A Fortunate Alliance
Page 1
A Fortunate Alliance
A Pride and Prejudice Story
Beth Poppet
Copyright © 2019 Beth Poppet
Cover Artwork: The Lord of the Manor by Edmund Blair Leighton
All rights reserved.
ISBN-13: 978-1790982103
My Dear Readers,
If you have taken up the delightful chore of reading this novel, I hope that you are as fond of Pride and Prejudice and its author, Jane Austen, as I am. I make no claims of being her equal in writing, though I strive to preserve her style and characters in a way that will do justice to those presented to us in the original.
I am under no delusion that my adaptation must appeal to every reader of Jane Austen fan-works. Yet I have done my utmost to deliver to you the sort of drama we might expect from a novel of this period; that of familial duty and regret, of sisterly quarrels and affection, enduring friendships, first impressions, and yes, now and then a runaway animal, and a bit of family scandal. For any inaccuracies written in ignorance, I apologise. For liberties taken for the sake of writerly whims, I can only request your indulgence.
These liberties may be most apparent in the continuing stories compiled in Volume II, as this is where my novel expands into new territory and Pride and Prejudice could not be consulted for material, leaving me to rely on speculation. My original design to end the story by Volume I was thwarted when I found it impossible to do some of our favourite couples and their endings justice under such limitations. My wise editor, fellow author, and eternal friend, Miss Catherine Miller, suggested I take a page from the illustrious Jane Austen herself and expand into a second volume, the better to tell everyone’s stories in the most satisfactory manner.
A last word to those astonishing persons who have made it this far. Thank you ever so much for choosing to read this humble author’s adaptation of such a beloved and enduring novel. I know there are a multitude of fan-works to choose from in this sphere, and I am absolutely delighted that you would consider mine worthy of your time and attention.
May it prove so!
Your Little Scribbler,
Madame Beth Poppet
Contents
Volume One
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Volume Two
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Volume One
Chapter One
Though the arrival of an eligible bachelor into the household of five unmarried ladies would generally be accepted as a happy occasion for the ladies in question, the coming of Mr Collins to Longbourn was received with more varying degrees of bemusement and apprehension. The latter was felt most keenly by the second eldest daughter, Miss Elizabeth Bennet, who of all her sisters was certainly the most sensible. She and her sisters had heard Mr Collins’s letter read aloud to them by Mr Bennet at the breakfast table, and while there was little excitement amongst the youngest two, namely, Catherine and Lydia, there was enough animated squeezing of the napkins and nervous fluttering from Mrs Bennet’s handkerchief that they were quite prepared for a great deal of unhappy excitement to precede their singular guest.
The feeling of bemusement issued from the fact that a bitter row between the late and elder Mr Collins and Mr Bennet had the two families estranged from one another for some years, and they were not on speaking or visiting terms. Longbourn was wrapped up in an entail which upon Mr Bennet’s departure from the mortal world would go to Mr Collins. This might have been further reason for the younger and currently living Mr Collins to avoid intimate relations with his cousins, but his letter was full of platitudes that tended towards reconciliation and harmonious affability, though in so many words it was a wonder his point could be made at all.
Mrs Bennet could not be prevailed upon to understand the nature of an entail and why her husband had not done something sooner to prevent his wife and five daughters from being turned out of their house the moment he perished. However, Mr Collins’s letter—which begged apology in the most remarkable of ways for his being next in the entail and suggested some form of recompense was due the girls—was just to her liking, and upon its reading she desisted from calling him an “odious man whom no one cared anything about.” In fact, upon hearing that he was at present unmarried and unattached, the workings of Mrs Bennet’s mind tended towards matrimony, through which a home and a future for her girls would be secured.
“But what can he mean by such an apology,” questioned Elizabeth, unconvinced that there was anything genuinely contrite in his missive. “Surely, he would not help it if he could. Do you think him to be a sensible man, sir?” She directed the last to her father.
“Oh, I have every hope of finding him just the opposite,” Mr Bennet replied.
“Why should we care for a clergyman’s coming?” Lydia grumbled, disinclined to think much of anyone who was not youthful, dashing, and merry. “Perhaps if Papa’s cousin was a soldier...” she giggled at Catherine who sat beside her at breakfast.
“Clergymen wear a sort of uniform,” her sister replied laughingly.
“Yes, all black and high-collared like a mourning frock!” Lydia tossed the crust of her toast as if it was the very thing she spoke of, “The dismal opposite of dashing good looks!”
“Oh, never mind, that, girls!” Mrs Bennet waved a hand at them in annoyance. “Did you not hear his intentions to make things right in his letter? I do believe that can mean only one thing! Whoever is to marry him would be the mistress of Longbourn, and he must be coming here to take a wife! Ah! One of you girls could be the means of our saving! Jane,” she directed to her fair-haired eldest with eyes of feminine gentility and a ready smile, “as you are the eldest, and by far the prettiest, the duty falls to you in securing this estate for your family.”
“Mama,” Elizabeth chided, “What if he is a ridiculous and unworthy man, which from his own letter and father’s admission he appears to be? Would you have your daughter marry such a man?”
“Oh, don’t be so judgemental, Lizzy! You have not even met the gentleman. I daresay if he is reasonably well-mannered, and not a cruel or wicked person—which how could he be so as a clergyman—why should Jane not marry him? You do vex me, sometimes.”
Elizabeth and her father shared knowing looks, as the statement was more often than not directed towards one of the two at least half a dozen times every hour.
“In times such as these,” came a philosophical utterance from between her father and Lydia, “One cannot be too slow in extending the olive branch of peace. For what could be better for our growth of character than to learn to forgive, as we wish to be forgiven?”
“Oh, Mary!” Lydia groaned, rolling her eyes, “You do go on so.”
“Forgiven he may be,” interjected Elizabeth, “but if Jane is to be our olive branch, I fear what will befall us if a quarrel
arises between our family and a better man than Mr Collins. If we offer our best at the start, who will be left to thrust at the mercy of other single men?”
“Take care, Lizzy,” Mr Bennet warned, “your attempts to spare your sister could very well put you in the path of your mother’s schemes. Though, by the looks of things, she’s already settled on Jane for Mr Collins.”
Indeed, Mrs Bennet could hardly keep still for the possibility she entertained for Jane, and were Elizabeth more confident in Jane’s ability to refuse such a notion for the sake of her own happiness she might have been as amused as her father. Instead, she felt only dread for the impending arrival and frustration over her mother’s giddiness.
∞∞∞
Mr Collins arrived within a fortnight, with all the proper reception due a man of his station. Whatever small hope Elizabeth held for his character to surpass his letter, it vanished the moment he stepped out of the trap, and bounding up to his hosts, met them with a flurry of compliments that could only have resulted from hours of scripted practice. Elizabeth had not thought it possible for her mother to be outdone in enthusiasm for the peace-making to be had, but she had evidently met her match in the form of Mr Collins. He was not the youngest of parsons, nor the most pleasing of form. His rather round face was often pressed with a kerchief as the slightest of exertions made him perspire, and the only kindness his plain black hat seemed to do him was to hide the thinning hair beneath. The frequency of his compliments might have been confused for humility, were each not given with an air of self-importance and an inclination of the head, such as one might grant a newly forgiven child.
It was much the same outpouring of platitudes at supper, though there was a slight lull between the initial service and the cold soup in which Mr Bennet took the opportunity to ask Mr Collins if his pretty compliments were driven by the moment, or a result of previous study.
Elizabeth contained her urgency to laugh behind her napkin, but barely. Mr Collins answered in perfect seriousness, admitting he did sometimes amuse himself by writing down such compliments that might be favourable to this or that situation. Jane caught Lizzy’s struggle to maintain her composure and attempted a disapproving frown, but only managed to tickle the corners of her own mouth into a partial smile.
The following days saw their guest much in Jane’s company, and through hers, Elizabeth’s. She was usually fond of being with her elder sister but could not abide the presence of her cousin, and so, more often than she felt entirely guiltless about, she would leave poor Jane to conjure her own devices of putting Mr Collins off; something Jane was generally too good a creature to do.
Together, they walked to Meryton. In fact, there was hardly an outing or an activity that did not now involve Mr Collins, as Mrs Bennet would have him escort her daughters whenever she saw opportunity to volunteer him. It was a fine day, and Elizabeth, being in good spirits, and feeling more than a little shamed at how often she had forced Jane to suffer the brunt of his company, fell in line beside Mr Collins. Jane might have the forbearance of a saint, but her brisker pace and merrier smile did not go unnoticed by her sister. It did not bode well for her own walk, but Elizabeth would allow Jane these few hours free of harassment.
Though Mr Collins was not knowledgeable in many things pertaining to the part of the country which he currently occupied, nor was he mindful of the delights that infatuated the younger Bennet girls on their way to town, there was one subject on which he could never speak too much, or too highly of. The name of Lady Catherine de Bourgh; the grand, the honourable, the esteemed patroness and provider of his humble person was the shrine at which he sacrificed many offerings, both studied and inspired. She seemed at most times to be the very reason for his living. It was not long before Elizabeth realised the Bennet sisters had Lady Catherine to thank for his visit, since it was she who advised him to make things right between the families. “And,” he admitted with as much delicacy as he could muster, “to find a suitable wife, ‘For then,’ Lady Catherine promised with unfathomable kindness, ‘I would call on her.’”
Before the company had quite reached their destination, Kitty and Lydia caught the attention of a few officers of the regiment with whom they were acquainted. There was a young man with them Elizabeth had never seen before—handsome, well mannered, and soon to acquire his own red coat, they were informed, as Mr George Wickham was introduced. Kitty and Lydia tittered, and giggled, and might have made a spectacle were it not for Elizabeth’s sharp, “Hush!” and Jane’s warning scowl. Lizzy took a passing interest in the new acquaintance, but as Mr Collins struck up a diatribe on the evils of ill-prepared potatoes with Mr Wickham, and was subsequently distracted from her own company, she took the momentary reprieve and hastened to Jane. Silently, they exchanged looks, excused themselves from the present gathering, and slipped into Ford’s dress shop for relative privacy.
Elizabeth insisted on knowing how Jane could tolerate so much ridiculous conversation from their cousin day to day as she kept one eye on the door and the other on a pair of riding gloves she could not afford and did not need—having neither horse nor riding ability—but liked to look at all the same.
“You are too quick to find fault,” Jane chided in her gentle way. “I prefer to see the best possibilities of a person. Perhaps Mr Collins is lacking in social graces, and pays silly compliments to the point of flattery, but he is still a good sort of man.”
The gloves were being carefully examined by the Wrendale girls. Elizabeth half hoped they would take them home and spare her the temptation, and half hoped they found them not to their liking, allowing her to admire them longer.
“Possessing common decency and a respectable position hardly makes a man good,” she retorted, “There is no real substance or sincerity about him, and he hardly stimulates any kind of clever conversation.”
“Lizzy, there are not one in fifty men who are clever enough for your standards. Wit is not the only child of wisdom. I can recall several pleasant and meaningful conversations with Mr Collins that lasted more than two minutes together. He is very serious about the scriptures…” Elizabeth was about to protest, but Jane went on, “as he should be in his position. You merely have to converse with him in on subjects he is well-studied in.”
“I’m not sure that would be the scriptures,” Lizzy expelled an impatient breath while the younger Wrendale shook her head at the gloves and laid them back down. “I think you mean he is serious about his personal moralising. I have read through all one hundred and fifty psalms in the past five days, and I am certain none of the authors ever wrote against the wantonness of the colour pink.”
Jane was good enough not to laugh as she teased, “He’s already made you more devout in your study of the scriptures. That must count for something.”
Smiling despite her irritation, Lizzy shook her head. “Jane, you are far too kind. You see what people could be, and you assign them as actual virtues.”
“Without one or two imagined virtues, none of us would make desirable partners.” Lizzy was about to say Jane might, but she refrained, seeing her sister spoke in earnest. “If we were less poor, or someone else set to inherit our childhood home, Mr Collins might not seem as tolerable after all. But as things are, he is not so very undesirable a prospect.”
“No, I cannot believe that,” Lizzy insisted, “A man must be a desirable match regardless of situation. You may be willing to consider a man marriageable out of mere duty or lack of prospects, Jane, but I am persuaded that nothing but the deepest love shall induce me into matrimony.”
“Then you shall find such a man to make you consider marriage, I am sure of it.” Jane spoke as if this settled things once and for all, but Lizzy was not satisfied.
“You are the sweetest and dearest of people to be so certain. But I am not so easily convinced that the world is ready to deliver us prospects just because we might wish it.” A sly upturn of her lips spoke of mischief. “Perhaps the most prudent course would be to steal Mr Collins’s a
ffections from you.”
“Don’t tease, Lizzy. You know he means to marry one of us.” This was stated with so much contented resignation, that it took her aback.
“Yes, but I don’t mean...” Though they were not conversing loud enough to be overheard, she lowered her voice even further. “Jane, you cannot seriously be considering it.”
“It is no secret that we are not of great means, and mother so depends on us to secure comfortable situations. Consider the sake of her nerves, and the prospect of being turned out of her house and losing security for her unmarried daughters all at once. What would become of us in the end if Mr Collins was to find a wife elsewhere? Is it a gamble we can afford to lose?”
The eldest Wrendale sister was still considering the gloves, and Elizabeth grew ever more restless to be done with the shop, and the unfortunate conversation she had begun. “Jane, think of what you are saying!”
“Surely there are worse things than to be the wife of a clergyman.”
“Not worse than that clergyman’s wife,” she protested. “Cannot we interest him in Mary, or Kitty?” she offered with no real hope.
“Kitty will not suffer to sit in the same room as Mr Collins, and he seems to avoid Mary as if his life depended on it.”
“Oh, Jane! Take care!” Elizabeth sighed with exasperation as the shop door opened and the elder Miss Wrendale walked out with a pair of new riding gloves. “If you continue to talk with him, and smile sweetly at him, and do not do your utmost to keep out of his way, there is every reason to believe he will fall in love with you. Any man with half a brain in his head would do so, and I believe Mr Collins has just enough sense for that, at least.”