by Leenie Brown
Master of Longbourn
A Pride and Prejudice Novella
Leenie Brown
Leenie B Books
Halifax
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews, without written permission from its publisher and author.
This book is a work of fiction. All names, events, and places are a product of this author’s imagination. If any name, event and/or place did exist, it is purely by coincidence that it appears in this book.
Cover design by Leenie B Books. Images sourced from DepositPhotos and Period Images.
Master of Longbourn © 2018 Leenie Brown. All Rights Reserved, except where otherwise noted.
Contents
Dear Reader,
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Epilogue
Through Every Storm Excerpt
Before You Go
Acknowledgements
More Dash of Darcy and Companions Stories
Other Leenie B Books
About the Author
Connect with Leenie Brown
Dear Reader,
This novella is part of my Dash of Darcy and Companions Story Collection. These Pride and Prejudice inspired stories are quick, sweet reads designed to fit perfectly into a busy life.
Dash of Darcy titles in this collection will focus on Darcy and Elizabeth, while each Companion Story, such as Master of Longbourn, focuses on characters from Pride and Prejudice other than Darcy and Elizabeth and is a sequel to a Dash of Darcy story. While references will be made to events which happened in the previous story (Mr. Darcy’s Comfort in this case), each sequel contains a complete happily ever after for the hero and heroine.
I am delighted that you have chosen to read this Companion Story and am excited to have you discover a different sort of Mr. Collins, whom I have come to refer to as my dear Mr. Collins.
Happy Reading!
Leenie B.
Chapter 1
William Collins pushed back the shock of golden brown hair that always fell across his forehead and studied his face.
It was not angular. There were no high cheekbones nor was there a prominent chin.
His eyes were evenly spaced but not of any particularly intense colour. In fact, they reflected the colour of his hair, which meant there was nothing to set them apart as an admirable feature.
His nose was good. It was straight and not too large. There was no hook at the end, nor were any distracting hairs protruding from it. One thing. One solitary thing that was good about his face was not enough.
He looked at his mouth. Not large, nor small. Merely regular.
He allowed the hair to flop down onto his forehead once again as he pulled at what he considered a definite imperfection. His jowl was far too soft and fleshy to be attractive.
Blowing out a great breath, he began stuffing his shirt tails into his breeches. How was he to persuade Miss Kitty to consider him if he had no particularly handsome features to recommend him?
It was as his father had said. He would be the last in their family to be master of Longbourn because ladies did not marry lumpy puddings such as he.
He plopped down onto his bed and pulled on his boots, which, though freshly polished, were old and well-worn as well as still rather dull. Much like the rest of him.
Until now, he had not thought himself so lacking as his father had proclaimed him to be. He had excelled in his studies far more than his father would ever have thought possible, and despite his father’s assurance that he would not, he had made some friends — even a few who were important enough to help him acquire a valuable living. True, none of them wished to visit, but they did correspond, and that was something, was it not?
And yet, here he sat in what would soon be one of the rooms of his estate, having to face the prospect that he might grow old and lonely just as his father said simply because he was dashed ordinary. It was not being ordinary, however, that grated the most. No, what stirred his spirit and caused him to scowl was the fact that in this, he feared he could not prove his father wrong.
The sigh which escaped him surely could have moved the heavy green drapes that hung on either side of the window had he been close enough. He fell backward onto his bed and stared at the canopy above him. All his striving was to come to naught and simply because he was not handsome enough to persuade Kitty Bennet to look at him as Miss Elizabeth looked at Mr. Darcy or Miss Bennet looked at Mr. Bingley. Miss Kitty did not even look at him with that transient fondness of a flirt like Miss Lydia looked at every officer who came within her line of vision.
He could not charm Miss Kitty into liking him, for he had less charm than he had becoming features. All was lost.
If it were not for the man lying close to heaven’s gates in the room just down the hall, Collins would take himself back to Kent and throw himself into his preaching with such fervour that some pious young girl might come to admire him for his oratory skills. Those he had – when he was in the pulpit.
“Surely, there must be a way to sway her. Mustn’t there be?”
The empty room had no response to such a question, and neither did his mind. However, there was a duty to be done. He was the heir apparent, and with Mr. Bennet incapacitated, it fell upon him to see that all was well within the house and regarding his family.
He smiled at that.
Family. No matter if he married or not, he had a family. And it was one which seemed to tolerate him far better than his own father ever had.
Bolstered by the thought, he pushed up to a sitting position and then rose from the bed. Pulling on his waistcoat and jacket, he wondered if the funds at Longbourn would allow for him to have a man to help him with these things.
His father had thought it an extravagance, which was likely because it would have taken from the funds he needed to chase every new scheme that was placed before him. There were several hundred if not thousands of pounds which were planted with hopes of heavy returns. Sadly, his father was as wise as he was kind, and his fortune dwindled steadily. Collins had not been left penniless when his father died, but along with what remained of his inheritance, he had also been bequeathed a fine array of bills. Therefore, his coffers were neither empty nor well-filled.
He straightened his cravat, gave his sleeves one more tug, and exited his room.
“Good morning, Mr. Collins,” Kitty greeted as he began his descent of the stairs.
Ah, it was a good morning, indeed, if Kitty’s smiling face was the first he had the pleasure of seeing. However, it would be a better morning if he could remember to speak instead of just staring when she spoke to him.
“Good…morning,” he finally stammered to her retreating form. Yes, that would impress her. He shook his head and hurried down the stairs to the breakfast room.
Thankfully, the breakfast room was pleasantly empty when he entered. He would have a few moments to gather his thoughts and recover from his embarrassment before having to speak to anyone.
“Good morning.”
Tea sloshed over the side of the cup into which Collins was pouring.
“I did not mean to startle you.”
“Think nothing of it, Miss Elizabeth. I was merely too immersed in my thoughts to pay proper attention to my surroundings.” He glanced at her as he mopped up the tea his saucer had not caught.
“I am afraid it is a horrid fault which I must own.” His hand stilled. Had she a
ctually smiled at him? And not in a what a fool fashion? Hmm. That was unexpected.
“I believe there are several of us in this house who fall prey to such things on a regular basis,” Elizabeth replied as she brought him a fresh cloth before taking her seat. “I have been known to wander for hours, lost to time, while pondering. And it is best to make some small sound before speaking to either Jane or Kitty when they are intent upon their stitching, or one might be the cause of a pricked finger.”
“I shall endeavour to remember that, and I thank you for alerting me to the danger.” He sat down and began eating his egg. “The eggs are good.”
“They are,” Elizabeth agreed. “Have you been to see the outbuildings at all?”
Collins shook his head. “None but the stable.”
“Then, on a fine day, Mr. Darcy and I shall have to take you on a tour.” She pulled in a deep breath. “They will be yours eventually.”
“Ours. They will be ours,” he corrected with a small smile. He knew the blessing he would receive through the inheritance of Longbourn. Without it, he would likely have always remained a parson. Not that that was so bad a thing, but to be the master of one’s own estate? Ah, that…that was success. That was position. That was more than his father had ever had.
“Thank you,” Elizabeth said softly. “You have been most gracious with my mother.” She took a sip of her tea.
“How could I be otherwise?” Collins asked in surprise, but then his brows drew together as a thought struck him. “I never knew your father, and he never knew me. He only ever knew my father, and if one were to describe my father to me, I would fear such a person.” He shrugged. “I did.”
“You feared your own father?” Elizabeth’s hand covered her mouth, and her eyes were wide.
“No need to apologize. It is hard to imagine when one has been in possession of a father who is what a father should be – indulgent, kind, not overly serious, nor one to raise his voice.” Again, he shrugged. “At least, that is how I imagine a good father should be.”
The hours he had spent locked in his room for some small indiscretion which had sent his father on a screaming rampage which ended in a bruise or two and a hungry night had given him plenty of time to imagine what a proper father should be – the sort of father he hoped to be.
Elizabeth tipped her head and looked at him for a long while as he finished his egg and spread jam on his toast. Finally, she smiled and returned to her tea.
“Then, I hope you will have a long time to spend with my father.”
There were tears in her eyes, and he looked steadfastly at his toast until his own tears were forced to retreat. It was another failing on his part. He was too soft. The mere appearance of tears in the eyes of a lady should not cause him to become weepy, but, much to his shame, it did. “That would be my prayer as well, Miss Elizabeth.”
“Elizabeth.”
He lifted startled eyes to her.
“We are cousins. You may call me Elizabeth.”
“Are you certain?” He had never called any lady by her Christian name.
“Yes.”
“Very well, Elizabeth.” The word felt so strange on his tongue as if it was missing an article of clothing to make it complete.
“Do you have any brothers or sisters?”
“N…no. My mother died at my birth, and my father never remarried.” Which was likely good for the ladies of the land, since none had to be tied to such an ogre as his father.
“How sad.”
He nodded. “I often wished for a sibling and, of course, my mother, but that is not what God had designed for me to have. And knowing such, I attempted to be content.”
“Do you have any other cousins?”
He shook his head. “None of whom I know. Your father was the only one whom my father ever mentioned.” If there were others, they must not have had money, for money, land, or possessions of any value were what made relations and acquaintances important to his father.
“So, we are it? We are your family?”
“As the good Lord reigns above.”
Elizabeth fell silent and once again studied him as she ate.
He would dearly like to know what was going through her head, and a longing to fill the silence with some sound nearly overwhelmed him. Sitting in silence, being scrutinized, while still feeling out of place in a new surrounding, begged him to release some of his anxiety in the form of words.
“It is a beautiful day.”
The words would not stay contained, no matter how he tried.
“It might be a good day for a walk to Oakham Mount. That is what it is called, is it not? That hill to which you like to walk.” He clamped his lips closed. When the words started, they often just spilled out in great torrents.
Elizabeth chuckled. “Yes, that is what it is called, but I should like to confine myself to the garden and the wilderness just beyond.”
Dunderhead. Her father was ill. Of course, she did not want to be far from home.
“I was not thinking,” he muttered. “It would be best to stay close. I should have thought of that.”
“Things are out of the ordinary, and you have just gained a family.”
She was one of the kindest and most understanding ladies he had met.
“You are very gracious,” he said. “Not at all obstinate,” he muttered and then froze with his tea lifted halfway to his mouth.
Carefully, he moved just his eyes to see if Elizabeth had heard him. From the way her eyebrow arched, she must have.
“I do apologize. I am sure Mr. Darcy meant it in the most flattering way. He is quite taken with you.”
He shrank into himself as he saw her expression change from one of curiosity to unpleasant surprise.
“My thoughts do not always stay where they should,” he said before clamping his lips closed.
“Mr. Darcy said I was obstinate?”
“Oh,” Collins groaned.
He had hoped Mr. Darcy would one day be his friend, and it had appeared like the man was becoming such. However, now, he doubted greatly that such a thing should ever happen.
“I asked him about my cousins when we were at Rosings. My lady, Lady Catherine, that is, had suggested I consider marrying one of you.”
He swallowed. This was going from bad to worse. Her look of surprise was not receding.
“I had to consider it. It seemed a good plan to mend the breach my father had caused in our family.” He pulled at his cravat. “I thought it most proper to inquire after the eldest, but I was assured Miss Bennet expected to have a happy announcement shortly. Naturally, I then inquired after the next in line.” He made a small gesture towards her with his hand. “You. And Mr. Darcy immediately told me that you would not make a proper parson’s wife at all. He was quite adamant. However, having met you, I do not know why he would disparage one so lovely as yourself.”
His brows furrowed. “Why are you so pleased?” Her look of surprise was completely gone.
Her head dipped, and a faint blush stained her cheeks.
“Because I think I know why he said what he did, and,” she looked up at him, “he is not wrong. I can be entirely too stubborn at times, and I would make a deplorable parson’s wife. I do not possess the nature that is necessary for such a role.”
“I apologize. I should not have said anything.”
“No,” Elizabeth replied firmly. “I am pleased you did.”
“But Mr. Darcy will be angry.”
Elizabeth chuckled. “I very much doubt that. He is not so dour and disapproving as I once thought.”
“Disapproving?” Collins’s eyes were large, and his lashes fluttered twice at the thought. “Mr. Darcy is all that is good.”
“Oh, I agree,” she replied quickly. “However, he can be disapproving. You may ask him about that some time. I will not mind at all if you do.” Her lips had quirked up into a teasing smile.
She was so obviously in love with Mr. Darcy.
“Wait.” He ret
urned his last piece of toast to his plate without taking a bite. “You thought Mr. Darcy was disagreeable?”
She nodded.
“And yet, you are betrothed to him?”
Again, she nodded. “Astonishing, is it not?”
Indeed!
“I admit to being somewhat flabbergasted,” he admitted aloud while inwardly he rejoiced. If Mr. Darcy could persuade a lady who thought him disagreeable to marry him, was it not also possible that Mr. Darcy could help a gentleman, hoping to do the same thing, on to success?
Chapter 2
Collins glanced up from the book he was reading as Kitty entered the sitting room. Her dress reminded him of the sunshine as it bathed a meadow in its warm glow. He startled and cleared his throat while turning his eyes back to his book as a sigh attempted to escape the confines of his mind. He peeked up. It did not appear that she had noticed his moment of discomposure. For that, he sent up a small prayer of gratitude.
“Are you still reading sermons?” Mrs. Bennet inquired as she took a seat near him.
She was a nice enough lady, if a bit scattered at times, but he did not particularly relish a conversation with her just now. He wanted to pretend to be reading while in truth he observed the fair maiden near the window whose hair was shining like spun gold.
“My Mary has read many sermons,” Mrs. Bennet continued.
“That is very good,” Collins muttered as his eyes shifted to where Mary sat, glaring at him as she always did. Did her mother genuinely think that a daughter so obviously against a match could be swayed from her position by the commonality of reading materials?
“Oh, she is a very good girl.”
Mrs. Bennet’s look of reproof for that very good girl was in stark contrast to her tone of praise. Did the woman think him so simple as to be easily led? Did she think this way of all gentlemen or was it him in particular?
He closed his book and tapped his finger on its cover as he thought.
“You look very serious, Mr. Collins. I do hope you are contemplating some happy event.”
