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Who knew what went on in Mr. Collins’ mind before his cousins married? 

Breakfast should have been a quiet affair, but it seemed few meals were at Lucas Lodge. Mr. Collins squeezed his temples. So much banal chatter soured his stomach and ruined his appetite.

Mrs. Collins’s brothers brought reports on new arrivals at Netherfield Park while her younger sister was brimming over with talk of lace and dresses. Collins could not bring himself to care about the brides’ gowns and even less what the other ladies of their party would wear. How could Charlotte listen so patiently to all that blather? An uneasy shudder trailed down his back. How could Sir William and Lady Lucas fail to curb the exuberance of the young people at their table? Lady Catherine would never such ill-manners.

Thank heavens Mrs. Collins did not bring such manners with her into his home. Though she patiently listened and politely smiled thought the entire disgraceful display, she would certainly agree with his sentiment. She shared all his opinions, as a proper wife did. Without a doubt, young people should keep their trivial interests and conversations to themselves during meals. His children, when they came, would be taught properly.

Collins excused himself as quickly as could be, claiming a need for fresh air. Mrs. Collins smiled and encouraged him to go, noting that he must miss the time spent he usually spent in his garden and that a walk seemed necessary to his constitution.

A blast of chill wind buffeted his face as he stepped out.  Though it burned the tips of his ears, he welcomed the discomfort to distract him from his own rising agitations.  He pulled his hat down more snugly and tightened his scarf.

While Hertfordshire was pleasant enough and Lucas lodge offered many comforts, it was nothing to his parsonage in Kent, the place he was currently unwelcome because of the thoughtless, headstrong actions of his dear cousin Elizabeth. His shoulders twitched at the thought.

How might he bear Lady Catherine’s wrath. On his own count, he had never felt it, but now that his unruly and unrepentant cousin had crossed her ladyship, he felt its full fury. The hair on the back of his neck prickled. He rubbed it thought his muffler though it did little to ease his discomfort.

Lady Catherine sounded just like his mother when in high dudgeon and her temper was much like his father’s.  How vexed her ladyship would be to be compared with such common folk. He chuckled, nonetheless. She would never hear that from him. Since both his parents had passed there was no chance Lady Catherine would ever notice the comparison.

His brisk steps crunched in the dry leaves underfoot.  The sharp wind whipped dust around his feet and slapped small braches against his face. Bother! The gardener responsible for such unkempt paths should be fired, immediately. He grumbled under his breath and rubbed his chin. Bah. The barber’s razor was going dull again. Did Meryton not have a decent tradesman in their midst? What other vexations were going to plague him now?

In the distance, he saw the tips of Longbourn’s chimneys. Providence has smiled on him the day Cousin Elizabeth had so cruelly refused his offer of marriage. His bruised ego had not yet forgiven her, but her visit to Kent demonstrated her total lack of suitability. Collins winced. What a disaster it would have been to have brought her home to the parsonage. Cousin Elizabeth would never have treaded Lady Catherine with the proper deference and respect like his dear Mrs. Collins, with a bit of gentle coaching, did.

How was it that even now that hoyden still continued to plague him? How could she have such audacity as to marry Mr. Darcy? Did she not understand what she was doing to her father’s heir? Even though she would not marry him, she owed him respect. Cold and unfeeling girl. It was her fault he was here in Hertfordshire, instead of enjoying the comforts, and quiet, of his own home in Kent.

There had to be some way to soothe Lady Catherine’s ire and return to her good graces. He never failed to find a way to appease his volatile parents, so too, he would find a way to mollify his patroness.

He kicked a small rock out of his way. Letter after letter of apology had been sent but to no avail. More of the same would accomplish nothing. He needed a different tack.

How much easier his life would be now if not for his impudent, ill-mannered, ill-bred … There was a thought. The corners of his lips lifted. Yes, yes, there was nothing that soothed his father faster than to be agreed with. He rubbed his hands together.

He could quite look forward to writing his next letter—no letters. Ah, the pages and pages he could fill dedicated to the wrongs of his dear cousin. The critiques he could arrange for the pleasure of her ladyship would be most satisfying to write. What a gratifying change from finding another way to apologize for wrongs he never committed.

Surely he would return to her favor and on his way back to his own home soon. He ticked off the days in his mind. A fortnight should do it, perhaps a few days more. He turned back toward Lucas Lodge, his feet so light he nearly ran. He had letters to write.

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