My Dear Lizzie,
I had wanted to write sooner, but did not wish to disrupt your happiness with my dramatics. By now, I will have adjusted to my status as a widow and ceased to pretend to mourn for a man whom I did not care for, but used as a means to an agreeable end. Many would find this revelation heartless, but you Lizzie, always knew my true nature. Mr. Collins has died in a most unfortunate accident. In an attempt to limit his company, I encouraged his interest in gardening to the extent of learning the art of beekeeping from a neighbor to his parents. To this endeavor, Mr. Collins agreed wholeheartedly and continued in its pursuit despite the swellings he suffered from occasional stings believing that my particular abilities with herbs would save him from harm. Little did he realize that the poultices were of a temporary nature and repeated exposure would one day be the end of him. I am a patient person, but with the arrival of my dear boy, I saw no further need to continue the façade under which I have suffered for the past two years and desired to remove myself back to Lucas Lodge immediately. Accidents do happen, occasionally with unexpected results. The doctor said his heart simply could not manage when assaulted by so many bees. Who knew that gentle honey makers could become so angry? I consider myself a fortunate woman as Mr. Collins left me a comfortable fortune. And as it will be years before my Martin takes possession of your former home, your mother and sisters will not put out on any account should your father pass. Has it not worked out for the best? I look forward to seeing you and Mr. Darcy when you visit Longbourn again.
Yours Affectionately,
Charlotte
Elizabeth folded the letter carefully, unable to digest the realization of what Charlotte had done without the urge to laugh. The guilt of finding death amusing did little to erase an image of Mr. Collins madly batting a swarm of enraged bees. Although there was no direct association to any fault on her account, Elizabeth knew in her heart that somehow, someway, Charlotte had orchestrated the death of her husband. Crumpling the letter, Elizabeth placed it in the smoldering coals of the fireplace and watched as flames licked about the paper. It was a secret she would keep and take to her own grave.
Refusing Mr Collins Page 14
