Chapter 4 #4
Mr. Collins inclined his head, accepting the remark as philosophical rather than critical. “Purpose, Mr. James, is the very foundation of propriety. Where there is no purpose, there can be no order. And order, as her ladyship has often observed, is the true measure of civilisation.”
Elias Bennet glanced toward the window, then back again, his expression thoughtful rather than amused. “It is certainly an evening that will reward careful observation,” he said. “I doubt any person present tomorrow will be left in uncertainty as to their place, or their prospects.”
“Quite so,” Mr. Collins agreed eagerly. “And in that regard, I was particularly gratified to hear her ladyship speak so highly of Colonel Fitzwilliam. A most exemplary gentleman, I assure you. His friendship with Mr. Darcy is of the closest and most enduring kind—formed, as I understand it, not merely through family connection, but through mutual respect and a shared sense of duty.”
James glanced at Elias. “You know him well?”
“I have had the honour of his acquaintance on several occasions,” Mr. Collins replied, warming to his subject.
“He is a man of excellent principles, most attentive in his manners, and possessed of that rare combination of modesty and consequence which does him the greatest credit. His military service has been conducted with distinction, and his attachment to Mr. Darcy speaks volumes, for my noble cousin does not bestow his confidence lightly.”
Elias nodded. “Lady Catherine seems convinced that his advancement is all but assured.”
“And with good reason,” Mr. Collins said firmly. “Such merit cannot go unrecognised, particularly when supported by a family so well placed. I should not be surprised if we hear of his preferment very soon indeed. Her ladyship would never speak so confidently without excellent grounds.”
James shifted slightly upon the seat. “Her ladyship speaks confidently on many subjects.”
Mr. Collins smiled, undeterred. “True—but in this instance, I believe her judgment entirely sound. Colonel Fitzwilliam is precisely the sort of gentleman whose presence lends distinction to an assembly. His conduct tomorrow will, I am certain, reflect the greatest credit upon Rosings and upon the family at large.”
He paused for a moment, then added with careful emphasis, “And upon those invited.”
James raised a brow. “You mean us?”
“Indeed,” Mr. Collins said. “Your presence was not a courtesy—it was a consideration. Her ladyship is most discerning in whom she receives. That you were both included speaks well of your conduct and prospects.”
Elias gave a half-smile. “Prospects can be as misleading as appearances.”
“Not always,” Mr. Collins said. “Indeed, I would venture that her ladyship perceives in you, Mr. Elias, a seriousness of purpose most uncommon in young men of independent education. Mr. Darcy himself is not insensible to such qualities. Should he make mention of a promising associate to his solicitor, it would not be the first time a career began over tea. The Lord has His ways, you know.”
Elias blinked, then looked out the window. “I had not considered tea a professional avenue.”
Mr. Collins beamed. “Nonsense. It is precisely so—conversations, introductions, quiet commendations. That is the rhythm of advancement in refined society.”
“And Miss Darcy?” James asked, his tone measured.
Mr. Collins hesitated, then said with gravity, “A young lady of sweetness, education, and discretion—yet not easily contented, I am told. She is gentle, but observant. Highly accomplished, but difficult to impress. One must not expect her to be led—she will choose of her own mind, if at all.”
“She does not wish to leave Pemberley,” Elias murmured, recalling something Lady Catherine had said.
“Indeed not,” Mr. Collins confirmed. “Her brother is accustomed with her presence in that great house, and her loyalty to him is such that she would only wed a man capable of winning both her confidence and his. Still, she is of marriageable age, and the dowry is… not insignificant, as we talk about a measly forty thousand, plus some—”
“Forty thousand?” James asked dryly.
“She will not come empty-handed,” Mr. Collins added with a knowing nod.
“Indeed, her dowry of forty thousand pounds is but the most public portion of her settlement. I have it on the best authority that Mr. Darcy, ever mindful of his sister’s comfort, has made provision for a residence in London—furnished and staffed—and settled certain rents from Derbyshire lands in her name, to ensure her independence even within marriage.
Not to mention the heirloom jewels, which her late mother passed on, and which Lady Catherine has, on occasion, praised as ‘worthy of presentation at court.’”
Elias raised a brow, though his manner remained composed. “That is a remarkable provision. More than most heiresses receive outright.”
Mr. Collins nodded eagerly. “Just so, just so. And it shows, I think, the level of care Mr. Darcy intends for her—she is to be no man’s burden, but a partner of consequence.”
James made a low sound—half sigh, half laugh. He leaned back against the seat and looked at the ceiling of the carriage. “Well. If I were inclined to marry for lands, income, and jewels, I suppose I would have no cause to complain. However—”
Elias turned his gaze toward his brother, thoughtful. “She would bring security to Longbourn, James. Not only in fortune, but in association. The Darcys are well connected, and discreet about their influence. If one were to think of the future…”
“I do think of the future,” James replied sharply.
“And of our brothers, and our father, and the roof that leaks above the north rooms, and the tenants who wait longer each season for the seed grain to arrive. But I will not trade my name for coin, nor my peace for a drawing room in Grosvenor Square.”
Elias did not flinch. “Nor would she expect you to. I do not suggest it as transaction—but if one found regard where there is also advantage, would you cast it aside out of principle alone?”
James gave him a look—wry, but not unkind. “Elias, if you are interested, do not pretend it on my behalf. I have no wish to stand in the way.”
“I am not interested,” Elias said evenly. “At least not in the way you suppose. I admire her composure, her wit. That is all. But I will not ignore that such an alliance—were it to happen—could change our fortunes as a family. Just imagine how Mother would react to such news.”
James was silent a moment. Then he said, quietly, “You speak of fortune with more ease than you used to.”
“Perhaps because I begin to understand its weight,” Elias murmured.
Mr. Collins, who had been watching the exchange with the wide-eyed admiration of a man witnessing prophecy fulfilled, could no longer contain himself.
“My dear cousins,” he said, nearly beaming, “you do not realise how rare it is for merit to be met with such opportunity. I have always believed your family to be worthy—and now others see it as well. If I may be so bold, I consider it a privilege to have assisted in the connection.”
“You were the very hand of Providence,” James said dryly.
But Elias, still watching his brother, added more gently, “No one asks you to sell your peace, James. Only not to close the door before it’s been opened.”
To this, James said nothing. But his hand, resting on his knee, curled slightly into a fist—as if holding something tightly. Or perhaps letting it go.
Mr. Collins inclined himself forward, lowering his voice conspiratorially as though imparting a confidence of the greatest delicacy.
“Of course,” he said, his tone reverent with admiration, “she is not easily won. Miss Darcy is sweet in temper, but particular in judgment—she would sooner remain at Pemberley than marry without esteem. Yet should a gentleman of character and principle meet her regard... well, such a union would not be opposed. Quite the contrary.” Mr. Collins gave a nod that was nearly reverent, his eyes gleaming with hopeful satisfaction.
James exhaled slowly, his expression thoughtful as he considered the evening's events.
“She seems refined. Pleasant enough. But rather cold,” he observed, pausing before adding with a teasing glance toward his brother, “Though I did notice a flicker of sympathy toward Elias. And perhaps he returned it, did you not, brother?”
Elias turned his head sharply, a faint flush rising to his cheeks though his voice remained steady. “Don’t be absurd, James.”
The elder brother only smiled, his eyes twinkling with affectionate mischief as he regarded Elias with gentle insistence. “You spoke with rather more passion than usual,” James replied. “Even allowed yourself to speak elaborately of justice and principle.”
“I meant every word,” Elias said firmly, his tone conveying quiet conviction as he met James’s gaze without retreat.
“I know,” James answered softly, his smile deepening with fraternal warmth. “That’s why it mattered. And why she noticed.”
Mr. Collins, who had been listening with increasing animation, clapped his hands softly together in delighted approval, his countenance beaming as though the prospect fulfilled his dearest hopes.
“It is precisely as I hoped!” he exclaimed.
“A favourable impression, sensibly made, and not without reciprocity. Although I had rather hoped she would choose James.”
Elias sighed, a faint smile touching his lips despite himself as he shook his head in mild exasperation. “We drank tea, Mr. Collins. Nothing more.”
James looked at him, amused, his voice light with brotherly teasing. “And yet you spoke as though arguing before Parliament.”
The carriage jolted slightly as it turned into the lane leading to the parsonage.
Behind them, Rosings rose against the night like a monument—unshaken, unmoved, its scrutiny and schemes still lingering in their wake.
Ahead, warm candlelight glowed behind narrow-paned windows, a quieter place—but not without consequence.
Within the younger Bennets, something had shifted—not certainty, not yet, but possibility. And that, as always, was how the world began to change.