Chapter 21
Lady Catherine’s Carriage
Three Miles from Pemberley
William Collins had, heretofore, led a humdrum life.
As a young man, he had decided to take Holy Orders.
He had applied himself well in school and made reasonable marks, and he had been so blessed as to receive an offer of a living not long after he had left school.
Here again he had been blessed, for his patroness was the most excellent woman in all of England!
Lady Catherine de Bourgh was eminently wise, and condescending, and sensible, and Collins basked in the glory of her presence and kindness to him.
Yes, overall, William Collins was happy with his life.
His needs and wants were few and simple and largely met.
Hunsford was snug and comfortable, wonderfully convenient to Rosings, and had a garden that was more lavish than adequate.
He appreciated the natural beauty instilled by a loving Creator into their world and enjoyed puttering about with his hands on the dirt and the leaves.
No less did he enjoy vistas and panoramas and landscapes when the chance to appreciate them fell in his path, and he had that opportunity today.
Collins sat side by side with his cousin, Thomas Bennet, across from Lady Catherine, who looked grimly determined, and her personal lady's maid, who appeared rigid and wooden.
The four of them bowled along at a spanking pace, the expensive, well-sprung coach thoroughly comfortable.
Outside, the landscape flashing past painted a glorious picture, with snow covering the fields and hedgerows and the trees in the copses rising up around them before falling away again.
White-mantled evergreens crowned hills that rolled off into the foggy distance.
It was a picturesque scene of frigid beauty, best enjoyed from inside a sturdy carriage warmed by hot bricks and buried beneath layers of rugs.
Such creature comforts had been provided to the noble mistress of Rosings, of course, and everyone in the carriage benefited.
They were all comfortable, ensconced on deep velvet squabs and toasty warm.
In short, everything was perfect, at least superficially.
Nonetheless, William Collins was not particularly happy because he did not relish the errand they were on.
His initial desire to wed Elizabeth Bennet had ended with the news of her physical impairment.
He had been profoundly disappointed when Bennet had written that the fever had impaired her mind, but now he knew that his older cousin had been lying; Cousin Elizabeth had not been ill at all, but had run away from home and heart to avoid marrying him!
Collins had no desire to marry a reluctant bride, but Lady Catherine insisted that it was his duty to wed his cousin, and of course she always knew best, but never before had he been so reluctant to execute his duty.
To marry a woman who loathed him so much that she risked scandal and fled from the bosom of her loving family did not sound propitious for a comfortable life.
Collins was not a sentimental man and did not wear the willow for a love-match, but he wished for a happy marriage if not a passionate one.
It was quite shocking of Cousin Elizabeth to have pursued such a ruinous course of action.
Bad enough to have run away, bringing shame upon her family, but to have taken up with Mr. Darcy in such a way…
! It marked her as a very loose, conniving sort of woman, not at all what Collins would wish for in a wife.
It mattered not. Lady Catherine had decreed that he must marry his cousin.
Collins was young and knew that in many ways he was still callow.
If his patroness said that wedding Elizabeth Bennet was the best thing he could do, he must obey.
Even if he were sacrificing his future happiness for the sake of Miss de Bourgh and Mr. Darcy, it was his solemn honor to do so.
No breath of scandal could attach to their names, and their union absolutely must occur.
Elizabeth Bennet must be whisked away out of Mr. Darcy’s vicinity and into marriage immediately, and Mr. Collins, not only being an eminently eligible bachelor but also having previously proposed to her, was the obvious choice.
It was very dismaying, but all may not be entirely lost. Cousin Elizabeth was young, and as Bennet had said, had been permitted to read novels filled with romantic nonsense.
But reading such novels would no longer be permitted!
Marriage would sober her mind, and she would derive the considerable benefits of living within Lady Catherine’s proximity.
The indiscretion of her behavior would be borne in upon her, and after she was suitably chastened and repentant, could begin to learn wisdom from the woman most suited in all of England to teach her.
Perhaps the start of his married life would be rocky, but Collins would hold to the hope that it would smooth out in time.
Barring all else, at least Cousin Elizabeth was pretty.
It was some comfort that his wife would be pretty. He smiled at this thought.
Collins had learned long ago to trust Lady Catherine.
Doing so had always been correct, and even if he did not as yet see how it would all come together this time, he knew that he must do so in this instance as well.
She had the advantage of age and wisdom and experience and nobility, and had thus far not guided him wrong; he did not even think she could.
Soon enough, Cousin Elizabeth would come to revere their patroness as he did and recognize the many advantages to being the wife of the parson at Hunsford.
Not least among these was the shining light of the residents of Rosings, as all who had been privileged to know Lady Catherine and her daughter must perforce agree.
Still and all, they were traveling ever nearer to an unsettled future, and Collins was tired of worrying over it while the miles crept past. Now at last their destination grew near after a very trying journey.
The party had departed Longbourn some four days previously and been forced to contend with icy roads, and snowy roads, and slushy roads, and mud as deep as the axles.
Lady Catherine’s taste in roadside inns was, of course, impeccable, but having to waste many hours kicking their heels beside rented fires had been frustrating.
Traveling was intrinsically wearisome, and this journey had been especially tedious.
Collins was glad to be at the end of it, even if an entirely new discomfort was soon to arise.
He suppressed a shudder at the thought of his cousin Elizabeth’s reaction to the arrival of her father and Lady Catherine.
Given the young lady’s previous behavior, she might even be rude to Lady Catherine!
“There it is, Pemberley,” Lady Catherine said suddenly, gesturing out the window, and Mr. Collins obediently turned to gaze out and then gasped.
Rosings in Kent was a reflection of its mistress; genteel, grand, and tasteful.
Pemberley was magnificent in an entirely different way.
The forests and gardens of Rosings submitted tamely to the will of its lady, but here even the sward and gardens of Pemberley spoke of a wilderness.
The mansion itself, large in proportion and built of weathered stone, put one in mind of mountains.
It drew the eye, framed as it was by thickly wooded hills rising wild behind it.
In front of Pemberley was a lake, glossy white with ice, fed by a stream which leapt and crashed from deeper into the woods.
The sharp path down the side of the eminence into the valley allowed for a nearly uninterrupted view of the house and its surrounding land all the way down, and Mr. Collins gaped the entire way.
Even the carriage lane seemed wild, lined as it was with unpruned, brown vegetation poking up through the blanket of snow.
Yet though this could be considered to be taking away from the charm of the estate, and he certainly preferred the more genteel grounds of Rosings, it gave the impression of being entirely natural at Pemberley.
The carriage slowed and then came to a gentle halt, and Mr. Collins peered out the window at the flight of stone steps which led to a large door.
The door to the carriage was opened by one of the outriders, and Lady Catherine was helped out of it.
“Come along, gentlemen!” she ordered the other two men. “It is time to settle this dishonorable affair once and for all!”
***
Sitting Room
Pemberley
A Few Minutes Later
The drawing room at Pemberley had been designed to accommodate and impress a goodly number of guests.
The main sitting room, on the other hand, had been built and decorated with the comfort of the family in mind.
Smaller and cozier and more intimate, it evoked feelings of relaxation and safety rather than grandness and awe.
Unobtrusive green carpet and muted blue wallpaper were vaguely reminiscent of the outdoors.
Plush upholstered chairs and settees, well provided with cushions, offered a plethora of seating options, while an oak desk sat in the corner with paper and pen available for writing letters.
Candelabras, their wax candles neatly trimmed and ready to light, stood near at hand any place they might be wanted, on the desk and on the mantle and even atop the antique Kirkman harpsichord stowed in one corner.
Elizabeth stood in the middle of this domestic space, her hand tucked securely in the crook of her Fitzwilliam's arm.
The couple stood alone, their backs comfortably to the fire.
Often, at this time of day, the room was fully occupied with the inhabitants of Pemberley.
Georgiana especially favored it, being fond of sitting in one of the chairs beneath a south-facing window during her free time, while Mrs. Gregson was often in company with her great-niece, snugly ensconced beside the fire.
Now, however, it was entirely deserted except for Elizabeth and her adored Fitzwilliam.
This scene of peace and filial harmony would shortly be a battleground, for Lady Catherine de Bourgh had arrived, and with reinforcements in tow.
Georgiana, who cordially disliked her intimidating aunt, had all but fled in haste to her room.
Mrs. Annesley had accompanied her charge to protect and soothe her, while Darcy had kindly sent his great-aunt up to her room as well so that Lady Catherine's bitter temper need not find its mark on her.
The door was opened by Darcy’s butler, who entered within and announced, “Lady Catherine de Bourgh, Mr. Bennet, and Mr. Collins.”
The visitors stepped in, and Elizabeth found herself clutching Darcy’s arm more tightly. Her father looked cold and furious; Mr. Collins bewildered and aggrieved; and Lady Catherine, a tall woman with a Roman nose, as if she smelled something unpleasant.
“So, you must be the trollop who has dared to entice my nephew into an ungodly, dishonorable relationship,” the lady declared haughtily.
Elizabeth felt Fitzwilliam tense at her side, and he said, “Lady Catherine, I will thank you not to insult my wife, or I will have you thrown out into the snow.”
All three faces whitened at these words, and both gentlemen allowed their mouths to hang open in disbelief.
“Wife?” Bennet snarled a moment later, so full of anger that spittle flew from his mouth. “Impossible! She is not yet of age!”
“Which is why we journeyed to Gretna Green and were married a week ago,” Darcy said coolly. “You are all too late.”