Chapter 1

One

Mrs Bennet despised her houseguest. To be sure, there was not much to like about him, unless one took seriously his compliments to her fine table, which she accepted as her due. Even in these, however, he had an air of rehearsed puffery; he would doubtless just as enthusiastically apply his accolades to Lady Lucas's table, which was mean in comparison.

Fleetingly, she felt a trace of guilt for her resolve that Elizabeth must marry him, regardless.

Quickly, however, she quashed it. Had she loved Thomas Bennet, ten years older than herself and not nearly so handsome as the least of her suitors? No, she had not. Sensibly, her own mother had, by means neither gentle nor affectionate, drawn her seventeen-year-old daughter's attention to the advantages of the match, the size of the home she would inevitably rule, and the degree to which her future children would be elevated. It was for those unknown, unborn offspring that she had sacrificed her girlhood fancies; now was the opportunity for one of them to keep the dream alive, to preserve the Longbourn estate unto her grandchildren.

To this end, she had overcome her inclination to put Mr William Collins in the third-storey spare room usually occupied by draughts and damp; as well, she stifled her hopes that he might not too heartily anticipate his future occupation of her home. Instead, she had begrudgingly prepared for him her nicest guest chambers—a suite of rooms across from Mr Bennet's. Elizabeth was unlikely to be a comfortable bride; it was important that he not be overeager to look elsewhere.

Surely she will not look this gift horse in the mouth , Mrs Bennet reassured herself. Instead of a bleak, impoverished life as a spinster, she would gain a lovely residence in Kent in the present and become mistress of her girlhood home in the future.

Still, a conversation overheard the previous evening had unnerved her.

Mr Bennet had been unable to attend her sister Philips's dinner party due to his latest health complaint—which was nothing unusual, for he hated dinner parties as much as he loved his illnesses. Elizabeth, in relating to him of the evening's events afterwards, had used the time to complain of that awful Mr Darcy's past treatment of Mr Wickham. Had there been something of passion, perhaps, in her long and detailed recital of Wickham's injuries? Could she be developing a tendre for the handsome lieutenant? There was no future in it!

Naturally, Mrs Bennet found nothing wrong with a bit of flirtation . At the age of one-and-forty, a longing for the youth and beauty of her past almost tempted her to flirt with the fine-looking man herself. But passion was tantalising, and it would be even more difficult for Elizabeth to see the advantages of connexion to the odious Mr Collins with passion's cloying tentacles gripping her heart. Her daughter had recounted the lieutenant's pitiful tales until Mrs Bennet had been forced to interrupt with complaints of her own—which, predictably, caused Mr Bennet to begin whingeing again about his sufferings, effectively turning Lizzy's attention back to himself.

Naturally, the girl had been all solicitousness then, full of consideration towards her father's latest ailment; she always gave his grumblings far more consideration than her mother's. The complaint was not a serious one; Mr Bennet's infirmities never were, and Mrs Bennet half expected that he employed them in order to keep the attention of his family— especially Elizabeth—upon himself, and to exacerbate her own nerves with the ever-present reminder that he held only life tenancy in his own estate. Still, it was also true that he would not easily part with his favoured daughter, much less to a man the two both enjoyed ridiculing.

A marriage to Mr Collins is in her best interests , she thought with renewed resolution. Could her husband so blatantly ignore Lizzy's future? Surely, he wanted the best for his favourite.

Yet, a niggling discomfort reminded her of how easily he ignored so many things, herself most of all. The workings of his mind remained ever-baffling.

The arrival of Mrs Hill interrupted her muddled thoughts. "Mrs Bennet, Mr Jones has come to see the master. I took him up."

"Thank you, Hill," she mumbled, still distracted by her chaotic contemplations.

"You are so very welcome," the older lady answered cheerfully, quickly departing and leaving Mrs Bennet with raised brows. It was another mystery. Hill had been in an exceedingly jolly mood of late, with a spring in her step and a jaunty disposition unnatural to her. It was disconcerting, and Mrs Bennet had worries enough.

Sighing, she took herself to her husband's chambers to learn the latest diagnosis for such ailments as he pretended to possess.

"I have made him a special tonic. He is to have a dose twice daily, without exception. It will cleanse his corrupted intestine while strengthening his heart."

"Why not calomel?" Mrs Bennet asked. Whatever his verdict on the source and cause of any affliction, Mr Jones always prescribed calomel.

"This situation requires a more serious treatment."

Mr Bennet glanced at her, a definite note of triumph in his gaze. ‘ You see, my complaint is serious ,' his look said. ‘ I told you so .'

Fear filled her breast. She was accustomed to taking lightly his agitations, just as he took hers. That he should be truly unwell was terrifying! That her future should be so gravely at risk, was unbearable.

Mr Jones measured a dosage from a large bottle and administered it to his patient. Unlike the calomel—which did nothing much that she could tell except make the chamber-pot an immediate necessity—a beatific smile shortly thereafter emerged in place of Mr Bennet's usual smirk.

"Darling," he said to his wife, taking her hand and tugging her closer. "Come sit with me."

She frowned.

"My work is done here," Mr Jones announced. "My joints tell me that the rain on the horizon shall be our first true winter storm, and I wish to be home 'ere it arrives. Call for me if he worsens."

It was two hours before Mrs Bennet could extract herself from her husband's chambers. Whatever was in that medicine put her husband in an excessively friendly mood, and not at all as if he were lying at death's door. Yet she could not ignore the apothecary's words; it was more important than ever that the repulsive Mr Collins be chained to the welfare of her family by the bonds of matrimony.

As if she had summoned him, Collins's oily voice rang out from the open door of his sitting room. After a very few moments of eavesdropping, she understood them to be a rehearsal of a marriage proposal! To have happened upon him, and it, at this particular moment was divine sanction, and she could not overlook it; nor, however, could she overlook his choice of wording, with its liberal stream of blunders. Lizzy would not appreciate any of it, and Mr Bennet, in his current state of inebriety, would be of no help in forcing her to think past the inconvenience of a stupid husband and towards the rewards of a life of security and ease. In fact, forcing Lizzy to do much of anything was easier said than done.

There was no hope for it: she must delay this proposal until her husband was well, if she did nothing else.

"My dear Cousin Jane…no, no, no, Cousin Elizabeth . Elizabeth. Elizabeth," Mr Collins mumbled, repeating her name a few more times before continuing. "Almost as soon as I entered my future home, I singled you out as the companion of my life. I am run away by my feelings?—"

Boldly she rapped on the door jamb.

When he saw his visitor, Mr Collins's unctuous smile creased his face; he was not at all embarrassed, it seemed, at the possibility he had been overheard. His next words proved it.

"Ah, how opportune your visit! I was only gathering my thoughts in preparation for a forthcoming event we both, if I may so delicately deduce, anticipate. May I hope, Madam, for your approval when I solicit the honour of a private audience with your fair daughter, Jane—pardon, not Jane—with Elizabeth , this morning?"

This morning! So soon! Even knowing that the marriage was for the best possible motive, no female would appreciate so little an attempt at wooing. How stupid was he?

Incredibly so, it appeared. And Mr Bennet was in no condition to provide any sort of reinforcement—if he even would! Frantically, she searched her mind for any possible means of delaying.

Her mind, for once, complied.

"Oh dear! Yes—certainly. I am sure Lizzy will be very happy—I am sure she can have no objection. One little request, just a small thing, surely, but meaning a great deal to the bride. This one ambition has been the greatest desire of her heart since a child. She has always wished, nay, longed , to be married out of the common way. By a licence, that is."

She saw the shocked look upon his face, and hurried to continue before he could voice his objections.

"Of course, her dreams are not only romantic. Just think—once a fellow and his lady have decided to wed, why wait three long weeks for the banns to be called, when he can make her his own the very next day?"

She saw the moment the idiot realised, by the lascivious expression crossing his face, that he would have a female in his bed at least three weeks sooner by this method; she gagged a little at the idea of it. Resolutely, however, she pressed her advantage.

"Now, a smart man would go to town and procure the licence before he says anything at all to his bride."

His brow furrowed. "He would? Why?"

Yes, Fanny, why? Think! "Because…because what woman could resist an offer revealing that her suitor has paid such attention to her desires as to have already procured it! What affections for that man shall be stirred within her breast at his consideration!"

"Hmm. Perhaps so. However, might she also, and rightly, despise the extravagance of this gesture, and feel instead that a husband who avoids such spendthrift ways is a superior choice of mate? Besides, surely Cousin Jane—er, rather, Elizabeth—would be flattered at receiving so good an offer, as to make such deeds unnecessary?"

Unsurprisingly, he was a tight-fisted miser who believed the gift of his ample person to be ample reward for any female lucky enough to earn his attention. It was a temptation to knock him over the head, bury his body in a shallow grave, and hope that the next in line to inherit was someone even slightly worthier. God would surely understand. But she forced herself to think past the impulse, speaking instead to his parsimonious soul.

"Oh, but of course I would never expect you to finance this romantic scheme. Your sacrifice of time and effort in order to fulfil Lizzy's dreams is sufficient contribution. I will naturally provide you with adequate funds to compensate you for the expenses of the trip… Shall we say, twenty pounds?"

She did not suppose he could accomplish the whole thing in one day. If she were truly fortunate, Mr Jones's predicted storms would delay him further— if she could just send him on his way before the bad weather arrived. But even counting fare to London and back, a night or two at an inn, and a bond to secure the licence, twenty pounds was far more than was necessary. As she had guessed, his small eyes alit with greed; his obstinacy gave way before his avarice.

"I suppose it is the right thing to do, indulging my bride in her dreams," Mr Collins opined. "I am a generous man always, I hope, and she should not be made to wonder whether her husband will do all that is necessary to increase her happiness. Still, perhaps I ought to speak to her first, so that she might experience the pleasures of anticipation."

"No!" Mrs Bennet's protest was far louder than she had meant, and he reared back in alarm. She moderated her tone. "It is just that the surprise is everything to her. It will ruin all if you reveal the gift before she is allowed to open the package, so to speak."

Reluctantly, and after a few more arguments, he agreed. She sent Hattie to help him pack for his journey, and then set about the tedious task of writing a letter of permission for the underage Elizabeth's marriage, and then the even more tedious task of having Mr Bennet sign it without enquiry as to what it was for. Fortunately, his medication precluded all sensible thought, but it required considerable amorous effort instead and so, while thus engaged, she wheedled the twenty pounds from him, which saved her the further exertion of searching his book-room. All told, it was a successful, albeit exhausting, morning. She had gained herself at least a day and maybe three for her husband's recovery; certainly, he would force Elizabeth's agreement—and possibly by then, Mr Collins might even have memorised her name.

All five of the Bennet sisters displayed varying degrees of surprise when Mr Collins announced his departure for London in the early afternoon.

"Oh, but do you intend to miss the ball?" Lydia exclaimed.

"Perhaps our cousin does not find such amusements proper, and has no intention of accepting Mr Bingley's invitation," Elizabeth offered smilingly.

At this, Mr Collins turned to her. "I am by no means of such an opinion. I assure you that I am so far from objecting to dancing myself, that I shall take this opportunity of soliciting your hand, Cousin Elizabeth, for the two first dances especially—a preference which I trust my cousin Jane will attribute to the right cause, and not to any disrespect for her."

Mrs Bennet watched with chagrin as Elizabeth's face fell at this open sign of his preference for her, and the distaste with which she accepted. It was disheartening to see, and all her earlier relief at achieving a brief delay plummeted. How was she to ensure the girl accepted his crucial offer of marriage?