by Suzan Lauder
The rest of my family prepared for our relation’s arrival in a variety of ways. My father was at the ready, sharing quips on how such an interesting visitor was enough to pull him from his library, and if the letter were any indication, Mr. Collins would be fine fodder for observation of human folly at its best.
Lydia did her best to attract attention to herself but received little from anyone other than Kitty, who sympathized with her poor sister’s perceived neglect. Mary had her copy of Fordyce’s Sermons clutched to her chest, several ribbons between its pages marking passages she wished to discuss with a man who was certain to be interested.
How I longed to escape! By his letter, it appeared that few opportunities for intelligent conversation would lay with this new visitor, but I hovered around in mild curiosity alongside my father in case there was entertainment to gain from the folly of our guest. My father’s assessment that the letter demonstrated a strange sort of personality was accurate, but how that extended to the gentleman himself was yet to be determined. With luck, he had more sense than his communication predicted.
Mr. Collins evidently had good luck with carriages because he arrived within minutes of the time he predicted in his letter. An alternative explanation was that he had the authority to encourage punctuality—but he was a mere rector. A higher-ranked gentleman such as Mr. Darcy might influence a driver, but he would never deign to travel on public equipage in any circumstance.
As the carriage door opened and the steps were lowered, Lydia emitted a dramatic exhale of exasperation before she spoke for all to hear. “I hope I am not expected to remain too much longer. This ribbon does not suit, and I must change it. If the officers come—”
She had good reason for an abrupt halt to her speech.
The occupant of the carriage stepped into view.
I am not one for the frivolous use of superlatives; however, there were not enough superlatives in the English language to describe this gentleman. His face had the best part of beauty; his movements as he descended were fluid yet precise, with nothing ambitious or extravagant.
When he reached the ground, his full height could be determined, and he stood at least as tall as Mr. Darcy and had shoulders as broad. Had he not been wrapped in a clergyman’s cloak, I am certain he would exhibit as fine a figure as well. It is a good thing he was thus clothed, as the stunning appeal of his face garnered so much attention that no one spoke. My entire family stared at the newcomer with undisguised admiration.
In short, he was the most handsome man I had ever seen in my brief lifetime.
Chapter 2
Mr. Collins, at your service.” His diction was clear, his tone warm, and his bow refined. I could barely take my eyes off him, yet I was eager to find out how the others were receiving such an amazing-looking man, so I glanced to the side. My sisters all wore rapt smiles. Lydia had placed her hand to the side of her face, her mouth hung open, and her dreamy gaze was locked upon Mr. Collins. I shuddered. As was her wont, she was certain to begin flirting at any moment and embarrass us. A few moments’ pause showed I was wrong as not one word escaped her lips. She must have been so overcome that she could not speak.
My father introduced himself. His voice was strange, a bit gruff. He waved in my general direction. “These are my daughters. Miss Bennet, Miss Elizabeth, Miss Mary, Miss Catherine, and Miss Lydia.” Could a man also be awed by stunning features on another man?
In response to the tidy nod of Mr. Collins’s handsome head, Jane, as cool as ever, made her curtsey and greeting.
I needed to clear my mind of its fixation on the elegant man to carry out the proper civilities when my turn came. “How do you do, Mr. Collins?” My response was only partially successful: I spoke well enough, but my balance was unsteady for my curtsey, yet thankfully, I did not fall.
Lydia did.
Everyone rushed to her limp body sprawled inelegantly on the lawn beside the gravel drive—everyone except Mr. Collins.
“This lawn is rather dirty.” Mr. Collins ran his hand over his perfect hair from back to front as he gazed around him. His soft curls were tousled towards his face à la grecque, tickling the edges of his immaculately groomed eyebrows. “I shall not abide stains or filth on my garments in service of an insensible child.”
To what did the man refer? Did he not wish to kneel on the grass where Lydia fell? She had swooned, poor thing. I lifted her to cradle her limp head in my lap.
“Please move away so she can have some air,” I demanded. Kitty began to cry.
“Hush, child.” Kitty gasped and stopped crying at Mr. Collins’s harsh command, and all eyes turned to him. “It is not uncommon for a silly girl to swoon in the middle of the day. Leave her be. She will come to her senses soon enough.” Perfectly tapered fingers adjusted a brass button on his cuff. Brass buttons for a clergyman? Rather dear. Who bought them for him?
Lydia’s eyelashes fluttered. He was correct about her rousing soon, but it did not assuage my annoyance at his indifference to her falling to the ground in a faint. When her eyes opened, they rested upon Mr. Collins. Her lips curved into a contented smile, and she mumbled, “Just lovely.” A slow, heavy sigh escaped her prone body.
The smug smile that graced his fine face was as unexpected as his reply. “Of course I am—far too lovely for an insignificant youth such as you. You deserve no notice from me.”
What? My face heated, and I began to shake with anger. He could not have meant to be so rude. He must have been nervous or confused. Otherwise, he was no more charitable than predicted from his letter.
My father is a gentleman, and he showed that his manners and good breeding exceeded those of his guest when he directed Mr. Collins away from Lydia. “Come into the house, sir.” I could not have been so generous in the face of the man’s rudeness, no matter how well he looked.
Mr. Collins scanned the front of Longbourn. “I suppose my trip was not wasted. I can list the contents of my inheritance and perform an assessment of its value.”
I bit back a groan. The letter was indeed an accurate depiction of his ridiculous character: full of self-importance and lacking tact. We all followed as our guest moved towards my home behind my father. He paused at the entrance, and Jane, at the head of the line, almost ran into the back of him.
He ran his elegant hand over the door. “The craftsman who carved this wood, was he from the area?”
The huge front door of Longbourn is a family treasure, my father’s pride. The wood is beautiful quarter-cut oak from one enormous tree, felled from the forest behind our home a century before, and the family’s coat of arms is carved into the centre, surrounded by scenes familiar in Hertfordshire. The art is fine, superior to drawings in travel books for the area, and the detail is superb.
“Yes, sir,” my father replied, “and his work is seen throughout the house. His family continues in the trade, and they are able to make any repairs or improvements as necessary.”
Mr. Collins’s lip curled as he eyed the carvings with a frown. “I hope their skills have improved over the generations.”
My father glanced in my direction, though no twinkle existed in his eye in response to the ridiculous man. “Indeed.” The insult to the local carver was too much. Although Papa tried to hide his indignant expression by glaring at the pavement, a stiffness in his shoulders betrayed his irritation.
“Would you like some refreshment ordered, Mr. Collins?” offered Jane.
“A bit of tea and a biscuit or two would suit me, but I shall not linger long as I prefer to rest. My journey was arduous. I was crammed next to a woman who had not washed in days, I am convinced of it.” He rolled his blue eyes; I have never seen a colour so exquisite.
As my sisters and I entered the house behind him, Jane glanced at me with brows raised. The younger girls’ eyes never left Mr. Collins’s form for a moment. I could not blame them
as I could not help but stare at him too. His every gesture was polished, his every feature exquisite. Mr. Collins was too superb for belief.
And then his cloak was removed.
Greek sculptors would compete with fervour to capture the man’s form, as such a flawless figure was beyond imagination. Unprepared as we were for this view, at least one of my sisters joined me when I gasped. Those eyes of an incomparable, brilliant, clear blue turned straight towards me, and Mr. Collins ran his hands down the sides of his body as if smoothing his form-fitted apparel.
Personal sensations invaded my body that were embarrassing in public and so intense that I had little with which to compare them. The feelings bade me to press my legs together and curl my toes in my slippers, and my skin became heated as if the fire burned too hot in the room. Mr. Darcy’s admirable form has momentarily affected me in such a manner. In his case, however, any admiration I have for his fine, tall person, handsome features, and noble mien can be suppressed by my intellect because I am disgusted by his proud, conceited manners. But Mr. Darcy seems unaware of his good looks, and this renders him a bit less detestable.
Mr. Collins smiled at me as if he had won a game; he was proud of his effect on the ladies present.
A lack of gracefulness accompanies a group of young ladies who are more aware of another person than their own manner of walking, so my sisters rushed to their seats with a rustle of silk and muslin, stumbling over their feet and hems and never removing their gaze from Mr. Collins for a moment. All four had a patch of pink upon each of her cheeks. We had been seated but a moment when the door to the best parlour flew open and my mother burst into the room—and stopped. Her mouth opened and closed several times and settled with her lips parted as though she were ready to say something, yet nothing passed through them.
Mr. Collins stood and took a deep bow. My mother’s hand flew to her chest. Her mouth remained agape, and she was stunned silent as she stared at him.
My father made the introduction. “Mrs. Bennet, may I present my cousin Mr. Collins?”
“A pleasure, madam.” Honey was never so sweet as Mr. Collins’s tone.
My mother smiled, mute. I do not believe I shall ever experience such an event again.
The tea arrived and saved my mother as her voice made a miraculous return when she became host. “What is your pleasure, Mr. Collins?” she squeaked. “Cream? Sugar?”
“Both, madam. Though most say I am sweet enough.” A horrid sound emerged from the man. As refined as his speech was, in spite of its lack of decorum, his laugh was an irritating sort of hiss followed by a rough, nasal sound reminiscent of a hog. My mother gaped at him for a moment before she forced a chuckle-like sound in reply. At her strange laughter, I became aware of my own deportment and clamped my mouth shut with a click of my teeth.
None of Mr. Collins’s actions escaped the notice of the ladies in the room. After my mother prepared his tea, one well-formed hand fluttered to claim his saucer from her reach. The other elevated the cup to hover before his exquisite mouth. All eyes were on his rosy lips as they embraced its rim whilst he took a sip. In an abrupt reversal, the cup landed upon the saucer with a clatter. “This tea is too weak.”
“Oh, I am so sorry.” My mother leapt up and grabbed the edge of his saucer. “Please, let me get you a new cup when the tea has had a chance to steep longer.”
Both of Mr. Collins’s hands grasped his saucer and held fast. A short tug released it from my mother’s grasp, and the cup teetered in the saucer for a moment before settling. The whole room watched in horror, anticipating a spill that did not happen.
“Do not trouble yourself, madam.” The man’s voice dripped with disdain.
My mother resumed her seat, her face flushed. She placed her hands in her lap where they moved of their own accord to fidget, stroke, and grasp each other as if unsure whether to hide or comfort. Jane passed the plate of treats to Mr. Collins. Although her face was composed, the dish shook just a little as she held it out to him.
Mr. Collins’s long fingers lifted a biscuit from the offered plate, and he turned the sweet over, examining each side. “I am most obliged to those who do not know how to make good tea. You will find I do not complain, no matter whether the tea is bland or the biscuits too brown.”
A strange giggle escaped Lydia as if she had tried to hold it in for too long and it burst from her lips. Mr. Collins glared at her. She sucked in her lips for a second, smiled back, and fluttered her lashes. A brief moment of a condescending glower in her direction was accompanied by a huff as Mr. Collins crossed his legs and turned to the rest of the room. “At this time of day, children should be in the schoolroom.”
My youngest sister would not be intimidated, and the roll of her eyes demonstrated it too clearly. “La. The schoolroom is tedious. I prefer gentlemen and dancing.”
At Lydia’s bold, improper statement, Mr. Collins’s head twisted so abruptly towards her that it must have been painful. “Excuse me?” His tone was harsh. Even so, he was unusually handsome. How could a man remain so beautiful with such a scowl upon his countenance?
“I am already out, so I am allowed to be among my elders!” A cheerful smile covered Lydia’s face as she raised it in pride and challenge.
With a similar speed as before, Mr. Collins’s head rotated to Mama. “Is this true?”
My mother’s lips were curved and her eyes bright as she gazed at him, but not one word escaped her. Had she even heard him?
“Excuse me, madam, but I am accustomed to children being kept from the company of adults until they are older. Some believe a child can be entertaining and mistakenly indulge them with a visit following dinner, but I do not find them appealing whatsoever and prefer them out of my sight. Yet you clearly allow two green girls to sit in my presence. Why on earth would you do so?”
He obtained no more reply than Mama’s smile becoming larger.
“We encourage our daughters in every way in this family, sir.” My father spoke through gritted teeth. “They are all allowed to choose their education, including that of a community nature. Otherwise, the youngest would be jealous of the eldest, and where would we be then?”
Lydia’s chin was raised when she added, “Kitty and I have learned all we wish from the schoolroom and have chosen to learn the graces from my mother. We know what it takes to act as a proper lady of the house and the steps to all the best dances for balls. We are sought out by our neighbours and the officers for our excellent sociability.”
“Of course. You fancy yourself important in your local neighbourhood and expect special attention.” His gaze took her measure, and similarly, a perusal of the rest of my sisters and me followed. “You are all used to being known as pretty, but I have seen prettier.” His startling blue eyes settled upon Mary for a moment longer than the rest before they moved skyward. “A man in my position as rector of Hunsford must show impeccable discernment in his taste.”
I narrowed my eyes. How could this man be so ungenerous? His lack of social skills was clear, and I suspected it was less in education than in application. The man appeared so taken with himself that no one else was good enough. Very little escaped his disdain.
He rose. “Lady Catherine sent me on another fool’s errand. She is near out of ideas for locations to find me a suitable bride.” And with that, he quit the room.
Chapter 3
I encountered Mr. Collins alone in the breakfast room early the next morning before any food had been set out. He was finely turned out—from perfectly coiffed head to elaborately knotted cravat to shiny black shoes—as though he had the best of valets, yet as a clergyman, he had no personal servants.
My mother astonished me when she dashed into the room not a moment later, and Mr. Collins rose and bowed at our entrance. Once she had made her curtsey, she stared at his face as if in a stupor. It was clear that she had dressed in
haste: her stays were not tight, one of the ties on the back of her gown was dangling and near to releasing, her cap was askew with the tendrils of hair around her face clearly just released from last night’s rags without additional tidying with hot tongs, and her face was flushed. She must have been informed by the servants that my cousin was awaiting breakfast alone, and she had hurried to ensure he was content while the food was being prepared in a rush. Her silence astonished me as I had not seen her speechless so often before Mr. Collins came to our home.
As I seated myself, Mr. Collins addressed Mama. “Do you customarily breakfast so late, madam?”
A pause and a shake of Mama’s head preceded her response. “Goodness, no! We keep country hours. I do not know what has delayed our repast, but pray, sir, accept my apologies, and give me leave to ensure your favourite dishes are laid out on the buffet. What is your pleasure?”
“Strong tea, duck eggs, kippers, muffins, toast, beans. Is there sausage?”
Mama rang for a maid to ensure his expressed wishes were met at the soonest possible moment.
Before she could be seated, Mr. Collins pulled my mother aside and glared at me with a frown that hinted of disapproval. What was wrong? I bent my head to study my apparel: a rather pretty gown that Jane thought suited my eyes and a delicate new chemisette neatly tucked in place.
When I glanced up again, Mr. Collins had engaged my mother in conversation in hushed tones.
My father and I share delight in a special entertainment: we are avid observers of the follies of others. Over the years, we both have found new acquaintances far more interesting than neighbours since only so much can be said concerning those one critiques each day. Thus, I kept a watchful eye on Mr. Collins in order to take his measure. However, my application was made difficult by the distraction of his full, luscious lips as they moved upon his irresistible face.