CHAPTER FOUR
The Heir and the Ball
Mr Collins arrived at Longbourn expecting cousins and found Charles Bingley at breakfast.
The error might have been corrected in a sentence. Mr Collins required twelve.
"I beg your pardon, sir, but I was given to understand that Mr Bennet's family remains in possession—not legal possession, naturally, for the unfortunate entail must in time place the property within my own stewardship, but present occupation, which is a different species of possession altogether—"
Bingley set down his coffee. "Sir Thomas owns Longbourn. I lease it from him. The family lives at Netherfield."
Mr Collins stared. He was a tall, heavy young man whose solemnity appeared too large for his features.
"Netherfield Park?"
"Yes."
"The royal estate?"
"The Bennet estate now."
Caroline entered in time to hear this and took immediate interest in the stranger's discomfort.
"You must be Mr Collins. Sir Thomas mentioned that his cousin was expected."
"Expected here, madam. At Longbourn."
"How fortunate that you began with an inspection of your future inheritance."
Bingley gave her a warning look. "You will be welcome to breakfast, Mr Collins, and I shall send a servant to Netherfield with word of your arrival."
Mr Collins sat, though his eyes continued to travel over the room with the proprietary grief of a man discovering his inheritance occupied by better furniture than he anticipated.
Sir Thomas came for him before ten.
"Cousin Collins," he said, entering the breakfast room. "Welcome to Hertfordshire. I hope Mr Bingley has not charged you rent for the chair."
Bingley laughed. Mr Collins did not know whether he was permitted.
"Sir Thomas, I must offer my most humble congratulations upon the extraordinary distinction which Providence, acting through His Majesty, has seen fit to bestow upon you. My noble patroness, Lady Catherine de Bourgh, has often observed that gratitude to one's superiors—"
"Has she? Then you may tell me in the carriage."
At Netherfield, Mr Collins met Lady Bennet with an apology prepared for inheriting Longbourn. She heard him without agitation.
"Yes, yes, the entail is tiresome," she said. "But Mr Bennet has provided for us very well, and my daughters will not be turned into the lane. You need not look so miserable over it."
This deprived Mr Collins of his best speech.
He had come, in part, intending to marry one of the Bennet daughters and thereby repair the injustice of the entail.
His plan had seemed generous at Hunsford.
At Netherfield, surrounded by polished wood, fine paintings, and servants who addressed his cousin as Sir Thomas, generosity became calculation in a mirror.
Jane's beauty first fixed him. Lady Bennet informed him, with unusual economy, that Jane was likely soon to be engaged.
Elizabeth alarmed him within an hour.
Mary appeared possible.
She listened when he spoke of Lady Catherine. She did not laugh when he praised the shelves at Rosings. When asked to play after dinner, she performed a quiet sonata with feeling and no display. Mr Collins watched with approval.
Mary felt his attention and missed two notes.
Later she found Elizabeth in their shared sitting room.
"He means to consider me."
Elizabeth looked up from a letter. "Mr Collins?"
"He asked whether a clergyman's wife ought to understand parish music. Then he said Lady Catherine approves of plain young women because beauty encourages idleness."
Elizabeth placed the letter aside. "I shall kill him."
Mary sat beside her. "Please do not. Papa would be inconvenienced."
The dry answer delighted Elizabeth and made Mary smile, but the smile faded.
"Mama did not discourage him."
"Mama may not have understood."
"She understood when he looked at Jane."
Elizabeth took her hand. "What do you want?"
Mary's fingers were cool. "Not him. I know it is foolish to answer before being asked, but I do not want to spend my life being grateful to Lady Catherine for telling me where to place shelves."
"That is not foolish."
"I am not like you. I could not refuse him without everyone watching."
"Then he will not be permitted to ask where you can be cornered."
Elizabeth went to their father.
Sir Thomas heard her without interruption. His face hardened, not against Mary but against himself.
"I invited Collins because I thought acquaintance might ease the future transfer of Longbourn. I did not consider that he would arrive seeking a wife."
"He believes himself benevolent."
"The most exhausting form of ambition."
"Mary is frightened."
Sir Thomas closed his ledger. "Send her to me."
Mary entered with Elizabeth. Sir Thomas came around the desk rather than speak from behind it.
"Your cousin has not proposed?"
"No, Papa."
"Do you wish him to?"
"No."
"Then he shall not. If he attempts it before I speak with him, you may say, 'My father has not given you permission to address me.' Nothing more is required."
Mary's shoulders lowered. "Will he be angry?"
"Possibly. His anger will survive."
She surprised him by stepping forward and putting her arms around his waist. Sir Thomas held her. Over Mary's head, his eyes met Elizabeth's.
He did not joke.
The next morning he invited Mr Collins to walk.
"You may someday inherit Longbourn," Sir Thomas said as they crossed the east lawn. "That possibility does not grant you a claim upon any daughter of mine."
Mr Collins colored violently. "I assure you, sir, my intentions are honorable."
"I believe they are. Mary does not encourage them."
"Young ladies often reject the man they secretly mean to accept."
"Not in this family."
Mr Collins attempted to invoke Lady Catherine. Sir Thomas stopped beneath an elm and looked at him until the name faded.
"You are welcome here as my cousin. You will be treated fairly in every arrangement concerning Longbourn. Do not confuse fairness with indulgence."
That evening the party dined at Lucas Lodge. Charlotte sat beside Mr Collins and asked intelligent questions about Hunsford parish. She did not flatter. She listened, redirected his longest speeches, and gently corrected his belief that boiled potatoes required twenty minutes of praise.
Mr Collins became calmer in her company.
Elizabeth drew Charlotte aside after dinner. "You need not rescue Mary."
"I am not rescuing her."
"Then what are you doing?"
Charlotte watched Mr Collins explain one of Lady Catherine's chimney arrangements to her father. "Considering a situation with open eyes."
"Charlotte."
"He is foolish, not cruel. Hunsford is comfortable. I am seven-and-twenty, Lizzy, and my brothers will not support me forever with delight. Your father has shown that Mr Collins can be checked. I might prefer a husband who requires management to a future that requires permission from everyone."
Elizabeth's protest rose and stopped. Charlotte's face held neither romance nor despair.
"Could you respect him?"
"Enough not to humiliate him. More, perhaps, if he learns."
Across the room, Mr Collins looked toward Charlotte with genuine gratitude when she rescued him from Mr Lucas's attempt to discuss turnip prices.
Elizabeth did not approve. She could no longer pretend not to understand.
By the end of the week, Mr Collins had transferred his admiration with a speed he considered delicacy. Charlotte accepted him privately and insisted that the engagement remain quiet until Sir Thomas reviewed the settlements.
"Lady Catherine has never been asked to revise a settlement," Mr Collins said, aghast.
"Then she will enjoy a novelty," Charlotte replied.
Sir Thomas liked her very much.
* * *
Bingley announced his ball with all the restraint of a boy announcing summer.
"The twenty-sixth," he said at Netherfield. "If Sir Thomas and Lady Bennet approve. I know it is strange to entertain you in your former house."
"It will be stranger if you ask my permission every time you light the chandeliers," Sir Thomas replied. "Give your ball."
Lady Bennet approved of everything except the date, the supper hour, the number of musicians, and Jane's first choice of gown. Her objections were so energetic that Bingley departed convinced she was delighted.
Elizabeth looked forward to dancing and dreaded meeting Darcy with equal determination. The brown gloves had been returned without a note. She had told herself his silence was proper, then wondered why proper silence could feel so pointed.
He had called twice with Bingley. On the first visit, he spoke mainly to Sir Thomas. On the second, he asked Mary about music and listened to her answer. Elizabeth could not decide whether he sought to improve her opinion or whether her opinion had nothing to do with it.
The evening of the ball, Longbourn blazed with light. Carriages curved through the familiar drive. The front doors stood open beneath garlands, and music travelled from the ballroom added by Sir Thomas during the improvements.
Lady Bennet paused in the hall.
For one unguarded moment, her face changed.
She looked up the staircase where she had carried five infants, toward the parlor where she had waited through fevers, proposals never made, bills she had feared, and years in which her husband's laughter had too often arrived from behind a closed library door.
Sir Thomas offered his arm.
"Do you regret it?" he asked quietly.
"Leaving? No." Her fingers settled upon his sleeve. "But I remember."
"So do I."
They entered together.
Bingley met Jane before she had crossed half the hall. Darcy bowed to Elizabeth.
"Miss Elizabeth."
"Mr Darcy."
"May I request the next two dances?"
Directness surprised her. She had prepared for reserve, avoidance, or another silence to interpret.
"You may."
His eyes changed. Relief, quickly hidden.
Their first dance passed under the scrutiny of half the room. Elizabeth felt it in the turn of heads and Caroline's fixed smile.
"We must speak," she said as the figure brought them together. "A silent dance will confirm every rumor about Derbyshire."
"What rumors?"
"That your assemblies are conducted without conversation."