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After his niece departed, Mr Gardiner rubbed his brow.

“What is the matter, Edward? Surely Fanny, will see the benefits of the match?” said Mrs Gardiner.

“I’m going to have to go to Kent to haggle with Mr Collins over the curate’s wage.”

“Can you not write?”

“I believe I am going to have to exert myself on Mr Elliot’s behalf, lest he not have enough bread to put in his mouth. I don’t suppose you know any boys in the district who require tuition?”

“Perhaps Sir William Lucas’s younger sons. He has hired a series of tutors. But did you not say that Harry also required extra tuition?”

“Goodness!” Mr Gardiner said, “I’d forget my head if it wasn’t screwed on!”

His wife gave him a sympathetic squeeze, well aware that the dual stresses of running his business and caring for his sister’s family were keeping him awake at night.

Mr Gardiner headed back upstairs to his sister’s bedchamber to tell her the news. As expected, Fanny was not keen on the match and began to bemoan the fact that Mary had not snaffled Mr Collins. Her brother cut her short. He was able to obtain his sister’s word that she would at least withhold judgment on Mr Elliot until probate was granted on the rector’s estate. Fortunately, Mr Gardiner was spared any further haranguing by the return of his sister Philips with a tea tray.

After descending the stairs, Edward dropped by the study. He found Lizzy alone, rolling up a map of the estate.

“How did it go with Harry?” asked Mr Gardiner.

“How can I tell?” replied Lizzy. “He seemed at least to be listening. Let us see how he goes next week. I have given him permission to ride one of the horses over to Stevenage on Sundays. He has already gone to tell his mother the good news.”

“Good. He is close to his mother. As for me, I expect I will be back either next Saturday or the one after.”

“So soon?”

Mr Gardiner revealed the curate’s request for Mary’s hand as well as the need to secure him a decent income while he waited for his bequest.

“If Harry is agreeable,” suggested Mr Gardiner, “Mr Elliot could provide some of his tuition for a fee, enabling you to focus on teaching Harry estate-related matters.”

“I am sure I will have my hands full this week, acquainting him with everything,” replied Elizabeth. “I shall delay starting any more general schooling until you return.”

The sun was very low in the sky by the time the crates of Mr Bennet’s books were loaded onto the carriage. Mr Collins had decided to keep only the copy of the baronetage. Despite use of the roof and the boot, two boxes ended up on the floor of the coach. The Gardiner family was obliged to squeeze inside around them for their trip back to London.

The rector’s funeral turned out to be an event that rivalled the burial of the squire. The Marquess had insisted the ceremony take place as soon as possible at Longbourn so that the body could be transported to the Wolver estate in Somerset for interment in the family vault.

The church was packed with solemn villagers. Based on the precedent set by the squire’s funeral, the service was attended by some of the women of the Bennet family—Elizabeth and Mary were accompanied by Sir William Lucas who had walked them from the manor house. During their procession to the pew, Sir William had alternated between his officious and solicitous aspects in a way that almost caused Mary to question his sanity. When the eleventh Marquess entered the church in full regalia, there were audible gasps from the congregation. Sir William performed a marvellous display of bowing and scraping as the Marquess entered the pew opposite them. Elizabeth bit down on the first wry smile that had come to her lips since her father had passed. How she wished Papa were there to share the spectacle!

Upon a nod from the Marquess and an uncharacteristically shaky start, Mr Elliot delivered a beautiful service drafted on the template the rector had employed for the squire’s funeral, interlarded with some memorable sections from what the curate considered to be Mr Delaney’s best sermons.

Following a madrigal delivered by a choir of well-scrubbed village boys, twelve liveried footmen bore the lead-lined coffin down the nave to a special carriage that was to bear the rector’s remains to Somerset. The spectacular gold hammercloth thrown over the coachman’s seat, bearing the Marquess’s arms, drew the villagers’ admiration as much as the unusual design of this vehicle excited their comments. The Marquess politely acknowledged the Bennet ladies and their escort before he exchanged a few words with the curate and shook his hand. Thereupon the footmen distributed largesse to the crowd and the carriages departed. The men of the village retreated to the tavern to spend their gelt in honour of the departed rector. The women tucked their portions into their kirtles and the inner circle withdrew to Mrs Fairbanks’ cottage to take tea. Sir William escorted the Bennet sisters back to Longbourn, where he partook of a cold collation arranged by Mrs Bennet.

Mr Elliot had declined to accompany them, thinking it more proper to return to the church to say prayers to speed the rector on his last earthly journey. On retiring to the rectory afterwards, he was obliged to pay for the receipt of a letter from Mr Collins. Reading this missive, Mr Elliot could only be glad the letter had not reached him before he had set out for the church in the morning, for it contained some of Mr Collins’ own sentiments to be read at the service which were neither apposite nor particularly complimentary. Furthermore, it condescendingly suggested that Mr Elliot might retain his place as curate for the paltry sum of twenty pounds per annum, in return for free rent of the rectory. Stifling an impulse to toss the offensive communication into the flames of the hearth, Mr Elliot set it aside and, resting his elbows on his knees, lost himself in thought as he stared into the fire.

After reminiscing on his time with the rector, the curate’s thoughts naturally enough turned to wondering on the nature of the bequest, coming out of the blue as it had. He drew out the ring on its chain to remind himself he was not dreaming.

The next day, Mr Elliot woke early and whiled away several hours pacing the floor of the rectory’s parlour—back and forth across the hearthrug, practicing his proposal—until it was seemly to pay a morning visit to the manor house.

Of course, his plans all went out the window once Mrs Bennet became involved. Instead of finding himself alone with Mary as he had hoped following his promising interview with Mr Gardiner, Mr Elliot was left to cool his heels in the parlour until Mrs Bennet entered alone.

“Well, young man, my brother says you have pretensions to the hand of one of my daughters! Let me remind you that they are all ladies and must be comfortably circumstanced! I cannot contemplate a match with a penniless clergyman!”

“Forgive me, Mrs Bennet, for putting myself forward before I am sure of my expectations,” stuttered Mr Elliot, fumbling with the chain on his neck. “But whether I quit this locale or stay in the hope of gaining Miss Mary’s hand is dependent on your favour. Based on my application to Mr Gardiner, I had hoped to secure Miss Mary’s affections on the proviso that all was kept secret until I was sure of my circumstances.”

And so saying, he held out the magic ring.

Mrs Bennet stared at the large diamond for a moment, before yelling in a voice that carried well upstairs: “Mar–ryyyy!”