“I should say it did!” Mr. Bennet declared suddenly. “Foryou. My Jane is a jewel.”
Perhaps the port was doing its work on the master of Longbourn.
“She is indeed, sir,” Bingley replied, his expression gentling.
This time it was Fitzwilliam who rolled his eyes, but then he lifted his glass. “To horses and hasty decisions, then!”
“To fine stables,” Darcy said, raising his own glass, the corner of his mouth lifting.
Bingley joined the toast with a chuckle.
The laughter subsided as Fitzwilliam turned his attention to Mr. Collins. “And you, Mr. Collins? Surely securing the living at Rosings Park must be a tale of almost equal magnitude.”
The clergyman adjusted his cravat, his face alight with self-importance. “Ah, Colonel, securing the living at Hunsford was no small feat, I assure you. When your esteemed aunt, Lady Catherine de Bourgh, sought a clergyman, I resolved to distinguish myself by composing a letter of such exquisite humility that she could not help but take notice. I expressed my gratitude for her wisdom, praised her generosity, and assured her of my profound respect for all matters under her superior judgment.”
“All before you had even met her?” Bingley inquired.
“Her excellent reputation preceded her,” Mr. Collins assured him.
“And when you did meet her, did you bow as deeply as you flattered?” Fitzwilliam asked, refilling Collins’s glass.
“Indeed I did!” Mr. Collins said, as oblivious to irony as his future father. “When I entered her presence, I bowed so deeply I nearly toppled over. I praised the furnishings, the paintings, even the fire screen! I dared not leave a single detail unremarked, lest she think me unobservant or ungrateful.”
“And this display of appreciation won her over?” Darcy asked, his tone as even as he could manage. Of course it had.
“Most assuredly!” Mr. Collins declared. “She explained that I would benefit greatly from her guidance. Thus, the living was bestowed upon me. And, of course, she felt it my duty to seek out a wife to share in my new station. Naturally, my first choice was my cousin Elizabeth.”
Bingley’s brows rose, his glass halfway to his lips. “Miss Elizabeth?” he echoed.
Darcy stiffened, Sir William frowned, and Mr. Bennet scowled.
“But Providence,” Mr. Collins continued cheerfully, “led me to Miss Lucas, whose sensible and accommodating nature is perfectly suited to my needs.”
“Providential for him,” Mr. Bennet growled under his breath but within Darcy’s hearing. “Were it not for his excellent intended, he might find himself a pastor forever.”
Darcy was about to ask what the man meant when his cousin interrupted.
“To Providence, then!” Fitzwilliam said, lifting his glass with a broad grin that scarcely wavered. “And to the good fortune of all who have secured such worthy matches.”
That had been a near thing. Mr. Collins’s effusions might have emptied the room or even begun an altercation before Fitzwilliam had requested Mr. Bennet’s story. Darcy was no help, for he could not escape the burning sensation in his stomach. Mr. Collins had wanted to marry Miss Elizabeth? She was entirely too good for such a . . . such a . . .
Mr. Bennet leaned over to say, nearly in Darcy’s ear, “I would never have allowed it.”
Fitzwilliam, ever sensitive to the moods in the room, addressed Sir William next. “What of you, sir, whose elevation to a knighthood I am certain is a tale worth hearing?”
Mr. Bennet, who was seated to Darcy’s left, leaned back in his chair with a barely perceptible groan of “Dear God.” Perhaps he had heard this story before. Darcy also leaned back in his chair, almost at the same time, in fact—but he was prepared to be entertained.
“Well,” Sir William said proudly, “as you may know, I was the mayor some years back when the king himself honoured us with a visit. I gave a speech so well-received that His Majesty invited me to St. James’s Court! A momentous occasion, I assure you. One bow before the king, and I was Sir William forevermore.”
“And the speech?” Fitzwilliam prompted. “What was the subject that so captured His Majesty’s favour?”
Sir William beamed. “Ah, the speech! I spoke of loyalty, of course—what Englishman would not? —and of the industrious spirit of our fine town. But the part that truly captured His Majesty’s attention was my ode to roast beef and ale.”
Darcy choked on his drink, and Bingley, seated on his other side, patted him roughly on the back. “Roast beef and ale?” Darcy repeated, the words coming out in a rasp.
“This I must hear,” Bingley announced with a wide smile.
He silently cursed Bingley.
