To Mr. Collins's dismay, Lady Catherine did not invite her to join her for tea. Even more distressing, the grand lady had gone so far as to cancel their customary Thursday meeting—an occasion he had always considered an honor but a validation of his role as her devoted clergyman. At these gatherings, he received her invaluable guidance and wisdom, basked in the privilege of her notice, and reassured himself of his standing in her favor.
It was a crushing blow to his pride and sense of importance, though he struggled to maintain an air of unwavering devotion, convincing himself that she must simply be occupied with pressing matters.
Elizabeth watched with quiet fascination as Mary, with remarkable composure, steered her husband through his disappointment, offering neither false hope nor empty comfort, but practical encouragement. "Your duty does not waver simply because Lady Catherine is preoccupied," she reminded him, her voice calm, steady. "If she has no time to counsel you, then you must make use of your wisdom. What better moment to redouble your devotion to the parish? To visit the poor and the sick, to prove yourself through service rather than supplication?"
At first, Mr. Collins merely blinked at his wife, as though trying to grasp the meaning of her words. But then, slowly, purpose dawned upon his features. He straightened, his chest swelling, his expression firming into one of determination. Yes, he would prove himself. Yes, he would remind Lady Catherine of his worth—not by seeking her out, but by demonstrating his devotion to his sacred duty.
Elizabeth marveled at Mary's quiet influence. She had not changed her husband's nature, but she had learned how to guide it, gently redirecting his need for validation into something useful. And Mr. Collins, for all his bluster and pomposity, clearly adored her for it.
Sunday arrived, and with it, Lady Catherine. She entered the church with all the majesty of a queen descending upon her subjects, her presence alone demanding deference. Beside her, frail and silent, was Anne. But it was the two gentlemen who flanked them that seized Elizabeth's attention—Lady Catherine's nephews, who had arrived the previous evening.
As soon as the party settled into their pew, Mr. Collins, eager to reclaim any shred of favor he might have lost, launched into his sermon with heightened zeal. His voice rang through the church with almost desperate enthusiasm, though Elizabeth scarcely heard a word of it. Her thoughts were elsewhere.
Elizabeth, unable to resist, stole a discreet glance at the two gentlemen seated with Lady Catherine. Her gaze first landed on Mr. Darcy, and she felt a pang of something deep and unexpected—pity, perhaps, or something more complex. He had changed. His frame was leaner, his features more severe, and streaks of silver now threaded through his dark hair. Though still undeniably handsome, there was a weariness about him, a shadow of hardship that had not been there before. His black coat was immaculately tailored, his posture as poised and dignified as ever, but there was something in his eyes—something restless, something… wounded.
Seated beside him was Lady Catherine's other nephew, dressed in his military uniform. Unlike his cousin, he did not possess striking features. He was of medium height, with fair hair and a pleasant, easy demeanor. Not particularly handsome, but there was an openness about him that softened his otherwise unremarkable features.
When the sermon concluded, Elizabeth and Mary made their way toward Mr. Collins, who was engaged in conversation with Lady Catherine and her nephews. As they approached, Elizabeth caught sight of Mr. Darcy's face just as he noticed her. His eyes widened ever so slightly, betraying a flicker of surprise—perhaps even shock. But before either could acknowledge the other, Lady Catherine, ever the orchestrator of all things within her domain, took command of the introductions.
"Mrs. Collins, Miss Bennet," she said with her usual air of authority. "I believe you are already acquainted with my nephew, Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy."
Darcy recovered swiftly. He inclined his head in a small, reserved smile. "It is a pleasure to see you both again," he said, his voice steady. His gaze lingered on Elizabeth for the briefest moment before he turned to Mary. "Congratulations, Mrs. Collins, on your marriage."
"Thank you very much, Mr. Darcy," Mary replied with a composed and polite nod.
Before Elizabeth could answer, Lady Catherine continued, turning her attention to the colonel. "And this," she said with an air of finality, "is my nephew, Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam."
Elizabeth and Mary curtsied politely, exchanging pleasantries. But what followed was entirely unexpected.
"And," Lady Catherine added, with the unmistakable satisfaction of one delivering a triumphant announcement, "he is also the fiancé of my dear Anne."