Chapter Twenty-Three
The much-anticipated and highly dreaded arrival of Mr Collins came precisely at four o’clock, as promised.
The carriage wheels crunched over the gravel, echoing through the crisp afternoon air.
Mr Bennet, standing at the window, remarked on his punctuality, sarcastically stating that such promptness was to his credit.
Elizabeth merely pressed her lips together and said nothing, clutching Tommy’s small, warm hand in hers.
How her father could be so flippant in the face of the man they had cheated out of his inheritance was incomprehensible to her.
The weight of that unspoken reality pressed upon her chest as the clergyman descended stiffly from the carriage, adjusting his coat before smoothing back his thinning hair with a trembling hand.
Elizabeth’s heart beat wildly, a discordant rhythm of guilt, resentment, and curiosity.
Beside her, Tommy shifted from foot to foot, impatient to return indoors for tea and away from the cold breeze that tugged at the ends of his curls.
“Mr Bennet, I presume?” Mr Collins greeted her father solemnly, his voice higher than she had expected. His eyes darted to and fro, and Elizabeth thought she detected the unmistakable sheen of nervousness in the man.
“Welcome to Longbourn.” Mr Bennet shook his cousin’s hand with deliberate ease.
“May I present my family?” He named his daughters one by one with an infuriating casualness that made Elizabeth’s cheeks burn, before reaching the final introduction.
“And this is my only son and heir, Thomas David Bennet.” The pride in her father’s voice was unmistakable, and for a fleeting moment, it softened the irritation she felt towards him.
Tommy, sensing the gravity of the moment, bowed like a proper gentleman, only wavering slightly as he balanced on his toes. “How do you do, sir?” he lisped, the gap in his front teeth making his words softer and more endearing.
Mr Collins’s solemn face split into a wide, almost boyish grin. “I am very well, young sir,” he replied, crouching down so his eyes were level with Tommy’s. “I am pleased to meet you and hope we might be friends.”
Tommy’s shy smile was slow to form, but when it came, it was bright and genuine, the innocence of it piercing through the heavy tension that had settled over Elizabeth’s shoulders. She found herself letting out the breath she hadn’t realised she was holding.
“Well, shall we go inside?” Mr Bennet gestured towards the house, his tone warm and inviting, and the ladies followed one by one. Elizabeth came last with Tommy, who refused to release her hand, his small fingers gripping hers tightly as they stepped over the threshold.
Elizabeth was surprised—pleasantly so—by Mr Collins’s warm greeting.
In truth, she had expected bitterness or condescension, perhaps the general impatience of a man encountering a child who was the embodiment of a lost inheritance.
Instead, there was something eager, even vulnerable, in his demeanor that unsettled her careful expectations.
“My, what a marvelous room.” Mr Collins entered the parlour last, pausing in the doorway to take in the high ceilings, the cleanly swept hearth, and the warm glow of the afternoon sun slanting across the worn but well-kept carpets.
His eyes lingered on the small floral arrangements Mary had set out that morning, and Elizabeth could not help but notice the beads of perspiration already forming at his temple.
She settled into a chair with Tommy, who promptly pulled a book from the side table and began flipping through the illustrations, humming softly to himself.
Mr Collins clasped his hands behind his back, rocking slightly on his heels as he surveyed the room with wide-eyed wonder.
“I have never seen such a superbly appointed room,” he declared, clearing his throat loudly.
“That is, outside of Rosings Park.” He winced slightly as he realised the slip.
“My humble parsonage could not compare.”
Elizabeth’s irritation softened into curiosity as she observed the way he shifted from foot to foot, clearing his throat as if to fill the silence he seemed so afraid of.
Mary, with her gentle composure, must have sensed it too.
She beckoned him over, inviting him to join her on the settee with a kind smile.
“I am sure your parsonage is lovely,” she said, smoothing her skirts with a calmness that Elizabeth envied.
“Now, you must tell us more about your parish. Hunsford, is it not?”
“Why, yes, Cousin Mary.” Mr Collins’s face brightened, and a spark of genuine pleasure appeared in his eyes.
“I am exceedingly fortunate to have secured a valuable family living so soon after ordination. My patroness, Lady Catherine de Bourgh, is a generous, charitable woman. She founded a school and has contributed to many noble causes.” His voice cracked, and he cleared his throat once more, the flush on his cheeks deepening.
“Forgive me,” he stuttered, lowering his gaze. “I am rambling.”
“On the contrary, sir, your words are fascinating.” Mr Bennet’s voice held no hint of mockery, though Elizabeth could see the glint of amusement in his eyes. “I am pleased you have found such a comfortable position. As a father, I hope to see my own daughters well settled someday.”
Elizabeth’s cheeks flamed. Jane’s gentle countenance remained serene, whilst Mary lowered her gaze demurely. Lydia’s lips parted as if to protest being included with the children, but Miss Lane’s subtle hand on her arm kept her silent.
Elizabeth’s thoughts churned. Her father’s aims were so blatant, and she bristled with indignation, even as she recognised the reality of their situation.
The entailment, his desire to secure their future, the necessity of securing advantageous matches—these were the unyielding truths that shadowed their daily lives.
Yet, even as she felt the weight of it, an image of Mr Darcy rose unbidden in her mind, his dark eyes softening when they met hers, his carefully chosen words hinting at genuine curiosity about who she was.
Mr Collins, for his part, seemed oblivious to her father’s unsubtle hints.
His gaze, when it lifted, passed over Jane with polite appreciation and slid past Elizabeth without recognition, before coming to rest on Mary with unmistakable interest. Elizabeth’s tension eased as she realised she would not be the object of his attentions, and she cast a sideways glance at Mary, who was pink-cheeked but calm under Mr Collins’s shy regard.
Tea was brought in, the fragrant steam curling in the warm air.
Mr Collins, ever eager to please, complimented the selection of biscuits, the particular blend of tea, the quality of the honey, and even the delicate china cups with such fervour that Elizabeth felt a pang of pity for him.
She watched him dab at the sweat on his brow with a handkerchief, wondering how a man accustomed to addressing a congregation could find himself so flustered by a simple family gathering.
As Tommy nestled closer to her side, leaning into her warmth, Elizabeth forced herself to remain composed, even as her thoughts spun around the future, the inheritance, and the strangers who might one day dictate the course of their lives.
For now, she resolved, she would watch and wait, her eyes keen, her heart guarded, and her spirit determined not to be forced into a life she did not choose—no matter how charming, ridiculous, or intriguing the men around her might be.
“Well, what do you think of our guest?” Mr Bennet asked, his voice carrying a note of mock gravity as he surveyed his three eldest daughters from behind the closed door of his study.
The comforting scent of wood smoke and old books hung in the air, mingling with the faint aroma of the brandy he had poured himself.
Outside the door, the house was quiet, the younger children having been shepherded to bed by Hill, whilst Mr Collins had begged their forgiveness for retiring so early, citing the fatigue of travel and the strain of new surroundings.
Jane had reassured him, her gentle voice warm with kindness. “We are well aware how exhausting travel can be, Mr Collins,” she had said, earning a grateful, if awkward, smile from their guest.
Now, in the hush of the study, Jane answered her father’s question with her usual calm diplomacy. “I find him to be a pleasant sort of man,” she said, clasping her hands lightly in her lap. “It is clear to me that he was nervous, and it would be unfair to judge him too quickly.”
Mary, her expression pensive, adjusted her spectacles before adding, “I saw that too. But once he relaxed, he proved to be an amiable dinner companion, eager to converse and appreciative of the meal.” There was a faint glow in her eyes, the rare spark of excitement that came when she discussed matters of character and morality.
Mr Bennet’s gaze shifted to Elizabeth, his eyebrow rising with a touch of mischief. “Elizabeth? What is your opinion?”
Elizabeth hesitated, smoothing her skirts as she considered her words.
“One evening is hardly enough time to form a proper opinion,” she replied, her tone carefully measured, though she felt the heat rise to her cheeks under her father’s keen gaze.
Her evasive words felt heavy on her tongue, coloured by the knowledge that she alone carried: Mr Collins was the man her father intended to marry off to one of his daughters, ensuring the family’s security should the worst happen.
It was a reality she could not easily set aside, even as she tried to speak with neutrality.
The look Mr Bennet gave her told her that he saw through her polite deflection. His dark eyes glinted with something unreadable, perhaps amusement, perhaps something sharper, before he leaned back in his chair with a sigh.