Welcome back to my loyal readers and a hearty welcome to new ones!

This story is once again a writing experiment, although as usual I won't tell you exactly what I'm trying to do… just that it's a completely different writing style from my previous work. My last story, Letters from Cheapside had precisely zero dialogue, so if you're a fan of quotation marks you should be happy to see they have made a resurgence. As always, I would like to know what you think, and you can make my day with a review or fav.

Fair Warning: Rated T+ - Contains mature themes and brief descriptions of physical spousal abuse, verbal abuse and r***. It also has what may be considered wildly out of character behavior and a few downright malevolent souls, but I believe it also has more than a touch of humor and quite a bit of redemption as well.

Of course, you also have the added hazard of a number of overused JAFF tropes. Regency propriety is not maintained at all times, although I believe the behavior actually closer to the truth than you might think. My women characters are stronger than is usual in this genre, but if you're one of my regular readers you're used to it by now. I explain more of this in chapter 12.

The first few chapters are fairly rough going, so strap yourself in and grab a box of Kleenex and a can of Mace.

Wade

It all started with a horseshoe. Well, truth be told, only the latter half of the story started with a horseshoe, as it had been going on for a year before the day I found myself cursing my steed. In general, I tend to think better of my horse than I do of most people. It's not that I dislike the company of my friends and relatives mind you. It's just that I prefer the company of my horse. It never argues with me, or at least when it does, it's always on concrete terms. There is nothing subtle with a horse. There are no delicate half‑disguised jibes or innuendo. A beast is completely devoid of flirtatious and insincere flattery. It never involves itself in batting of eyelashes, shameless boasting, brandy theft, display of entirely too much décolletage, or attempts to entrap or compromise me. It never hints it needs more money, or introductions in society or anything other than good food, a good stall, a hard ride now and again and the occasional brushing or carrot. It always refrains from subtle or not so subtle hints about matrimony. He either takes me where I wish to go, or dumps me unceremoniously on the ground. Everything about a horse is all or nothing.

Now there I was, walking the last mile to Hunsford with a bad shoe, and I was not overly enamored with the beast; although I had to admit, that it was not its fault. I remember the day well. It was Friday, the 27th of November in 1812, and I had endured a trying year with one difficulty after another. My sojourn to Hertfordshire the previous winter had ended badly, with myself and the entire Netherfield party leaving abruptly. I had heard nothing of the people I met there in all that time, nor made any real effort to. I missed my annual Easter trip to Rosings due to flooding at Pemberley, and most of the season in town due to a fire at Pemberley and numerous problems with highwaymen in Derbyshire.

Missing the Easter visit was actually quite to my satisfaction at the time, as I knew my aunt's parson was related to the Bennets and I had no desire to hear any more of their doings. I was entirely unsatisfied with the way the whole affair had ended, but unwilling to reopen the matter. I was rarely in company with Bingley anymore, but when I was, he still seemed affected. Of course, not keeping company with Bingley had the supreme benefit of removing me from the disagreeable company of his sisters, but I did miss my friend.

I would have happily dispensed with the visit altogether until next Easter, but I was finally worn down by the endless and ceaseless nagging of my Aunt Catherine, who had lately been joined by my Uncle Matlock. It eventually became clear that duty would win out over my preferences, so here I was riding my horse to Rosings in a cold but thankfully not rainy November day, because I was in too poor of a humor to take the carriage.

Even that plan went sour a few miles from my goal with a lost horseshoe. After walking the last mile to Hunsford, I decided to walk the rest of the way to Rosings. I could have gotten another animal simply enough from the farrier, but judged that another mile of walking just might put me under good enough regulation to withstand the assault I would receive from Aunt Catherine. I was more than two hours past her ridiculous and arbitrarily designated time I should arrive. I did not even want to contemplate the oncoming assault to my equanimity encompassed by her ceaseless attempts to wed me to my cousin Anne, who frankly would have married the most repulsive man in Kent before me.

Halfway to Rosings, I suddenly recalled the obsequious parson who had introduced himself to me at Netherfield with some alarm. I thought he seemed like just the sort of man to hide out in a parlor overlooking the lane just looking for gentlemen to accost. I neither wanted him fawning over me, nor telling me anything related to his cousins in Hertfordshire in my present humor, so I decided on an eminently sensible course of action. I knew the area well from my visits as a boy, and in a moment I decided I could stay well out of his sight by taking a shortcut just past the corner of the parsonage, that led out the back to a path that went a half-mile to Rosings. Even though I would pass within a few paces of the parsonage, I would be most unlikely to be seen, and going all the way around through the palings would add yet another mile to an already interminable journey.

Seeing the parsonage in front of me reminded me of her. I had thought that she would be well gone from my mind by then, but alas, exactly a year and a day from the last time I had seen her at the ball at Netherfield, it was not to be. She still haunted me. The entertainments I had managed to attend in town this year had all been tainted by some lack. The ladies I met all seemed insipid, the entertainers flat, the gentlemen boorish, the company generally disagreeable. On top of that, I occasionally thought I was going mad, as I sometimes believed I heard her voice calling to me seductively. Even worse yet, I occasionally imagined I heard the voices of her flirtatious sisters only a step away from ruining the whole family; or the high pitched screeching of her mother, as bad a mercenary as I have ever seen; or the low rumble of her father, ridiculing his family as it destroyed itself. I have to say I will not even trouble you with a description of my dreams. Those must be forever lost to the mists of time, as they should be.

I had just gained the corner of the parsonage, thankfully still out of sight of anyone that might inhabit it, when I had the oddest hallucination of all. I could swear I heard the voice of her father, but without the ridiculing chuckle he always seemed to use. This was her father with a hard edge, and it took me quite a moment to realize it was actually his voice, coming from the region of a carriage I had astonishingly not noticed drawn up at the front of the parsonage, so great had been my distraction.

I stopped abruptly, although I had a sinking suspicion I would regret it. What was I to do, eavesdrop on a private conversation? However, I found I could not help myself, so I silently moved to a corner of the parsonage where I could see the carriage and team without being seen. Sure enough, there was Mr. Bennet in the flesh. He looked considerably different than he had in Hertfordshire, as if the past year had aged him a decade instead of a year. His voice had no warmth whatsoever, but it was his words that shocked me senseless.

"I must talk to you. Why have you ignored my letters?"

The voice had an edge to it that was not the least to my liking. It was actually somewhat frightening in its intensity, and I wondered what could possibly have wrought the change.

That was nothing however to the next voice I heard, which was so hard and sharp you could cut stones with it. Far worse was the dismay of hearing who it belonged to.

"Do not ever call me that ever again! I am Mrs. Collins to you!"

My mind nearly exploded with the horror of the tone of voice used, which had enough venom to kill a dozen horses. Any man who spoke to me like that would only do so while calling me out. My mind could barely even comprehend the horror of the revelation. Elizabeth Bennet wed to that odious parson was a nightmare come true. She would never have done so willingly, so that meant her father must have forced the marriage. Her tone of voice gave weight to that idea, and furthermore showed exactly what she thought of the proceedings. Her next words, spoken with even more venom confirmed it. How had the world come to this?

"You forced that name on me, so you will use it and no other, Bennet!"

Sounding grim but resolute, Mr. Bennet continued.

"Have you no respect for your father?"

"I have no father nor mother. State your business and be gone!"

Missing my own parents terribly, I could not even comprehend the horror of coming to loath your own parents enough to disown them, yet clearly she had.

Mr. Bennet was apparently in no trifling mood, so he answered with similar implacable resentment.

"Very well, Mrs. Collins! I have important matters to discuss, so let me come in."

Her next words, if possible, were even harsher.

"No Bennet. While I breathe, neither you nor your wife shall ever cross the threshold of any home where I am mistress. If you have something to say, do so here and now, or be gone... but be aware, my patience is nearly at an end."

I noticed she would not even give her father the bare civility of calling him 'mister', or inviting him into her home. She had apparently lost any and all respect for the man, which I had to agree with. The amiable and indolent Mr. Bennet seemed to have been replaced with something much more malevolent, as his voice took on a hard edge to match his daughter's. It was in fact hard enough for me to be concerned for the safety of her person.

"Very well, Mrs. Collins! You have not responded to my letters of the last six months, or the last year for that matter. I sent them express to underscore their importance and to save you the postage, as I assume you would have refused to pay it."

Elizabeth responded with a tone that on the surface sounded something like the sweet and innocent woman I remembered, but with an entirely different and darker feeling that one would be unwise to tempt.

"I must say Bennet, I enjoyed the letters immensely. The wax gives off such a pretty blue smoke when they burn, but I wish you would desist from sending them. I have no intention of ever reading anything from you, and they do not produce enough heat to be of any practical value. If you want to send me something to burn, I prefer coal."

I stood rooted to the spot in shock, unable to think or even breathe. The hostility from Miss Bennet... no, Mrs. Collins now… was unmistakable. I knew perfectly well that I should not be listening, but just could not make myself keep moving. Now that I had heard the start of the conversation, I determined I must hear the rest. My very sanity demanded it.

"I have heard rumors, Mrs. Collins, that your husband's health is not the best."

Miss Elizabeth gave a mocking half-laughing reply that did not speak well to either her state of mind or her husband's safety.

"Mr. Collins' health is as he deserves. He caught a fever three months past. It thoroughly ravaged his mind, which shall never return apparently; not that it was anything to boast of in the first place. The great and condescending Lady Catherine would like him dead and gone with so she can transfer the living to another mindless sycophant. She has brought in three physicians from town. All agree he will most likely never leave his bed and will survive no more than another year or two with reasonable care. I hope you are happy, Bennet. The entail will be broken. Go back to Longbourn, and leave me to my own misery."

I heard what sounded like Elizabeth preparing to walk away from the confrontation, but her father was apparently not yet finished.

"It is not that simple, Elizabeth."

I heard the rustle of skirts and stomping of heavy booted feet that I believed meant she whipped back around in great agitation, and I wished beyond reason I could move to where I could see her, but I dared not.

"I told you, do not call me that! I will not remind you again."

Apparently trying to reign in his temper, Mr. Bennet continued.

"Very well, Mrs. Collins! You say your husband will not survive more than two years. Well I must inform you, that I will not survive much longer either."

I gasped but managed to keep it silent. I was on pins and needles awaiting her reply, and just shook my head in despair when she made not a sound, and then replied with a single word.

"Good"

That apparently set Mr. Bennet back, as his voice contained nothing but pain when he replied.

"Do you have no concern for your parents or your sisters, Mrs. Collins?"

If at all possible, Elizabeth's voice contained even more fury; sufficient to worry me if Mr. Bennet was even safe from her.

"How dare you! My sisters are all I care about in this world! You and your wife forced me into this marriage ostensibly to save them, but never had enoughs honesty to admit that you sacrificed my life to make up for your deficiencies as parents. Five and twenty years you had to save, and yet not a single daughter has a dowry. Five and twenty years of your wife spending money like water, and you spending your share in books. Not a single dowry. You raised one sweet and genteel lady in your eldest and four hoydens. Only one of your daughters has ever fallen in love, and you and your wife drove away the only decent suitor any of us ever had with her ill‑breeding, bad manners, and mercenary ways. All the while, you stood to the side laughing like Nero at your own family while it destroyed itself. So I say again. How Dare You! ... As for parents, I have none! I am finished with the both of you."

Her father seemed both defeated and resolute in the face of her fury. Who would not be completely undone by such a set down. However, he gathered what was left of his courage and continued, "I will accept my due censure, but do you truly believe all your sister's problems will be over when both Mr. Collins and I are dead?"

"Perhaps not, but then I shall be rid of the both of you, much to my satisfaction."

"Perhaps to your satisfaction, Mrs. Collins, but not to the benefit of your sisters."

Now Elizabeth paused, while I held my breath in anticipation. What malfeasance was this man planning to pile onto the woman who was previously his favorite daughter?

"The entail ends with this generation. Even I know that, so simply give Longbourn to Jane."

I heard Mr. Bennet sigh in apparent frustration, before he continued.

"There are two problems with your thinking Mrs. Collins. The first is that should I die with no male heirs, Longbourn will have to be split evenly between my daughters. English law is very clear on that, so unless I want the estate broken up to a size that could not even survive, let alone support your sisters; I must leave only a single heir. Do you truly believe your sisters will all or even mostly be married well within the next year or two, considering Lydia's shame?"

Her reply was even more disheartening, "Only if you strangle your wife in her sleep"

I thought I could practically hear Mr. Bennet grinding his teeth at the heartlessness of the reply, before continuing.

"There is an even worse problem. It turns out that Mr. Collins is not the very last living distant male relative. There is one more even more distant relative who descendants through my great grandfather. Since the entail ends with this generation, the next master could not only throw the Bennets out into the hedgerows without a thought, but he could sell the estate and gamble all the proceeds away if so chose. Your sisters would have nothing at all. I am only a life tenant and very constrained in what I may do. The next master will be an owner and may do just as he pleases."

I immediately comprehended that the old man was playing on Elizabeth's sympathies for her sisters mercilessly, and was sorely tempted to call the man out myself; but I had to admit he was at least correct on the points of law.

Finally with a resigned sigh, I heard Elizabeth ask, "Who is this mysterious heir that you will no doubt chain one of your other daughters to?"

Once again, I could not even breathe as I heard the old man say, "He is not a man willing to marry a Bennet, I'm afraid."

"His name?"

"George Wickham"