Chapter 10 #2
One Monday, two days before those being hosted at Rosings Park were to depart, Caroline had been invited to the parsonage along with Charles. She could hear the conversation as if it were happening now.
“Mr and Miss Bingley, we thank you for your indulgence of visiting us at the parsonage,” Mr Collins had said.
“William requested this meeting because he feels that his honour is about to be engaged, but he wants to ensure that Miss Bingley understands his situation clearly; so that if they do proceed on a shared path, she will not think anyone attempted to pull the wool over her eyes.”
“Please proceed,” Charles had allowed.
“Miss Bingley, I fear that I am losing my heart to you, and I do not think I am deluding myself that you are in similar straits,” William Collins had stated.
“You are not fooling yourself,” she had said.
“In that case, I must tell you that it may be some years before I am able to marry. I know not when or if I will be awarded a living, but until then, all I have are my wages as a curate. Granted my overly generous father pays me about double what other curates earn, but I have no house until I have my own living,” William Collins had explained.
“Master Collins, you have never asked about my dowry, nor have I ever mentioned it. It is substantial, and in the four percents, it would have given us more than enough on which to live. However, since Charles moved it under the management of Gardiner and Associates, my dowry returns between one and two thousand pounds per annum. Would that not be more than sufficient to live on until you receive a living?” she had asked.
Ophelia Collins had begun to giggle. “Please pardon me, but you invest with Edward Gardiner? He is Clem’s cousin’s wife’s brother. The Bennets are the family we visit each summer in Hertfordshire,” Mrs Collins had related.
“William, unless you have too much pride and feel less of a man because Miss Bingley’s money will be what you use, you will have more than enough to live on and then some. It is more than we have as a family,” Mr Collins had opined.
“Pride such as that would be a sin; so no, I will not behave in that manner.” William Collins had turned towards Caroline. “Miss Bingley, are you certain this is what you want? I will always live a humble and pious life, and with the dowry you mentioned, you would be able to attract a society man.”
“I am certain, Mr Collins. In you, I believe I will find all which is important to me,” she had said.
“In that case, Mr Bingley, may I have a private interview with your sister?” William Collins had asked.
Charles granted the request, and Caroline departed the parsonage in an official courtship with William Collins.
Over the last months, Charles had visited his friend Richard Fitzwilliam as much as possible without imposing on him, and the courtship had advanced until Caroline knew she both respected and loved her William.
She was sure her mother was spinning in her grave that she had not set her cap for the other William, Viscount Conyers.
Caroline had never felt any attraction to Lord William Darcy, regardless of his title, connections, and wealth, so she had no regrets.
William Collins proposed, and Caroline Bingley accepted him, in February 1807. They decided that they would marry on the final Friday in August of the same year, a month after the Collinses visited their family in Hertfordshire.
In May when they were at Rosings Park, Caroline and William, with Charles trailing them as a chaperone, were walking in the groves not far from the parsonage.
“When do you and your family depart for Hertfordshire?” Caroline asked.
“On the first day of July, my love,” William Collins replied. “We will be together when we arrive in Scarborough, a fortnight before the wedding.”
“That is too long apart,” Caroline said as she put on a pout.
“It is… wait, Cousin Jane is to inherit a neighbouring estate.” William Collins spun around to face his soon-to-be brother-in-law.
“Bingley, if you contact Mr Phillips, the solicitor in Meryton, and if Netherfield Park is not rented out currently, he may be able to sell you a short-term lease. It is only three miles from Longbourn, where my family and I will be hosted.”
“I will write as soon as we return to the manor house,” Bingley promised.
“No, Charles, I will write, and you will sign. We want this Mr Phillips to be able to read the epistle,” Caroline jested, well, partly.
“You have the right of it, Sister; I will dictate and you write,” Bingley agreed.
~~~~~~~/~~~~~~~
“Caroline, Mr Phillips has responded to my missive,” Bingley reported.
Three pairs of eyes turned expectantly towards Bingley.
The Bingley siblings were being hosted at Hurst House on Curzon Street.
Hurst had come into his inheritance a little more than a year past when his father had passed away.
For the year of mourning, they had remained at Winsdale, arriving in London a fortnight before Bingley and Caroline travelled from Kent.
Mrs Hurst had interrogated her sister about her betrothal and her affianced.
She cared not about his standing, or lack thereof in society; all she wanted was for Caroline to be happy.
The epistles Caroline had posted to her about getting closer to Mr William Collins had led Louisa to believe that her sister had indeed found a love match.
Since Caroline and Charles arrived at Hurst House, the sisters had long conversations, and the older of the two had seen the glow of love Caroline had for William Collins, which assured her that her sister would be happy in her marriage.
“Well, Charles, you cannot tell us Mr Phillips replied to the letter I made sure was legible and then not report what he said,” Caroline demanded with a huff.
“Did I omit telling you?” Bingley jested.
The pillow aimed at his head by his younger sister demonstrated her lack of amusement at his jesting.
“I have to ride to Meryton to sign the lease and deposit the payment, but as soon as I do, we will be renting Netherfield Park for two months. We may take possession on the day before the Collinses arrive at their family’s estate,” Bingley revealed.
“When will you go to sign and pay for the lease?” Hurst asked.
“I will go to my bank in the morning and have a draft drawn on my account. From there, I will make the twenty-mile journey in order to inspect the estate first, and if it is as Collins described, I will sign the contract,” Bingley stated.
“By the by, Mr Phillips asked that we keep the knowledge that Miss Bennet is the heiress of the estate confidential. He wants to keep fortune hunters from knowing. In addition, Hurst, the Bennets are related to Mr Gardiner, with whom both you and I invest.” Bingley paused.
“Hurst, I know Lulu and Caroline have appointments with their modiste on the morrow. Would you like to join me? A second opinion about the estate would be welcome.”
“I would be happy to accompany you,” Hurst responded.
~~~~~~~/~~~~~~~
Bingley and Hurst met Mr Phillips at Netherfield Park.
They were impressed by the way the estate and manor house had been maintained.
Hence, it was an easy decision for Bingley, with his brother-in-law’s agreement, to sign the short-term lease at Mr Phillips’s office and turn the draft over to him to pay for the two months’ rental.
So it was that the Bingleys and Hursts departed London at sunup on the final day of June 1807.
They all rode in the Bingley coach while the personal servants and most of the trunks followed in the Hursts’ carriage.
After two hours of travel, they took a break at a coaching inn.
Once they were refreshed and the horses rested, the final leg into Meryton commenced.
Caroline and Louisa were seated on the forward-facing bench—the former on the left, the latter on the right—opposite Bingley and Hurst. About one and one half hours since departing the inn, the coachman slowed the team of horses as they entered the town of Meryton.
As she looked at the shops of the market town, Caroline audibly gasped when she saw a group of young ladies and a young man walking in the opposite direction to where they were travelling.
There were two rather huge footmen walking a few yards behind them, but that was not what caused Caroline to react as she did.
“What is it?” Mrs Hurst enquired.
“I noticed some young ladies walking. One of them looked like she could be a younger version of the Dowager Duchess of Leeds,” Miss Bingley stated.
“Where? I did not see them.” Bingley queried. He was opposite Caroline.
“All you will see are their backs now, if anything, thanks to the giant footmen with them. Perhaps my eyes were fooling me,” Caroline opined.
For some reason, she remembered what she had said when she read the article about the Duke of Leeds’s death.
Surely that was a childish fantasy. She would not be the one to discover the missing duchess, would she?