Chapter Nine
The next morning did not see a change in Mr. Collins’ perspective.
He remained disgruntled over the fact he would not inherit a second estate and, because his misery was acute, he mentioned more than once how the Bennet patriarch had had the temerity to banish him from his rightful inheritance the morning after Mr. Bingley’s ball.
“Mr. Collins.” Charlotte interrupted his mini tirade.
“You do realise that if you had not been on your way to Meryton that morning, my father may not have offered you a ride, and we would not have married.” She allowed her husband to ruminate on those thoughts before continuing with, “Blessings in disguise, Mr. Collins. Who are we to question how the Lord directs our paths?”
“You are so right, my dear. I express my gratitude daily that you are my wife, for I believe we were formed for each other.”
Elizabeth pressed her lips together to keep from smiling. Dear Charlotte knew how to handle her husband, and thanked everything holy that it had not fallen on her to learn those skills. They all settled to enjoy their breakfast when Mr. Collins suddenly dropped his cutlery.
“My dear, Charlotte,” he said, wiping his mouth free of crumbs.
“In all the excitement of this morning, I forgot to tell you that Lady Catherine’s nephews are to visit.
They are expected around Easter, and I can only rejoice that they will arrive in time to attend service and hear my Easter homily. ”
“Did she say which of her nephews are visiting?”
“I cannot recall the name of Earl Matlock’s son, but the other nephew is Mr. Darcy. The very same gentleman who lent me aid after Mr. Bingley’s ball.” Mr. Collins shot a dark glare in the direction of Elizabeth, which faded at the soft sigh his wife emitted. “Yes, well… that is all behind us now.”
“Indeed,” was all Charlotte said before turning the conversation over to her husband’s pastoral duties with regard to a parishioner, laid low with a lingering cold.
It was determined he would attend and comfort her with prayers and advice from Lady Catherine, and Charlotte would administer some home-made remedies.
Elizabeth had no doubt which interaction would produce more comfort, but wisely kept her counsel.
Elizabeth quit the parsonage the moment the Collinses had gone.
She wandered the surrounding park, her eyes drawn to winding paths that beckoned future exploration, her breath catching at glimpses of Kent’s verdant hills rolling into the distance.
Even Lady Catherine’s insufferable pride in Rosings Park found justification in the estate’s undeniable beauty.
After an hour of idyllic rambling, Elizabeth made her way back to the parsonage, arriving shortly before Charlotte and her husband returned, to discover that Maria had already arranged for tea at Sir William’s instruction.
Soon the five of them gathered in the front parlour, their conversation drifting easily between local gossip and acquaintances until, as Elizabeth had dreaded, talk inevitably turned to her father’s unexpected inheritance.
“Miss Eliza, I was astonished at the news that a distant cousin had left your father an estate.”
“Not too surprising, Sir William. You will recall our family travelled to Bedfordshire every two years to spend the summer with my father’s cousin. You may have heard of us speaking of Arthur Bennet, and his wife Deborah.”
“Did they not have a son?”
Elizabeth’s expression softened.
“They did. Their son passed away in ’05, leaving the branches of our family tree rather sparse.” She smiled at a remembered quip. “Papa often remarks that while other families boast mighty oaks for family trees, the Bennets must make do with a slender sapling.”
“Cousin Elizabeth, I still struggle to understand why I will not inherit this estate.”
Elizabeth swallowed the sharp retort that pressed against her lips and regarded Mr. Collins with the sort of patience one might reserve for a particularly obtuse child.
“Our joint original ancestor, Henry Thomas Bennet, possessed two estates and three male heirs – Philip, Timothy, and Stephen. His firstborn, Philip, received the Bedfordshire estate, Tetherwood, while his second son – our direct forebearer, Timothy – was granted the Hertfordshire estate, Longbourn. The youngest, Stephen, remained unwed and childless.” She looked up, meeting her cousin’s gaze directly.
“Tetherwood’s entail is in fee tail male.
Your link to the family tree, through your great-grandmother, excludes you from any inheritance from Philip Bennet’s line.
” When Mr. Collins puffed his chest in indignation, her tone grew frosty.
“The irony does not escape me, sir. You showed perfect contentment at the prospect of my mother and sisters being turned out of their home upon my father’s death.
Yet here you sit, aggrieved and bemoaning the withholding of property to which you never held a legitimate claim. ”
“Well, I never—” Mr. Collins began, only to be interrupted by Sir William.
“That is enough, Mr. Collins. Miss Eliza is correct; you have no say in how an estate is bequeathed, and I kindly ask you to cease importuning your cousin in this matter.”
Rare was the day Sir William Lucas lost his temper, and Elizabeth was glad he had taken his son by marriage to task. She gave Sir William a grateful smile, then stood.
“I think it best if I retire to my room and answer some of my correspondence.” She looked at Charlotte and smiled. “I shall see you at dinner.”
Elizabeth departed swiftly, giving no opportunity for further discourse, and retreated to the sanctuary of her chamber.
There, she extracted her portable writing desk and composed a letter to her father regarding Mr. Collins’ discovery of their newly acquired property.
When the dinner hour arrived, she found Charlotte’s husband had adopted an air of frigid politeness towards her, an arrangement she found entirely agreeable.
Alas, his commitment to such restraint proved as enduring as sugar dissolving in hot tea.
“I have written to your father to express my displeasure,” he began. “Lady Catherine has offered to provide a solicitor to question the legalities of this ‘bequest’.”
Elizabeth’s fork clattered against her plate.
“Upon what grounds would Lady Catherine concern herself with matters entirely outside her sphere?”
“Her ladyship’s discernment extends to all matters of value,” replied Mr. Collins with an air of smug satisfaction.
“While such vigilance may serve her family and tenants well, sir, it becomes mere impertinence when directed at my father’s private affairs.”
The heat rising to Elizabeth’s cheeks matched the indignation swelling in her breast. She pushed her chair back with such force that it scraped loudly against the floor. Only Charlotte’s gentle touch upon her wrist stopped her from rising to her feet.
“Please, Eliza, I beg you not to leave.” She turned a gimlet eye towards her husband.
“Mr. Collins, you are making my friend uncomfortable. The facts laid before you earlier were clear and concise. You are not entitled to the estate in Bedfordshire, and Lady Catherine is not entitled to meddle in Mr. Bennet’s business. ”
Mr. Collins, his eyes widened at his wife’s tone of voice.
“But…” he began.
“I will not have you harangue my guest.”
“I must beg your pardon, but there is a matter requiring my immediate attention. I shall retire to my chamber.” Elizabeth stood, and a glance at Charlotte confirmed her friend understood the purpose of her hasty retreat — to dispatch an urgent warning to Bedfordshire.
Her father would receive her express days before Mr. Collins’ grievances reached him, misdirected as they would be to Longbourn first. With quill in hand, Elizabeth amended her earlier correspondence, releasing a weary breath.
Although her father’s carefully laid plans for a gradual revelation now lay in tatters, she found herself relieved.
The burden of concealment had grown heavy, and she feared what Charlotte might think when she learned how much Elizabeth had withheld from their confidences.
The evening dragged on interminably as Darcy endured yet another society gathering, where he stood like a prize stallion at auction while mothers with marriageable daughters circled him with predatory smiles.
He had sought refuge beside Lady Matlock, believing her sensible enough to shield him from such transparent machinations, but his strategy failed spectacularly when she had practically bubbled with enthusiasm over society’s latest darling.
She spoke of meeting Lady Elizabeth, daughter of the newly elevated Earl Rumley, at Lady Meadowbrook’s ball, and how the sparkling young woman had not only impressed her, but also her close-knit circle of friends.
“Mark my words, Darcy, she will be this season’s diamond of the first water.”
The name echoed in Darcy’s mind, and his hand drifted to his chest, curled fingers pressing against the fine wool of his waistcoat.
“You look like my grandfather just before they called the physician,” Ashton remarked, his gaze wandering to a young lady across the room even as he observed his cousin. “That is the third time you have clutched at your chest and winced.”
Darcy dropped his hand immediately, drawing himself up with rigid formality.
“I had not realised.” A sigh escaped him despite his best efforts.
Ashton’s casual manner belied his sharp observations; there would be no peace until he offered some explanation.
“Last autumn I encountered a woman who... affected me deeply. Her station made any connection impossible, yet I find myself unable to banish her from my thoughts.”
“This woman – her name is Elizabeth, I presume?” Ashton studied Darcy’s face intently. “A gentleman can only cure his heart by finding a more captivating lady to occupy it.”
“If only it were that simple,” Darcy muttered, his eyes fixed on the dancers.