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After speaking, he immediately turned his attention to what Jane was telling him. She listened with a genuine interest that did not escape Mr. Darcy’s notice. He wondered if, perhaps, he might have misjudged the Bennets. Mrs. Bennet was certainly matchmaking, but with five daughters and an entailed estate, who would not be? Yet, Miss Mary was to marry a Lucas. Given that family’s very recent transition into respectability, it certainly was not a match that one could call advantageous in the traditional sense. It was a match born of affection.

He watched his friend talk with the eldest Miss Bennet, wondering if her goals were similar to her sister’s. If his friend was still in trade, would she still be so affected? He hoped that was the case, for Bingley’s happiness now seemed tethered to her.

“Are you quite well, Mr. Darcy?” asked Elizabeth.

Darcy blinked, her voice drawing him back from his internal reckoning. “I am quite well, Miss Elizabeth. I was simply lost in thought.”

At that moment, a commotion in the passage drew the attention of those assembled. Mr. Collins was in high dudgeon as he directed two servants in the removal of his trunks from Longbourn. Mr. Bennet stood nearby, watching but not assisting, as they attempted to fit a trunk through the door at an awkward angle.

“Mr. Collins,” said Elizabeth, going into the corridor. “I am quite certain that trunk will not fit. I remember upon your arrival that the servants took it through the servant’s entrance.”

“I tried to tell him that, miss,” said Mr. Hill, “but he insisted he wished his things to go out the front.”

“That is quite impossible, cousin. The laws of nature simply will not allow it, sir. Your trunk must go through the kitchens,” she responded.

Mr. Collins drew himself up, his face mottling with the effort of maintaining composure. “Laws of nature, Miss Elizabeth?” he repeated. “How curious that you should venture an opinion on such a matter, when it is well-documented that the female mind does not grasp the logistics of spatial arrangement with the same efficacy as a male mind. I am certain you mean well, but you ought to return to your embroidery.”

He then turned back to the servants, chastising them for their supposed incompetence.

“Miss Elizabeth,” said Mr. Darcy, “I do not believe I have been introduced to your cousin. Would you mind making the introduction?”

Elizabeth raised her eyebrows at Mr. Darcy, for surely, he must see that the ridiculous man before them was not someone he would wish to be acquainted with. Yet, his answering look implied his seriousness, so she did as he asked. This, Mr. Darcy soon realised, was a serious error.

Mr. Collins’s countenance underwent such a transformation that Elizabeth might not have believed it had she not witnessed it herself. His angry mien was utterly made over into one of frantic eagerness mixed with subservience as he made a deep bow. “Mr. Darcy!” he exclaimed, “Surely it cannot be? Of Pemberley in Derbyshire?” A nod from Mr. Darcy confirmed his identity. “To think—to think that I should be given this great providence at the very moment of my departure! Sir, I am the humble parson to your most esteemed aunt, the Honourable Lady Catherine de Bourgh. I must apologise for being so woefully remiss in my duties as to have not sought the acquaintance of her ladyship’s nephew sooner!”

Elizabeth, for her part, motioned that the servants might set down the trunk, for Mr. Collins would not be brief in his fawning.

“I trust that you will overlook the informality of our meeting,” Mr. Collins continued. “It is, I am sure, entirely due to the unusual manners of this house that such a formality was delayed. I am most pleased, certainly most pleased, to assure you, sir—her ladyship was in the most excellent health when I last had the privilege of her company at Rosings, not four days since.”

“Thank you, Mr. Collins,” answered Mr. Darcy. “That is most reassuring. I do not mean to impose upon you...”

“That is surely an impossibility, sir,” declared Mr. Collins.

“I do not mean to impose upon you, sir,” Mr. Darcy repeated, “but if I may offer a suggestion born of some experience. At Pemberley, I have found that certain of the thresholds—although perfectly suitable for most things—are not of adequate dimensions to allow the passage of certain large items. In such cases, I have found that it is best to allow the use of the servants’ passages at such times. It is not a matter of dignity, but of practicality, for a person must always be reasonable when it comes to such matters.”

“Of course, sir!” exclaimed Mr. Collins. “I will heed the advice that you have so graciously condescended to give. Thank you, Mr. Darcy.”

Mr. Collins directed another deep bow in Mr. Darcy’s direction, but he did not see it, for he had already retreated back into the sitting room.

As Elizabeth also returned to her guests, she found herself wishing to laugh aloud, for who would have thought that the esteemed Lady Catherine would be Mr. Darcy’s aunt. Once Mr. Collins conceded and allowed his trunk to be taken out the servants’ passages, he was gone in a very few minutes. The Bingleys and Darcy delayed in their going a few minutes more, not wishing to encounter the unusual clergyman as they left. To Miss Bingley’s credit, she did not disparage the Bennets’ cousin within their hearing, although certainly her wit flowed freely the moment they entered the carriage.

Chapter 18

Mary returned just before dinner, looking quite fatigued from the excursion. By then, Mrs. Bennet and Lady Lucas—with the able assistance of Mrs. Morgan and Mrs. Field—had already mapped out the greater part of the wedding. Elizabeth had truly underestimated their abilities. As Mary was determined that her aunt and uncle Gardiner should attend, and knowing they were already expected to visit, the two families saw the wisdom in timing the ceremony during their stay at Longbourn. Thus, the twenty-seventh of December was decided upon. Mrs. Morgan and Mrs. Field were already calling on the Lucases when the Bennet carriage arrived, and were very happy to share in the merriment.

The wedding breakfast was, of course, to be held at Longbourn. Mrs. Bennet, however, remained quite anxious regarding the sufficiency of her seating and china to host a wedding breakfast worthy of her daughter. She was therefore immensely relieved when Mrs. Morgan offered the use of anything they might require for the breakfast, from additional chairs to fine linens and porcelain. Mrs. Field sent a note with a footman to her husband, who confirmed that both he and the church were available on that day, and soon all was settled. They had even begun to form the guest list, first naming nearly every acquaintance of the bride or groom, before weighing who must be invited to avoid offence, who they truly wished to see present, and who it was best to leave off entirely.

“Did she truly propose going to the dressmaker?” asked Elizabeth of her sister later that evening.

“She did. I am thankful it began to rain, for else I would have been out until midnight and there would be nothing left to decide,” answered Mary.

Mary, however, was not thankful when the rain continued for several days. Although she was not yet required to decide on a wedding gown, she was unable to see Mr. Lucas and was obliged to sit through hours of her mother and sisters poring over La Belle Assemblée, urging her to wear a gown similar to the many they saw within.

“I would have this one made up, perhaps in grey or a dark blue cambric,” she volunteered eventually, selecting one of the least garish plates.

“Dark blue?” Mrs. Bennet asked in horror. “Certainly not. You may have blue if you wish it, but it must be a fine Indian muslin of the palest sky-blue! We cannot see you wed in a gown fit for nothing more than a common morning call.”

“Mamma,” Elizabeth soothed. “Where shall Mary wear such a fine, fragile gown once she is settled at Lucas Lodge?”