PP AU NON-CANON GENERAL REGENCY

Ashes to Honor

Previously:

Fredrick looked at his sister with admiration in his eyes as if to say, 'You called it'. Turning back to Mrs. Bennet he smiled and then gave a gentle nod. "We know someone else who also needs those types of reminders." He remained facing the widow, but his eyes dashed rapidly towards Patience and right back to Mrs. Bennet. "So, I think we can accommodate you just as well. Now, how about we go inside and eat lunch?"

Collins at Longbourn

Ch. 13

Larissa may have been eating lunch but the once vibrant atmosphere of Longbourn which she had tried to create had taken on a somber tone since the fire. The house, though physically repaired, now carried the shadows of what had happened. They all lingered as if ghosts stood in every corner of every hallway. Mr. William Collins, now master of the estate, strode through the corridors as if he had stuck a thousand colorful peacock feathers in his suit. That is what the servants whispered for he strutted about with an air of self-importance, his steps measured and deliberate. His wife, poor Aimee, followed a few paces behind, her eyes downcast, her movements far more subdued since Mrs. Bennet had left.

Aimee had not been lying when she had stated she had been forced into this marriage by her mother. The alliance was advantageous, so the claim had been, and her duty to the family paramount. Thus, Aimee now found herself married to a man she neither loved nor respected, but endured for the sake of mother being able to claim relation to upper gentry.

The parson stopped abruptly in front of the study door and turned to his wife. "Aimee, I require your presence in the drawing room this afternoon. We have guests coming, and I expect you to conduct yourself with the utmost decorum." His tone was nowhere near soft; it was one of definite command, leaving no room for argument.

"Yes, Mr. Collins," Aimee replied with no particular tone, her voice lacking any trace of real spirit. However, strange as it was, there was tiny spark fighting to find a way out; today simply was not the day for it to be found.

He gave a curt nod and entered the study, closing the door behind him with a loud click. Aimee stood for a moment, her heart anything but light, before turning to walk towards the drawing room to oversee the preparations.

As she entered the room, she saw James, a young servant boy, quietly dusting the mantelpiece. James was perhaps twelve years old, with a habit of avoiding eye contact. He worked diligently, his movements careful and deliberate, but -as always- there was an air of anxiety about him.

"James," Aimee said gently not wishing to cause the boy any unnecessary harm, "are the preparations for this afternoon going well?"

James nodded quickly, barely looking up. "Yes, ma'am. Everything is in order, I promise. I double checked everything."

Aimee gave him a small, encouraging smile. "Thank you, James. I appreciate all your hard work.

The boy's cheeks turned a slightly red, and he mumbled softly, "Thank you, ma'am," before hurrying out of the room to do his next task.

Left alone in the drawing room, Aimee's thoughts drifted back to the night of the fire, or more like what people had said of it.

They told her it had been a terrifying night. Claimed the flames had engulfed the east wing of the house. None had been able to find cause of the fire, nor had anyone been able to fully explain it. She had noticed any attempts to discuss it were swiftly shut down by William, refusing to entertain any questions or speculations.

'Why William do you not want to know? Mr. Bennet saved your life and his own wife's? Did you set the fire yourself? Did you see who did? Do you feel guilty either way?'

Aimee knew better than to press him on the matter, and she definitely dare not ask him the questions she had just thought of. William had turned into a controlling man, obsessed with maintaining what he viewed as his authority and reputation. She now thought of him as a self-centered brute. His nature was evident in his every action, from the way he spoke to the servants to the way he dismissed her own opinions and feelings.

As she arranged decorations in the room, Aimee could not help but feel a pang of regret for allowing her father to push her into exchanging vows with William. She had once dreamed of a loving marriage, filled with far more than what she was getting now. But those dreams had been shattered by the reality of the mess she was living in at Longbourn.

James reappeared in the room, carrying a tray of tea. He moved with a cautious grace, as if afraid of making a mistake; looked as if William had gotten to this young man too. Aimee watched him with true sympathy and yet a bit of curiosity. There was something about the boy that intrigued her, a sense that something simmered beneath his surface and which belied his meek exterior.

"James, you have been with us for some time now. and I believe you even helped the Bennets," Aimee said, hoping to draw him into conversation. "Do you find Longbourn to your liking?"

The boy hesitated, his eyes darting to the door as if expecting Mr. Collins to appear at any moment. "It is… a fine place, ma'am," he replied, his voice barely above a whisper.

Aimee's curiosity grew. "Have you always lived here in the village?"

James shook his head. "Yes, ma'am. I came to...Longbourn just before my father passed away."

Aimee's heart ached yet again for the boy. "I am sorry to hear that. If there is anything you need, please do not hesitate to ask me. I will get it for you, even if I have to go behind my husband's back to do it."

James gave a shy nod, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes, a glimmer of knowledge or perhaps a secret he kept closely guarded. Aimee wondered what stories lay behind those guarded eyes, but she knew better than to pry too deeply... demanding he open up would do no good.

The afternoon dragged on, the drawing room prepared for the arrival of the guests. William Collins finally decided to 'grace people with his presence' and emerged from his study, his expression one of satisfaction as he surveyed the room. As if the parson himself had been supervising the whole thing.

"Very good, Aimee," he said, his tone full enough of hot air to raise a balloon. "You have followed my instructions and have done well."

"Thank you, Mr. Collins," Aimee replied, keeping her voice neutral.

William turned to James, who was standing quietly by the door. "James, make sure you are attentive to the needs of our guests." His tongue had turned cold and condescending; his eyes even harsher.

"Yes, sir," James replied, bowing his head.

As the guests arrived, the drawing room filled with polite conversation and laughter. Aimee played her role as hostess flawlessly, greeting each guest with a warm smile and ensuring they were comfortable. William basked in the attention, reveling in his self-imposed importance.

Throughout the evening, Aimee caught glimpses of James, moving quietly and efficiently around the room. There was an air of nervousness about him, but he performed his duties with a determination that impressed her. She found herself watching him more closely, noticing the way his eyes seemed to take in everything, as if he were always on high alert.

At one point, James accidentally brushed against a guest's chair, causing a glass to wobble precariously. William's eyes narrowed, and he was quick to admonish the boy. "You did that on purpose. I would highly suggest you watch yourself closer...you know what power I hold."

"Sorry, sir," James mumbled, his face turning red with embarrassment.

Aimee's heart continued to go out to the boy. She wanted to defend him, to tell William that it was just an accident but kept quiet. Her husband's temper was proving to be way too volatile, and he did not tolerate anything that he perceived as a slight against his authority.

As the evening drew to a close and the guests began to depart, Aimee was more than relieved; she was right down thrilled. The day had been exhausting, both physically and emotionally. She walked the last of the guests to the door, offering polite goodbyes and thank-yous.

Returning to the drawing room, she found William sitting by the fire, a satisfied look on his face. James was quietly tidying up, his movements swift and efficient. It was as if he too was eager to get as far away from Mr. Collins as he could, so if that meant it could be done by getting through is task quicker than that is exactly what he was going to do."

"You did quite well today, Aimee," William said, his tone almost condescending. "It is important to maintain appearances."

"Of course, Mr. Collins," Aimee replied, keeping her tone even.

James finished his tasks and was about to leave when William called out, "James, come here."

The boy approached cautiously, his eyes downcast. "Yes, sir?"

"Remember, boy," William said, his voice low and menacing, "I expect nothing but the best from you. Do not disappoint me and have that little accident again."

"Yes, sir," James replied, his voice barely audible and was allowed to turn in for the night.

Aimee turned her attention back to her husband, who was now engrossed in a book. She sighed softly; her heart heavy with the weight of her circumstances. Mrs. Collins quietly left the room; grateful this was one part of the day her husband became oblivious to what his wife did. She went down the hall and into the smaller drawing room.

Sitting down near the fire Aimme looked int the flames dancing in the hearth. As the fire crackled in the hearth, Aimee made a silent promise to herself. She would endure, for the sake of her family and for the hope that one day, things might change. And perhaps, in some small way, she could make a difference in the life of the quiet, watchful servant boy who seemed to know more than he ever let on.