“Miss Lucas’s heart will mend, although it may not seem likely now.”
Charlotte was not sure if he sought to reassure her or himself.
“It is not her heart that concerns me but her hope. She has lost hope, I think.”
Mr. Basford’s expression changed to one of pity. “I am sorry for that.”
“As am I.”
They sat a moment, drinking tepid tea, while Charlotte considered her next words carefully. “I do not know how to say this without giving the appearance of rudeness, so I will be frank. I believe it would be best if you were not here when Maria returns.” He began to protest, but she interrupted him. “She may not appreciate a reminder of Mr. Westfield so soon.”
He nodded. “I do understand. Perhaps I may call on you again, while Maria is absent of course.”
Charlotte thought for a moment. She knew what she must do. She must raise herself above suspicion, and to do that she would be forced to sever their friendship, though in merely contemplating the decision, she felt as though she were severing a vital part of herself. Refusing to meet his eyes, she spoke. “Despite my great appreciation for the kindness you have shown me and for the friendship that has grown between us, my reputation is fragile. I hope you will understand when I say that it might be for the best if we do not meet privately again.”
He set down his cup. Upon hearing it hit the table, she looked up. His face displayed his disappointment. For a moment, they sat, frozen. Neither moving or speaking. Charlotte wondered if he too wanted to make their final moments, though uncomfortable, last longer. Then, he stood slowly, his body tight again and his hands clenched. “I am sorry to hear that.”
Charlotte desperately wanted to snatch her words back, to invite him to call as soon as was convenient. But she could not. She was leaving Westerham, and even if she could remain, it would be inappropriate for them to meet again. She remained silent, and he took his leave of her with a nod and perfunctory words of parting.
Apparently, he did not understand.
Charlotte listened as his crisp footsteps retreated, paused, and then returned.
She rose as he reentered the room. “Mr. Basford?”
He ignored her questioning tone completely and asked a question of his own. “What are all these trunks?”
“They are not your concern.” She looked away momentarily, but he pushed onward, walking toward her. His facial expression was hard and then softened.
When he spoke again, his voice was quiet, and it brought color to Charlotte’s cheeks. “Tell me. You’re not leaving Westerham, are you?”
“I must.”
“And that is why you brought the tea and not Mrs. Eff. She is already gone, isn’t she?”
“I had no other option, but to dismiss Mrs. Eff and Edward.”
“Of course, you do. I know Edgington’s lies have done some damage, but leaving now and dismissing your servants will only confirm people’s suspicions.”
“Truly, I have no other choice.”
“You always have a choice.”
Charlotte clenched her hands and stared at him, uncertain of how much to confess. She chose to confess all. What could it hurt? She had nothing left. “Mr. Edgington’s slander has reached my proprietress, Lady Catherine de Bourgh. After Mr. Collins died, she graciously provided this cottage for me at a reduced rate, but she prefers not to house a fallen woman.”
Mr. Basford rocked back on his heels.
“I can no longer afford to employ Mrs. Eff and Edward. They have not been here in weeks. I miss them,” she added wistfully, then sobered. “I must vacate this lovely cottage soon.”
Mr. Basford’s eyes were focused on the floor. “Where will you go?”
The kindness of his voice made Charlotte resent her pitiful situation. “I must go to my parents’ home to Hertfordshire and take Maria with me. She certainly cannot stay in Westerham alone.” Charlotte again debated how much she should divulge, but his kind eyes drew her onward. “I will seek employment. Eventually, perhaps I will be able to lease my own home, but I will always mourn my cottage here.”
“I am sorry. I did not realize….” Mr. Basford’s voice trailed off into quiet.
Charlotte continued, now eager to share her feelings once she had begun: “I was so pleased when Mr. Westfield proposed, for it meant that Maria would be spared my indignity. Now, she must return home with me.”
“Surely the situation is not so dire.”
Charlotte sighed. “Not dire. But Maria will live far below what she deserves.”
“And so will you.”
He appeared genuinely sad.
“Pray do not concern yourself with me. I shall be fine.” She attempted to steel herself against the need she felt for his kindness and compassion. She would soon depart, and in all probability, she would not see him again. She must learn to do without his friendship.
“And this is why I am not invited to call on you? Because you’re leaving?” His eyes were wide, searching hers for the truth.
Charlotte lowered hers.
She wished that her departure was the only reason she should reject his visits, but it was not. She would not lie to him, but she did not desire to injure him. She said nothing, and eventually she gathered the courage to look at him.
Their eyes met and held for what seemed like many minutes, and then, with a nod, he turned and walked out of the room.
She did not want to feel remorse at his departure, but she went to the window and watched Mr. Basford—his back straight, his stride long and ground-covering—walking away from her cottage. She would not see him again, and the thought did not appeal to her.
She had liked him.
She had liked him very much indeed.
Nineteen
Charlotte and Maria walked in the garden together. Both ladies had needed the time out of doors and a bit of physical activity to refresh their depressed spirits. Maria had been very quiet during the duration of their stroll and seemed not to be affected at all by the sunlight or surroundings, and Charlotte spent the time attempting to memorize the cottage and its garden. She committed each flower to memory, each leaf and color. Charlotte had installed most of the plants and cultivated them with her own hands. She learned by heart each stone of the cottage walls. She felt sure that the smooth brown stones would go with her in her memory no matter where her life led her.
Charlotte cast a sidelong glance at Maria. Her blond hair blew around her face and her dress wrapped itself around her ankles, making her gait seem labored. Her expression remained tense, with tiny frown lines around her mouth. Concerned that the fresh air had done nothing for her sister’s spirits, Charlotte felt certain that Maria would benefit from a cup of tea and some biscuits to lighten her mood. She was about to suggest that they return inside when she heard the sound of a carriage approaching.
They turned to see it enter the drive, a dust cloud trailing behind.
A team of gray horses trotted in front of a familiar barouche, their large, well-muscled bodies easily pulling it along. The sound of their hooves was rhythmic and somehow soothing, and some of Charlotte’s anxiety was carried away by the cadence.
Charlotte looked at Maria, who stared at the carriage as it drew ever closer. Her body seemed to go lax. She whispered, “It is Mr. Card’s carriage.”
“I think you must be right.” But what did it signify?
Mr. Card alighted from the carriage almost before it drew to a halt and certainly before the coachman could assist him. Suddenly, he stopped and looked at the ground, his hand still clinging to the side of the carriage as if his courage and bravado had disappeared the moment his feet touched the earth. Maria, however, approached him rather boldly, and Charlotte followed close behind.
Maria’s voice was somehow a mixture of courage and hesitancy. “Good day, Mr. Card.”
Mr. Card looked at her and removed his hand from the carriage. “Good day, Mrs. Collins, Miss Lucas.”
“Good day,” Charlotte repeated. She
was preparing to invite him inside when he spoke again.
“I know relations between our families have been strained of late, but you must excuse my plain speech.” His face was a study in consternation. He rushed on. “I have heard of your trouble. Quite frankly, I do not believe a word of it.”
Embarrassed, Charlotte found herself to be the one who was looking at the ground. “Thank you for your kindness, Mr. Card. I certainly am not guilty of that which I have been accused.”
“I knew it!” He raised a fist in victory and then lowered it. “I knew it simply could not be true. But Mama tells me that you are leaving Westerham.”
Charlotte nodded quickly but wondered how Mrs. Card had heard about her departure. She had hoped to leave Westerham quietly, to disappear and be forgotten. She had not believed her plans to be common knowledge, but apparently, her arrangements had been discovered. She would not concern herself with the details now.
Mr. Card’s voice grew uncharacteristically strong. “There is no cause for such a drastic move.”
“I am afraid it cannot be helped,” Charlotte said. “We leave at the week’s end.”
“So soon?”
“I am sorry to say it is so.”
Mr. Card glanced at Maria and then back to Charlotte. “Would you grant me the privilege of speaking with Miss Lucas?”
“Certainly,” she said, though she was sure that her voice conveyed her uncertainty. “It would be very wrong for me to deny you a moment to say your goodbyes.”
Mr. Card said a quiet thank you. Then, he offered his arm to Maria, and she shyly accepted.
Wondering at the portents of their conversation, Charlotte watched Mr. Card escort her sister to the back garden, and then she turned to go inside the cottage. Perhaps they would repair their friendship. At least something good would come of the sad situation.
She busied herself with the novel she had been reading and managed to get through one or two paragraphs at a time without her mind wandering to what might be occurring in the garden. At length, she heard the hoof beats recede as the carriage pulled away from the cottage.
When Maria entered the sitting room, Charlotte was prepared for a torrent of tears. It was not easy to say goodbye to friends, and despite what had occurred between them in the recent past, they were friends.
Maria, however, seemed strangely serene, her spirits much improved. She entered the chamber and remained quiet, pacing slowly across the room. Charlotte watched as her sister walked to the window.
“Tea?” Charlotte offered although no teapot was present.
“No, thank you.”
Maria did not turn away from her place at the window. Her blue dress was washed in sunlight, and her blonde hair glowed. “Charlotte, there is something I must tell you.”
Charlotte stiffened. This did not bode well. “I do not believe I can take more bad news.”
Maria turned away from the window. “It is not bad news. It is the best news.”
Charlotte paused, waiting. Her body was on edge, as if poised to flee at a moment’s notice.
“Mr. Card has proposed again, and—”
“Oh no!” This was certainly far worse than she had expected. Their friendship would not be repaired and Maria would leave Westerham with only unpleasant memories to console her.
“—and I have accepted.”
Charlotte leapt to her feet, and her book landed on the floor with a thunk.
“What? Proposed? Accepted?” Charlotte repeated stupidly. What could Maria be thinking?
“Mr. Card has proposed again, and I have accepted,” Maria spoke as though to a young child as she crossed the room to where Charlotte stood frozen in shock by the settee.
“He has struck during a moment of weakness.”
“No. He has waited until I understood the truth of marriage.”
“But you do not love him!”
Maria took Charlotte’s hand in hers. Her grasp felt strangely steady but not at all reassuring. “I do not consult my emotions in this case.” Charlotte shook her head, but Maria continued. “We are to be married.”
Charlotte stepped back. She comprehended the situation perfectly. Mr. Card’s proposition had come at the moment of their greatest need, and Maria fancied herself to be her savior. “Please do not make the same mistake that I made with Mr. Collins. I know our situation seems bleak now, but things will work out for our good.”
Maria ignored Charlotte’s protest altogether, “We will not have to leave Westerham after all. We will both be living in Mr. Card’s grand house, you see.”
Fear crept into Charlotte’s heart, and she clutched Maria’s hands even tighter. “No. Maria, do not trade your chance at love for security. No amount of money is worth a loveless marriage.”
“It may not be as loveless as you predict. Perhaps I shall grow to love him.”
“How can you possibly say that?”
“Have not many other happy couples begun their marriages in this way?”
“How ridiculous. You cannot be so naïve after witnessing my own failed marriage.” Maria knew how absurd it was to believe that love would come after marriage, especially a marriage of convenience. “You do not love him. You love Mr. Westfield.”
“No. I was mistaken in my belief. I thought love to be something shocking, like a lightning bolt or a runaway carriage, and that it would knock me over. But now I realize that love might be something else entirely. Perhaps love for Mr. Card will sneak into my heart.”
“Maria—”
“Charlotte, do not argue with me.” She dropped her sister’s hand abruptly. Her voice was strong, almost harsh. “It has been decided. I am marrying Mr. Card, and you are living with us.”
The sisters faced each other in defiance. “I know you are doing this because you are afraid for your future.”
“I am afraid for our future—yours and mine—but I do feel a fondness for Mr. Card. Is that not a foundation on which to base a marriage? Yours was formed on a great deal less.”
Charlotte stared in disbelief. She could make a thousand different, accurate retorts. She could remind her of the pain of her marriage to Mr. Collins. She could tell her that her notion of love was a sham, that it would never come after marriage. She could tell her that all love was a sham, for that was how she felt at that precise moment. Instead, she asked, “What about our parents’ permission? I do not believe I can act in their stead and give my permission to a marriage of convenience that could bring you sorrow.”
“We do not require your permission, Charlotte, though I hope in time you will come to understand my decision.”
“Has he sought Papa’s permission?”
“He did so when he first proposed all those months ago. So it is all settled.”
“I see.” There was nothing Charlotte could do. The bargain had been struck without her. She stared down at her hands. “Do not do this. I beg you would not.”
“Do not look for Mr. Collins in Mr. Card. He is not there.”
Maria was correct. Mr. Card was not like Mr. Collins at all, but she was no more in love with Mr. Card than Charlotte had been with Mr. Collins. “How could I ignore the similarities of our circumstances? You are not in love with Mr. Card.”
“I like him, and that is a kinder feeling than you ever experienced with Mr. Collins.” Maria’s face was set, as though sculpted in granite. “And Mr. Card can help us.”
Yes, he could help them, but the cost was quite dear. Her sister bought and sold to repair the damage Charlotte had caused by trusting Mr. Edgington. “I do not like it.”
“I am sorry for that, but it does not change a thing. Mr. Card has gone to secure a special license. We will be married before the week is out, and we will all move to Crumbleigh.”
Charlotte was poised to argue, but Maria looked at her earnestly. “You have taken care of me. Even before I moved here, I know you sent money to our parents. You introduced me to Westerham society. You took me to balls, hoping that I would have the love that y
ou never had. Now I am benefiting from all the assistance you have given me. I will have a husband and a large house. It is my time to return all the favors you have given me in the past. Charlotte, let me take care of you.”
“But the rumors…”
“I will not allow you to run away.”
“I am not running away!” She was not running. Was she?
Maria’s sardonic look momentarily cowed Charlotte.
“I know it will not be easy, but Mr. Card believes that your reputation will be restored in time, and I agree. People have short memories, and another person’s scandal will make the town forget ours. Have not you told me as much in the past? And until then, Mr. Card’s good name will carry us. You will see. We shall be happy and secure.”
Maria paused and forced her sister to look into her eyes. The look Charlotte read there was sincere and almost pleading. “It is my turn to take care of you.”
Her voice tapered off in a whisper, and Charlotte melted into her seat. She saw that Maria’s mind was quite made up.
After Maria left the room, Charlotte indulged herself in an embarrassing display of emotion. Tears rolled unchecked down her cheeks, and her eyelids swelled under the strain of her sorrow.
As much as she hated to admit it, she had wanted to run away. Her situation practically demanded it. She had little money, and no one in Westerham would hire her. No one in Westerham would even hold two words’ conversation with her! She simply had to leave.
Now Maria believed that her marriage would cure all the ills that had befallen them, but Charlotte knew it would not be so. It was true that society sometimes had a short memory, but Mr. Edgington still had her glove, and as long as it was in his possession, her reputation would always be in danger. Worse, once it became public knowledge that she had benefited from Lady Catherine’s charity but was now shunned by her, she would be doubly shamed.
She began to consider tactics for talking her sister out of her impending marriage, but she discounted such persuasion almost immediately. Charlotte’s interference would only serve to make matters worse. There was simply nothing to be done.
Charlotte Collins: A Continuation of Jane Austen's Pride and Prejudice Page 20
