Mr. Collins’ Will (Pride and Prejudice Variation)

Chapter One

The Netherfield ball, certain to be dubbed the event of the year in their corner of Hertfordshire, stuttered to a slow and agonizing end, none too soon for Elizabeth Bennet.

More aggravated than tired, she climbed into the second of the carriages employed by the Bennet family that evening, along with her mother, youngest sister Lydia, and their cousin Mr. Collins.

Seated beside her cousin, Elizabeth very much wished she’d squeezed into the first carriage with her father and other three sisters: Jane, Mary and Kitty.

The way Mr. Collins gazed at her, his fawning expression illuminated by the lanterns lining Netherfield Park’s drive, turned Elizabeth’s stomach.

The carriage rolled forward, her mother’s voice filling the interior with a babbled recounting of all that had transpired that evening, as if no one else in the carriage had been present to observe the goings on.

Fortunately, Elizabeth was so accustomed to Mrs. Bennet’s voice that she could readily ignore it in favor of the thoughts swirling in her head.

Much of the evening had been a disaster.

The man Elizabeth had most wished to dance with, her new acquaintance Mr. Wickham, had made no appearance.

Mr. Bingley had invited all the officers from the militia recently stationed in Meryton, and all but Mr. Wickham had come.

He’d excused himself to London, with no real word of why or when he might return.

But Elizabeth knew why. Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy.

That self-important gentleman despised Mr. Wickham to the point that he’d even denied the man a living left him by Mr. Darcy’s father, in some quibble over the exact wording of the will and in complete disregard to the deceased man’s wishes.

Mr. Darcy treated Mr. Wickham with even more disdain than he showed the rest of those he felt beneath him, a designation he applied liberally in Hertfordshire insofar as Elizabeth could tell.

It was to avoid Mr. Darcy’s glowers that Mr. Wickham had remained away from the ball.

Elizabeth, who fancied she could become smitten with the handsome and charming Mr. Wickham, had planned to converse and dance with him to an almost inappropriate extent.

She greatly resented Mr. Darcy’s interference.

Perhaps worse, Mr. Darcy had danced with her, forcing conviviality for the object of her pique.

A whole set, spent in mingled boredom and agony.

They’d all but quarreled and had found no bridge for enjoyable conversation.

At least Mr. Darcy cut a comely figure and danced well. She could say that for him.

Unlike Elizabeth’s cousin, who still gazed at her adoringly.

Mr. Collins had danced with Elizabeth so poorly as to cause acute embarrassment and had then insisted on remaining by her side much of the evening.

Adding to that her mother’s rant about Jane’s marital prospects with the host of the ball, Mr. Darcy’s friend Mr. Bingley, her sister Mary’s atrocious singing, Miss Bingley’s snide remarks, and Mr. Bennet’s choice to seek amusement rather than curtail any poor behavior by his family members, all meant Elizabeth had trouble finding much enjoyment in the evening.

If not for some amusing exchanges with her dear friend Charlotte Lucas, and Mr. Darcy dancing well, not a single bright spot would exist in Elizabeth’s memory of the ball.

She let out a sigh as they continued to jounce down the long drive.

They passed another lantern, the light once again illuminating Mr. Collins’ foolish, besotted look.

Elizabeth angled firmly to stare out the window, even as they turned from Netherfield Park’s drive and onto the roadway, devoid of any light but the carriage lanterns.

She didn’t care if she could see any of the scenery, so long as she didn’t have to witness her cousin’s stares.

With her mother babbling on and the weight of Mr. Collins’ regard, Elizabeth deemed it a thoroughly miserable carriage ride.

Finally, they reached their own home of Longbourn, their drive noticeably shorter and less well-lit than Netherfield’s.

The comparison aggravated Elizabeth as she recalled the horror on Mr. Darcy’s face when he contemplated the idea of her sister Jane wedding Mr. Bingley.

Unfortunately, an equally infuriating disdain had contorted the features of Mr. Bingley’s sisters, Miss Caroline Bingley and Mrs. Hurst, at the notion.

It seemed Jane’s cause would find no champions among Mr. Bingley’s friends and relations.

With their wealth and connections, they thought themselves so above Elizabeth’s family, it was a wonder they could see Jane, they were forced to look so far down.

Elizabeth permitted a scowl, her face still averted from her companions. If the Bennets were crass and uncouth, Mr. Darcy, Miss Bingley, and Mrs. Hurst were equally ill mannered in their pomposity and condescension.

The carriage rolled to a halt before the front steps and Elizabeth realized that at some point during the drive, her mother had switched from chattering to sleeping.

Lydia, the youngest of Elizabeth’s sisters at only fifteen, rested her head on their mother’s shoulder and snored.

Mr. Bennet, Jane, Mary, and Kitty headed inside, their carriage having already arrived.

Elizabeth reached across the carriage to shake her sister’s shoulder. “Lydia, we’re home. Wake up.”

“Home?” Lydia mumbled with a yawn. She stretched, unwittingly punching their mother lightly on the shoulder.

“What?” Mrs. Bennet asked, head snapping up.

“I am so sorry to wake you both,” Mr. Collins said, though he hadn’t done so.

He turned to Elizabeth, his eyes wide and his face so foolish that she attempted to recall how much she’d seen him imbibe that evening. Of course, his face was normally somewhat foolish. Maybe it took little alcohol to exaggerate that.

In what she assumed he meant to be sotto voce, he continued, “With them both asleep, you do realize we were hardly chaperoned?” He offered a grin, lopsided with drunkenness rather than intent.

Lydia giggled, her amusement breaking off into another yawn.

The door beside Mr. Collins opened and one of their footmen, Edward, handed Mrs. Bennet down.

Lydia scrambled out after her, snickering.

Mr. Collins, seated between Elizabeth and the waiting footman, accepted Edward’s assistance next, and would have tumbled face first into the yard without the footman’s strong arm.

Shaking off the footman’s support, Mr. Collins turned back, swaying, and extended a hand to Elizabeth.

“I do apologize for disembarking before you, dear cousin,” he said as she reluctantly placed a gloved hand in his. Locking eyes with her, he squeezed her hand.

Elizabeth stepped free of the carriage, rented for the occasion to augment the family’s single conveyance, and yanked her hand from Mr. Collins’ over-tight clasp.

“I fail to see how you could have done otherwise, sir.” She nearly added, ‘without me climbing over you’ but the disturbing heat in his gaze curtailed the words.

She hurried to come abreast of her youngest sister and mother, where the latter leaned on the arm of the former. Edward, Elizabeth suspected, would trail behind to ensure Mr. Collins didn’t end up an ignominious heap in the yard. Elizabeth wished the footman were less conscientious.

“Lydia, you’ll see me up, won’t you?” Mrs. Bennet asked. “I’m too tired for the stairs on my own. Oh, what an evening, but it has left me exhausted. What dreams I shall have. Mr. Bingley and Jane wedded. What a fine evening.”

“Yes, Mama,” Lydia said, for once too exhausted for more than simple compliance.

All her sisters except Jane were tired, Elizabeth realized as she joined them in the entrance hall.

Lost in a world of her own, if Jane’s dreamy expression were any clue, she seemed blind to the rest of them as she tugged off her gloves, pulling on one finger at a time.

Elizabeth smiled, some of her ire over the events of the evening dispersing in the glow of Jane’s happiness.

“Mr. Bennet, a word,” Mr. Collins called as he stumbled through the front door.

Mr. Bennet, who’d been about to head up for the night, turned back. Kitty and Mary skirted him and went up the stairs, Jane following.

“Yes, Mr. Collins?” Mr. Bennet asked and stepped aside to make room for Mrs. Bennet and Lydia to pass.

Elizabeth wished she could join her mother and sisters, but she had a horrible suspicion what Mr. Collins might ask her father and wanted to be there to put a swift end to any such talk. Edward came in behind Mr. Collins and quietly closed the door.

Mr. Collins, who’d been staring at Elizabeth again with that obnoxious smitten look, tipped his head up and sniffed. He sniffed again and scowled. “Wasteful.”

Elizabeth blinked. That was not what she’d expected her cousin to say.

“What is wasteful?” Mr. Bennet asked.

Mr. Collins swiveled around to point at Edward.

“He had a fire in the fireplace.” Mr. Collins barreled up to Elizabeth, who adroitly stepped aside, and then passed her, into the front parlor.

“This room is too warm,” he cried. “Do you see this, Mr. Bennet? Servants should not waste valuable firewood.”

Elizabeth’s father cast her an amused look. “It’s not wasted. I appreciate coming home to a house that is warmer than the outside.”

“But there are coals in the fireplace,” Mr. Collins called from inside the parlor. A glance showed that he’d fallen to his knees before the grate. “At the very least, they should be taken to someone’s bed chamber.”

“We’re all too tired for that,” Mr. Bennet said. “I’ll be in bed, asleep, before any coals would have the time to heat my room. I daresay my lady wife and daughters will be as well.”

“A waste,” Mr. Collins muttered at the coals. “Squandering. Lady Catherine would not approve. Not at all.”

“Sir?” Edward asked, worried.