Once saddled, Sampson and Alexander, two chestnut hunters sharing the same sire, took to their normal race past the post and across the meadow separating Rosings and Hunsford. After a last rousing gallop over the hill, both Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam slowed their horses to navigate the narrowing path to the parsonage. Darcy ducked his head slightly to avoid an overgrown branch, as the gravel road was a barely wide enough for a phaeton, and not two strapping stallions traveling side-by-side.

“Have you considered a celebration for Georgiana’s birthday?”

Darcy clicked his tongue and pulled on his reins slightly to keep Alexander alert. “I have sent my sister a new collection of music books and a few inexpensive pieces of my mother’s jewels. Reset of course, in the latest fashions.”

Colonel Fitzwilliam pulled back on Sampson to let Darcy cross a small footbridge first. The wider road was more than two hundred yards to their right with a bridge over the same creek wide enough for two carts. The bridge was an improvement he and Darcy oversaw final construction on last spring. The staff at Rosings, for a shorter walk to church and market, used this crossing.

“Will she not expect a ball or some other type celebration?”

“You are jesting. I will not reward her headstrong, impertinent decision to tie us to that . . . man . . . for all of our days. Could you attend such an event with him?” After a moment’s pause, Darcy added the last argument against a party for Georgiana. “As her husband, the provenance of planning and paying for such a fete now rests on his happy shoulders.”

Colonel Fitzwilliam let the discussion drop and both men dismounted and tied their companions’ reins to nearby tree.

Briskly knocking on the door, Darcy finally took a moment to take in the improvements on the parson’s cottage his aunt oversaw last year as well. The stonework appeared patched in the places needed, and a new coat of blue paint covered the shutters. The side garden was new to him and he wondered if it was the chief work of Charlotte Collins or the result of austerity measures.

After such a long delay, Darcy looked to Colonel Fitzwilliam as he knocked again, louder and with more urgency. Seconds later, Mr. Collins, himself, opened the door.

“Gentlemen, forgive me, I was in my study contemplating this week’s sermon as the Archbishop shall be present. What brings you to call at my humble abode? Though your mere presence elevates the home, yet on days without your gracious visit I am most pleased with the dwelling furnished by the generous living provided by the most charitable Lady Catherine. I trust that your aunt is in good health?”

Darcy broke his normal austere facade to glance at Colonel Fitzwilliam’s slacking jaw. At catching his cousin’s eye, Colonel Fitzwilliam closed his mouth and barely hid his smile at the parson’s introduction.

“Mr. Collins, may I formally introduce you to my cousin, Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam?” Darcy exposed the ridiculous man’s false closeness to him and his cousin through Lady Catherine’s long-winded speeches about her nephews. There had been no time for a proper introduction the last time they met due to Anne’s health.

“How do you do?” The colonel made a pert nod to the lowly parson, now cowering slightly from his earlier and typical faux pas.

“Colonel Fitzwilliam, it is an honor to meet the illustrious nephew of my patroness.”

“On the subject of our mutual aunt, she is in fine health. It is my cousin we call on you about.” Colonel Fitzwilliam’s easy manners saved Darcy from the trouble of addressing Collin’s obsession with Lady Catherine and her whims.

“Ah, poor Miss de Bourgh. Is her time so very near? Is this a summons to Rosings so I may serve the family in its time of great spiritual need?”

Darcy took a moment to glance at their horses to ensure they were sufficiently restrained. “Perhaps we might discuss this in a less public location than your front door stoop, Mr. Collins?”

Collins took a look inside his own house with a nervous, barely observable quibble to his lower lip. He opened the door wider to allow the two gentlemen entryway. “Of course, please join me in my study.”

As the three walked back towards the parson’s study, their boots and heavier weight making a mighty echo on the wooden floor of the home, Collins offered them both the refreshment of tea.

“I’ll take something stronger if you have it.” Ever the one to make a situation jolly, Colonel Fitzwilliam clapped the squat parson on his right shoulder. The force of the unexpected blow made Collins nearly jump in reaction. Standing with his feet perfectly together, the man of the cloth nearly shrank in the broad physique of His Majesty’s Finest. A reluctant host, Collins poured the Colonel a drink of his best cognac, and offered the same to Mr. Darcy, who declined.

“Please, have a seat.” Collins motioned as he took his normal seat behind a humble writing desk that appeared to be designed for a woman it was so small in stature. “I fear this must be extremely difficult for a man of such exalted status as you, Mr. Darcy, but it is with the utmost discretion that I will now hear your troubles and upon on my honor, as a servant of our Lord and Savior, ease your conscience in any manner available.”

Darcy inhaled and moved to the very edge of his seat, almost leering at the pompous parson. “I see you are engaged in a great deal of work, we must be a complete intrusion. Forgive me.”

Darcy placed a hand on his right knee, a long-standing sign between the two of them for Richard to wait and play along. His eyes flicked to his right to see if Richard noticed and a slight nod from his cousin was all Darcy needed to see.

“I am flattered that you noticed so, sir. Yes, it is a most busy time for the church and me. We are repairing the damage done to the roof over the winter and I’ve received word that Bishop Lowell is to also grace us with his visit in two months’ time to inspect the rectory and parish. I am also overseeing the spring planting–”

“And Mrs. Collins, I take it, is assisting you in visiting the glebe land families and tending to the sick.”

Mr. Collins was startled at the interruption, but recovered quickly.

“Ah, I’ve lessened the demands that my office might impose on Mrs. Collins. She assures me she supports my work and families we are to care for most fervently with prayer and careful reflection.”

Mr. Darcy raised an eyebrow at this description of Charlotte, but would never presume to call her undevoted to their Heavenly Father.

“You don’t plan to visit your mutual relations in Hertfordshire in the coming weeks as part of the customary traveling season?” Darcy assumed Collins had no idea of his plans with Elizabeth and might intend to return his cousin to her family in Hertfordshire. He may not know of the breach.

Mr. Collins sat baffled for a moment that Mr. Darcy was so interested in his business, but at the same time, completely disinterested as to interrupt him. He hesitated a moment before answering. “No, I believe my wife and I visited extensively during our courtship and during the time leading up to our happy nuptials. My cousin has managed those lands for decades and would not take kindly to my interfering at this juncture, even though I am the heir to Longbourn.” Collins sniffed and raised his chin a bit, as Richard struggled not to laugh.

Taking a more relaxed posture in his chair, Mr. Darcy paused at the mention of Mr. Collins’ marriage. Removing his hands to meet at his navel in an interlaced fashion, Colonel Fitzwilliam took this as his cue to speak up.

“Mr. Collins, my cousin and I are in need of your services via your wife. Miss de Bourgh’s weakness has increased and the rattling in her cough is most haunting. Seeing what I’ve seen of Death on the battlefield, it is too short a time before we must say farewell to Anne for my tastes. She is never one to complain or make grandiose requests.” Colonel Fitzwilliam politely swallowed more of the foul tasting cognac for propriety’s sake, but made a note to never ask persons of lower annual salary than even he for a good drink.

“No, Lady Catherine’s daughter is the picture of humility and discretion that we might all strive to don as our time to meet our Maker draws near. The world will indeed be short one of the brightest gems in society when we lose Miss Anne de Bourgh.” Mr. Collins speech patterns returned to his practiced monotony of a pulpit recitation.

“Then you will agree most heartily with our plan to install Mrs. Collins and her friend visiting, Miss Elizabeth Bennet, in one of the guest wings to keep vigil over Anne in her last days, as she has requested!” Colonel Fitzwilliam’s grin maintained its position despite Mr. Collins’ souring facial expression.

“No, gentlemen, I cannot acquiesce to this request. The most wise Lady Catherine has cautioned me about undue exposure of my cousin’s spirited nature to Miss be Bourgh at this time when her mortal soul is most in danger to secure salvation.”

“Of all the preposterous –” Mr. Darcy rose violently from his chair. “You sit there, sir, and question the salvation of MY cousin?”

Mr. Collin’s face paled under the ire of Mr. Darcy. “No, of course not. Miss de Bourgh is the epitome of grace and charity, and would sooner fly with angels than anyone of my acquaintance. But Mrs. Collins is having difficulty adjusting to the calling of a parson’s wife, and she would be a poor influence at this time, I believe.”

“How can you charge such behavior of your own wife?” Colonel Fitzwilliam was appalled by the nature this conversation was taking in discussing a woman he had yet to meet. “Or is this a delusion my aunt has pressed upon you?”

Mr. Collins glanced back and forth at both gentlemen with an expression of complete shock. He stood to match Darcy’s position. “You declare Lady Catherine to suffer from delusions, not on my word!”

“Settle down, Mr. Collins. No, Aunt Catherine doesn’t suffer from delusions in the strictest sense, but knowing her all of my life, her suppositions of others’ behavior are trumped to the most extreme description on the slightest provocation. Why I myself am a loafing drunkard, unfit for the most elegant of dinner tables.” Colonel Fitzwilliam lifted the last of the cognac in mock toast and knocked it back.

“Richard, you are a loafing drunkard to those whom you do not wish to know your true nature.” Mr. Darcy quipped.

“Fair enough, Cousin, but if my true gentle disposition were known in the Army, I’d have a difficult time prying intelligence for my superiors’ ears.”

Mr. Collins gulped as he sat once more before two men who clearly outclassed him. Still, as her husband, he had the right to deny Charlotte and his cousin from this visit, and save his own skin with Lady Catherine in the process. After all, she was his patroness and he had worked under her tutelage for three years with a clear understanding of her expectations for loyalty and obedience.

“I cannot grant your request to send Mrs. Collins and my cousin to Rosings. I fear Elizabeth’s behavior will be disreputable for the society Lady Catherine is accustomed to encountering. Her father had a loose hand with her upbringing, and I am working earnestly to guide my cousin in the ways and manners now expected of her lower rank.”

“Lower rank? Is not Miss Bennet the daughter of a gentleman and thus the same rank of my cousin and myself? Are you not to inherit that same property, thus soon to join the same rank?” Darcy chose not to address the work Mr. Collins might be doing to guide Elizabeth’s manners to be more like his own crude posturings. Though he had to admit, having met the younger Bennet sisters, he couldn’t completely fault Mr. Collins for his opinion of Mr. Bennet.

Mr. Collins blanched. His own father, a third son, never owned land out of an inability to manage funds. This made Oxford nearly unbearable and the chief reason why Collins pursued a living with great focus. The law and military were far too competitive for his tastes.

Lucky enough to complete university on the generosity of his late grandmother’s will, Beatrice Collins was a daughter of a wealthy baronet in Matlock, before she married the second son of a neighbor wealthy from trade with the colonies. Lady Catherine remembered Beatrice as an older woman invited to help accustom Lady Anne and herself in the arts of polite conversation, long before Beatrice married Henry William Collins. In accepting his grandmother’s inheritance, as she had outlived her husband by twenty years, he himself had taken on the honorable name of Collins and cast aside the underachieving name of Bennet with glee.

“Be that as it may, my wife is not at home presently. She is out on an errand with our cook and my cousin.” Mr. Collins smiled smugly as he lied through his teeth to the two men before him. He knew both were locked in their rooms for disobeying his express orders to no longer give food and assistance to the heathen family on his lands. He had not wished to strike Elizabeth so hard, but her chit of a reply that the candlesticks somehow did not belong to him since they were a wedding gift from her aunt and uncle was an impertinence he would not tolerate.

Mr. Darcy realized this was going to get them nowhere and began to move towards the door when a large thump could be heard upstairs. All three men looked up at the ceiling.

“Sir, perhaps your wife returned early without your knowledge?” Colonel Fitzwilliam found the blood draining from Mr. Collins face a curious reaction indeed.

“Err, yes, she did return but a few moments before your arrival. I had forgotten she had retired to rest.”

“Good God man, that was a nasty crash. Perhaps you should check to see that she is alright?” Mr. Darcy prodded the man, putting Mr. Collins in a completely stuck position.

“Yes, I shall do just that.” Without thinking, Mr. Collins fumbled with his top desk drawer to pull out the key. Neither man missed the implications, though where Colonel Fitzwilliam was able to steel his gaze as indifferent, Mr. Darcy’s eyes widened and then slanted in rage.

Both Fitzwilliam men waited at the bottom of the stairs as they heard Mr. Collins speak to Charlotte and Elizabeth just upstairs and alert them that Miss de Bourgh’s time was near. Despite trying to dissuade their visit at this moment, but thinking they might go in a few days, Elizabeth informed her cousin that Miss de Bourgh may not have a few days and her regrets would be too great.

She almost pushed her oaf of a cousin aside to descend the stairs in a glory only the most noble of women pull off. With a glint of defiance in her eyes, she donned her bonnet and gloves as both Rosings men took shocking stock of the large, grayish purple mark across her right cheek. Charlotte followed in silence, as if trying to hide she was siding against her husband.

With a smile, she turned to her cousin, now on the ground floor with them. “Don’t worry Cousin Collins, I am sure Dr. Smeads can attend to this nasty gash from my foolhardiness. I must be careful not to slip on one of my garments and fall into the bedside table again.”

Mr. Collins gulped as the two men nearly a head taller than him both moved a protective step closer to Elizabeth. The tension in the air caused the ladies hold their breath.

“Er . . . yes, I’m certain Lady Catherine will be most eager to share her generosity by instructing Dr. Smeads to do just that. As soon as I finish my work here, I will join you at Rosings to attend her Ladyship in this dark, dark time.”