Mrs. Bennet's Favorite Daughter Read online

  “Very well. I shall have the guest room prepared for his arrival.”

  “Excellent, my dear,” said Mr. Bennet. “I believe you can expect my peacemaking cousin on Monday at the stroke of four if he keeps to his stated schedule.”

  It was later that day that Elizabeth received some intelligence of the character of their future guest, though it was not in a manner she might have expected. Longbourn was host to the visit of several officers of the militia that morning, among them Colonel Fitzwilliam. The colonel, Elizabeth knew, was a busy man with all the concerns of the regiment. Even so, it seemed he possessed the ability to visit the homes of those in the neighborhood on occasion, and for that, Elizabeth was grateful, for she found him more interesting than the rest of his men.

  “Lady Catherine de Bourgh, you say?” asked Colonel Fitzwilliam after Elizabeth had informed him of their upcoming visitor. “And this man who is visiting is your cousin?”

  “Yes,” replied Elizabeth, intrigued by the colonel’s reaction. “Mr. Collins is my father’s heir, for Longbourn is entailed. Have you heard of this Mr. Collins?”

  “No, I know nothing of the gentleman, but given what I know of his patroness, I believe I can guess as to the man’s character.”

  At Elizabeth’s obvious interest, Colonel Fitzwilliam chuckled and nodded. “It appears I have surprised you, Miss Elizabeth. The one piece of information you do not possess is that I am acquainted—painfully—with Lady Catherine de Bourgh. You see, the lady is my father’s sister.”

  “Your aunt!” exclaimed Elizabeth. “What a curious circumstance.”

  “With that, I cannot disagree,” replied Colonel Fitzwilliam. “I had not thought to meet Lady Catherine’s new parson until my visit in April. My cousin Darcy and I visit her at Easter every year, though it is a pleasure we could both forgo without regret. Since Lady Catherine is a widow, my father has charged Darcy with assisting her with her books and other estate tasks during the spring, while he takes it upon himself to do the same in the autumn.”

  Colonel Fitzwilliam grinned and added: “If I am not very much mistaken, I believe my father is to go there in October, some time after the harvest.”

  “Given your words,” said Elizabeth, taking care in how she phrased what she wished to say, “am I correct in guessing you are not fond of your aunt?”

  “It is as easy to be fond of Lady Catherine as it is to be fond of a hedgehog, Miss Elizabeth. The hedgehog is undoubtedly less prickly than my aunt.”

  Caught by surprise, Elizabeth laughed at the colonel’s characterization of his aunt, which the gentleman did not hesitate in joining. The thrust of Colonel Fitzwilliam’s comment, she readily understood.

  “Given your aunt’s demeanor, you expect my cousin will not be a man of much character?”

  “Of his character, I cannot say,” replied Colonel Fitzwilliam. “What I can say is my aunt prefers to surround herself with those who will not dare question her authority. Mr. Collins, therefore, will either be a man too frightened to do anything without her ladyship’s express approval or one engaged in licking her boots at every opportunity. Which I cannot say for certain, though I suspect the latter is more likely.”

  “Then I shall consider myself forewarned,” replied Elizabeth, laughing along with him. “At the very least, this Mr. Collins should provide us much amusement.

  The drudgery of the militia was more mindless than Fitzwilliam had ever thought. In the regular regiments, there was always something with which to occupy oneself, for there were always more tasks than time to complete them, and the men were a more serious sort, who had joined knowing what they were about. The militia, however, was not the same caliber of men, populated by those, instead, who wished to present a dashing image to the ladies, or who could not stomach the thought of battle.

  Fitzwilliam filled his days with whatever he could. There was, of necessity, much to do, given the lack of a commanding officer before his arrival. Though Colonel Forster had not left the company in a shambles as Fitzwilliam had feared, it was clear discipline did not meet the standards he demanded. Learning that one must take greater care with these part-time soldiers, Fitzwilliam had worked to improve not only the discipline but also the morale of the men under his command. Despite these duties, Fitzwilliam still found he had the time to not only exercise his arm but also to partake of some of the society in the neighborhood, though day visits, such as that he made to Longbourn, were rare.

  Only a day after that visit, Fitzwilliam learned of a piece of information that not only surprised him but rendered him unable to determine how he should respond.

  “A missive has arrived from Lieutenant Denny, sir,” said his assistant when he entered the room that morning. Denny was the only officer Fitzwilliam still had not met, as Colonel Forster had granted the man leave to see to a situation which had arisen in his family, and the lieutenant had stopped at London for a few days at the behest of his father. From all he had been told, Denny was much like the others in essentials, but Fitzwilliam had always preferred to judge a man himself without resorting to the accounts of others.

  “He is to return Tuesday, is he not?” asked Fitzwilliam.

  “Yes, sir,” replied his aide, Sergeant Danvers. “He confirmed the date of his return and writes that he has found a new recruit for the vacant lieutenancy.”

  “Has he?” mused Fitzwilliam. “That is welcome news. The commission has been vacant for some time, has it not?”

  “And Richards has been vocal in his wish to have it filled,” replied Danvers. “Though he resigned it, as you know, he has not yet received the proceeds as the post is still vacant.”

  “Then that is welcome news, not only for the other lieutenants but also for Richards. Does Denny say anything of the recruit?”

  “Not much other than the name,” replied Danvers. “The man is called a Mr. Wickham, and he has resided in London for some time, though Denny does not say what his occupation was.”

  It was all Fitzwilliam could do to keep his countenance. “Wickham, you say?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Very well,” said Fitzwilliam. “When he arrives, I would like to see him at once.”

  It was clear Danvers saw nothing out of the ordinary in his command. For several more moments, they spoke of other matters, and soon Danvers saluted and let himself from the room, leaving Fitzwilliam alone with his thoughts.

  Wickham! Of all the names he had thought to hear, Wickham would not be among them, nor would he wish to ever hear from the man again. The thought of Georgiana’s tears after Ramsgate was still enough to bring Fitzwilliam to a blinding rage. A part of him relished the opportunity to put the fear of God into the reprobate and send him on his way with his tail between his legs.

  The more practical side of Fitzwilliam considered the matter while keeping his feelings for Wickham firmly in check, knowing this was a chance to exert some control over one George Wickham. Would Wickham bow to the inevitable, or would he turn tail and run as he so often had in the past?

  The longer he sat and thought about it, the more Fitzwilliam realized he did not know quite what he would do until Wickham was standing before him. The urge to run the man out of town on a rail was strong. Much would depend on Wickham’s demeanor when he came. More would depend on Fitzwilliam’s reaction to seeing the libertine again.

  The day of the awaited arrival came, and the Bennet family gathered outside as Mr. Collins’s coach pulled up to the front door of the house. To call it a carriage was generous, for it was nothing but a hired gig. True to Mr. Bennet’s assertion, the time was almost precisely four in the afternoon, a matter which provided him some amusement.

  “It seems my cousin is punctual to his time, if nothing else,” observed Mr. Bennet.

  “You already knew Mr. Collins was a silly man,” accused Elizabeth.

  Unrepentant, her father winked. “I will own, I possessed some foreknowledge. Beyond my impressions of Mr. Collins’s letter, near the end of his life, I rec
eived a letter from my cousin. Though I will not bore you with an account of the accusations he leveled at me, accusing me for his lot in life, his lamentations concerning his progeny and his statement that he was not the son he had always wished to sire informed me that to the father, at least, he was a disappointment.”

  Mr. Bennet shrugged. “As I have never trusted my cousin’s judgment, I thought this was sour grapes on his part. It seems, however, he may have been more truthful in this matter than I ever knew him to be in his life.”

  By that time, the gig came to a stop, and the parson descended from it. Mr. Bennet welcomed him, and he bowed, giving Elizabeth the first impression she had of him. He was tall, though not on Colonel Fitzwilliam’s scale, a little rotund around his middle, and moved with a stately, affected air. Elizabeth could little imagine meeting a less appealing specimen of manhood, for his greasy hair dangled about his head, looking as if it had been years since he washed it, his face was round and homely, and his eyes approximated the hue of used dishwater. Elizabeth could not imagine him possessing any intelligence at all. Then he spoke and removed all doubt.

  “Mr. Bennet,” said he in a voice with a nasal, haughty quality, “I thank you for your welcome and for your swift response to my offered olive branch. It shows some greatness of mind that you accepted it, for it is not what my father taught me to expect of you.”

  While the entire family regarded the man with disbelief at his insulting speech, Mr. Bennet, giving the appearance of enjoying himself, nodded and gestured toward the house. The parson accepted with alacrity and allowed Mrs. Hill, their housekeeper, to lead him to his room. As the sound of his loud stomping footsteps echoed on the stairs, Elizabeth turned to a chuckling Mr. Bennet and fixed him with a look of some annoyance.

  “Well, what do you think, Lizzy?” asked he, a twinkle in his eye.

  “I think this visit will be far more interminable than any of us expected,” was Elizabeth’s acid reply.

  “Lizzy has my agreement,” said Mrs. Bennet, looking at the stairs as if they offended her. “I have little desire to host a simpleton, and even less, one who I expect will be everything objectionable.”

  “And yet, he is here, and we have little choice.”

  With that, they were forced to be content, for Mr. Bennet’s statement was nothing less than the truth. While it was the truth, however, Elizabeth had little notion of enduring the man more than she felt she must. Her sisters, she suspected, were forming similar designs to avoid Mr. Collins as much as they could. The execution of that resolution would prove to be more difficult than any of them thought.

  By the time the dinner hour was upon them, the members of the family were beginning to feel a little better about the situation. Mr. Collins had disappeared into the guest room and did not emerge until called for dinner. Though Elizabeth was uncertain if they could expect such behavior the man’s entire stay, for the moment she was content. When he emerged, however, no one could do anything but repine his civility.

  “It seems you have a comfortable home, Mrs. Bennet,” said Mr. Collins, turning his words to the mistress as was proper.

  “Thank you, Mr. Collins,” said Mrs. Bennet. “While it is not a great estate, it is our home, and we are prodigiously fond of it.”

  “Yes, I suppose you must be,” replied Mr. Collins. The man peered about the room for a moment and commented: “Have you made the arrangements I see before me yourself?”

  Mrs. Bennet looked about at the dining room, which she had redecorated some five years past. “This room is my work, Mr. Collins. I do not feel the need, as some may, to redecorate according to the whims of fashion; thus, I have left many of our other rooms as they are. It is wasteful to make changes on such extravagant notions.”

  “With that, I must agree,” said Mr. Collins, though his tone was absent. For a moment he inspected the paper on the walls before saying: “Did you consider a darker green, Mrs. Bennet?”

  Taken aback, Mrs. Bennet echoed: “A darker green?”

  “Yes,” said Mr. Collins, nodding his head slowly at first and then with more vigor. “Had my patroness advised you, I believe she would have guided you toward darker colors. Lady Catherine has decorated her dining room in the most tasteful forest greens and dark browns. It is the finest dining room I have ever beheld.”

  “That is interesting, Mr. Collins,” said Mrs. Bennet, from her tone attempting to maintain her temper. “But I have always observed that light colors in a dining room are to be desired, for I believe it helps with digestion.”

  It was an absurd statement, Elizabeth thought, but no more so than Mr. Collins’s own silly pronouncements. Mr. Collins, it appeared, was not listening to Mrs. Bennet, for his responding nod was absent. It was not long before his attention found another focus.

  “What a lovely set of silverware this is, Mrs. Bennet. Might I ask if it belongs to the estate?”

  The surprise with which Mrs. Bennet had regarded the parson’s last question was nothing compared to her shock at his next. Mr. Collins looked at Mrs. Bennet, expectation in his manner, undeniably unaware he had just asked a question so gauche; Elizabeth did not think she had heard anything similar in polite conversation. It was a moment before Mrs. Bennet responded, but when she did, it was in a tone so cold it would have warned anyone else to be silent.

  “No, Mr. Collins. These are mine, inherited from my mother, and when I pass on, I intend to leave them to my eldest daughter.”

  “Ah, that is a shame,” replied Mr. Collins, though he did not even glance at Jane. “Would it be too much trouble to ask you to show me the utensils that belong to the estate?”

  “I shall make sure we use them tomorrow, Mr. Collins,” said Mrs. Bennet, her glare again making no impression on the parson. “In fact, for the duration of your stay, I shall ensure we use that set at every meal.”

  It seemed Mr. Collins was not devoid of all measure of sense, as he frowned at Mrs. Bennet’s tone. A moment later, however, he shrugged, seeming to think he had misheard. Elizabeth glared at the parson, wishing she could incinerate him by the force of her gaze, then turned a raised eyebrow on her father. Her mother, she knew, did not possess an endless well of patience—Mr. Collins was taxing what she possessed beyond endurance.

  “In your letter,” said Mr. Bennet, understanding Elizabeth’s entreaty, “you mentioned your patroness. As I recall, your ordination was a recent event?”

  “Yes, it was,” replied Mr. Collins, preening at Mr. Bennet’s mention of it. “The culmination of years of study and effort it was, and Lady Catherine, wise as she is, saw what I accomplished and installed me in the living at Hunsford as soon as she met me.”

  There was more than a hint of self-congratulation in Mr. Collins’s tone as one might have expected. What surprised Elizabeth, however, was that Mr. Collins praised his patroness regarding her ability to see in him a man worthy of notice. It seemed her father saw the same, for he did not hesitate to further question the man on the matter.

  “And this Lady Catherine of whom you speak, is she a prominent woman?”

  “As prominent and wise as any lady in the land!” explained Mr. Collins with rapturous enthusiasm. “Why, it is her ladyship’s design which brought me to your door.”

  “Then I shall ensure to write to her and thank her for her generosity.”

  Everyone in the room understood Mr. Bennet’s irony except for Mr. Collins, for the man nodded with earnest vigor. “That is wise of you, sir. For Lady Catherine informed me herself, with her peculiar brand of condescension, that it is not proper for contention to exist between families. ‘Mr. Collins,’ said she, ‘you should act at once to bridge this distance, for there should be no contention among us.’ As wise as Lady Catherine is, I should never dream of contradicting her words, which led me to return to my study that very day and write the letter by which I introduced myself.”

  “How good of the lady to quote the Bible to you, sir, though I will note a little study would have given you the same
notion the lady was kind enough to supply.”

  Mr. Collins looked at Mr. Bennet for a moment before saying: “The Bible, sir? Lady Catherine’s instructions resulted from her own wisdom I am absolutely certain.”

  Even Mary winced at this sign of Mr. Collins’s lack of knowledge concerning the book of holy scripture from which he preached every Sunday. It seemed Mr. Collins had met all Mr. Bennet’s expectations of amusement, for he continued to bait the man, provoking him to greater heights of absurdity. Mr. Collins did not seem to understand everyone at the table was exasperated with him or laughing at his inanity.

  Not long before the end of dinner, Mr. Collins made one more matter known to the family, causing much consternation among the ladies. It was given in as pompous and nonsensical a manner as of any of Mr. Collins’s other statements, though he spoke it in a tone which was just short of negligent.

  “How long do you mean to stay, Mr. Collins?” asked Mrs. Bennet, her meaning clear to Elizabeth to be a query about how long she would be required to endure him.

  “A fortnight, madam, if it pleases you.” Mrs. Bennet was not pleased, but the parson would not understand it, even if Mrs. Bennet hit him over his thick head with it. “Lady Catherine has sent me here with a specific purpose, one I have delayed too long in fulfilling.”

  “How fortunate you have such an involved patroness,” said Mrs. Bennet, her tone showing her lack of interest.

  “You see,” said Mr. Collins, “it is the duty of every clergyman holding a living to set the example of matrimony in his parish, and I have been remiss in seeing that I attend to my duty. Lady Catherine suggested an . . . alliance, in her beneficence, which makes some sense. For myself, I believe I know what I wish for in a wife and shall begin the search at once for a woman who can fit my needs.”