Page 45 of To Love And To Cherish
“I could smell your approach from the threshold,” Bennet continued. “And your garments, when were they last cleaned? How many days have you worn that shirt?”
Mr. Collins opened and closed his mouth but produced no sound.
“Ring the bell, if you please.”
The clergyman obeyed. Hill entered.
“Please have Bessie draw a bath for Mr. Collins,” Bennet said. “Supply him with soap if he lacks his own. His garments require laundering. Mr. Collins, I trust you have clean attire with you?”
“I do, sir, but they were meant for next week.”
“That will not do, Mr. Collins. You are not comporting yourself as a gentleman. The future master of Longbourn must uphold its name and standing. After your bath, we shall drive to Meryton. There, you will purchase seven shirts, seven neckcloths, andorder two new jackets. You will also place advertisements for a valet to launder your clothing, cut your hair, and maintain a proper shave. That is the standard here.”
Mr. Collins stared, wide-eyed.
“Have you any questions?”
“No, sir.”
“Take a look at me, Mr. Collins. Are my garments ill-fitting, soiled, or odorous?”
“No, sir.”
“That, Mr. Collins, is the standard I expect of my heir, the heir to Longbourn. Clean, well-dressed, well-groomed. And while we are in Meryton, we shall visit my brother Phillips and begin the formal process to change your surname. Which do you prefer, William Collins Bennet or simply William Bennet?”
Mr. Collins was quiet for a moment. “William Collins Bennet. Though there was no love lost between us, I will keep my father’s name. He was a drunken lout, sir, who squandered what my mother worked hard to earn. My new life begins with this marriage to your beautiful daughter. I thank you for your instruction. I shall go at once to bathe and will do my best to earn your respect.”
Left alone, Mr. Bennet leaned back and gazed out the window. He was satisfied. The man was teachable, even humble. His letter had sounded pompous, but perhaps that had been a shield against uncertainty. Mr. Bennet resolved to meet with his heir daily. He would offer guidance, conversation, and example. It would benefit his daughter and their future children.
That evening, Mr. Collins descended the stairs quite transformed. He wore a new, ready-made jacket, which served well enough until his tailored coats could be completed. His cravat was white and crisp, tied with a simple knot, but it looked well. Mr. Bennet had instructed him on how to tie it. The town barber had trimmed his hair, and Mr. Hill had polished his shoes. He smelled fresh, with a light scent of shaving cream, masculine and pleasant.
As he entered the dining room, all eyes turned to him. Mrs. Bennet was the first to speak.
“Mr. Collins, you look every inch the gentleman! Tall and handsome, with your stylish Brutus haircut, and are those side-whiskers I see growing in? Very well done, I must say.”
He turned to Mary, who wore a deep rose gown that flattered her complexion and her figure. She met his gaze and smiled, then placed a hand lightly upon his arm.
“Sir, look into the mirror across the room. I believe we make a fine pair. What think you?”
All the Bennets turned to look and murmured their agreement. Indeed, Mary had never looked so attractive, nor Mr. Collins so respectable.
Dinner was cheerful. Mr. Bennet retreated to his study after the meal, but Mrs. Bennet and Mary kept Mr. Collins occupied with questions about the parsonage, Rosings Park, his patroness, his chickens, and his garden, all of which proved thoroughly engaging. Jane and Kitty sat on a settee, embroidering handkerchiefs bearing Mr. Collins’s new initials:W.C.B.
Chapter 24: A Marriage Offer
Darcy sat at the breakfast table, the newspaper neatly folded in his hands, steam rising from the cup of coffee beside him. He was scanning the society announcements when a particular notice caught his eye. He murmured aloud, “Well done, Mr. Bennet. Looks like he got his wish. Mr. William Collins is soon to be Mr. William Collins Bennet.”
He allowed himself a rare smile. “The Bennet name survives another generation.”
Just then, Bingley strolled in, whistling, and made straight for the sideboard. He piled his plate generously, flopped into a chair, and began eating with enthusiasm. Darcy, feigning indifference, turned a page.
“I saved Miss Jane Bennet from marriage to Mr. Collins, the rector and heir to Longbourn.”
Bingley froze mid-chew, then began coughing violently. Darcy had to clamp down on his amusement. It was like watching a genteel man try to cough out a hedgehog.
“Bingley,” Darcy said, rising to thump him on the back, “Don’t die. Miss Elizabeth would never forgive me.”
Bingley finally recovered enough to reach for his coffee, but he forgot it was scalding. One sip, and he sprayed the tablecloth, sputtering again. He dabbed at the mess with a napkin while casting Darcy a look of mild betrayal.
