“But there is nothing to forgive. I am quite happy here. I have a home of my own, and while I have a few irritations?—”
“Such as the unending fountain of advice from your patroness?”
“Yes, that as well.” They laughed. “But you know how sensible I tend to be. On the whole, I am content.”
“Then while I cannot rest easy for my sister, at least I can rest easy for my friend.”
“I wish I, too, could rest easy formyfriend.”
“What do you mean, silly?”
“You know, Lizzy, when you speak of Mr Darcy as ‘Mr Bingley’s disapproving friend’, I become uneasy.”
Elizabeth Bennet found this amusing. “Are you afraid Mr Collins might overhear my opinion of the man and have me horsewhipped in the public square?”
“You must admit the gentleman stares at you a great deal. I have said so before.”
“And I have told you Mr Darcy looks upon me only for the purpose of finding fault. From the first moment of our acquaintance, he has made no attempt to disguise his contempt of me. I was not handsome enough to solicit a dance from himthen,you recall. How can you claim to be sensible and believe he has suddenly developed a fascination for me? Now? You are very droll, Charlotte.”
“And if I am right? What will you do if a man of his consequence decides to court you?”
“He is to marry his cousin, Miss Anne de Bourgh. Where have you been these last ten days? Not an hour goes by that Lady Catherine does not mention it.”
The two women sat in silence while I struggled against the urge to cough.
“How would she bear him a child?” Mrs Collins asked in a reflective tone.
“I suppose she would die making the attempt and satisfy her mother’s ‘dearest wish’. I find nothing to laugh at in the situation. Would it not be humiliating to be lauded as having the finest musical abilities without ever having touched an instrument? Or to have your fine looks pointed out while swallowing some nauseating potion and being pushed to marry a full-blooded man when you can barely stand unaided? It is ludicrous, Charlotte, and you know it.”
Mrs Collins chuckled. “Only you can be counted on to say what no oneshouldsay. For my part, I do not believe Mr Darcy will marry her for this very reason: he will want children.”
“Then I am sure Miss Bingley would oblige him with a nest of howling, ill-tempered infants,” her friend lightly replied.
“But by inclination, I believe he looks to another.”
“And I believe I am nothing but entertainment. I can hardly be more to him than that. You forget, most conveniently, that I have relations in trade. WouldMr Darcybe inviting Mr and Mrs Gardiner to Pemberley? We are ten times more likely to see three full moons in a month.”
“You might at least have thought of what you might say if he singles you out for his addresses.”
“How much thought is required? We are not well-suited. There is no danger of disappointing him, Charlotte. Do you suppose he has not come to this conclusion long ago?”
Mrs Collins sighed with impatience. “Never tell me you are pinning your hopes on Mr Wickham.”
“Thatgentleman, without a penny to his name, would suit me better than Mr Darcy with his fortune.”
“You would be wise to leave Mr Wickham alone and consider that a man of ten times his consequence cannot keep his eyes off of you.”
“Consequence?” she scoffed. “But what actual good do we know of him? He cannot be made to say a single word to anybody. What did he say to your mother after she hosted him at Lucas Lodge? Nothing. He allowed his agreeable friend—his particular pet, Mr Bingley—to do the pretty, and in all his looks, said he wanted nothing more than to go away.”
“I grant you his manners are not warm.”
“Not warm, not gracious, not generous. He hovers in a corner with Miss Bingley and passes judgment on us all, or he stares out a window. If he must face the room, he does so with an expression of long-suffering repugnance. I suspect he spoke poison in Mr Bingley’s ear with regard to Jane, and let us not even mention what he did to Mr Wickham. I ask again, what good do you know of him?”
After a pause, Mrs Collins replied with an air of barely contained amusement, “He isveryrich, Lizzy.”
“And if pound notes were feathers, Lady Catherine would almost be an angel. If that is your only recommendation, then may I point out that there is a word for a woman who trades herself for money?”
“Practical?”
