Charlotte Collins: A Continuation of Jane Austen's Pride and Prejudice

by Jennifer Becton

  “Mr. Edgington, good evening.”

  “Mrs. Collins!” He stepped forward and grasped her hand in his. His gaze dropped admiringly at her gown, her best. “You are looking quite well, but I confess I am surprised to see you here.”

  “At the theater or in London?” She slowly withdrew her hand.

  “Both actually.” He allowed her to remove her hand from his grasp and then glanced furtively around the room, as if he had been caught in a compromising position. Perhaps he had held her hand a bit longer than protocol dictated. Charlotte too looked about her, but she recognized no one.

  When she returned her attention to Mr. Edgington, he was looking at her expectantly, and she remembered that she ought to say something in response. “Well, you suggested that I bring Maria to London and it seemed a fine idea.” Her halting speech embarrassed her. She took a deep breath, hoping it would loosen her tongue and dispel the awkwardness she felt. “The theater was my cousin Mr. Emerson’s method of entertaining his poor country relation.”

  “Are you enjoying it?”

  “To my surprise, I find that I am. I never fancied myself a fan of the theater. It always seemed so improper.”

  “Improper! I should think not.” He laughed. “How does Maria do?”

  “She is healing, thank you, Mr. Edgington.” Again his eyes travelled the room, and Charlotte wondered at his distraction. He appeared to be searching the crowd. But for whom? Perhaps he was at the theater with friends. Perhaps he was escorting a young lady. Yes, he was most likely searching the assembly for his companion. But what sort of person was Mr. Edgington’s companion? A woman, undoubtedly. Did he flirt with her as he had with Charlotte? Was she younger and more attractive? Did she have a claim on Mr. Edgington’s heart?

  People began filing back into the theater, and his eyes returned to Charlotte.

  “It appears that the intermission is near its end.”

  “I should return to my cousins.”

  He stopped her as she began to turn away. His hand gripped her forearm.

  She stared down at the hand on her arm.

  “Mrs. Collins, forgive my impertinence.” He released her. “Will you permit me to call upon you at your cousins’ home?”

  Ordinarily, Charlotte would have been inclined to deny such a request, if in fact she ever received one, but tonight—after witnessing the affection between Mr. and Mrs. Emerson and experiencing a twinge of jealousy at the thought that Mr. Edgington was at the theater with another lady—she said, “I would enjoy it very much.”

  She gave him directions to her cousins’ home and then hurried back to her seat. She could barely focus on the performance for the remainder of the evening. Instead, she searched the audience for Mr. Edgington, hoping to glimpse his companion. His distinctive red hair should be easy to spot.

  But it proved more difficult than Charlotte imagined, for the theater was quite overflowing with people.

  “Mr. Emerson, may I accept your offer to use your opera glass?”

  He removed the glass from his eye. “Certainly.”

  She issued her thanks and began to scan the crowd. Row after row, seat after seat, she searched. She began to feel very much like a foolish debutante, but envy, and natural curiosity, drove her to continue her search until she thought she espied Mr. Edgington.

  She focused the lens on the gentleman. Yes, it was most certainly him.

  He sat in the center of a row. On his left was a rather portly gentleman. Most likely not his companion.

  But on his right sat a woman.

  Charlotte squinted through her glass. She was not the lithe female she had envisioned but a slightly plump woman of questionable fashion sense. Charlotte could not discern the details of her gown, but her hair! Her hair could be seen from miles, she was certain. It was coiffed in ringlets and bound in a complicated wrap, and perched jauntily on the crown of her head was what appeared to be an entire bird’s nest. Including the bird.

  Perhaps a skylark or sparrow. Charlotte could not be certain from such a distance.

  This woman must not be Mr. Edgington’s consort, but his relation. Surely, he would have higher standards than to pursue a woman who would wear an aviary on her head. Perhaps he too was entertaining a poor country cousin. Charlotte smiled at the thought.

  Mr. Edgington was available, and apparently, he was interested. Suddenly, a thrill ran through Charlotte. She felt jittery and a little sick. Did every woman feel this way when she was being courted by a gentleman? She had never imagined that love and nausea went hand in hand.

  Nine

  When Charlotte descended the stairs the following morning, she discovered Mr. Edgington breakfasting with her cousins.

  She paused in the corridor at the first sound of his voice. What could he be doing here?

  Charlotte’s practical nature assured her that it probably signified nothing of greater import than the fact that he had come to call on the entire family, had interrupted their meal, and had been invited to dine with them.

  It meant nothing. He had not come to call only on her.

  Had he?

  One never knew with gentlemen.

  She checked her hair in the hall mirror and pinched her cheeks to lend them some color before entering the room.

  “Good morning, Cousin Charlotte,” said Mary over her muffin and tea. “I hope you do not mind, but Mr. Edgington arrived a few moments ago, and I invited him to share our late-morning meal with us.”

  Mr. Emerson and Mr. Edgington rose from their chairs and bowed to her. Mr. Emerson appeared to be studying their guest, as if to determine his worthiness to call upon his cousin, but Mr. Edgington’s attention remained on her.

  Surprised at Mr. Edgington’s intensity, Charlotte spoke by rote. “Indeed, it was the proper thing to do.”

  She took a seat across the table from Mr. Edgington, and as the gentlemen returned to their chairs, she wondered if she would offend their guest if she filled her plate and then ate its entire contents, for she was really quite famished. She glanced at the dishes before her and decided she did not care much what he thought. She took a generous helping of ham, a boiled egg, and two slices of buttered toast and poured herself some tea.

  Mr. Edgington was watching her, but he did not seem appalled by the amount of food on her plate. Apparently, he did not mind a woman who indulged herself occasionally.

  “I had not intended on imposing upon your meal,” he said, lifting his teacup from the saucer, “but I wanted to invite you on a walk this morning.”

  Mr. Edgington sipped. Charlotte looked to her cousins. Mr. Emerson produced a hesitant smile. And Mary shot Charlotte a conspiratorial look, which she hoped Mr. Edgington had not seen. “You have not imposed.”

  He replaced the cup gently on the saucer. “I am pleased to hear it, for I had no wish to disturb your morning routine.” Then, he turned his charm on Charlotte. “Would you care to tour the shops with me, Mrs. Collins?”

  She glanced at her cousins, almost asking permission with a look, which was foolish since she was an adult, a widow, and perfectly capable of choosing the company she would keep. Mary smiled again, and Mr. Emerson continued to eat.

  She stiffened her spine. She did not require their permission. “That sounds lovely, Mr. Edgington, thank you.”

  Then, the conversation turned to the previous night’s entertainment and later to other subjects. It was early afternoon before Charlotte and Mr. Edgington were finally preparing to depart on their ramble.

  Mary accompanied Charlotte to her chamber to retrieve her bonnet and reticule. She dropped onto Charlotte’s bed and whispered, “Mr. Edgington is very handsome, and he certainly seems to admire you.”

  Suddenly feeling like a young girl again, Charlotte sat on the bed too, grasping her bonnet in her hands. “Do you think so?”

  “He called on you, did he not?”

  “He called on the family.”

  Mary rolled her brown eyes. “Admit that he called on you.”
r />   Charlotte produced a reluctant “yes.”

  “And he invited you to walk with him?”

  “Yes.” She could not deny it.

  “You see! I believe it has all the hallmarks of courtship,” she said triumphantly, her eyes lighting with happiness.

  Charlotte blushed.

  “I see from your color that you return his interest.”

  “He seems to be a kind gentleman, and he has adequate resources. At this point, I have seen no reason to dislike him.”

  “Oh Charlotte, you must not always seek out the negative in people, and you must follow your heart for once, not your brain.”

  She considered her cousin’s words. “You know very well that I have never been given to romance. I have always believed marriage to be a contract of mutual benefit between families. My parents encouraged that belief, and my observations seemed to prove it as well.”

  Mary sobered. “I know your thoughts on the matter very well, cousin. And I know that you disapproved of my marriage to Mr. Emerson—”

  “—but I approve now—”

  Charlotte had disapproved of her cousin’s marriage to Mr. Emerson. At that time, he was but a law clerk who stood to inherit no fortune and had no family of name or rank. Any practical woman would have advised against the marriage.

  Indeed, Charlotte had advised her against it. Most vehemently. For she had feared that Mary would end a bitter, lonely, old woman living at the mercy of her neighbors.

  But Mr. Emerson had proved her wrong. He had earned his fortune and provided security for Mary. Charlotte was pleased to have been in the wrong.

  Mary threw up her hands. “Do not trouble yourself. I know your opinion has changed.” Mary patted Charlotte’s arm. “I do not bring up the past to discomfit you, but to remind you that love and security are not as incompatible as you think.”

  Mary continued, “I dearly love Mr. Emerson, and I love you as well. I know that you were only concerned for my future and that you spoke to protect me. But it has all turned out for the best, you see. The risk you perceived was hardly risky at all.”

  Charlotte was still not quite prepared to wager her future on something as intangible as romantic love, but she was pleased for her cousin and she had no scruple of telling her so now. “I am happy for you, Mary, and in truth, I envy you. You are far braver a woman than I. I always seek safety. You followed your heart.”

  “You can follow yours as well. And there is a gentleman downstairs who seems to be ready to assist you in that.”

  And so Charlotte went below stairs to her gentleman.

  They spent a pleasant afternoon in town touring Burlington’s Arcade at Piccadilly, where Charlotte had been amused by the variety of goods for sale and by Mr. Edgington’s commentary on the fashions and baubles offered for sale, and she felt vaguely disappointed when he walked her back to her cousin’s home.

  He too must not have wanted to depart, for he lingered at the doorstep for several minutes. When he took her fingers and bid her goodbye, she wondered if he had considered kissing her hand.

  Strangely, she found herself glad that he had not, perhaps because of their location on the busy street. However, her relief at his decision did not prevent her from agreeing to join him on another walk when his business dealings permitted. He indicated that he would be busy for some days and would call on her at his first possible opportunity.

  Charlotte could not help but admit to having been flattered by his attentions.

  She had not had an unpleasant time, and Mr. Edgington had been very kind and amusing all day. She could only ascribe her feelings to her propensity to think on matters until her head ached. Perhaps her cousin was right when she suggested the idea of following her heart.

  In her experience, Charlotte had seen few positive results when people in her acquaintance had followed their hearts. She had witnessed heartbreak and torment, and she had no wish to experience those things herself.

  However, she had followed her mind and married Mr. Collins, and although she would not describe her life with him as either heart-breaking or tormented, she was not convinced that she had done right by neglecting her heart completely. Now, she was unsure how to find the median of the two. How does one use just enough heart and just enough mind?

  Her friend Elizabeth Bennet, now Mrs. Fitzwilliam Darcy, had somehow managed to discover the balance. She had the good fortune to marry for love while not completely neglecting her duty to her family by securing a gentleman of good fortune.

  She had chided Elizabeth about her passionate notions and had given many soliloquies on the subject of proper marriage strategies. Even after Elizabeth had married Mr. Darcy, Charlotte had only been able to see the monetary advantages of the match until later.

  Once Charlotte had come to see the evidence of the true depth of emotion that existed between Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy, she had realized her mistake, though it took her many years to admit as much, even to herself.

  She was embarrassed now at the memories and saddened at the rift that occurred in their friendship. Perhaps now was the proper moment to renew their acquaintance.

  Sighing, Charlotte opened the door. She removed her bonnet as she walked toward the sitting room and pushed strands of her dark hair away from her face as she quickly appraised herself in the hall mirror. Her cheeks were bright from the exercise, and her eyes twinkled back at her.

  Perhaps this was Mr. Edgington’s effect on her. Or perhaps a result of a day in the sun. But if it were caused by the former and she appeared this youthful and attractive after just one outing with him, perhaps she should follow her heart.

  But what message was her heart sending?

  Charlotte could not bear to think of it any longer. She deposited her bonnet and parcel on the hall table and went into the sitting room where she found her cousins snuggled on the settee.

  “Oh, pardon me.” Embarrassed to have walked in on a tender moment, Charlotte prepared to withdraw.

  “No, no, do come in and have tea with us,” Mary said

  “I do not want to intrude.”

  “Intrude? You are not intruding on us.”

  Charlotte hardly believed that.

  “Perhaps we embarrass her, my dear,” said her husband as he removed himself to a proper distance from his wife.

  “Nonsense. Sit with us.”

  Charlotte poured herself a cup of tea and then took a seat across from them.

  “Now tell us everything. Did you have a pleasant walk?”

  “Pleasant enough. We ambled through the park and then enjoyed the shops at the Piccadilly.”

  “Did you purchase anything?”

  “In a manner of speaking.”

  “Oh?”

  “Mr. Edgington insisted on purchasing a pair of gloves I was admiring in the shop.”

  “Did he?” Mary asked with excitement in her voice.

  “Yes. Is that inappropriate?”

  Charlotte was certain that it was unsuitable for any young woman to accept gifts from a gentleman who was not her husband, but she had been less certain of the expectations of her position as a widow. The rules of propriety only became more clouded at the prospect of owning gloves so fine.

  She and Mr. Edgington had become separated in the shop, and when he returned to her side, he had discovered her trying on a pair of delicate white gloves. She found them to be long enough, reaching just to the bend of her elbow, to be sufficiently fashionable, yet they remained practical enough to suit her tastes, for she despised garments that required continual adjustment and fuss to keep them presentable. Charlotte abhorred the current fashion of gloves so long that they necessitated the use of garters to maintain their position.

  “Do you like them?” he had asked.

  “Indeed. How could one not admire such fine craftsmanship?” She hurried to remove them and turned toward him, intending to leave the gloves on the display.

  But Mr. Edgington picked them up. “Then you shall have them.”

 
“I could not possibly afford them, Mr. Edgington.”

  “Then I shall make them a gift to you, for they suit your complexion very well indeed.”

  “I could not accept such a gift.”

  “Why ever not?”

  “It simply is not seemly.”

  “It is not seemly for one to give a gift to his friend?” he asked incredulously.

  Charlotte did not reply. He must know very well that his offer—generous though it was—skirted the boundaries of acceptable behavior. She was quite certain that his ignorance was feigned, but they were very nice gloves, and he seemed to be a very nice man.

  “Please do me the honor of accepting them.” His voice dropped lower, husky. “You may wear them at the next ball, and when you do so, I will know that you are thinking of me.”

  With that, Charlotte had allowed him to purchase them.

  Now she was uncertain of her decision, but Mary looked at her with approval. “How kind! Of course, you should have accepted them, and you must allow me to stitch your initial in them for you. Embroidery is one of my secret pleasures. In limited doses, of course. Fortunately, the letter C is rather easy to stitch, and I shall have the task completed in no time at all.”

  Charlotte laughed at her cousin, who was an excellent seamstress. She retrieved the package from the hall table, unwrapped the gloves, and passed them to her cousin. Mary selected some pale blue embroidery threads and began to work, making small even stitches near the hem of the first glove.

  “I find myself relieved that you approve of the gift.”

  Mary emitted a small, girlish giggle. “I think he is in love with you, Charlotte.”

  “Do you?” She was glad that Mary was concentrating on the gloves and did not notice the expression of confusion on her face.

  “He has been very attentive to you. You must have noticed as much. Do you return his sentiments?”

  Charlotte spun her teacup in the saucer, considering. “I do not know. There are instances when I am flattered by his attentions, but there are also moments when our association seems awkward and strange. I cannot explain it well.”