most honored—”
“It is not my place, Mr. Collins. We will remain at Longbourn during the ceremony. As for the breakfast, my friend has insisted that we attend.” Lord Elmwood smiled politely and tipped his head toward Mr. Bennet.
Mr. Collins wondered what the nature of the connection was and opened his mouth to ask, only to be interrupted by Miss Elizabeth and Miss Mary’s entrance.
“My dear cousins! How good to see you.” He stood again and bowed. They nodded in greeting, and he once again felt somewhat disappointed that he could not marry one of them. Though his Lydia was beautiful, the dark hair Miss Mary and Miss Elizabeth had was more to his liking.
Lydia drew his attention, and he spent some time in pleasant conversation with his future wife before retiring to rest before dinner. Quite oblivious to the rest of the room, he gazed adoringly at his future bride, picturing how very lovely their children would be as she rattled away nonsensically.
Mr. Wickham
George Wickham tugged on his red coat as his fellow officers rang Longbourn’s bell. They had been graciously invited for an evening meal and cards, for which he felt great gratitude. It saved him from eating at the officer’s mess. The food there was far from superior. He deserved better.
They were admitted, and George quickly looked around to read the room. There were unfamiliar guests, and in one corner sat Mr. Collins, whom he had met briefly in Meryton about a month ago. On his arm was Miss Lydia Bennet. She was to marry the man tomorrow.
Such a shame, he thought. Miss Lydia seemed to be a vivacious, energetic girl. She would have been great fun.
He saw the other Bennet ladies around the room. Miss Jane Bennet stood alone near the fire. Though she kept an even expression, Wickham knew from the village gossip that she was the subject of much derision and speculation from her neighbors. Mr. Bingley, the chap Darcy had befriended, had paid her great attention only to abandon her without a word.
Maybe I ought to offer her some comfort. She is certainly handsome enough to tempt even the most rigid man. He smiled at the thought, wondering what her kisses tasted like.
Wickham made his way around the room, speaking amiably to everyone. He avoided the newcomers; their posture and aloof behavior reminded him uncomfortably of Darcy.
After the meal, he found himself next to Mr. Collins. The man irritated Wickham. Having always been the most handsome gentleman in the room, Wickham did not like how Mr. Collins’s angelic good looks outshone his own darker, more dangerous appearance. He knew ladies found him attractive, that they gravitated toward him like moths to a flame, yet whenever Mr. Collins was in the room, he was ignored.
Not so tonight, though. Collins was off the market, which meant Wickham was once again popular.
“Congratulations on your pending marriage, sir,” he said to the parson.
“Why, thank you. Wickham, is it? Yes, my marriage to Miss Lydia will fulfil all her mother’s dreams, and right the wrong of my being the heir instead of one of the ladies.”
“Yes, it is magnanimous of you to marry one of your cousins.” Wickham internally rolled his eyes.
“I wished to marry Miss Elizabeth,” Collins continued. "Unfortunately, her father says that her uncle must also approve of the match and was not likely to approve my suit.”
Wickham frowned. How unusual. “Who is her uncle?” he asked.
“I do not recall. She and Miss Mary are to go to town for the season, though.”
Mr. Collins’s betrothed came to claim him, dragging him off to another corner of the room, leaving Wickham to muse over the information.
What sort of man cedes half of his authority as a parent to an uncle? he thought. And why only two of the sisters?
Part of the answer came later. He stood near Miss Jane Bennet and happened to overhear someone call her Miss Younge. How odd. Intent on discovering more, he managed to speak to Miss Lydia for but a moment.
“Oh, Jane is not a Bennet,” she said airily. “She thought to steal my handsome betrothed from me, but I put a stop to that.”
“Not a Bennet?” he asked, his confusion unfeigned.
“Yes, my parents were both married before.” Miss Lydia shrugged. “Jane is from Mama's first union.”
“How intriguing.” The chit flounced off after that. Wickham found a corner and sat, musing.
Perhaps the delectable Miss Elizabeth has a dowry, he thought. Perhaps her mother had wealth and connections. But I am courting Miss King. Not that it mattered. He would abandon the freckled heiress of ten thousand pounds in an instant if a more attractive prospect came along.
If only I had asked Miss Lydia about a dowry. Well, there is more than one way to gather information. I shall have to ask Miss Elizabeth. Or should I say, Miss Bennet? He grinned.
His musings could bear no fruit, but then again, they might! He resolved to probe her for information. After all, the chit likely had little in the way of intelligence—most ladies were foolish and flighty. And all ladies liked to brag if they had money. Dowries were status symbols, and often broadcast to showcase a woman’s worth.
Surely, it will be an easy thing to gather the necessary information. I can be very persuasive when I wish to be.
The evening concluded before he could corner the little miss, and he resolved to do so as soon as possible.
Mr. Collins
The next day dawned bright and clear. Their appointment with the local clergyman was set for nine in the morning. That would give them ample time to enjoy the wedding breakfast before departing for Kent. Mr. Collins wished to make the entire journey in one day, but his dear Lydia had convinced him to stop at an inn for the night. Mr. Gardiner recommended a location in London and an express had been sent the day before to secure them a room. The reply arrived early that morning around six o’clock, confirming that a room would be waiting for them.
Four hours in the carriage would be dreadful, anyway. Even in Lady Catherine’s little conveyance, which she had graciously lent him for this journey, the trip would be unbearably long. He would be pleased to share a night with his wife where he was not exhausted from being bumped about all day.
By ten o’clock, he and Lydia had signed their names in the parish register and returned to Longbourn. They accepted their guests’ well wishes and congratulations for two hours before their trunks and any gifts were loaded onto the carriage. Then his bride gave a final farewell to her family.
“Write to me!” she cried. “Though I cannot promise that I shall pen a reply. Married women are far too busy for such things.” She giggled and looped her arm through his. “Come now, husband, and let us be off.”
They climbed aboard and the door closed behind them. Lydia sat beside him on the bench. She reached across his body and pulled the shade down.
“Alone at last,” she purred, cupping his cheek with her hand. He swallowed hard, and she leaned forward, pressing her lips to his.
Lost in her affections, the four hours to London raced by faster than he ever imagined.