“Who could have imagined that we should receive an
invitation...”
“...this invitation is particularly gratifying, because it is what
I have been hoping to receive and you may be very certain
that I shall avail myself of it as soon as possible.”
The invitation caused a mixture of elation and dismay in the Collins family.
Mr. Collins, who had adapted well to the prim and proper ways that had come into being with the succession to the throne of the young Queen Victoria (he was a great believer in modesty, virtue, and obedience—for women), saw himself as a figure of considerable rectitude and some importance. His many years as a clergyman at Hunsford had endowed him, he considered, with a decided odor of sanctity; his present position as Master of Longbourn, he felt, had added the glossy sheen of landed gentry to his person. And this collected glory was at last being recognized by Lady Catherine de Bourgh’s most aloof relative (he could think of no other reason for the invitation, his first to Pemberley). His triumph in consequence was complete; he was delighted to accept on behalf of them all.
“And I note, Mrs. Collins, the invitation is from Friday to Sunday. An honor indeed. Most obliging, most obliging. Such manners. Such condescension. Of course we shall all go.”
He held the invitation tightly in his hand as if he could not bear to put it down. A sweaty finger mark smudged one edge.
“Indeed, Mr. Collins. This may be a visit of great consequence,” said Charlotte. She did not look at Eliza. Under her calm exterior, she felt great excitement. This was the opening gambit. Pemberley had made the first move.
But Catty and Annie had already accepted an invitation to join the family of Annie’s affianced at Sanditon for the month of August. They were beside themselves with mortification.
When the Collinses’ acceptance was received by Elizabeth Darcy, it seemed that only Jonathan would accompany Eliza and her parents to the ball.
“So that is that,” said Elizabeth, giving the note to Juliet so that she could complete her lists. “Well, we shall see what we shall see.”
But Juliet’s mind was full of pink silk—or should it be white? Or yellow, primrose yellow! She knew how well she looked in yellow, a color trying to many young ladies; few would essay to wear it. Ruffles. Lace. Slippers to match the dress. It did not dawn on her that there was a purpose to the ball other than the celebration of her birthday. (In her way, Juliet was quite as self-absorbed as Mr. Collins.) And Gerard was coming, though Francis could not. All was right with the world.