Page 102 of Colour My World
“It is with sincere regret, Cousin, that I find myself compelled to depart. Though the fare and domestic comforts of your home are most admirable, I cannot—nay, must not—remain where my intentions have been so grievously misconstrued.”
Bennet, still buttering his toast, glanced up. “If you feel compelled to leave, Mr Collins, I shall not obstruct your conscience.”
“Thank you. It is irresponsible for me not to wishadieuto your lady wife and daughters, but I fear to make the mail coach, I must transgress good manners. I can only ask your forgiveness as the remainder of your family remain upstairs.”
By design. And your hand.“You might find it practical,” Bennet added, “to have your luggage readied before Lady Catherine dispatches an armed escort.”
Collins missed the irony entirely. “Indeed, indeed! Her Ladyship is not one to brook delay. I shall see to it at once.”
Within the hour, Hill had overseen the loading of two cases, one valise, and a satchel of books into a waiting gig. A young boy of all works sat in the left seat, reins in hand.
Mr Bennet stood on the step as Collins clambered up into the transport.
“Godspeed, Mr Collins. We shall endeavour to carry on in your absence.”
Collins adjusted his cuffs. “Do extend my regards to your daughters. Particularly Miss Elizabeth, whose spiritual future I shall continue to uplift in prayer.”
Bennet bowed. “I would expect nothing less.”
* * *
Collins insisted on bestowing a silver coin upon the gig driver for punctuality and was assisted down with the solemnity of a statesman.
“A token, not of gratuity, but of moral commendation. Promptness is next to righteousness.”
The mail coach arrived and departed on time. Once settled, he removed a folded sheet from his breast pocket and balanced a slim pencil atop his valise. He read aloud what he had penned the evening before:
“My most esteemed and Right Honourable Patroness,” he read aloud, “Lady Catherine de Bourgh—” He paused. Then circledesteemedand scribbledveneratedin the margin.
Esteemedshowed deference.Veneratedsuggested worship. Both had merit.
The coach gave a mild jolt.
“It is with the deepest humility and reverence that I take up my pen to lay before Your Ladyship several matters of consequence.” Was it too strong? He underlinedhumilityand added a query in the margin:Too sincere?Then, satisfied, left it.
“First, allow me to express my most sincere gratitude for your invaluable guidance regarding the management of my parish and my humble domestic arrangements.” He smiled. That section was perfectly balanced—humility, duty, and devotion.Perhaps domestic arrangements should be italicised?Hemoved on.
“Furthermore, I remain ever mindful of Your Ladyship’s most judicious counsel on the necessity of securing a wife from amongst my cousins. The eldest, Miss Bennet, has shown an unfortunate resistance to my honourable intentions…” He paused, acknowledging—if only privately—that she had not heeded him in any manner during his stay. Still, the phraseunfortunate resistancestruck the right note.
“Despite my most earnest efforts, the family has proven ill-disposed.” He considered: should he elaborate? Should he name Miss Elizabeth directly? No. He had named the eldest. That was enough. Let inference carry the insult.
“Yet it is not merely this disappointment that compels me to write, but rather a most unforeseen and, I dare say, alarming development.” He nodded. Strong. Purposeful.
“Imagine my astonishment upon discovering that Your Ladyship’s noble nephew, Mr Fitzwilliam Darcy of Pemberley in Derbyshire, has taken residence at Netherfield Park and has been frequenting the company of my cousins!” He repeatedfrequenting the company twice.Should it bevisiting? Calling upon?No.Frequentingsuggested both regularity and impropriety.
“Indeed, he has made himself quite familiar with my cousin Bennet, engaging in conversation beyond the customary pleasantries.” He smiled. That line was damning—but tasteful. He underlinedbeyond the customary pleasantriesand added in parentheses: (extended discussions—sometimes with only Miss Elizabeth present). Then he thought better of it, and erased the parenthetical with care.
But something itched. Her eyes. Those eyes. He muttered aloud, “One brown, one green. Witch’s eyes. Unholy eyes.”
Then stopped. Appalled at himself.
“No,” he whispered. “No, no, that will not do. I cannot pointout what was part of God’s plan in a sacrilegious manner.”
He sat upright, struck by inspiration. The painting in the great room. That was it. A hunt. All in browns and greens.
“Yes. Yes, that is how I shall mention it.”
He turned back to his page and scrawled in the margin:Miss Elizabeth—peculiar eyes, like the tones of woodland game. A curiosity.
