A Chance at Happiness

By Meg Osborne

Elizabeth Bennet goes to Kent with only one goal in mind - to ensure her dearest friend, Charlotte Lucas, is as happy with her marriage in practice as she was in theory!

 

Fitzwilliam Darcy's arrival at Rosings is an attempt to placate his aunt. The very last person he expects to see there is Elizabeth Bennet - but is it possible that he has been given a second chance at happiness, if only he is wise enough to take it?

 

A Chance at Happiness is a sweet, regency variation of Jane Austen's Pride and Prejudice.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Meg Osborne
• Release date: May 11, 2018
• ISBN: 9781386688341

Meg Osborne

Meg Osborne is an avid reader, tea drinker and unrepentant history nerd.  She writes sweet historical romance stories and Jane Austen fanfiction, and can usually be found knitting, dreaming up new stories, or adding more books to her tbr list than she'll get through in a lifetime.

Book preview

Chapter One

O f course, Lady Catherine , it is no trouble whatsoever! Mr William Collins smiled obsequiously at his patroness before turning an identical expression on his wife. Where his sycophancy won him the reluctant affection of Lady Catherine de Bourgh, such bowing and scraping did little to endear him to his wife.

Must he nod his head quite so frantically in agreement with Lady Catherine’s every word? Charlotte Collins - nee Lucas - thought, striving to keep her expression blandly agreeable and her true feelings hidden. He looks like a demented marionette!

This picture struck Charlotte as amusing and almost before she could prevent it, a snort of laughter escaped her lips. The gathered party - Mr Collins, Lady Catherine and her daughter Anne, who Charlotte had hoped for a deepening friendship with, but as yet rarely secured time with her without her mother in tow - turned to look at her curiously.

Is something the matter, Mrs Collins? Lady Catherine asked, peering at her through a pair of elegant, but decidedly impractical, spectacles. You are not sickening for anything, I hope?

This question was accompanied by a distasteful sneer and the hurried movement to put some distance between herself and her hosts.

An idea sparked in Charlotte’s brain, and she turned the corners of her lips down, fishing in her sleeve for a handkerchief, which she theatrically lifted to her nose.

Alas, I fear I may be, Lady Catherine. She sniffed and was rewarded with the sight of her guest flinch and attempt to back away still further.

For good measure, Charlotte engineered a sneeze.

Dear me! I seem to be worsening with every passing moment! Do not fear, though, I am sure this is nothing so contag-ag-agious!

A quite spectacular sneeze made every person present jump, and Mr Collins turned towards his wife with something resembling interest, if not quite concern.

Ought you to remain here in the parlour with us, my dear, if you are.... He pursed his lips. "Indisposed?"

Perhaps you are right, William, Charlotte said, making a show of dabbing at her eyes. I do not wish to share my ill health with everybody in the whole house! I could not abide our guests becoming unwell...

This suggestion was all that was required for Lady Catherin to rise swiftly to her feet and tug a reluctant Anne after her.

Good afternoon! she called, practically running from the small parsonage. We will call again once you are fully recovered, Mrs Collins. Do take care, now!

Oh, Lady Catherine! Mr Collins hastened after her, waving his own, unsoiled, handkerchief as if to provide evidence that he, unlike his wife, was quite hale and hearty and might indeed wish to retreat with them from a house of sickness and continue their visit at Rosings. The carriage was closed and ordered on its way with such haste, however, that Mr Collins’ shoulders sank and he returned quite dejectedly to his wife’s side, surprised to find her health rather restored, and frowning with suspicion at the shaking of her shoulders that seemed, to him, to suggest amusement, rather than feverishness.

Perhaps I ought to repair to my study, he suggested, after a moment of consideration. If you are unwell, doubtless you would not care for my company.

As you wish, Charlotte said, scarcely able to prevent a sigh from escaping her lips. It was not that she particularly cared for her husband’s company, for he was neither intelligent nor interesting, and rather more capable of irritating than engaging his wife. Not for the first time she wondered at her own wisdom in securing this particular match. You knew who it was you married, she reminded herself, drawing her shoulders up and refusing to give in to despair. Such a claim cannot be made by many a bride. Yes, she had known Mr Collins’ flaws in advance of his virtues, which, were there any, he continued to keep hidden beneath several layers of silliness that his new wife had only just begun to uncover. But she had not quite understood how challenging she would find them to live with. No, she did not long for her husband’s company in the parlour that afternoon, any more than she had longed for that of Lady Catherine de Bourgh and her daughter’s. But she longed for...someone. Poor Charlotte was lonely, which fact had never entered her calculations for marriage. She had wished for independence from her father’s house, and becoming Mrs Collins had enabled that, but she had never realised just how greatly she would miss her family or her friends. In Hertfordshire, she knew many acquaintances and was known, equally. She might run along to Longbourn and visit with Lizzy and Jane, or make the journey to Meryton just as easily. Here, despite being married to a Curate and thus central to life in Hunsford, she felt friendless, and even the promise of a new home was hollow with nobody to share its pleasures with.

A sigh must have escaped her lips, for she found herself under scrutiny once more from her husband. This time his simpering smile was gone, and instead of suspicion, there was a glimmer of concern. Before she could wonder at its existence, however, William Collins opened his lips and spoke. He was himself once more.

Did not Miss Anne speak well this afternoon? I dare say the two of you are fast becoming close confidants. He beamed. And such affection can only raise us in dear Lady Catherine’s estimation.

I recall her speaking but half a dozen words, and even then not altogether, Charlotte said, unable to keep the disappointment out of her voice. And as for us being good friends, if you think that, Mr Collins, I fear you do not understand friendship at all.

If he took some offence at this, her husband at least had the grace not to act upon it, and she was quite surprised to hear his voice soften as he spoke again.

You are homesick, he mused. Of course, I ought to have recognised it before now. It is quite a change for you, to live in the shadow of so great an estate as Rosings, and to associate so often with such an elevated figure as Lady Catherine de Bourgh. He clapped his hands, as if applauding himself for having a great thought, and leaned forward to impart his wisdom. Perhaps, my dear, you might care to invite a friend to stay with us. Surely there is one lady -

Elizabeth Bennet.

Charlotte’s answer had been given even before her husband had finished making his offer. His eyebrows raised at both her eagerness and her suggestion.

Elizabeth Bennet! Really? He laughed a silly, affected little laugh that ordinarily grated on Charlotte’s nerves, but that afternoon, with the promise of guests she actually desired to see, she scarcely heard him. My cousin Elizabeth. Well... He seemed poised to refuse, and Charlotte leaned forward, clasping hold of one of her husband’s hands with both of hers.

My dear husband, I have asked so little of you since our marriage. Please do not deny me the chance to see my dearest friend once more. I know that you have had your differences in the past, but is it not important to forgive one another?

Mr Collins drew himself up, smarting at the notion that his wife felt the need to offer him spiritual direction. The words had had their desired effect, though, and he awkwardly patted her hands with his free one.

Quite, quite. No doubt she will be eager to see you, too, for I have always thought her to be quite sparing with her affections. No doubt she is bereft without you, and I fancy a visit to Hunsford would be quite restorative to both of you. Elizabeth, then. You must write at once and invite her. He paused, eyeing his wife carefully. But only if you are sure her presence will not cause your condition to worsen. Perhaps you ought to take some air, for I wager you appear rather flushed at spending so much of the day close to the fire.

She was so delighted at his agreement, and at the promise of a visit from her dearest friend, that Charlotte leapt to her feet immediately, intent on obeying his suggestion. It was even on the tip of her tongue to invite him to join her until she managed to stay the impulse.

I will go now, she said, retrieving her shawl. And leave you to your sermon, sir. I wager you will be so occupied that you will scarcely notice my absence. And I shall be so happy to write to Hertfordshire that I will not even care to notice yours!

AND RAM BEGAT AMMINADAB; and Amminadab begat Nahshon, prince of the children of Judah...

The long list of genealogies blurred before Mr William Collins’ eyes, so that he could scarcely tell who begat whom and cared still less. With a sigh, he pushed the large, elegantly lettered bible away, pausing just a moment to rest his fingertips upon the gold-edged pages in reverence. He ought to attend with all faithfulness to his sermon, he knew, for it would be heard by a small but worthy parish and reflected upon at length by Lady Catherine de Bourgh. Yet it did not seem to matter how much or how little attention he gave to the preparation of his sermons, or their delivery. His patroness was always poised to find fault.

And should such fault-finding surprise you? A familiar voice echoed in his head. This was the voice that had plagued him at Cambridge and taunted him when his suits had been rejected out of hand by his cousins at Longbourn. It was in this voice that Lady Catherine’s criticisms repeated themselves to him, often in the early hours of the morning, when he lay awake, or on afternoons such as this, when his work was dull or dreary or otherwise difficult. It was his father’s voice, and it seemed to him a cruel twist of fate that even once the elder Mr Collins departed this earth for his future glory, his voice remained behind, an everlasting reminder to his only son of how far he had fallen short of his father’s hopes in almost every respect.

Shaking his head, as if doing so would shake off the invisible critic that lurked within his own mind, William looked back over his notes, re-reading them and ordering them into some sort of structure upon which he might hang the meat of his preaching. He could admire the orderliness of his annotations, which was something, at least. And his penmanship! Why, he had toiled many hours to improve his penmanship and now, when he took the time to concentrate upon it, it was quite neat indeed.

The disembodied voice of his father had opinions enough about pride in such abilities, and in frustration, William laid down his work, and rose from his desk, striding towards the window. He would return to his work later when he was better suited to focus on it and less prone to distraction.

Idly, he watched the path of the wind through the trees