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

by Jennifer Becton

  “Perhaps, but truly, I no longer desire his company as I once did.” She found that her words were indeed true.

  Again Maria searched her face. “Perhaps you are simply injured by his inattention.”

  Charlotte glanced at Maria as they walked along the sidewalk toward their cousins’ home and found herself the object of her sister’s careful study. People passed by in groups of multicolored material and plumage, but for once Maria seemed to take no notice. She studied Charlotte as if seeing her for the first time. What was she attempting to read in her countenance? Perhaps she was searching for some sign of sorrow, some depression over Mr. Edgington’s loss. But she truly did not feel any such thing.

  “I see that you are not hurt. You are far worse than hurt.”

  Charlotte looked away. “Am I?”

  At length, Maria said, “Yes. You have lost hope, and that is a much more serious condition, as you have often told me. I felt hopeless until I wrote to Mr. Card. It was miserable to have no prospects and no future.”

  “I am comfortably set up in my cottage. I do not need prospects to have a future.” She said these words, and she truly believed them. She could be content with these circumstances.

  “No, indeed you do not, for you are a strong, independent sort of woman, but would you not enjoy sharing your future with someone worthy? Would prospects not be nice?”

  “I suppose they would,” Charlotte agreed reluctantly.

  “I confess I am surprised—and pleased—to hear you admit it,” Maria said. “You have always taken too much on yourself—marrying Mr. Collins to relieve the family of the burden of supporting you, agreeing to act as my chaperone when our parents could not, and even taking this trip to remove me from trouble of my own creation. You deserve more, and if there is anything I may ever do to ensure your future, I vow that I will do it.”

  ~**~

  The morning of their departure for Westerham a letter arrived from Mr. Edgington. The maid brought it to Charlotte’s room as she dressed. She studied the handwriting briefly and then set the letter aside.

  The long-awaited contact had been made. Unfortunately, she no longer felt an excitement over the gentleman. In addition, he had shown his attentions in an entirely inappropriate manner. A gentleman simply did not compose and send letters to a woman to whom he was not engaged.

  If Charlotte needed another bell to complete the death knell of her interest in Mr. Edgington, this was certainly it. She found that she did not feel sad or distressed by the realization. Her interest had simply vanished. She finished her morning ritual at a leisurely pace before dismissing the maid. Then she opened the letter with only mild curiosity.

  My dear Mrs. Collins,

  I hope you will forgive me for not calling on you as promised. My long absence was necessitated by business matters that required my undivided attention. I have now fulfilled my obligations and would like to turn my attentions to a much pleasanter subject: you. I hope you will not find my words too forward, for they convey my feelings for you adequately. Please allow me to call on you at your earliest convenience. You need only send a note to my hotel in London and I will be at your side.

  L. E.

  Charlotte folded the letter and called one of Mrs. Emerson’s servants to inform Mr. Edgington of their impending departure. She dropped his letter in her trunk and donned her traveling bonnet, determined to meet her future happily with or without a gentleman at her side.

  Eleven

  When Charlotte and Maria arrived at their cottage in Westerham, no invitations awaited them, and Charlotte would not be understating matters to say that Maria was desolate. However, she soon learned that Mr. Westfield was in town, and her spirits lifted quite miraculously.

  But Mr. Westfield did not come.

  Charlotte began to wonder if there was a defect in the character of all males that caused them to show interest in ladies and then desert them altogether.

  Soon, Maria’s desolation returned, and desperate for consolation of company, she took to following Charlotte about the cottage. She followed her to the kitchen, the garden, and even to her bedchamber at night.

  Charlotte was desperate for relief. She had briefly considered hauling Mr. Card and Miss Farmington to the cottage and demanding that they repair their friendship. She also considered finding Mr. Westfield and dragging him by his blond hair to pay a call on her sister. But it would not do to have him see Maria in such a state. She would certainly make a cake of herself by chattering Mr. Westfield into oblivion.

  Charlotte could not have anyone else chattered into oblivion. It was too cruel a fate, as she well knew. Even now, Maria was talking, and she had not marked a word. She listened now.

  “I find that yellow is the cheeriest color, do you not agree?” Maria did not even pause to allow a response. “But green is also a happy hue. Green suits me much better. You have always said so. And that is why I often wear the color. I do want to look my best, and green brings out my eyes. Well, actually my eyes are blue, but still, green compliments them very well. Blue and green match, I believe.”

  Charlotte stood. She did not care if blue and green matched or if Maria wanted to wear puce each day for the rest of her life.

  “I am going for a walk.”

  “I shall join you.”

  “No!” Charlotte’s voice had been harsh, and she moderated it. “I am going for a long walk.”

  “How long.”

  “Very, very long.” She would walk to France if she could.

  “Oh.” Maria looked dejected, but then bounced in the direction of the kitchen. Poor Mrs. Eff. Charlotte hated to abandon her to Maria’s conversation, but she had to preserve her own sanity.

  Charlotte put on her sturdy boots and left the cottage before Maria could change her mind and accompany her. She shut the door quietly behind her. She could hear Maria’s voice from the kitchen. She was saying something about goat cheese.

  Poor, poor Mrs. Eff.

  Charlotte hurried away from the cottage in the direction of the tree line. If Maria changed her mind—or if Mrs. Eff tossed her from the kitchen—she would not look for her in the dense undergrowth. She walked a few paces to the path and decided to take the direction of the pond, which bordered the Farmington’s land. As she walked, her tension eased, and she became eager to explore the surrounding countryside.

  At a bend in the path, she came upon a party of walkers from the direction of the Farmington’s property.

  Charlotte stood face to face with Miss Farmington, Mr. Card, Mr. Westfield, Mr. Basford, and a young lady Charlotte could not identify. Maria would be so disappointed not to have come, for she could have used this as an opportunity to regain her place in society.

  Everyone stared mutely at each other for long moments, and then several of their party spoke at once.

  Greetings were made, and introductions were given, but Charlotte was so surprised to have met them that she forgot the young lady’s name as soon as it was given.

  They all lapsed into silence. Charlotte did not know what to say. And given the extraneous circumstances, neither did the others.

  Finally, Mr. Westfield spoke. “Mrs. Collins, we have been picnicking and are on our way to the trout pond.”

  “I was walking.” It was quite obvious that she was walking. Charlotte felt like a fool.

  Mr. Basford stepped forward. “Won’t you join us?”

  “Oh, yes, do join us,” Miss Farmington’s words did not sound sincere, but Charlotte decided to join them anyway. It was the right course of action.

  Before Mr. Basford could offer Charlotte his arm, the nameless young woman reached for it and beamed. “I would not mind an escort over such treacherous terrain.”

  Mr. Basford allowed her to take his arm, but caught Charlotte’s gaze and rolled his eyes. The treacherous terrain was a well-manicured path. Perhaps she feared that a wayward pebble might find its way into her walking boots. The horror!

  Although Mr. Basford’s expression conveye
d Charlotte’s own thoughts on the girl’s behavior, it was audacious, and she sent him a look that she hoped communicated her disapproval.

  He only smiled back. “Mrs. Collins, do you need assistance over the terrain as well?”

  He offered his other arm.

  Charlotte looked at the others who had already started down the trail. Mr. Card and Miss Farmington walked ahead with Mr. Westfield. Charlotte chose to walk alone. “I am used to navigating my way alone, thank you, Mr. Basford.” She was truly content with the arrangement. She could hear the others chatting ahead of her, but she chose to enjoy the birdsong and wildflowers they encountered along the path. Before they arrived at their destination, the pond, the pace began to slow.

  “I am exhausted,” Miss Farmington complained.

  The young woman on Mr. Basford’s arm, whose name Charlotte continued to forget, agreed eagerly.

  “This heat is oppressive indeed.” Mr. Card said. He was sweating. But did it originate from the exercise or from Charlotte’s presence? Charlotte hoped for the latter. Perhaps his discomfort would spur him to accept Maria’s apologies and mend their friendship, and consequently restore her place in society.

  “Shall we have a seat then?” Mr. Westfield pointed to a fallen log by the pathway. He leaned down to wipe the dirt from the bark and assisted Miss Farmington to sit.

  Miss Farmington made much pretense of adjusting her dress. “What a charming spot! Mrs. Collins, will you sit as well?”

  Doubting the sincerity of her invitation, Charlotte shook her head. “I take great pleasure in walking.” She had developed the habit on the days when Mr. Collins remained inside the house to compose his sermons. “I think I should like to see the pond. You all relax here and I will be back as soon as my curiosity is assuaged.”

  “Allow me to accompany you,” Mr. Basford offered.

  “There is no need.” Charlotte hoped to avoid being alone with him.

  Miss Farmington waved a hand at her and spoke to her as if she were a simpleton. “You cannot go alone, Mrs. Collins. You could be attacked by some wild animal or a band of criminals. We will be fine resting here for a quarter of an hour.”

  Charlotte highly doubted that untamed animals or roving bandits occupied the Farmington’s land, but she allowed Mr. Basford to guide her back to the path, and they walked for a while in silence. The woods deepened and soon the forest floor became a sea of lush green ferns accented by deep brown leaf cover. The temperature seemed to cool, and the air around them became moist and rich. Charlotte inhaled the scent and smiled. She could hear the sound of the stream as it meandered its way to the pond ahead. Charlotte was glad she decided to continue the walk, even if she was forced to be in Mr. Basford’s company.

  Thankfully, he remained silent and he proved to be a perfectly acceptable walking companion after all. He appeared to enjoy the atmosphere as much as she did.

  Soon, the forest began to thin somewhat, and as they walked to the top of a rise, the pond came into view. Charlotte stopped and watched as some ducks took flight. The trees were reflected in the shimmering water, and someone had constructed a covered log dock.

  “It’s lovely.”

  Mr. Basford agreed. “Shall we walk to the dock?”

  “Yes. I would like that very much.”

  They followed the path down to the wooden structure and walked to the railing. Charlotte leaned over, peering into the water to search out the fish that might be swimming below.

  Beside her, Mr. Basford took a cloth from his pocket, unfolding it to display a heel of crusty bread. “I took the liberty of bringing this along. I thought I might see if the fish were biting.”

  Charlotte felt almost childlike joy at the prospect of something as simple as feeding fish. He broke the bread in half and gave a lump to her.

  Together, they leaned over the railing and dropped crumbs while Mr. Basford occasionally told her the names of the different types of fish that appeared near the surface. Soon, they were surrounded by ducks who had regained their bravery and even some turtles had been drawn to the lure of food.

  The bread was soon gone, but they lingered on the dock while the animals gradually took their leave.

  Mr. Basford looked at her, and she flicked bread crumbs off her dress self-consciously. “I am sorry that you and Miss Lucas were not invited to the picnic.”

  “Do not trouble yourself…”

  “It was wrong and I hope you know that you will not be excluded from the ball my uncle will be hosting soon.”

  She felt relief for her sister. There was an additional benefit: if Maria were allowed to rejoin her friends, Charlotte would be released from her constant conversation. “You are very kind.”

  He waved a dismissive hand, startling a duck. They stood silently for a time and then they returned to the path, walking slowly to the rest of Mr. Basford’s party.

  “I believe my nephew has an interest in your sister.”

  “Does he?” Maria would be thrilled. The day was improving indeed.

  “I believe so.” He seemed to study her reaction, and she hoped that she appeared disinterested. “I think it may be wise to arrange for him to call on her sometime soon.”

  “I—” Charlotte prepared to resist the idea of leaving her sister alone with Mr. Westfield, but Mr. Basford held up a hand.

  “With proper chaperones of course. I’ll be with him, and of course, you’ll be there.”

  Charlotte turned away, uncertain whether she should be pleased for her sister or unnerved at being with Mr. Basford again, despite their pleasant walk. “I suppose you believe that my concerns are unfounded.”

  “I confess that I don’t relish the idea of accompanying my nephew to call on a young woman, but I know it would mean a great deal to you if I did.”

  “Then you are doing this for me?” She tried to suppress the panic she felt rising in her. Why would he even admit to having such a notion? It was preposterous.

  “I suppose I am.” He kept his eyes focused ahead as they walked. She stared directly at him.

  Eventually, he turned to her and smiled, and suddenly, Charlotte was compelled to look ahead. She did not care to contemplate why.

  “But I am also doing it for my nephew and his mother and because it is my duty.”

  She worked up the courage to look at him again. His face was serious.

  “I know you still do not think much of my brash ways.” He straightened his cravat and brushed imaginary dust from his coat. “But despite appearances, I am an honorable man.”

  Charlotte could not disagree with him and she felt properly chastised. Again, she could not bring herself to meet his gaze.

  They did not speak again until they returned to the log where they had left the others. Mr. Basford rejoined his simpering nameless companion and Charlotte continued to walk alone.

  Twelve

  Time passed rather slowly as time is wont to do when one is anticipating an event. The days prior to Colonel Armitage’s ball seemed to stretch out endlessly with little entertainment or distraction. Charlotte and Maria had spent their time at the cottage, receiving only a few callers, returning those calls, and occasionally writing letters to their parents, who were keeping to themselves in their small drawing room in Hertfordshire, and to Elizabeth and Mary, who demanded to be kept apprised of all occurrences of a romantic nature.

  Charlotte had received a response from her missive to Elizabeth, and she was well pleased. Elizabeth had written a lengthy reply full of good natured questions and stories about her two children, Jane, who was six, and Cassandra, who was four. Their friendship, it seemed, was back on course, and Charlotte found herself divulging her interactions with both Mr. Edgington and Mr. Basford in her return letter. Although she valued the companionship and commiseration that Maria provided, there was something vitally important about having a best friend with whom to mull over such situations.

  Despite Mr. Basford’s words during their impromptu walk, neither he nor Mr. Westfield had cal
led on them. Because she had not been privy to the discussion and because Charlotte had not divulged the contents of her conversation with Mr. Basford to her, Maria was not expecting him to call, and therefore, happily, she remained unaffected, but Charlotte was disappointed for her sister and angry at the entire male sex. Were all men apt to promise to call and then disappear? In her mind, she had relegated Mr. Edgington, Mr. Westfield, and Mr. Basford—and indeed most men in general—to the lowest circle of Dante’s Inferno.

  In her desperation for society, Maria focused on the gossip she could glean from Mrs. Eff after her trips into town. She insisted that Charlotte listen as she recounted each one.

  Apparently, Mrs. Holloway was still engaged in an affair, but the gentleman had not yet been discovered. Mr. Holloway still had his pig and claimed that he would never slaughter so fine an animal, even if it meant doing without pork for a year.

  Story after nonsensical story poured forth from Maria, but Charlotte could not bring herself to pay much attention, so she soon focused her efforts on embellishing bonnets and dresses with bits of ribbon or simply moped about the cottage.

  When the official invitation to the ball had arrived, the serene mood was shattered by Maria’s overwhelming joy.

  The letter arrived on a particularly dreary morning when Charlotte had been forced to neglect her garden. She and Maria had lingered over a breakfast of toast and tea and discussed how dreadfully depressing the weather had become. Even the usually cheery kitchen with its patterned wallpaper and bright trim seemed dull.

  Maria sighed dramatically. “I do not know what I shall do with myself for an entire day if this weather keeps up. I so long to be in town or to call on friends.”

  “This weather will not last forever.” Charlotte too longed to be elsewhere.

  “Indeed, it shall,” Maria proclaimed, plunking down her teacup definitively. “This weather will persist just to spite me. The gods of weather know I have my heart set on Mr. Westfield, but they do not want me even to see him.”