A/N: Forewarning: No proofreading has occurred for this chapter, so grammar fanatics read at your own risk. ;) Not a particularly happy chapter here, but it lays the groundwork for events to follow and gives us some insight into Mr. Collins' character. Enjoy!

CHAPTER THIRTY

Mr. Collins gazed at his reflection the glass of his dressing table, following the progress of a trickle of water as it trailed down his cheek after he washed his face in the provided basin. The physical exhaustion from the days' travels was nothing to the weariness of another kind that seeped into his very bones. He was pulled from his ruminations by an abrupt knock at his door. Hurriedly toweling off his face, Collins tossed the soiled linen aside and ran his fingers through his hair in an attempt to tame it as he crossed the room to the door. Swinging the door open, he found Gregson, his uncle's valet, on the other side, arm poised as though he was preparing to knock once more.

"I beg your pardon, Mr. Collins," Gregson lowered his arm and offered a perfunctory bow, "Your uncle has been asking after you this last half hour."

"Of course," Mr. Collins stepped out of his guest chamber, pulling the door shut behind him, "He is well enough to be seen then?"

"It varies day to day, sir. Even by the hour some days," Gregson answered as he led Mr. Collins through the gilded halls of Ramsbury House toward the family wing.

Mr. Collins' brow furrowed at this vague response, but he election not to question his uncle's valet more closely when he was on the point of seeing the man for himself.

Having reached the master's chamber, Gregson reached out to turn the knob to grant them entrance. He hesitated just before opening the door, and turned to Collins, placing his free hand on Collins' forearm to capture the young man's attention. "Steel yourself, sir. Remember you uncle's affection for you, and understand he is not fully himself." And with this cryptic warning, he opened the door and announced Mr. Collins to his uncle, Sir Ramsbury.

The room was dimly lit apart from a roaring blaze in the hearth where Collins could just make out his uncle's form seated in one of a pair of ornate armchairs, a large blanket tucked about him despite the heat of the blaze. Collins crossed the room, greeting his uncle with a proper bow, which was met with a lazy wave of Sir Ramsbury's hand, gesturing to the vacant chair beside him.

"So you have come at last, have you? I'm glad to see Frederick troubled himself to write as I requested," Sir Ramsbury greeted him grimly, his gaze never leaving the flames in the grate.

"I had some matters to attend to in my parish before I could get away, but I hope there was never any doubt of my coming, uncle," Mr. Collins offered in reply, his tone light in contrast to his uncle's gruffness.

There was the slightest tug at the corner of Sir Ramsbury's mouth as he answered, "Of course not. The one thing I envied your father was the affection and devotion of his son. In you I have never had any cause to repine — apart from your unfortunate siring, of course. My headstrong sister and wastrel sons are another matter entirely." His uncle's lips were pursed as he stared into the fire, the bitterness of his last words quickly eroding the fondness that laced his initial reflections.

Although the derogatory reference to his parentage and insult against his departed mother stung, it was no less than Collins was used to from his uncle, whose prejudices he had long since become accustomed to as he was reminded of them rather frequently. He therefore ignored the slight and took a moment to observe his uncle, whose gaze had yet to venture from the flames dancing in the grate. Aside from appearing a bit more worn with age than the last time they had met, there was little in Sir Ramsbury's appearance to suggest he was suffering any serious ailment. His voice still held the strength and authority is always had. His disparagement of his sons was, however, curious. His uncle's staunch refusal to aknowledge, let alone address, his son's moral failings had long chafed Collins' own moral sensibilities.

"How fare you, uncle?" Collins inquired when the silence between them stretched on.

"I do not wish to speak of it."

"Very well."

"You have seen your cousins?"

"I have. They appear to be—"

"Dissolute?"

"Not the descriptor I would have chosen. Is something amiss, uncle?" Collins attempted to maintain an air of neutrality despite his own feelings on the subject.

"Hmph!" Sir Ramsbury blew out forcefully. "Aside from my sons pilfering the family coffers you mean?"

Mr. Collins sat back fully in his chair, folding his hands before him. It would perhaps be best to allow his uncle to say his piece. He stood upon too much ceremony to confide in his servants and Collins doubted Sir Ramsbury's pride would allow him to admit anyone of his acquaintance into his sick room, if indeed any had ventured to call. It was doubtful the man had been able to air his grievances in quite some time — not that his sons' less savory activities were a subject the man would share openly even given the opportunity. The thought of such isolation paired with his cousins' seeming indifference to their father's plight tugged at the clergyman's heart.

"I am sorry to hear it," Mr. Collins responded, giving his uncle some little encouragement to continue if he pleased.

"Frederick deems his particular vices a temporary distraction from my present condition, though I know very well that his reprobate tendencies predated my illness by several years. My heir is fortunately more discreet than his brother and therefore less likely to be featured in the latest on-dit, but he is little less dissolute than Edmund. They must both marry, and soon. They will require a fair fortune to live on, let alone to secure the future of the estate and honor of our family name — particularly if they continue on as they are.

William Collins could not help but interject, "It would hardly be fair to foist such a husband upon any respectable lady."

"You are much too like your mother, William, idealist that she was. But we see how that turned out for her. No, troubling as my sons' activities have been to the estate's solvency, it is nothing out of the common way. They merely take it too far, risking too much for their lack of moderation. Marriage to a woman of considerable means should temper them enough to restore our respectibility."

Collins felt physically ill at such logic — particularly as he well knew it was a view shared by much of the upper crust of society — but he said nothing to contradict his uncle's reasoning, feeling it a lost cause at this juncture. Perhaps it was cowardly of him, a conviction that was sure to plague him, but this was his last familial connection of any significant duration. As prickly as Sir Ramsbury was, and as deeply held as his prejudices were, he loved William Collins regardless of the young man's situation — simply for who he was. He had proved in time and again since Collins' mother's death many years prior. Sir Ramsbury's mental decline had perhaps led him to take less care in how he spoke of such things, but Collins could think of few things that would prompt him to risk that association.

"Besides—" Sir Ramsbury continued, "Frederick would not wish it said of him — indeed, I doubt he realizes I am aware of it myself — but I happen to know he has been turned down at least twice."

"He has proposed then? Twice?"

His uncled nodded in response, "They would have been good matches, too, but as your younger cousin's antics become more widely known, it will only become more difficult to make a desirable match. Certainly not at a level equal to our own."

"Do either of them have any current prospects?" Collins feigned interest, giving his uncle leave to continue.

"Edmund persists in refusing to even entertain the idea, but Frederick has lately mentioned a young lady in her third season with some 20,000 pounds. It is a fair sum, but I fear he grows desperate."

"How so?"

"It is not an ideal situation as her family has had its fortune from trade. I understand the family has not been directly involved in trade for some one or two generations, but they are not landed as the brother who has inherited does not yet have an estate of his own. I cannot recall the name presently — my memory is not what is was, you understand," Collins nodded his understanding and Sir Ramsbury forged ahead, "Frederick does say they are well established in town and can boast of a few lofty connections, though none of them titled. He met her at Almack's, so I suppose that is something. Still, I cannot countenance him lowering himself so soon. There may yet be a lady of higher social standing who will have him."

"Perhaps there will be," Collins offered half-heartedly, though his conscience pricked at the idea of not warning off any young lady so unfortunate as to catch Frederick or Edmund's interest.

"And what of your prospects, William?" How did you find your future estate?"

Mr. Collins shared with his uncled the details of his visit to Hertfordshire. He spoke at length of Mr. Bennet's willingness to take him under his wing in learning the running of the estate, his enjoyment of the local society, and his joy at being so welcomed into the Bennet family. His retelling could not but be interspersed with fond remembrances of his fair cousin, even if he drew short of declaring his intentions in that quarter. As it was, his uncle's faculties were not so diminished as to cause him to miss the longing in his nephew's expression as he spoke of Elizabeth. His mention of the return visit at Christmas and his brief call at Gracechurch Street that afternoon only served to confirm Sir Ramsbury's suspicions.

"You can do better than some country chit, nephew."

"I beg your pardon?" Mr. Collins stiffened in his seat.

"You have developed a tendre for her, have you not?"

"Uncle—"

"I understand it may seem an eligible match given your present situation, nephew," his uncle cut him off, " But I have no doubt you could do better."

"She is a gentleman's daughter sir, and as you are well aware, I cannot make that same claim," Collins ground out.

"Do not take that tone with me, young man," Sir Ramsbury cast him only a cursory glance, "Be reasonable. Her relations are in trade, and what, dare I ask, is her portion?"

Mr. Collins sat silent for a moment, feeling unequal to responding respectfully as anger bubbled to the surface, undermining his efforts to remain calm in the face of such an assault on the one he held dear.

"You see, you cannot deny it. Do not make the same mistake as your mother, William. Her stubbornness killed her in the end."

"It was a fever that took her, uncle, not what you deemed a regrettable marriage."

"She was gone long before death took her, boy," Sir Ramsbury grew rigid where he sat, his face growing flushed beyond what the heat of the fire had wrought, "And for what? A love match? Phssh. And what good did that do her? They had a few good years, I will grant you, but as reality set in that same obstinance, that same wayward intellect that made her think she knew better than our father tore them apart. You saw it with your own eyes, though you may have been full young to comprehend it at the time. You speak of this Miss Elizabeth Bennet and her unfettered acquisition of knowledge as though it is something to admire. Mark my words, William, it will one day be turned against you, and you will be leg-shackled to a woman who will question you at every turn. You will have thrown away your chances for a pretty face and a life of misery."

"I cannot agree with you, sir," Mr. Collins returned hotly, shifting forward in his seat, preparing to rise.

It was only then that Sir Ramsbury finally turned to truly look at his nephew, having remained fixed on the fire the entirety of their conversation. As he did, his eye bulged. "You!" he bellowed, startling Collins.

His uncle stood abruptly, casting off the blanket dangerously close to the flames flickering hungrily in the grate. While Mr. Collins was distracted by his concern over this potential hazard, Sir Ramsbury closed the distance between them and roughly pulled him up by the lapels of his coat. His uncle shook him fitfully, his breath hot against Collins' face as he thundered, "You stole her away, you cur! Sophia was too good for you, Collins. But you could not leave well enough alone, could you? You killed her! You killed her!"

Collins' eyes widened at this outburst and rough handling, but the mention of his mother's name overset him entirely.

"I do not—" he began to protest.

"Get out!" Sir Ramsbury roared, shoving his nephew roughly away from him.

Gregson rushed in upon the scene as Mr. Collins' attempted to regain his footing. His uncle's valet attempted to take Sir Ramsbury by the shoulders, narrowly missing a number of swings of his master's fists. And then, just as quickly as the outburst began, it was over. His uncle crumpled into the armchair he had so lately quit, Gregson speaking to him in a conciliatory tone and he fussed over him.

Mr. Collins took the opportunity to quietly slip out of the room, but the door to his uncle's bedchamber had not yet clicked closed behind him when he heard the man call after him, if in a considerably less blustery voice, "Do not ever set foot in my house again, Henry Collins."

A mere quarter of an hour later, Gregson found Collins in his room replacing the items he had heretofore unpacked from his traveling bag.

"Master Collins. You are not leaving?" The old valet inquired anxiously.

"You cannot have missed my uncle demanding I do just that, Gregson," Mr. Collins replied, pinching the bridge of his nose as he paused momentarily in his undertaking.

"Begging your pardon, sir, but you misunderstand. Master mistook you for your father. It was a merely one of his episodes."

Mr. Collins swallowed the knot that had inhabited his throat since the commencement of said episode, "An episode, you say?"

"Yes, sir."

"And they are always the same?"

"Not so violent, no, but he frequently forgets where he is or with whom he is speaking. Sometimes he fails to recognize a person, and others he mistakes them for someone else entirely."

Mr. Collins dropped into a nearby chair, pulling his hand roughly down his face, "And how frequent are these episodes?"

"It occurred but rarely at first, sir, but he now has one or more episodes most days. The doctor is not hopeful for any sort of recovery. I would not speak of it so freely, sir, only—"

"You need not justify yourself to me, Gregson. I thank you for your good information."

"You will stay then, sir?"

"I will stay." Collins confirmed, eliciting a sigh from his uncle's faithful servant who thereafter departed, leaving William Collins to the myriad of thoughts that plagued him.