Charlotte Collins: A Continuation of Jane Austen's Pride and Prejudice
Page 19
Maria began to stroke the back of Charlotte’s hand as she spoke. “So am I. But there is nothing to be done. He and Miss Farmington have eloped.”
“Oh my dear…” Charlotte dropped her head into Maria’s lap. Everything was ruined. They were both doomed to return in disgrace to their parents’ home in Hertfordshire. Worse, neither of them would find love or security now that Mr. Edgington’s damage had been done.
“His letter was very kind.”
“Oh, well, at least he was kind.”
Charlotte felt Maria stiffen and then relax. She said, “Do not be cruel, Charlotte. I do not believe Mr. Westfield meant any harm. He just went about things the wrong way.”
How could she forgive him? she asked herself. Then Charlotte realized the reason. Any anger must be shared between her suitor and her sister, for she had been the cause of the problem. “The fault is mine.” She raised her head to look into her sister’s eyes. They were calm and almost peaceful, but she read the truth of the matter there.
“Do not blame yourself, Charlotte—”
Charlotte could not fathom the idea that the two events were unconnected. There were just too many mitigating circumstances for her to continue to believe the best of Mr. Westfield. It was far too coincidental that Mr. Edgington’s lies would become public and shortly thereafter Mr. Westfield would break their engagement.
“I cannot help but blame myself. All the facts support my supposition. Had Mr. Edgington never come into my life, you would not be in this situation.”
Maria pushed stray hairs from her sister’s forehead. “I will tell you the truth. In his letter, he did say that he preferred not to join himself to such a scandal.”
Tears fell down Charlotte’s cheeks. Her sister’s future happiness was ruined along with her own. Together, they would be ostracized from society. “I am so terribly sorry. So sorry.”
Maria lifted Charlotte’s chin. “Listen to me, Charlotte. Do you know what I think? I think Mr. Westfield is just using Mr. Edgington’s slander as an excuse.”
Charlotte studied her with confused, teary eyes. “What could you possibly mean?”
“I do not believe he ever loved me.”
Charlotte stared, perplexed. Why would he have proposed if he had not loved her? She did not have a large dowry or a lofty title. “Of course, he loved you.”
“As depressing a thought as it is, I believe it is true.” Her voice was breezy. “I do not think he ever loved me. When I first read the letter, I was outraged. I cried and wanted to kill him and Miss Farmington, but then I began to recall all our past interactions. Suddenly, I felt calm. I could see what had been before me all along. It was such a strange sensation. I do not believe that I have ever thought so clearly.” She seemed to ponder that for a moment. “I realized that he was always very attentive to Miss Farmington and that he only called upon me when Mr. Basford called upon you as well.”
“What nonsense. Mr. Westfield wanted to call on you. Mr. Basford was merely a chaperone.”
“Oh, I think Mr. Westfield had some interest in me at first, but he soon gravitated toward Miss Farmington. And why wouldn’t he? She has a far bigger dowry, and she is a determined flirt.”
Yes, Charlotte could well believe that. She had witnessed Miss Farmington’s flirtatious behavior, although she wondered why any man would have an interest in a woman with such horse-like features. Even with the inducement of a dowry. “Then why did he propose to you?”
Maria paused, considering. “I do not know, but I am glad that we are no longer engaged. I certainly do not want to marry someone who does not love me.”
Charlotte tried to recall what she had observed in Mr. Westfield, but her mind did not seem to be functioning. There was too much information to process. One thing only nagged at her. “You do not blame me then?”
“How could I possibly blame you? You have done nothing wrong.”
“I trusted an untrustworthy man, and as a result you may have lost Mr. Westfield and I have lost my home.”
Maria started. “What? Lost your home? What do you mean? You told me that you had elected to leave Westerham. Voluntarily.”
Charlotte had not meant to break the news in so clumsy a fashion, but the words had simply slipped out. She hesitated, trying to think of a way to cover her error.
“Tell me,” Maria demanded. “The truth. I am so weary of lies.”
“Lady Catherine heard Mr. Edgington’s gossip, and she revoked the lease on this cottage.”
“That old bat!” Her voice was indignant and high-pitched.
Charlotte considered reprimanding her for not showing respect for those higher in society, but she refrained. Lady Catherine was an old bat.
“It is very unfair of her to punish you for something you would never do.”
Charlotte attempted a practical reply. “It was within her rights to withdraw from our agreement. I cannot blame her.”
“Bah! I shall blame her on your behalf.”
“And I shall blame Mr. Westfield on your behalf.”
Maria laughed softly, and Charlotte was pleased to hear the sound. “I think that is an even exchange.”
They sat silently for a while. Charlotte’s heart ached for her sister and for her own predicament. She and Maria had no recourse now but to slink home in disgrace.
As if reading her mind, Maria asked, “Is Lady Catherine’s regrettable decision the true reason that you are returning home to Hertfordshire?”
“While I did not relish staying here to fight the gossip that surrounds me, Westerham has become my home. I have lived here for years, and I had no wish to leave it. Unfortunately, Lady Catherine has left me no choice. I can no longer live here and it will be some time before I am able to discover such agreeable accommodations on my small income.”
Maria’s brow furrowed. “But you will never be satisfied living at Lucas Lodge.”
“No…”
“Neither would I.” Maria paused. “What are we going to do? Surely, you do not intend to seek out another Mr. Collins.”
“No indeed.” The thought of an expeditious marriage had briefly—oh so briefly—crossed her mind. Ever since the news of Mr. Westfield’s elopement had reached her, Charlotte knew that she must do more than simply disappear into Hertfordshire. She must help provide for them both since their parents’ income had become so limited. “Must we discuss this now?”
“Yes, we absolutely must! Now, tell me what you are planning. I can tell there is more, and I can tell it is dreadful.”
“I may have no choice but to seek employment.” Charlotte observed the shock in her sister’s wide eyes. “Perhaps an elderly lady in Hertfordshire requires a companion.”
Charlotte knew that her parents had not the inclination to house two grown daughters, and she had no desire to become a burden to them, or to allow Maria to become so, especially since the dissolution of her engagement had been solely Charlotte’s fault. She must support herself and her sister. It was her duty.
But it was impossible on her income. Lady Catherine’s discounted lease fee had allowed her to live in such relative luxury. In any other circumstances, she would have been living in a tiny home with no servants at all.
Though she hated to acknowledge the fact, it was becoming painfully clear that employment was the solution. The idea was not as unbearable as the idea of a loveless marriage, for Charlotte was not afraid of toil. But what type of employment ought she seek? There were so few professions available to a woman like her. Governess, companion, or tutor: those were her choices. And they were not entirely objectionable. Now if only she could find someone willing to hire her, she could be somewhat content.
But Maria did not share her resignation to employment. A stern look crossed Maria’s soft features. “You cannot be serious.”
“It is a perfectly acceptable form of employment for someone of my position.”
“Indeed it is, but Charlotte, you deserve so much more.”
“Do I?”
“You are only saying these things because we are related. I am no more special than anyone else.”
“To me, you are special. Perhaps my reason lies in the fact that you are my sister, but I say this also because you are a worthy woman.”
Charlotte smiled at her sister’s vehement defense of her. “Thank you. You are very kind. But there is nothing to be done about it now.”
Maria’s look became quite determined.
“Indeed there is something to be done about it, and if you refuse to acknowledge that fact, then I suppose it will be up to someone else.”
Eighteen
“Good afternoon, Mr. Basford.” Charlotte stood and brushed the dirt from her hands. It was the Tuesday after Maria’s wedding was to have taken place and less than a week before they had to vacate the cottage at Lady Catherine’s request.
He bowed. “Mrs. Collins.” Was she imagining it, or did his posture show contrition?
Charlotte had not expected him, nor had she expected the anticipation that rose in her as she had looked over her shoulder and seen him coming down the path toward her. From a distance, he had looked quite well put together in a deep brown coat and tan breeches, but as he drew nearer, she saw that he looked somewhat disheveled. More disheveled than usual. His face seemed drawn, and tired lines surrounded his eyes.
For a moment, he stood facing her. Then he turned abruptly and paced a few steps away. She watched and wondered what his odd behavior could possibly signify. She was already aware of the situation with Mr. Westfield and Miss Farmington—Mrs. Westfield, she corrected herself. “If you are here to inform me of a relationship between your nephew and Miss Farmington, I have already heard. Do not trouble yourself. All is well.”
“Mmm…” Mr. Basford turned on his heel and looked at Charlotte. “I know this does not conform to proper English etiquette, but I would like very much to sit down.” He laughed. “And I could really do with a cup of tea.”
“I believe, as the fallen woman I am reputed to be, I am well past the need for meaningless etiquette at the moment, Mr. Basford. Do come inside.”
He followed her into the cottage. They walked past the trunks and bandboxes in the hallway, and Charlotte hoped that he was too distracted to notice. She did not desire to explain the cheerless turn her life had taken. After they walked by the sad evidence in the hall, she gestured to the sitting room, offering him a seat and telling him that she would go fetch the tea.
When she returned with the tea tray balanced in her hands, Mr. Basford was standing with his back to the room. His attention was focused out the window, and he did not realize that Charlotte had entered until she set the tray down on the table with a gentle thud. He turned around and looked at her, his gaze softening.
“Tea?”
Charlotte poured his tea, handed it to him, and watched as he took a sip.
A look of satisfaction crossed his handsome features, and she was tempted to joke that England had affected him more than he cared to admit. Instead, she gestured to a chair, and he sat. “When did you develop such an affinity for tea?”
He smiled, put his teacup back on the saucer, and tipped the chair on its back legs. “As you once reminded me, Americans enjoy tea as well.”
“Ah, but you claimed that you did not.”
“Perhaps since being in England I have begun to appreciate it more.” He echoed her previous thoughts.
They sipped in silence and a sort of uncomfortable feeling descended upon the room. Mr. Basford, too, looked rather unsettled.
Finally, Charlotte set down her cup and decided to plunge into the conversation they had been avoiding. She cleared her throat. “How does Mr. Westfield do? I understand that he is now happily married.”
Chair legs hit the ground with a thunk, and Mr. Basford placed his cup on the table. He looked abashed.
She sought to reassure him. “Pray, do not concern yourself about what has happened between my sister and your nephew.”
“How can I not concern myself?” His countenance was sad.
“You have done your part to rectify the matter. Did you not search for him after he and Miss Farmington disappeared?”
“Indeed, I did. It was the only thing I could do.”
He stood and began pacing the room again. The furniture fairly shook under his heavy strides. Charlotte wished she could command him to sit, if only to save the floorboards. But they were Lady Catherine’s floorboards, she thought with a dash of spite, so she allowed him to pace and hoped he would wear a path in the wood.
“And did you discover them?”
“Yes. I am sorry to say that they had eloped to Gretna Green. A dreadful process and so far below what was expected of him.” He looked at her briefly. His brown eyes, altered by the discontent they held, seemed darker. “His mother is going to be so disappointed.”
Charlotte sat back on the settee. She had secretly hoped that it had all been an unattractive rumor. But it was not, and the last vestiges of pointless hope, which she had held out for Maria’s sake, drained away. “Oh.”
He returned to his seat, tipped it back. “They returned to Westerham with me last night.”
Charlotte did not know quite what to say. She was pleased that they had returned safely for his family’s sake, but she felt pain for her sister. She managed to say only “Mmmm.”
“They intend to travel to Savannah in the coming weeks.”
“Will they make their home there?” She hoped for Maria’s sake that they would.
“No, my nephew is quite enamored with England, and Miss Farmington.” He paused, realizing that he had not used her proper name, but he didn’t correct himself. “She says she cannot bear to part from her family. They will make their home here.”
“I see.” She hoped she sounded noncommittal and wondered what would become of Mr. Basford. His duties as chaperone had been completed. Would he too return to America? Would he ever venture back to English soil?
Before she could inquire, he stood abruptly and began pacing again. “I am so sorry, Mrs. Collins. I am sorry for what I have done to you and your sister.”
His words surprised her. “What have you to be sorry for?”
He ran his hands through his hair. “I am responsible for the entire situation.”
Confused, Charlotte began to twist the fabric of her skirt in her hands and tried to work out what to say next. “You cannot be responsible for Mr. Westfield’s decisions.”
“No, but I believe I had undue influence over his choice to propose to Maria.”
She endeavored to read his face, but he had turned aside, giving her only a view of his tight profile. “What do you mean?”
Mr. Basford walked a few more paces and then faced her. The light from the window streamed around his body. “I mean that after that…” His voice tapered off as he no doubt searched for the proper epithet to use in company. “…fool Edgington began spreading those lies about you, I felt….” He paused again and ran his hand through his hair, leaving it even messier. “Well, I felt the need to take action. I knew you’d be very upset about the gossip, and after seeing people’s reaction when Maria turned down Mr. Card, I had an idea of how the town would respond. I also knew that you were more concerned for your sister than for yourself. I wanted to help. I thought it would be helpful.”
“I am afraid I do not understand.”
“I encouraged James to propose to Maria.”
“You mentioned that when we last spoke.”
“No. I encouraged him.” He said the word as if it were poison.
“What?”
“I sensed his reluctance.” He paused in his speech but continued pacing. He faced the settee again. “But I genuinely thought he was in love with her.”
Charlotte stood. What was he trying to say? “Did you force Mr. Westfield to propose to Maria?”
“No, I did not force him, but I did encourage him.”
Sorrow and confusion rose in her, and Charlotte warred against them. There was no sense in allowing her feelings to overcome her. Emotional behavior would do her no good, and it certainly would not improve her reputation. But she thought of Maria and the valiant way she was accepting her situation. Perhaps she would not have been so upset if Maria had been upstairs crying, but the serene way she accepted the circumstances absolutely broke her heart. Maria had lost hope, and that was the worst of all possible outcomes.
Charlotte knew not how best to respond.
“I was thinking of you.” His gaze was direct and unwavering, causing Charlotte’s breath to catch. “I knew how concerned you were about how the gossip would affect your sister.”
“I was naturally anxious given the circumstances in which I found myself,” Charlotte managed to say, “but I certainly did not want anyone forced to marry Maria.”
“I did not intend to force him to propose. I did not think myself to be doing so. I believed him to be in love with her. Confess. You believed it to be so as well. Did you not?”
Charlotte could not lie. “I hoped he loved her.”
“I believed it was a match of mutual love. Otherwise I would not have acted as I did.”
Charlotte believed him. The pain in his expression was genuine. She had just cause to be angry and hurt, but she found that she could be neither. Her common sense would not allow it. “Mr. Basford, you have always shown yourself to be an honorable gentleman of the highest morals, and I believe that the actions you took in this situation were the result of your good intentions. I am sorry that my sister was injured, but, pray, do not hold yourself accountable. Mr. Westfield is solely to blame.”
They stood a moment in silence, and Mr. Basford seemed to relax. The tension left his shoulders, and his hands unclenched and fell loosely at his sides. He returned to his seat and picked up his teacup like a civilized gentleman and not the barbarian who had stalked the room moments ago, and Charlotte followed his lead, picking up her teacup and sipping daintily. The tea was cool.