Mr. Emerson cleared his throat. “It is not often that I intrude on women’s affairs, but since I have been privy to the entire conversation, I will interject.”
“Please do, dear.” Mary winked at Charlotte. “It will be quite helpful to have a gentleman’s opinion.”
“You should relax and take time before you allow yourself to declare your feelings for any gentleman. Time is required for such an emotion to develop, for people to reveal their true selves. I knew my dear Mrs. Emerson for a full two years before I came to realize how devoted I was to her. Only then did I propose.”
“But I fell in love with you immediately!” Mary protested, her eyes drawn for the first time from her work.
“You have proven the point I was preparing to make, my dear. People fall in love at their own pace, and circumstances are different in each person’s life. Only think of the confusion that young Maria has experienced already. That is why I believe it is necessary to marry only when one is certain of their feelings and the true circumstances of the other party.”
“There is probably a great deal of wisdom in your words,” Charlotte said. “There was, however, a time when I would have disagreed with you wholeheartedly. I believed feelings were inconsequential.”
Mary interjected. “Indeed, you must agree with him, for Mr. Emerson is the wisest man in all of England, and as there are few who may successfully argue against him, you may as well convert to his opinion. Besides, believing in love is ever so much more interesting than arguing against it.”
Charlotte smiled at the faith Mary put into her husband. And that faith did not seem misplaced, for underneath his good nature and joviality, there seemed to be an active mind. She was certain that his courtroom adversaries often underestimated him. She certainly had.
Changing the subject in the intervening lull, she asked, “How does my sister do today? Has she been downstairs?”
A look of pity crossed Mary’s face. “The poor dear. She came down in time for luncheon, and she tried to be pleasant, but it just was not in her.”
“I am sorry that she has not been a good guest.”
“Do not worry, dear,” said Mr. Emerson. “We are her getaway. Her harbor in the storm.”
Charlotte smiled sincerely.
“Would it be very wrong of us to tempt her downstairs with a cup of chocolate and some biscuits?” Mary asked.
“I do not believe so, for she has mourned long enough, and chocolate is perfect for all occasions, whether happy or sad.”
Mary laughed at her cousin’s words and then summoned her housekeeper. “Please bring us a plate of biscuits and a pot of chocolate and then summon Miss Maria from her room to join us.”
The old housekeeper disappeared, delivered a large tray of sweets, and soon Maria appeared in the doorway. Charlotte was relieved to see a smile on her sister’s face. Apparently, a week of mourning was all Maria could manage. “Come join us, Maria, for your cousins have offered us some delicious treats.”
Maria descended on the tray of biscuits, popping two into her mouth in rapid succession. “You must have read my thoughts, for suddenly I am quite famished.”
“You are feeling better then?”
“I am, for I realized today that I have done all I can to rectify my situation. I have apologized to Mr. Card.”
“You apologized?” Charlotte was surprised that her very juvenile sister had thought to apologize to her friend. She felt rather proud.
“I did. I sent a letter almost the day we arrived here.”
“Has he responded?”
“No, he has not, and I was very upset about his quietness. But I have done my best, and if he chooses not to accept my apology, then it is his affair, his wrong choice, not mine.” Maria took a bite of biscuit. “Meanwhile, here I am in London, and I have not even left my bed chamber. I do not intend to waste the entire trip feeling sad or dreaming of Mr. Westfield. I want to see the city.”
Mary clapped her hands together. “That is wonderful news. I had wished you would join us, for we have been so worried about you.”
“My dear cousin, I appreciate your worry, and I believe London was the perfect escape for me. And I may enjoy the remainder of our stay here now that my conscience is free.”
Maria plopped on the settee within easy reach of the tray of food. Apparently, she was always ready to enjoy the fruits of the household pantry as well.
“Mr. Emerson and I are pleased to hear it. It has been difficult for us to see you suffer so.”
“I am happy to say that my suffering is now over. I will give no more thought to Mr. Card or Miss Farmington.”
“And have you learned anything?”
“Yes, sister, I have. I will better guard my speech in the future.”
Mary nodded. “That is wise.”
Charlotte could not be more pleased that her sister appeared to have gained a new understanding of the ways of society. “Yes, our reputation is truly all we have, and we must guard it jealously and give no one cause to speak ill of us.”
“There was a time I did not believe you, but indeed you are quite right, Charlotte. I have learned my lesson well. If I run afoul of society again, it will not be through any fault of my own.”
After Maria had eaten her fill and chattered with her cousins, she went back upstairs to arrange her gowns for her coming trips into the city. Having had his fill of women’s matters, Mr. Emerson disappeared into his library. With Mary occupied with her stitching, Charlotte began a letter to Elizabeth, telling her of her travels, Maria’s troubles, and her meeting with Mr. Edgington at the theater.
At length, Charlotte completed her letter, sealing it carefully, and left the writing desk to join Mary on the settee.
“I am very glad that your sister’s condition seems to be improving.”
“I too am glad to see the improvement in her spirits. Maria is still rather young, and I want her to make a good match, but I do not relish seeing her in pain.”
“Speaking of marriage, did I hear her correctly when she mentioned Mr. Westfield?”
“Yes, James Westfield is an acquaintance of ours from Westerham.”
“Is he not a young relative of Colonel Armitage?”
“Yes, he is. He travels with his uncle Mr. Benjamin Basford of America. Are you acquainted with them, by chance?”
“I am. Before she went to the colonies, I was a friend of Mr. Westfield’s mother. Evangeline and I were chums growing up and I was desolate when she married Mr. Westfield and went away. However, they have fared well in the New World. Mr. Westfield has become a force in the shipping industry and has a fleet based quite far south along the coast, in Savannah. Mrs. Westfield often writes of gigantic oak trees dripping with moss, mosquitoes, and unquenchable heat. It sounds dreadful to me. I knew that she was sending her son to Europe, but I never imagined that you might be acquainted with him.”
“Yes, we all met at a ball in Westerham last winter.”
“His mother will be pleased to hear that they are faring well in our hostile country.”
“Do you correspond with her still?”
“I do, but the post is so painfully slow that our letters are infrequent.”
“What do you know of the younger Mr. Westfield?”
Mary considered for a moment, as if deciding how much information to divulge. “His mother tells me that he is very charming and that he only requires the benefits of society to help him mature.”
“He has certainly impressed everyone at home. The young ladies, including Maria, are quite taken with him. He is young, to be sure, but I have seen no fault with him. However, his uncle has developed a rather shocking reputation in his short time in our country.”
Mary’s eyes widened, and her lips parted, closed, and they parted again. “I find that very surprising,”
“Do you? I have heard from reliable sources that he is infamous in America as well. They say he uses young women for his own pursuits.”
The conversation lulled,
and Mary appeared to wrestle with her thoughts.
“I do hate to correct you, but I fear you have been listening to the wrong people.”
“Have I?” Charlotte remained unconvinced.
“Indeed, his sister includes a paragraph or two about Mr. Basford in each letter, and I have never read a negative word about him.”
“Perhaps she is censoring herself for his benefit.”
“I hardly believe that. Evangeline always speaks her mind and tells the absolute truth.”
“Even about her own family?”
“Especially about them.”
Mary saw Charlotte’s look of disbelief. “She has confessed to me in the strictest of confidence that Mr. Westfield, her own son, is something of a flirt. That is why she has sent him to Europe under his uncle’s care. She hopes that seeing a bit of the world will help him to settle down at home and that Mr. Basford will influence him to find a suitable wife.”
“How would Mr. Basford know how to find a suitable wife? He too is unmarried, is he not?”
“He has never married. He tells Evangeline that he has yet to find a woman who would affect his heart and induce him to contemplate marriage.” Then rather as an afterthought, she added, “I think his view is rather noble.”
“Yes, I suppose it is noble, but I do not see how that qualifies him to be a good chaperone.”
“Do you not? Mr. Basford has exhibited a great deal of patience, and certainly, he will not allow his nephew to make any rash decisions.”
Charlotte conceded that it could be a good thing, but in the back of her mind, she doubted Mary’s words. How could her impressions of Mr. Westfield and Mr. Basford be so skewed? She had always prided herself on being an excellent judge of character.
But after the episode with Maria and Mr. Card, Charlotte decided it might be best to reserve her judgment until she could observe them from a closer proximity. Whenever that might be. She had no notion of when they might return from their travels on the continent.
Mary handed her the newly monogrammed gloves. “Please do not say anything about Mr. Westfield. His mother would not wish it. She does not want him to gain the reputation of a flirt. And he may well have changed already.”
Charlotte ran her fingers across the neat stitching. The pale blue letters stood in subtle relief against the material. She considered her reply.
Was it wise to withhold information from those of her acquaintance? Was Maria safe?
Although unsure of the wisdom of her words, she looked at Mary’s concerned face and said, “Indeed, he may have changed. For Maria’s sake, I do hope so.”
Ten
For the remainder of their visit in London, Maria and Charlotte enjoyed the benefits of the city. Charlotte took Maria to Burlington’s Arcade to admire the wares, but they could afford to purchase very little, which disappointed her greatly. She took some solace, however, in the purchase of some fine white muslin fabric, for shopping truly rivals chocolate in its ability to calm a harried mind.
The prospect of fine dresses had also tempted Charlotte beyond what she could bear. She could not force herself to remain in her out-of-fashion gowns when so many stylish women were walking the streets. Now with a dress of lovely pale striped muslin that had been sewn with the assistance of Mary, a length of Turkey red cotton, and a new straw bonnet and some fine ribbon to trim it, she was not only out of mourning for Mr. Collins, but she was in fashion. Her budget, however, would certainly suffer, and she would not have much meat on her table in the coming weeks.
Maria’s spirits had been lifted by her activities in town, and Charlotte was pleased to see her joy, even if it derived from the more material benefits of the city. Her sister had begun to view life with the same youthful optimism as she had before the incident with Mr. Card.
Maria had also asked Mary to assist her in sewing a new gown, and in their unoccupied evenings, the two sat before the fire, surrounded by candles, and stitched the lightweight fabric into a gown. Unfortunately, Maria had not the temperament for such occupations, so Mary sewed alone amidst constant chatter.
Because Maria had missed their earlier foray to the theater, Mr. Emerson made arrangements for the party to attend a production of Much Ado about Nothing at Covent Garden. Charlotte was ashamed to admit how much time she spent readying herself for the evening, choosing her finest new gown and arranging her hair in ringlets, even though her stick-straight tresses resisted at every turn. She was even more ashamed to confess that she spent the entire first scene searching the audience for Mr. Edgington.
Of course, he was nowhere to be found, and Charlotte chided herself for her foolishness. It was a complete coincidence that she had met Mr. Edgington at the Theatre Royal. Coincidences, by definition, did not repeat themselves. And Charlotte accepted that hard reality by throwing herself into the action of Much Ado about Nothing, which she discovered was rather an easy task.
Suddenly, she was Beatrice, living in the exotic Italian countryside and involved in a merry war with the quick-witted Benedick. She was consoling the ill-fated Hero and demanding revenge against the evil villains who had forestalled her wedding to her beloved.
So much trouble and confusion caused by just a few blackguards, Charlotte thought. And how like her own life. Her current troubles too originated from this odd emotion called love. But would her strife end as easily? Would she be assured of gaining the heart of the handsome gentleman? Would Maria also be satisfactorily married? A play would resolve itself in five acts, but life held no such guarantees.
Leaving the theater, Charlotte, eager to discuss the play, turned to Maria. “How did you find the play?”
“It was dreadfully dull,” Maria said, “but I did so enjoy being in society. Did you observe the quality of the gowns worn by the women in attendance? Oh, if only my gown could resemble those!”
“You did not enjoy the play?”
“I hardly paid it any mind. There was so much to see in the theater.”
“Such as a play perhaps?”
Maria rolled her blue eyes. “Life is my play.”
The sentence sounded pithy, but Charlotte knew her sister put no thought behind her words. She had been transfixed by the dresses and was probably plotting some alterations to her new gown, if only could convince Mary to help her.
And if life truly were a play, Charlotte’s would be dull indeed, for she felt as though she were constantly waiting.
For Mr. Edgington.
She descended the stairs each day hoping to see him again at the breakfast table. When morning calls were paid, she hoped to hear his footsteps approaching the sitting room. But he never came.
Where was he? Charlotte wondered. Why would he have made her a gift of such lovely gloves and then disappear? She only intended to pine for a gentleman who was also pining for her. But was he pining for her?
Perhaps.
Perhaps not.
As the day of their return to Westerham drew near, Charlotte began to doubt her ever meeting Mr. Edgington again. Although she felt a twinge of loss at his continued absence, the pain tapered off quickly, and she found that she bore his disappearance very well indeed.
Maria was, however, beginning to feel the absence of Mr. Westfield rather keenly, and Charlotte began to wonder if her youthful infatuation was indeed something more.
As they strolled arm-in-arm through the park after a day of shopping, Maria admitted, “I have enjoyed my stay in London, but I am eager to be home, even if Mr. Card and Miss Farmington will not speak to me.”
“I do miss our little cottage and the quiet of the country.”
“Oh, I do not miss that at all. I miss the society!”
Charlotte thought of the shopping excursions and theater productions they had attended in the days since Maria had come out of her seclusion. “Did not London offer you enough in the way of society?”
Maria’s eyes lit. “Do not misunderstand. I have enjoyed myself immensely. London offers a great deal of entertainment that Weste
rham cannot. But there is one thing London cannot give to me.”
“And what is that?”
“Mr. Westfield.”
Charlotte almost expected her sister to sigh and flutter her eyelashes at the mere mention of his name. Fortunately, she restrained herself to a silly smile. “Westerham cannot produce him for you either, I am afraid, for he is on a tour of the continent, and who knows when he will return.”
“Still, I hope we will see much of Mr. Westfield in the future. I know you do not much care for his uncle, but I wish you would learn to get along with him. If Mr. Westfield is going to pay court to me, as I believe he will, you will be forced into his company. Unless, of course, you prefer to leave us unchaperoned.”
Charlotte cast her a wry look. “No, Mr. Basford and I have put away our animosities, and we will behave as proper acquaintances and suitable chaperones.” She chose not to mention Mary’s positive report about him, for it also contained a tentative review of Mr. Westfield. Speaking of the matter with Maria would do no good, and she had promised she would not.
“I thought I detected a softening toward Mr. Basford.” She winked. “And I am glad to hear it, for if Mr. Westfield and I marry, you will be relations, and I will demand family harmony.”
Maria glanced at her sister and seeing the look of reproof in her eyes, she cut her off. “Do not scold me, Charlotte. I know it is improper to speak of marriage when Mr. Westfield has not. But if I cannot share my dreams with my sister, then with whom may I share them?”
Charlotte took Maria’s hand. “I want you to share them with me, for one of us must harbor some dreams yet. And it is best that it should be you. You are younger and more able to sustain them.”
“Oh Charlotte, you are not yet in your dotage.”
Charlotte felt no emotion, no sting of remorse at the future before her. “Still, no one will have me now, and neither do I want anyone.”
“What about Mr. Edgington?”
“I confess that I was flattered by his attentions, but he has proven his lack of interest. I have not seen him for so long. I find that I do not miss him at all.”
“Certainly, we will see him again in Westerham.”
Charlotte Collins: A Continuation of Jane Austen's Pride and Prejudice Page 11
