Charlotte

by Linda Phelps

  “I will miss you very much,” said Charlotte. “Please promise to write me when you have a chance.”

  “Oh, we will often be at Rosings,” said Lady Anne. “My mother insists upon it”

  Colonel Fitzwilliam caught Charlotte’s eye. “In fact, we will be back to celebrate Easter. I suppose you will be up and tending to the fowl and eggs by then.”

  “Now that I am a mother,” said Charlotte, “I have given that task to our new maid servant. I do not intend to spend time with the chickens and geese in the future.”

  “That is their loss,” said Colonel Fitzwilliam.

  “We will be eager to see how the baby gets on,” said Lady Anne.

  “Indeed we will,” said Colonel Fitzwilliam.

  The baby began to cry. “How loud she is!” said Lady Anne. “Husband, we must leave so that the nurse can quiet her.”

  They shook hands around. Charlotte took them to the door and saw them to their carriage.

  When she returned to the sitting room, the baby’s nurse had arrived to take charge. “Let me hold her a moment,” said Charlotte.

  “She’ll not stop crying because of that,” said the nurse.

  “I like to hear her cry,” said Charlotte. She paced the room, murmuring words only the crying child could hear.

  “What is that you say, Mrs. Collins?” asked her husband.

  “I am assuring Catherine Amelia that she has come to good parents who will love her in all circumstances”

  “But if she should emulate Lydia Bennet—”began Mr. Collins.

  “In all circumstances, Mr. Collins,” said Charlotte and handed Catherine Amelia off to the nurse.

  Mr. Collins looked at her for a long moment. Then he went to see if the servant girl might be able to hear him. “My dear, at times I wonder if your regulations are not superior to those of Lady Catherine de Bourgh.”

  Mr. Collins!” explained Charlotte, “I am grateful I was not holding Catherine Amelia when you said that!. I might have dropped her!”

  “Not you, my Charlotte,” said Mr. Collins. “I have learned in this past year that there is nothing you cannot manage successfully.”

  “But husband, as well as Lady Catherine?”

  “Often better, but we will keep that as a secret only we two know.”

  “A secret from our patroness? Are you certain, Mr. Collins?”

  He came to her and took her hand. “There are rewards in this life that have nothing to do with preference or patronage. I did not know this until you became my wife. I believe Lady Catherine will never know it.”

  “Let us not try to teach her, husband,” said Charlotte. “Mr. Collins! What are you doing?”

  He strode to the portrait of the long dead de Bourgh and plucked it from the wall. “I shall hang this is the maid’s room,” said he. “I would not want Catherine Amelia to see it while she is so young. When she is older, she might elope to remove herself from its presence.”

  “Mr. Collins, if I did not know you so well, I would suspect you are teasing. How extraordinary!”

  He considered. “I believe I am. I did not intend to. I do not remember ever doing such a thing in the past. If Lady Catherine were to hear me she would be most disappointed.”

  “I found your words to be most refreshing,” said Charlotte. She came to his side and put her arm around his waist. “It is an art you would do well to practice.”

  “I shall,” said he, “for you, and for Catherine Amelia when she is older.”

  “Mr. Collins,” said Charlotte. “I may not have mentioned this often, but I am very pleased you took me for your wife.”

  “Not as pleased as I am, my dear,” and checking again to see that the maid was not nearby, Mr. Collins gathered Charlotte to him and kissed her.