A Chance at Happiness

by Meg Osborne

  “Perhaps you are already acquainted with his wife,” Anne put in, and Darcy sensed in some way he could not quite define that she, too, had the measure of poor, unhappy Mr Collins, and sought to soften the blow of any connection he might share with Darcy by introducing other friends the two might share. “And she has a friend poised to stay with her, also.” His cousin frowned. “Dear me, what was her name? She told me of the young lady just today when we chanced to pass one another. A cousin of her husband’s, but from the warm way she spoke of her I took it that it was Mrs Collins, and not her husband, the young lady was visiting.”

  Darcy’s heart sank, for he felt strangely cognisant of precisely who it was his cousin was struggling to recall, even before her name graced Charlotte’s lips.

  “Ah, I recall her now! A Miss Bennet. Miss Elizabeth Bennet.”

  CHARLOTTE HAD A GOOD view of the road from her parlour, and she sat quite happily in the sunny window, watching for Elizabeth’s carriage as she sewed. If only her life could be all moments like this, she thought, as she glanced contentedly around the room she had claimed for her own. It was only fair, her husband had said, if he was to have his study, that she might have a place entirely her own, where she might sew or read or do any other kind of self-improving task she might care to think of. Charlotte’s smile faded a little. Mr Collins was entirely committed to the notion of self-improvement, particularly amongst women, and she had to confess it rankled her a little that her own husband could not be content to receive his wife as she was but must always be seeking for her improvement. As if I am the only one of us who might be better than I am! But no, that was uncharitable. She had known of her husband’s views before they married and could she really dispute a minister’s need to focus on the improvement of the human condition? Indeed, Charlotte knew enough of her own flaws to know that they might be lessened. Contentment was the first step. She drew a breath, warmed by the sound of the fire chattering in the hearth, and reminding herself that had she not sought to marry Mr Collins, she could not have conceived of being mistress of her own home. No, indeed! She would be still a ward of her parents, reliant on them utterly, and with nought but her sister’s constant irritation for companionship. This is far better, she reminded herself. Here I might be mistress of my own domain, and with a respected gentleman for a husband. I must count my blessings. And, as if counting made them increase it was at that moment she chanced to glance once more into the window in time to see a carriage slowing on the approach to their house.

  “Oh!” She leapt to her feet, casting down her sewing, and rushed for the door, stopping only as her hand reached the knob. No, it would not do to rush out and greet Lizzy as if they were both still young women. She, Charlotte, was married now, and mistress of a house. She must do things properly. She returned to her chair, allowing her breath to slow, but all the while willing her friend to hurry, her staff to be as observant as she was, and show Elizabeth through to the parlour sooner, sooner! After what felt like an age, the door at last opened, and Lennox, their housekeeper, introduced her guest.

  “Miss Elizabeth Bennet, Mrs Collins. Shall I fetch tea?”

  “Thank you, Lennox,” Charlotte said.” That is so very kind of you.” As soon as the wide woman had departed, Lizzy stepped into the room, smiling warmly at her friend.

  “Oh, Charlotte!”

  In the privacy of her own parlour, Charlotte could restrain herself no longer. Sensible or not, mistress of a home or not, she was still so happy to see her dear friend again that she embraced her warmly.

  “I am so glad you are here!” she whispered fiercely into Lizzy’s shoulder. She felt a strange pricking of tears in her eyes and hurried to erase all sign of them as their embrace ended. “Well, Lizzy, this is my home. How do you like it? We shall have tea, first, for I do not doubt you are in need of some rest and refreshment, and then perhaps I can give you the grand tour.” She grinned.

  “The grand tour!” Elizabeth rejoiced. “How elegant you sound. Mrs Collins, offering to show me around her own estate!”

  “My husband’s estate,” Charlotte countered.

  “But as you are one and the same it may as well be yours.” Lizzy shrugged her shoulders. “And in any case, Mr Collins is not here.” She darted a glance towards the door. “Is he?”

  “No. My husband will be at his church at present.” Charlotte turned to the clock on the mantel. “We are utterly alone here. But even if he were at home he would not disturb us here. This is my parlour and my own domain.”

  “How charming!” Lizzy stood, walking over to the bookshelves and running her finger along the spines of the books. “But are you not lonely, sequestering yourself away here?”

  “No, indeed!” Charlotte shook her head. “I am kept busy in running the house. Such a great many tasks, Lizzy, you could not begin to imagine. And Mr Collins is so frequently busy with his studies, or with the concerns of the parish. I should go half-mad without my own sanctuary to retire to.”

  “And so you live happily together, and even more happily apart!” Elizabeth laughed, but the smile died on her lips when she noticed Charlotte’s expression.

  Fearing she had betrayed herself, Charlotte struggled to muster a smile that might reassure her friend of her contentment, for she must be contented. This was her choice, after all.

  “Here, Lizzy, let me show you the embroidery I am working on. It was a gift for Christmas and I have only lately been able to start it.”

  “And so much completed already!” Elizabeth marvelled. “You must have devoted hours to it - that is, you must be a very quick seamstress.”

  “It is my only pastime at present,” Charlotte confessed. “I find I have little mental energy to spare for reading. Or for writing.” Her smile became genuine and penitent. “I know you must have noticed my lack of letters. Forgive me, Elizabeth, it is only that there was so much - that is, there is so much to do as mistress of a home.”

  Lizzy waved off her explanations, but there was something searching in the look she applied to her friend, so that it was not without some degree of relief that, when Lennox returned with their tea tray, Charlotte leapt on the distraction of some refreshments. They might talk easier, now, with the lubrication of tea, and she hurried to begin quizzing Lizzy on her own news.

  “I am talking too much of my house, forgive me! Tell me, what has happened in Hertfordshire in my absence? How is Jane? And are Lydia and Kitty still as prone to scrapes as they were?”

  Chapter Four

  Mr Collins laid down his pen. His sermon was not coming easily today. He had a great deal of other parish business to attend to, but had been struck with a fervour of academic interest, and had decided to strike while the iron was hot to proceed in completing his sermon. It would need to be finished and in some measure of readability in order for Lady Catherine to run her gaze over it before it was delivered, in any case. He sighed. He did not know any other patrons who took such an avid interest in the delivery of sermons in their parish as Lady Catherine did. At first, he had found her active interest quite a comfort and an encouragement. He had been new to ministry then, only recently arrived from his studies. But in the long months and years since, her interest had become, although he hesitated to use the word, interference.

  He glanced skywards, as if his thought might have been heard as a criticism, and immediately repented of the uncharitable notion. No, she was not interfering. She was eager to be involved, that was al. It was the mark of a fine, Christian lady that she took such an interest in the spiritual formation of those who lived on her estate. How many other Curates could boast of such an interest? He would be grateful, rejoice that he worked hand in hand with so devoted a patroness.

  Suitably encouraged, he returned to his sermon, finishing it with a flourish, and set about copying it carefully in his most legible hand. That had been one of Lady Catherine’s first notes on his sermons upon his first arrival at Rosings: that she was sure the content was ultimately uplifting and encouragin
g, but she could not be certain be sure, due to the untidy nature of his hand, she had abandoned reading it partway through and would wait to hear it delivered in person that Sunday. He flushed, even now at the recollection of her comments. He had striven ever since to write so legibly that she might never make such a criticism again, and she had not. His lips turned down at the corners. Instead of its presentation, she had restricted her commentary to the content of his sermons, with no more encouragement than he had received at first. Still, there had been nothing greatly troubling or contentious in the passage or any of the three biblical commentaries he had so far consulted. She would be happy, surely.

  There was a knock at the door and he glanced up, surprised to see one of Lady Catherine’s own servants.

  “Oh, dear!” he declared, hastening his writing. “Does she wish to see the sermon already? It is quite finished, I am merely - merely -” In his haste he dripped a fat blob of ink onto the page and hissed in frustration, dabbing at it with the sleeve of his shirt and transferring the stain from paper to sleeve quite expertly, alas.

  “No, sir,” the Rosings servant said. He stepped forward and handed a note to Mr Collins, who took it with consternation, unfolding it cautiously. When he saw that its contents were an invitation for Mr Collins, Mrs Collins and their guest to join them in dining at the great house at Rosings, and not the criticism he had half-expected, his smile grew.

  “Delightful!” He reached for a fresh piece of paper and began to dash off a note, pausing only to reign in his enthusiasm lest it rendered his words unreadable. “Please tell Lady Catherine that our party would be delighted to join them at dinner, and reassure her that I will bring my finished sermon with me too, so that she might peruse it at her leisure.”

  He passed the note back to the servant, searching for a penny he might give the young man for his troubles. He found a button, but at last a stray coin emerged from the detritus on his desk, so he pressed it into the man’s hand, and bid him be on his way. His mood cheered by this unexpected invitation, he returned with pleasure to his sermon, finishing it with a flourish, and deciding that the ink stain was not so very noticeable as to require the whole thing be written out again. The cock on the mantle of his small study chimed, and he determined it would be time for tea, and, if he left now, he might get home with time to spare to tell his wife of their changed plans for the evening. Another thought struck him. His cousin must have arrived by this hour, too. What providence that upon her very first evening in Hunsford Elizabeth Bennet would be treated to dine at Rosings. This was quite an honour, and he must ensure his cousin was aware of the great welcome his host favoured them with. How could he have ever thought Lady Catherine de Bourgh interfering? She was not! Not in the least. She was merely interested in the goings on in her locale, and how could he fault such a commitment to her responsibilities? If only all landowners acted thus, how many more souls might be preserved!

  With a jaunty step, he began the walk home, determining to call on a couple of parishioners who were taken ill, and thus fulfil his pastoral duties early. There would be plenty to do before leaving for Rosings, for despite he and Charlotte having been often to call on Lady Catherine at the big house, this would be their first such visit in company with Elizabeth, and he dearly wished for his cousin not to embarrass either herself or him. He recalled Elizabeth as being clever: too clever, often, for he knew his patroness was not over-fond of young ladies who were educated. He must remind Elizabeth to defer in sharing her opinions to ensure they fell in line with Lady Catherine’s, or, better yet, not to speak at all unless their hostess addressed her directly. He drew a breath. Yes, that would be best. She might do well to mimic Charlotte, for his young wife seemed almost instinctively to have learned that should she remain seen, and not often heard, she would rise in Lady Catherine’s estimation.

  His first destination was soon upon him, and all thoughts of the evening ahead flew from Mr Collins’ mind, so absorbed was he in sharing a blessing with the ailing family before him. In spite of his father’s supposition, in spite of himself, even, William Collins was a born clergyman, and whilst his preaching left a great deal to be desired - with or without Lady Catherine’s nimble editorial eye - he had a true heart for his parish, and spent himself quite freely on their behalf.

  “Come, Mrs Smith,” he began, as a harried wife ushered him into her sitting room. “Do not stand on ceremony on my account. How does your husband fare? I have not seen him at Church this past fortnight...”

  “AND JUST OVER THAT small ridge lies Mr Collins’ church,” Charlotte remarked, as the two girls walked a little further. “It is such a pretty building, and I do not suppose he will be there by this hour, so we might proceed without fear of-of disturbing him.”

  Elizabeth arched an eyebrow. If she had not known her friend better she would have presumed Charlotte had intended to say we might proceed without fear of seeing him, but surely that was a nonsense. Charlotte would not refer to her husband in such a way, surely? Dismissing hr concern, Lizzy took in a deep breath and surveyed their surroundings, admiring the elegant greenery that persisted in sheltered Kent, despite the cold winter weather.

  “What excellent walking you shall have here, Charlotte!” She bumped her shoulder affectionately against her friend’s. “When you are not happily ensconced at home, I mean.”

  “It is true, I am fond of my home,” Charlotte smiled, before correcting herself. “Our home, I mean. You see, Mr Collins is so very busy that quite often a whole day passes where we scarcely even notice one another’s presence!”

  Elizabeth’s concern must have shown in her features, for Charlotte hurried to reassure her.

  “Oh, you need not think it a bad thing! No, for we are quite content in our way.”

  Elizabeth said nothing, but could not help but notice the slight note of dismay that coloured her friend’s words. Charlotte had gone to great pains to reassure her friend that all was well and that she was quite content in her life in Kent, but Elizabeth was no fool. The home was to be rejoiced over, certainly, and Charlotte’s pride in her private parlour was evident, but there was something missing from the picture that indicated all was not entirely well chez Collins. And how could it be? When Mr Collins was so...Mr Collins! Elizabeth resisted the urge to throw her arms around her friend’s shoulders and shake her. Was she, even now, regretting the decision she had made? For all her pragmatism, Charlotte was a young woman still and the thought of being yoked with such a fellow for the rest of her days must weigh heavily upon her.

  “And what of Lady Catherine de Bourgh?” Elizabeth asked, at length selecting a topic that might interest both ladies, albeit for different reasons. “Is she as you imagined?”

  “Even more so!” Charlotte said, glancing over her shoulder as if for reassurance that the ladies were quite incapable of being overheard by any spy pledging allegiance to her husband’s patroness. A sly smile crept onto her features and, for the first time since her arrival in Hunsford, Elizabeth saw a glimmer of her old friend emerge once more from the canvas of a young wife and mistress. “Oh, Lizzy! You cannot imagine what it is like. We are summoned there every so often - far more than I should choose to go, and for so long at a stretch! Why, it is never a short visit. First, there must be an exchange of pleasantries, then an exchange of news, and all the while Lady Catherine is scrutinizing us carefully, as if she might deduce some secret in our faces we are hiding with our words. She holds very tightly to the living at Hunsford, you see, and likes to be very involved in the day to day running of the parish.” Charlotte’s voice took on a mocking wobble as she imitated Lady Catherine so comically that Elizabeth could not help but draw a full and amusing picture of her cousin’s wealthy patroness.

  “Still,” Charlotte said, slipping her hand through the crook of Elizabeth’s arm. “You shall witness it all for yourself first-hand, for I do not doubt we shall make a call on them before the week is out.” Her eyes sparkled with fun. “Prepare yourself, Lizzy, for I do
not doubt Lady Catherine will be highly interested to discover the nature of the young lady come to visit from Hertfordshire.”

  “I cannot imagine why!” Elizabeth said, shrinking a little under this suggestion. She had come intent on observing Lady Catherine, little realising, nor even imagining, that she, herself, would face similar scrutiny. “She has not heard of me, surely!”

  “Not heard of you?” Charlotte crowed. “Oh, my dear Lizzy! You recall meeting Mr Fitzwilliam Darcy, do not you? Why, he is Lady Catherine’s nephew! And such a connection, Mr Collins could not wait a moment before making mention of.”

  Lizzy blinked, nonplussed, and Charlotte shifted into character once more, this time as that of her husband, rather than their patroness.

  “And do you know, Lady Catherine, my cousin Elizabeth was seen to dance with him once - no, now that I think upon it I am sure I recall it being more than once. Yes, indeed! I stake my reputation against it being more than once that my cousin - my own cousin, Miss Elizabeth Bennet - was seen to dance with your nephew, Mr Darcy.” She ended this recitation with a snorting, simpering laugh that was so perfect an example of Mr Collins that Elizabeth laughed, before sobering quickly.

  “Charlotte! You cannot mean to say that your husband insinuated that Mr Darcy and I were - friends?” her lips pursed over the words, as if the notion itself tasted bitter in her mouth. “Why, that is hardly true at all!”

  “My dear Lizzy, when did truth ever prevent a connection being exploited?” Charlotte was scornful, now, and Lizzy felt a sudden urge to press her further on the matter.

  “But there is no such connection,” Elizabeth began, but before she could say more, a voice rose on the wind to greet them, and both ladies glanced up, surprised to be hailed by a gentleman, and not merely one gentleman but two, on horseback.

  “Good afternoon, ladies!” the first called, raising his hand in a wave.