“These are the entail documents, and this describes what is left with the estate and what is my wife’s personal property. Of course she has a year to leave Longbourn for Dunley Cottage. You remember that one—it is the land at the back of the property nearest to Netherfield. It is currently let by the Jones family, but they will be given ample time to remove themselves, and I imagine Mr. Carter’s cottage will be empty by then and would be an ideal location.” Mr. Bennet tapped Collins’ boot with his own and the younger man jolted upright.

“Yes, of course, Mr. Carter, the um, the one in, hmm.”

“The man in Mulberry Farm. You must remember, Mr. Collins! I was just speaking of him. He is getting on in years and his wife died last spring. His three daughters have all married and he is working the land alone with a hired boy.” Mr. Bennet had in fact not told Mr. Collins that, but that was a technicality.

“Oh, yes! The widower Mr. Carter. I remember, of course.”

Bennet nodded. “Now, as I was saying, Mrs. Bennet and our daughters will remove to Dunley, the Jones family will go to Mulberry Farm, and Mr. Carter will likely move to one of his daughters. Sign here, please.”

“Oh, right, yes. Mr. Carter will be most happy with his daughters.” Mr. Collins scratched his name next to Mr. Bennet’s on the paper.

“Yes, I’m sure he will.” Bennet quickly folded the paper and placed it in the packet he’d brought with him, then poured Collins another glass of the ill-tasting brandy.

By the end of the conversation, Bennet was able to secure Mr. Collins’ signature on documents stating that all the Bennet family jewels would stay with the Bennet daughters, on account of Mr. Collins not really being a Bennet. He’d convinced his younger cousin that it would be the perfect olive branch and would right any wrongs perceived in the entailment and ensure his welcome in the community. Mrs. Bennet and any unmarried daughters had lifetime rights to live in Dunley Cottage rent free, and Mrs. Bennet herself would receive four-hundred pounds per annum from the estate, plus an additional fifty pounds for any unmarried daughters.

He knew it was a lot, and if his daughters were not to marry it would deprive Collins of over a quarter of the estate’s annual income, but his first loyalty was to his wife and children, not to his buffoon of a cousin. Besides, the daughters were nearly all of a marriageable age. Surely some of them would marry soon, hopefully at least one (though preferably two) before he died. He could not, would not, feel guilty about providing for his family.

Chapter 9