A/N This comment arrived in my email Sunday morning after getting up (I'm UK based, btw): 'You don't allow all reviews to show. Is that because they point out mistakes or things that don't make sense?' from 'Guest'

If 'Guest' is reading this, have no idea what you mean. I haven't touched the review settings (so they're set to whatever the default is when I signed up), and only ever look at reviews and comments via my email. I definitely have not deleted or hidden any. Please explain.

Anyway back to the story...

19th November

Mr Collins lingered through the rest of the day, constantly attempting to gain the attention of Jane, whose beauty was even more enhanced by her happiness. Unfortunately, before Mr Collins took the hint to leave after his overlong visit, and shortly after Mr Bingley returned from his visit to Longbourn, the weather took a turn for the worse and Miss Bingley was obliged to ask him to remain for dinner. The faint hope of almost all, that the weather would settle sufficiently before it became too late and Mr Collins could remove himself, was not to be. The rain set in and the wind increased to such an extent that it would be too dangerous for a coach to return him to Longbourn. Miss Bingley was thus obliged to offer him shelter for the night, to his obvious delight.

He was eventually shown to a guest room and provided with nightwear borrowed from the Colonel, whose height and large muscular chest meant he was the only one with a garment of a suitable size for the slightly shorter but rather rotund vicar.

The rest of the evening passed by, with the ladies exhibiting on the pianoforte while the gentlemen played at cards, Mr Collins apologising at length whenever he infrequently won a hand.

Mr Collins had retired early, following a poor run of hands and the loss of some shillings, and Miss Bingley, who had been quietly observing events with a sly smile, once more entered into conversation.

'Jane, dear. I must congratulate you on your conquest.'

Jane looked confused and shot a glance to Mr Bingley, who shook his head slightly.

'I am not sure to what you refer,' said Jane.

'Why, I refer to your newest beau. He seems quite determined.'

Jane might have been confused but Elizabeth was not. She narrowed her eyes, but chose to say nothing at that point, waiting to see what happened.

Mr Bingley interrupted, 'Well, as to that, I have something to announce.' He stood and gestured to the servants to leave the room before continuing once the door was closed. With a large smile on his face, Mr Bingley said, 'This afternoon, I requested the hand of Miss Bennet in marriage. She has made me the happiest of men.' He gazed down at Jane on the sofa, who was blushing but radiant and gazing adoringly at him as he spoke.

Miss Bingley choked and sputtered on a mouthful of tea.

Elizabeth discretely hid a small smile of triumph behind her hand before speaking her congratulations, 'I am so happy for you both. I have always wanted a brother!'

A blank-faced Mr Darcy also spoke his congratulations, while studiously ignoring Miss Bingley's attempts to gain his attention.

Mr Bingley then continued, 'Because of the illness affecting the neighbourhood and both our families, Mr Bennet requested that news of the engagement be kept between our two estates until Jane returns home. As you are my dearest family and friends, I wanted you to be the first to know.'

Mr Collins muttered to himself on his way to his room. Not having found a way to speak with his lovely cousin Jane privately, he needed to find another way. With either that Bingley person or his cousin Elizabeth constantly at her side, the likelihood of an opportunity for a private discussion with her on the following day, before he was forced to return to Longbourn, was unlikely. He needed another plan.

Walking down the corridor to his room in the guest wing, he stopped dead. Large, deep alcoves, each holding a stand containing large vases of flowers, were present at regular intervals along the corridor. Maybe if he could discover the room his cousin Jane was using, he could arrange some privacy that night for a discussion. He ducked into the nearest alcove and waited.

As Mr Collins waited in the shadows, the parting words of his esteemed patroness lingering in his mind.

'Do whatever it takes to bring back a wife or I will be most seriously displeased. A clergyman must have a wife to set a good example for his congregation.'

He'd lingered at Netherfield as long as he could before being forced to leave, ignoring the many hints that he take himself off, and it was luck itself that a storm had trapped him here and provided him with an ideal opportunity to fix his chosen bride. The beauty of his cousin Jane was breath-taking - God was obviously on his side in this matter; arranging the weather as He had - and he was eager to take advantage of the time he'd been given. It was a shame that he had been unable to manage a private conversation with his cousin earlier in the day, but no matter, there was less likelihood of being interrupted while everyone else was sleeping.

Footsteps recalled his mind to the present. He peered cautiously from the alcove and saw his two cousins walking toward him, having finally retired for the night. He withdrew into the shadows and listened. The footsteps drew nearer and then paused. A door opened, and he peered around the alcove edge just in time to watch both ladies enter a room a few doors down from where he stood.

That was no help. He needed to know which room his Jane was sleeping in. He waited a little longer and the door opened again.

Elizabeth exited, turning back to the room she had just left to say, 'I will return in just a moment.' She entered a room next door, leaving the door open and was soon back in the corridor carrying a jug of water. She returned to the first room – this must be Jane's bedchamber he realised – and closed the door.

His face bore a smirk as he left his hiding place and scuttled along the corridor to the door, hesitating as he fixed the location in his mind from a painting opposite. He could hear nothing from within, and contemplated peering through the keyhole but the sound of a door opening somewhere else in the house sent him scuttling away to his own room at the far end of the corridor. He would return later when all was quiet.

20th November

Mr Collins had earlier donned his borrowed nightshirt, wrapped himself in a blanket, and sat in a chair by the fire planning to stay awake until a more silent hour. A chill in the air from the dying fire woke him and he heard a clock chime twice, distantly.

Before accidentally falling asleep he had inflamed his minor grievances into major indignation. He should not have to chase after his chosen wife in this way, it was not dignified. She should have been aware, from his marked attentions to her, that he had singled her out and would want to spend time with her. She should have allowed him a private audience. She should not even be in this house, having her head turned by those within. She should have been at her home where she belonged, instead of among strangers who were likely to give her ideas above her station. When they were married, she would learn her place quickly enough, he had no doubts about that. Lady Catherine de Bourgh would ensure that she did, if his ministrations did not.

Leaving the blanket behind, he carefully opened his door to peer out. All was silent. Even the storm had abated, the howling winds having ceased their moaning at some point while he slept. Perfect. Lighting his way with a candle, he crept barefoot along the corridor, until he reached the painting memorised earlier and thus the door he wanted. He scratched lightly at the door, and waited but hearing no reply, grasped the handle and eased it open. Snuffing the candle, he waited for his eyes to adjust before pushing the door open, praying it would not creak. All were shades of grey and black within, a pale glow from the banked fire casting little light, but he could just make out a darker mass where the bed was located.