At first, this was not evident; in her unscheduled inspections of the Parsonage, Lady Catherine found fault with much: the arrangement of the furniture, the dilatoriness of the housemaid, even the size of their joints of meat – which her ladyship considered too lavish for their small household. It took some time and considerable forbearance for Charlotte to realise this bent for interference and advice was habitual, and that Lady Catherine would have found fault with the domestic arrangements of Paradise itself. In truth, at their regular dinner engagements at Rosings, his patroness repeatedly praised Mr Collins for the wisdom of his choice of bride, almost to the extent of claiming credit for the courtship.

‘I was the one who told him to marry, you know,’ was often heard: ‘I was the one who advised him to find a wife in Hertfordshire. I told him to choose a gentlewoman, an active, useful sort of person not brought up high, but able to make a small income go a long way, and he obeyed me completely.’ Mrs Collins could never hear these words without wondering at Lady Catherine’s assumption that they comprised some sort of compliment, but she could not disagree with the bald truth that this description did indeed fit her perfectly, however impertinently it might be expressed.

The lucky husband placed the arrangement of the Parsonage’s rooms at Charlotte’s disposal, and she soon encouraged him to take the parlour with the best aspect and light for his study, while choosing for her own workroom a small chamber at the distant end of the house, where he might be less inclined to disturb her as she sat over her accounts, or hemmed curtains, or apportioned out the day’s work between herself and Mrs Brown.

Their life settled into a pattern; Thursdays to Saturdays, Mr Collins, with much throat-clearing and frowning, would write his sermon for Sunday, often coming to Charlotte’s door to read her extracts. At first, she paid close attention, thinking he sought her opinion, but he simply required approbation; so it was easy to nod with every indication of approval, even if it meant that by Sunday she could have entered the pulpit and recited his sermon by heart herself.

Sundays after church were usually given to the pleasures of Rosings, where they drank tea and listened to Lady Catherine’s minute examination of the sermon, and suggestions for improvement. Charlotte was sometimes tempted to ask whether her ladyship envisaged her husband repeating the same sermon each week, but with the embellishments put forward by his patroness, but held her peace.