by Leenie Brown
She smiled and pressed her cheek into his hand. “Papa is not cruel. He teases, I know. And it hurts sometimes, but his intention is not cruel. Please, do not think ill of him.” Her eyes were filled with tears.
“I will not.” He brushed one wayward tear away with his thumb and then realizing what he was doing, snatched his hand away from her face with a muttered apology.
She reached out and took his hand. “We are alike in that we have fathers who have said things about us that are not true.” She released his hand and wrapped her arm around his as they walked the three steps to the door. “Are you going to be studying those all evening?”
“No,” he replied. “I shall be spending some of my time with Evelina’s dear Mr. Villars.”
“Oh,” she cried. “Do you like him?”
He chuckled at her exuberance as they exited the study. “Yes, he seems to be a very good man.”
She sighed. “I knew you would like him. I just knew it.”
Chapter 7
Collins sucked in a long draught of cool, crisp air. Clouds hung low in the sky, and he suspected with the bite that was in the air, there might be snow rather than rain in the great grey puffs above him. He pulled his collar up and squaring his shoulders, entered the milliner’s shop. Shopping was not something he did often, and when he did feel he must purchase some item, it was rarely obtained at a milliner’s shop.
The store was not crowded. There were only a few patrons making selections at the various counters. He would need to find the ribbons. The right side of his mouth tipped up in a small smirk. Who would have thought he would find himself shopping for ribbons?
He paused at a case to admire the gloves. Those might do. He bent to inspect them more closely. Yes, the ones with the floral stitching. Mrs. Bennet so enjoyed her garden. Surely, she would appreciate the pattern on these gloves. He summoned the clerk and had the gloves wrapped and put aside.
Ribbons were next.
Lydia preferred dark colours at this time of year, did she not? He scrunched up his face as he thought. Yes, yes, dark in the winter to compliment the lack of sun or some such thing.
What would Mary prefer? He tipped his head to one side and then the other as he considered her. A bit of lace? Some of that frilly blue stuff? He sighed. She wore very few embellishments.
The lace would suit Jane, and the yellow ribbon would – no, it would not. Elizabeth wore green more than any other colour. The green ribbon would do for her.
Back to Mary.
“Have you seen her?” One young man said to another in a hushed tone.
Collins moved forward a step so as not to be able to listen to the conversation the young men behind him were having. Unfortunately, they moved with him.
“Not yet,” said the other young man. “I have come home a day early. She will not expect me.”
“Her father is ill.”
Collins paused in his deliberation between the blue frill or the plainer blue ribbon. Were they speaking of Mr. Bennet?
“Yes, she wrote to me about it,” the second young man replied. “She said her mother was attempting to push her in front of some large oaf of a cousin, so that she could be mistress of Longbourn upon her father’s demise.”
They were speaking of Mr. Bennet and Mary… and, he frowned, him. It was not the first time someone had called him a name such as an oaf, but it was not exactly something one got used to hearing and accepted without some amount of displeasure.
The first young man chuckled. “Just like Mrs. Bennet, is it not?”
“Indeed,” the second young man agreed with a laugh. “Although my mother is just as bad.”
“You have the right of that. I have been invited to dinner three times in the past month.”
“Let me guess. She sat you next to Charlotte and not Maria?”
“Between them, but then she directed the conversation so that I had to ignore your younger sister in favour of your elder sister.”
“Charlotte is not getting any younger.”
“That may be, but I am not marrying her. I prefer my ladies to be younger and how shall I say it? More willing to laugh at my jokes even when they are droll.”
“Maria does enjoy a good laugh, does she not?”
Collins motioned to the clerk. He wished to have this purchase over with as soon as possible so that he did not have to listen to any more of the conversation behind him.
“This lace, the blue ribbon as well as the green, the purple – no the darker one – and…” He smiled. “The pink with the gold thread running through it.” That would look very well in Kitty’s hair or on her bonnet.
“And do not forget the gloves,” he added.
“On which account shall I place these?” the clerk asked.
Collins leaned forward. “Bennet of Longbourn,” he whispered.
“I beg your pardon?”
“Send the bill to Longbourn,” he repeated in a slightly louder voice.
“Longbourn?” The clerk repeated.
“Yes, yes, that is it,” Collins stammered as he glanced over his shoulder.
“You must be Mr. Bennet’s cousin. I had heard you were visiting.” The clerk looked down at the receipt she was writing. “Or were visiting before the master fell ill. Will you be remaining?”
Collins nodded. “I will be except for perhaps a small journey to collect my things in Kent.”
“It is good that you are here. I have heard nothing but good things about you from the ladies that frequent my shop.”
“I am glad to hear it,” Collins said quickly. Why must she be so talkative? Could she not see that he was anxious to be on his way?
“Longbourn?” one of the gentlemen behind him asked.
“Yes,” Collins said, turning toward the young man.
“Mr. Oliver Lucas,” he said with a bow. “My parents are particular friends of the Bennets.”
“As are you.” Collins thought to clamp his lips closed. Those words were not meant to be spoken. However, he did not close them in time, and more words spilled out behind them. “I mean, that is, it would stand to reason that you and your sisters are also particular friends of the Bennets, would it not? I believe my cousin Mary has been visited several times by Miss Maria. She is your sister, is she not? And Miss Lucas is a pleasure and seems quite well acquainted with my cousins Jane and Elizabeth.” This time, he pressed his lips together. Mr. Lucas was looking at him with a quizzical expression.
“Yes, I guess you could say we are all particular friends of the Bennets.”
There was a slyness to young Mr. Lucas’s smile that did not sit well with Collins.
“And you are?” Mr. Lucas looked at him expectantly.
“Collins, Mr. William Collins.”
“May I present my friend Mr. Joseph Goulding to you, Mr. Collins?”
Goulding? He had heard that name bandied about the sitting room a time or two. And had he not met a Mrs. Goulding at church on Sunday? She was a sharp woman with a disapproving mien, if he recalled correctly, with two daughters trailing behind her and looking frightfully like their mother. Mr. Goulding did not appear to have inherited the critical air that hung around the females of his family. He seemed as jovial and perhaps just as roguish as his friend, Mr. Lucas. They were both dressed very well — nearly as well as Mr. Bingley.
“It is a pleasure to meet you,” Collins remembered to say after a moment of awkward silence. “I was trying to remember if I had met you along with your mother at church Sunday last, but I do not believe I did.”
“I was in London,” the young man replied. “A friend was having a bit of a gathering.”
Collins smiled. “Gatherings are always pleasant.” He kept his smile in place despite the inane comment that had escaped his mouth. He turned and gathered his parcels. Departing this establishment was perhaps the best course of action.
“Ribbons and gloves?” The slant of Mr. Lucas’s mouth was a trifle mocking.
“For my cousins,” Collins rep
lied.
“Bleeding the coffers before the passing of old Mr. Bennet in an attempt to secure the affections of those left behind?”
Mr. Goulding might not carry the appearance of a disparager as his mother and sisters did, but it seemed the trait had not altogether escaped him. Collins felt indignation pull him straighter as it settled between his shoulders and caused him to scowl.
“I fear you have misjudged me,” he began as calmly as he could when feeling so affronted, but then, he had had practice at receiving ridicule, so the calmness was something a kin to a well-worn coat that slipped into place without much effort.
“So, you are not spending Longbourn’s money?” Mr. Goulding shot his friend a derisive grin. “I am certain I heard you say to send the bill to Longbourn.”
“It is simple and pure folly to speak to a subject when one does not hold all the facts,” he replied with a smile. “Arrogance is not becoming, and as the scriptures say, it often precipitates a fall — a moment or longer of looking foolish.” He gave a nod of his head and made to leave.
Mr. Goulding stepped in front of him. “You cannot call me a fool and walk away.”
“I did not call you a fool,” Collins corrected. “I said you were arrogant to assume that you know all the facts about my business and to declare judgment based on those assumptions. However, if you wish to be made a fool, I can oblige. These items that I hold are purchased with Longbourn’s funds, just as you have said, and I have acknowledged. However, I do not purchase them on my behalf but on behalf of Mr. Bennet. He is ill, as you know, and cannot journey to town to buy these things for himself. Therefore, because he wishes to give his wife and daughters a surprise, he sent me in his stead.” Collins squared his shoulders and growing more somber, lowered his voice. “These are the request of a dying man, so that he might share his affection for his family and see their pleasure before it is no longer in his power to do so. Who am I to deny him such a thing?” He looked pointedly at Mr. Lucas. “I am no oaf.”
Mr. Lucas’s eyes grew the tiniest bit wide at the comment.
“If you wish to court Miss Mary,” Collins continued, “I am certain her father would prefer you do it properly and not through clandestine letters.” Good, the man looked completely out of sorts now.
“I will not share what I know with him unless it becomes necessary.” He took a step closer to Mr. Lucas. “And Miss Mary has nothing to fear. I have no desire to marry her, no matter what her mother wishes. I am sure Mr. Goulding understands that. Mothers will sometimes push daughters forward, but that does not mean the gentleman to whom they are presented is a willing recipient or even a ready admirer of the young lady’s charms. Miss Maria and Miss Mary seem pleasant, and I wish you both well. But, I would encourage you to seek them out in a more proper fashion than it appears you have in the past.” He gave a bow of his head. “Good day, gentlemen. Do call on us at Longbourn some time.”
And with that, he left the milliner’s shop with a handful of parcels and a satisfied feeling in his breast. That was, he thought to himself as he made his way to the carriage, the first time he had ever spoken his mind so clearly to someone who had attempted to abuse him, and it felt very, very good.
~*~*~
“Come, come,” Mr. Bennet called in response to the rap at his study door. He had begun insisting on spending a few hours in his study, lounging in a chair not far from the desk while Collins added numbers and asked questions as needed.
“Ah, my soon-to-be sons.”
Collins looked up from the column of numbers he had just finished calculating. Mr. Bennet was smiling broadly and had placed his book on the table next to him.
“Five daughters and three sons,” the elder gentleman muttered before sighing.
“Two,” Collins said before he could help himself.
“Nay, I did not misspeak. I count you as a son.” There was a gleam in the man’s eye. “An heir is as good as a son, is it not?”
Collins shrugged.
“Do not tell me you do not wish to be my son?”
“Oh, no, no, I would never do that. You are far too good a man to be my father is all.”
“Foolishness.”
If Mr. Bennet’s lips were not curled into a smile, Collins might have considered the somewhat stern tone he used to be a reprimand, but as it was, he could not think of it as anything more than a jovial disagreement. That was likely how he looked and sounded when he teased Kitty about being silly. It did sting a bit even though he knew it to be in jest.
“I see you have come to embrace wearing more than one colour,” Bingley said as he turned one of the chairs in front of the desk so that from the angle in which he sat, he could converse easily with both Mr. Bennet and Collins.
“I am not so poor a student as to ignore the instructions of the master.”
“The master?” Mr. Bennet looked curiously between Bingley and Collins.
“I have asked these gentlemen to help me with learning how to present myself,” Collins explained. He had forgotten that Mr. Bennet did not know about that little agreement, and he did not particularly wish for the gentleman to know the particulars of why he had sought help.
Mr. Bennet smiled. “I will assume that it is not to impress me.”
“No, sir.” What else could he say? “I wish to look the part of a gentleman rather than a parson.” That was true. He did wish to fit in with his neighbours.
“Well,” Mr. Bennet said as he smoothed the blanket on his lap and steadfastly did not look at Collins, “I am certain Kitty will appreciate the effort.”
Collins thought for a moment that his heart would either cease its job of ticking along or jump from his chest. The shock of such a comment left him in a state of utter confusion. Did one admit such a thing to the father of the lady one admired? Or did one remain silent? What he did know for certain, was that his face felt as if it was burning in the heat of a midsummer’s day.
Chuckling, Mr. Bennet lifted his eyes to Collins and then shifted them to Bingley and Darcy. “As I said, three sons at some point. I have no doubt of your success, William.”
His Christian name caused another stirring of uncertain emotions within Collins. He had never heard it said in such an amiable tone. His father had spoken it with indifference, spat it at him, followed it with a curse, yelled it, and, on occasion, snarled it. He had heard it used once or twice in an encouraging fashion from his tutor, but this declaration of Mr. Bennet’s was one of complete trust and confidence. It was genuinely startling and excessively welcome.
Thankfully, he did not have to decide how one should respond to such a thing as the door opened just then, and Mr. Hill entered. “You have a caller, Mr. Collins,” he said.
“He does?” Mr. Bennet replied. “Who might that be?”
“Mr. Lucas, sir.”
“Oliver?”
“Yes, sir.”
“I met him at the milliner’s shop,” Collins said as he rose from the desk. He hoped that the gentleman had only come to call and not to repay him for the somewhat harsh words which had been spoken before they had parted ways.
“You may ask him to join us,” Mr. Bennet said as Collins reached the door.
“I will make mention of it,” he assured Mr. Bennet. He was not certain that Mr. Lucas would wish to join them even if this was a friendly visit.
“Have you received the marriage articles?” Mr. Bennet asked Darcy as Collins closed the door.
It was only about two weeks until both Darcy and Bingley married their ladies. Mr. Bennet had insisted it be soon, for he wished to be in attendance. There would be no reading of the banns. It would all be done as quietly as one might without having Mrs. Bennet excessively put out. However, in deference to the fact that Mr. Darcy had just passed his period of mourning for his cousin, she had been surprisingly reasonable. The fact that Mr. Bingley had promised a ball to celebrate the arrival of the new year did help some.
“Mr. Lucas,” Collins greeted and waved his hand toward the
sitting room.
“I would prefer to speak to you in private.” He was spinning his hat in his hand as he spoke.
“Of course. Will the dining room do?”
Mr. Lucas nodded somberly, but then a smile graced his lips as there was a rustle on the stairs behind Collins.
Turning, Collins saw Mary standing rooted to her spot on the stairs. Kitty and Lydia pushed past her and continued to the sitting room from which he could hear the high-pitched tone of Miss Bingley as the door opened and then closed.
“Do you wish for her to join us?” Collins whispered.
Mr. Lucas shook his head. “I will pay my respects to Mrs. Bennet in a moment,” he replied without taking his eyes off Mary.
Collins knew that look, for he felt it every time Kitty was near. “Very well,” Collins replied. “Then, shall we?” He motioned to the dining room.
“I wished to explain myself,” Mr. Lucas said as the door to the room closed. “And to offer an apology.”
“Then carry on.”
Mr. Lucas blew out a breath. “First, I must apologize for calling you an oaf and for my friend’s rude behaviour.”
“You are forgiven for your words, but I do not see how you are responsible for your friend. A man can only be found guilty of his own actions, although I suppose, the association with fellows of ill repute can be held against a man.” Collins’s brow furrowed as he thought about that. “Yes, yes, I will forgive you for your choice of friend.”
Mr. Lucas blinked. “Joseph is not all bad. He is just critical and does not always hold his tongue.”
“Not all bad is not all good. But then none of us are without fault, are we?” He pressed his lips together as a few familiar passages of scripture came to mind, and a sermon began forming itself unbidden.
“You sound a lot like Miss Mary,” Mr. Lucas said with a laugh. “She is always breaking into some lecture on one subject or another.”
“Indeed? She has spoken very few words to me. Not that I blame her. Her mother was excessively forward in her attempts at matching us.”