William Collins
His letter completed, Mr Collins sprinkled sand with deliberate care, shook away the excess, and folded it before sealing it with uncommon firmness. He held the finished packet a moment,weighing not merely the paper but the righteousness of its contents.
After placing it neatly upon the small table beside his bed—positioned where it could not possibly escape his notice in the morning—he began to prepare for the night. As he removed his shoes and stockings, it occurred to him that the matter must not be left to a servant’s convenience; he would carry the letter himself to the post in Meryton and see it dispatched by express. Lady Catherine must be informed without delay.
Thus resolved, Mr Collins finished preparing himself for bed before he extinguished the candle and retired, considerably satisfied that he had acted with propriety, foresight, and becoming zeal.
CHAPTER THIRTY
Afew days after Wickham had been secured in gaol, the earl informed his granddaughter and Georgiana that he must travel to town. Among other matters, he intended to speak to the War Office about Wickham, as his previous letters had gone unanswered.
In the wake of the events at Longbourn, the news that Mr Grant was, in truth, Lord Granfield spread rapidly through Meryton. What had begun as speculation soon hardened into certainty; and certainty, as ever, proved irresistible.
The consequence was a renewed influx of visitors to both Millwood Cottage and Longbourn, for nearly everyone wished to determine who had known what—and when. Some even ventured to assert that they had suspected the truth for months. Mrs Bennet, most notably, insisted she had discerned it from the very beginning, from the moment her brother by marriage had made the connexion.
Granfield found the claim almost admirable in its boldness. Had Mrs Bennet known herself—even tenuously—connected to a member of the peerage, no earthly force would have preservedher silence on the matter, and she would have announced to all and sundry every day since.
More irksome still were the ladies who now called at Millwood Cottage under the pretence of visiting his granddaughter. Meryton, it seemed, possessed no shortage of widows, nor of spinsters eager for an elevation to the rank of countess—and eager to secure his heir along with it.
Granfield had no intention of marrying again. His marriage had been a rare love match, and he had never wished to replace his dearly departed wife.
The journey to London would serve several purposes, including removing him from these unwelcome attentions.
He would assist Darcy in settling the arrangements for the wedding, clarify certain matters pertaining to the earldom, and confer with Lord Matlock. The two men had long been acquainted, but their relationship had always been marked more by reserve than intimacy. As they would soon be connected by marriage, Granfield considered it only proper to speak with him privately regarding what might be done for his second son.
The day after Wickham’s capture, Darcy had come to Millwood Cottage and, after requesting a brief private audience with Elizabeth, had sought Granfield’s consent not to delay the wedding. Rather than marrying in the spring as first proposed, he asked that it take place shortly after the new year, leaving scarcely a month for the necessary arrangements.
His reasoning, infuriatingly, had been sound.
“I would not press for haste if it were merely my inclination,” Darcy had said, meeting his gaze steadily. “But Elizabeth’scircumstances have altered. The sooner she is under my protection, the less opportunity there will be for interference.”
Granfield had regarded him coolly. “You presume much, sir.”
“Ambition does not sleep,” Darcy replied evenly. “I would rather forestall it than contend with it.”
Had the argument been sentimental or impulsive, Granfield could have dismissed it. Instead, Darcy had spoken only of protection.
The news of Granfield’s rank had travelled with remarkable speed, and neither he nor Darcy entertained any illusion that it would remain confined to the countryside. London would soon hear it as well.
Elizabeth’s prior obscurity, her long absence from the notice of theton, would only inflame speculation regarding the extent of her fortune. Once it became widely known that her future son would inherit the earldom, suitors would emerge in earnest, and not all would prove as principled as Darcy.
“It would be considerably easier to shield her if she entered society already married,” Darcy had maintained.
The young man had chosen his argument with care, and Granfield, while reluctant, had agreed, not without a measure of satisfaction that Darcy made his point based on Elizabeth’s safety and not his own desires to wed sooner.
Such considerations occupied his thoughts as his carriage made its steady progress towards London.
He had taken advantage of the engagement to invite his sister to Millwood Cottage, hoping she might lend her experience to the arrangements. Lady Rosalind James had seldom appeared intown since her husband’s death more than two decades earlier, preferring instead to reside at Granfield Park and serve as her nephew’s hostess after his wife’s death nearly five years before.
During her husband’s lifetime, Rosalind had presided over a house much frequented by members of Parliament and ministers alike, he having risen to quiet prominence in the Commons. After his death, she chose retirement from the bustle of society.
Although she had been absent from recent Seasons, she was far from forgotten. Lady Rosalind’s wit had once been nearly as remarked upon as her taste, and both remained intact. If Elizabeth possessed a certain sharpness of wit and an elegance to her manner, Granfield suspected its origin lay in the steady exchange of letters between aunt and niece over the years.
Lady Matlock would undoubtedly assist Elizabeth in her introduction, but Granfield preferred that his granddaughter enter society fortified by her own family. Rosalind’s judgement was steady, her standards exacting, and, unlike some, she understood that elegance did not require volume.
His steward would escort her to London and onward to Millwood Cottage. In the meantime, other matters required his attention.
While he had mentioned part of his purpose to Darcy, he had not disclosed his chief intention. He had permitted the young man to write first to his family, but scarcely had that letter been dispatched to the Fitzwilliams before his own followed by special messenger.
