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SEVEN

When she was seven years old, Miss Charlotte Lucas was sent to stay with her Aunt Amelia. Aunt Amelia was a widow with a cat named Roger who cared for no one but himself and, occasionally, his mistress.

Charlotte did not understand why she had to be sent away when her elder brother did not, or why she could not stay with her younger brothers at their uncle's farm. The chickens at the farm were vastly more entertaining companions than Roger, and Charlotte loved to collect the eggs early in the morning, their little shapes warm and secret in her hands.

Most especially, Charlotte missed her sister, Margaret, who called her Lotte and helped her tie her ribbons. Over the course of the month of her exile, Charlotte wrote her sister three letters, practicing her best penmanship, telling Margaret all about Roger and Aunt Amelia and the garden with its frozen bird bath. She begged Margaret to hurry and get well so that she could come home.

When, at the end of a very long month, her papa came to collect her, Charlotte asked him why he was dressed so severely in black. But he only shook his head and told her she must wait until they arrived at home. She fell asleep in the carriage and awoke to the familiar sights and sounds and smells of Meryton, overjoyed to return.

Inside the house, all was strange. The servants wore black like her papa, and neither her mama nor Margaret was anywhere to be found.

"Your mama is in her rooms, little one," her father told her. "Because she is very sad."

"But why is she sad, Papa? I am home now. And Margaret is better, is she not?"

Mr Lucas passed a hand over his eyes in a gesture Charlotte recognised from his afternoons with the accounts. "No Charlotte. Margaret was very ill, as you know. I am afraid that she is no longer with us."

"But I have only just returned! And she did not write to me at all while I was away. Where has she gone?"

"She has gone to heaven to live with the angels."

"But—" Charlotte's brow furrowed. "But she ought to be better. You said that I was to come home when Margaret was better. I know you did!"

Charlotte's papa gathered her to him. "We hoped she would recover and she fought very bravely to be well. But it was God's will that she be with Him now."

"I do not think I like God very much," mumbled Charlotte into her father's waistcoat. "I did not even get to tell her goodbye."

She was a little frightened when he began to weep. She was even more frightened when the servants took to calling her "Miss Lucas" and wanted to fit her for mourning clothes.

"But I have morning clothes," she protested. "And I do not like black."

Who would she tell her secrets to now, Charlotte wondered in the days that followed. And who would tie her ribbons? No one made bows so well as Margaret.

The boys returned and all was dull and solemn. Charlotte felt an ache somewhere near her stomach when she woke in the night after a bad dream and there was no one to comfort her in the dark.

The room she had all to herself seemed awfully large and lonely in the night.

"You are the young lady of the family, now," said her mother one morning, after Charlotte came down to breakfast yawning and with red-rimmed eyes. "You must learn to be a credit to us, as Margaret would have been."

SEVENTEEN

Against all the cherished hopes of her mother, and even the young lady herself, Charlotte Lucas was not a beauty. While there was nothing about her person to offend the eye, nor was there anything particular by which to please it. She was, in a word, plain.

This was a subject much talked of in the sitting room and parlour of Lucas Lodge, though it is not to be supposed that the newly titled Lady Lucas was an unfeeling mother to her eldest daughter. On the contrary, all her wishes were only for the happiness of her dear girl. For, as she herself was in the habit of saying to her friends, "Men are such shallow creatures, only searching out a pretty face."

"Now," she continued her conversation with her morning caller, Mrs Bennet, "if a man were to be in want of a sensible and practical girl with a good temper, why, my Charlotte would be the first of his choosing. But these young men do not know what they are about."

"Quite so," replied Mrs Bennet, smiling benignly and placing a sliver of cake on her plate.

Charlotte sipped a cup of tea and gazed out the window at the cloudless spring sky, smudged here and there by lazily coiling smoke. It was not the first such conversation about her looks and nor, she knew, would it be the last. Somehow, however, with the advent of her seventeenth year, a new plaintiveness had entered her mother's tone.

It was not as though she hadn't tried to be pretty, Charlotte reflected. Indeed, what young lady of any station desires to be plain? Only that morning, she had examined her features in the glass, to find some way to improve her person. But her dark eyes would remain a little too far apart, her nose just slightly too long, and her mouth a fraction too wide to be considered ladylike. In her favour, she decided, her skin and teeth were excellent, and her dark hair was thick and took almost any dressing exceedingly well. Although her figure was also quite ordinary, and she was a little too tall for fashion, she looked particularly well in blue and took care to wear the colour often. Beyond that, there was nothing more for her to attempt.

Margaret would have been a beauty had she lived, thought Charlotte with some wistfulness. And then my looks wouldn't matter a jot. The strange anger she sometimes felt towards her sister, even now, shamed her. It had not been Margaret's choice to die, of course. But Charlotte continued to miss her sister more than she revealed to anyone.

"It is too bad," Mrs Bennet was now saying, "that Charlotte's lack of beauty should have such an impact upon her younger sisters. Particularly with Sir William so newly entered into the ranks of knighthood."

Charlotte winced slightly at the sharp sound of her mother's cup meeting its saucer with more force than strictly necessary.

"How so?" asked Lady Lucas, with a slight edge to her tone. "Indeed, I believe Charlotte's chances for a fortuitous match have been increased greatly. The honour bestowed upon my husband extends to all the family."

"Of course, of course!" cried Mrs Bennet. She fluttered her hand and then reached for a second slice of cake. "Certainly, the daughter of a knight will be looked upon far more favourably than the daughter of a man of trade."

Lady Lucas appeared mollified and resumed sipping her tea.

"I only meant, of course, that as such, expectations are also increased." Leaning slightly forward, Mrs Bennet continued in a lower voice, "My dear, you can be sure I understand only too well the pressures and anxieties of a mother seeking good marriages for her daughters. Though you have several yourself, you also have the comfort of sons to improve their fortunes and care for any of the girls who cannot be taken off your hands by some man or other. Nor do you have the anxiety of an entailment settled heavily over your head should you fail to produce a son."

While Lady Lucas nodded sympathetically and patted Mrs Bennet's hand, Charlotte sipped her tea and continued her examination out the window.

TWENTY-SEVEN

During the first fortnight of her marriage, Charlotte Collins wrote several letters: to her mother, her sister Maria, and other family members. Her letters were full of details about her new situation, the state of the parsonage proper, and the challenges of housekeeping. All were uniformly cheerful.

One letter, however, she knew would prove exceedingly difficult to write, and she persuaded herself of the necessity of performing other tasks in order to postpone the attempt. Finally, she could put it off no longer and sat down to write to her friend.

22 January 18__
Hunsford

Dear Elizabeth,

I hope that you and your family are well since I left Hertfordshire. Mr Collins and I are both in excellent health, although I suffered a brief indisposition after arriving at Hunsford, no doubt due to being unused to travelling such distances.

Here Charlotte paused and put down her pen. The unsettling recollection of the first few days of her marriage had not yet left her. Despite her mother's attempts at education and her own meagre understanding of what consummation entailed, the reality of performing her marital duties had injured and disgusted her. She had never been so mortified in her life than on her wedding night; nor could she have been more pleased to be left to herself after her husband had finished with her. If he had indicated a wish to remain in her bed after the act was completed, she did not know what she would have done.

In the ensuing weeks, the physical discomfort had become more bearable. The rest she would simply have to endure.

At present I am sitting in the parlour I have taken for my own use. It is a very pleasant room and Mr Collins has given me leave to make any changes I wish, always excepting any instructions made by Lady Catherine.

She could not help sighing a little as she wrote the last. While very much conscious and desirous of the benefits of being connected to rank and fortune, Charlotte had no more love of interference than any woman eager to take her place as mistress of a house. Yet she was practical enough to consider silence and acquiescence small prices to pay for the privilege of security and contentment. And if she had not quite attained contentment just yet, she felt sure it was only a matter of time. The soft green walls, the cheerful morning sunshine, and the gentle murmur of the grandfather clock in her parlour had not yet failed to lift her spirits each day.

Since I am certain of your curiosity in that regard, let me tell you that her Ladyship has been all that is kind and welcoming since my arrival. We have been invited to tea several times and last evening we dined with her Ladyship and Miss De Bourgh. Lady Catherine has a great deal of conversation and I am sure you will have much to talk of when you meet at Easter.

Charlotte did have a moment's pause when she considered Elizabeth's habit of finding amusement in society where respectful agreement would be more conducive. It would not do to have her connection to Rosings Park injured. Despite a sincere and enduring affection, Charlotte often found Elizabeth's delight in absurdity somewhat disagreeable. She hoped her friend would recognise the delicacy of the situation and behave accordingly.

I do hope you have not forgotten your promise to visit us in March. I depend upon seeing you then as much as I do my father and sister. While the ladies of the parish have taken great pains to introduce me into their society, there can never be such intimacy with new acquaintances as there is between dear friends.

Please come, she wanted to write. I miss you.

The news of Charlotte's engagement to Mr Collins had shocked and disappointed Elizabeth, as Charlotte had suspected it would. She only hoped that time would serve to promote understanding and forgiveness. How little could her friend see that she had had very little choice? The world appears very different to a woman of seven and twenty than it does to a woman of not yet one and twenty.

While Charlotte was not romantic or sentimental, still she had hoped, as all young ladies must, to find a husband whom she could esteem and like. Perhaps even a man she could come to love, in time. The relinquishment of those hopes had been very difficult, indeed. The loss of her dear friend's confidence at the same time had tried her heart sorely. Yet even with these private injuries, Charlotte remained convinced of her choice. For a woman of her age without the security of an establishment and an income, hopes and dreams made very poor sustenance.

A muffled rumble outside broke through her musings and soon resolved itself into the sound of a carriage. Assuming that it would be Miss De Bourgh riding out in her phaeton and that she would be expected to make her greeting to the lady and her companion, Charlotte closed her letter quickly in order to make the afternoon post.

Please give my regards to Mrs Bennet and Jane. I look forward to hearing from you very soon.

Your affectionate friend,
Charlotte Collins

THIRTY-SEVEN

At the funeral of his father, Lewis Collins was a solemn weight against his mother's leg. She passed one hand over his soft curls in a soothing motion as the congregation prayed.

Her husband was dead.

In his own way, William Collins had been good to his wife. In her own way, Charlotte Collins had not been unhappy with her husband. Indeed, there had come to be a steady affection and a shared sense of purpose between them. It was a source of great comfort to her now.

In the days separating Mr Collins' passing and his funeral, Charlotte had busied herself with writing letters, seeing to household matters, and caring for her son. It was a routine that bore little difference to the one she had followed when Mr Collins still lived.

Parishioners called to offer their condolences. Charlotte received their kindnesses with as much graciousness as she could. Even Lady Catherine had been so moved as to offer the use of the parsonage until another clergyman could be found to take Mr Collins' place.

It was only when the Darcy carriage came up the drive and Elizabeth stepped out looking sober and concerned that Charlotte allowed herself to consider her future.

"Oh, Charlotte," Elizabeth said, taking her hands. "Tell me how you are. Tell me how I can help."

From behind her, Mr Darcy said, "Perhaps you should allow Mrs Collins to show us into the house first, my dear." It might have seemed a rebuke if Charlotte had not seen the slight tilt of his lips or the manner in which Elizabeth returned his mild look with an arch one of her own. Darcy then focussed his eyes on Charlotte and bowed. "Mrs Collins, I hope I may be of some assistance in this difficult time."

"You are very kind, sir. It is good of you to come. I know it can not be easy to leave Pemberly so suddenly at harvest time."

"Think nothing of it," he said.

"Thank you." Charlotte smiled and then turned to usher them into the house. "Shall we go in? I am sure you would both like to refresh yourselves after the journey."

Later that afternoon, while Darcy paid a visit to Rosings Park, Charlotte and Elizabeth walked in the gardens.

"I am glad you are come, Elizabeth. It has all felt so strange, almost as if it were not really true. Seeing you has made it real to me."

Elizabeth slipped her arm through Charlotte's. "I am glad to be of some use, then. Although I cannot know your feelings at this time, I hope you will confide in me if you have need."

"If I have need, there is no one else I would consider."

They walked past the humming beehives that Mr Collins had tended so faithfully. Their drone seemed particularly sonorous in the warm air.

"Have you any idea what you and Lewis will do now?" asked Elizabeth.

Charlotte shook her head. "Lady Catherine has been very kind and said we may remain until a replacement parson is found. I believe she intends to request Mr Darcy's assistance on that score. As to beyond that time, I truly do not know. It is likely that we will rely on my parents or perhaps one of my brothers to assist us in locating a suitable situation."

"I hope you will not be offended when I tell you that Mr Darcy and I have had some discussion on this topic," said Elizabeth.

"Why should I be offended by the concern of a friend?"

"It does not follow that the advice of a friend may not be impertinent."

"Confess it, Elizabeth. You are never truly impertinent -- you only wish to appear so."

"Indeed, you may be right. And, in truth, I am far too old and matronly now for impertinence. I shall give it up altogether."

"Nonsense," Charlotte smiled. "I think you would find your husband very much opposed to you ceasing your impertinence."

"I think you may be right," said Elizabeth with a laugh. "But to return to this particular instance of my impertinence, Mr Darcy and I spoke of your situation on the journey and he has given me leave to suggest certain arrangements to you. Indeed, it is almost entirely his own planning. But I must insist that you hear everything before you reply."

"As you wish."

"We should like you and Lewis to come to Pemberley for an extended visit. There is to be no talk of imposing, as Pemberley is so large that I am sure we could spend at least two weeks not seeing one another at all. I know the children will be very happy to have a new playmate, and I promise that they will not terrorise Lewis very much.

"Mr Darcy has set his solicitor to examining the details of the entail — both for my family's sake and your own. When that outcome is resolved, we will be happy to assist you in seeking a new situation within your means should it prove necessary."

Elizabeth stopped in the middle of the path and pressed Charlotte's hand. "Do say yes."

Charlotte looked at their joined hands. "Elizabeth, I think you take too much trouble on yourself. I am not a stray puppy, you know."

"I would not have you if you were! As it is, Thomas brings home so many of Derbyshire's stray and wounded animals that we are in danger of becoming an Ark."

"And no doubt his parents do nothing to encourage this behaviour."

"No doubt," Elizabeth replied wryly. She paused for a moment and then continued. "Charlotte if I have offended you with my meddling, I hope you will forgive me for it. My only concern is your welfare, and Lewis'."

"You have not offended me," Charlotte reassured her. "But... it has been a very long day. I believe I should like to think on your offer a little while."

"Of course."

They turned and began to retrace the path back to the parsonage in a comfortable silence. The golden afternoon light bathed the familiar woods and hills, and Charlotte wondered if they had ever seemed as beautiful to her as they did now.

She reflected for some time on the many alterations necessary to prepare for her new life as a widow. Decisions must be made regarding any number of concerns, arrangements for living and income must be contrived, and all of it, in the end, would fall to her.

As they neared the garden gate, Charlotte examined the home that she had made with the man she had lately buried. How soon it all would change, once again.

"I do thank you for your generosity, Elizabeth," she said at last, "even if I am undecided as to its acceptance."

They passed through the gate and Charlotte turned and pulled it to with a firm hand.

"What I do know," she continued, "is that no matter what my choice may be, it will be very pleasant to now have no one to look to but myself."