by A V Knight
“Dear me! We had such a good piece of fun the other day at Colonel Forster’s. Kitty and me were to spend the day there, and Mrs. Forster promised to have a little dance in the evening. (By the bye, Mrs. Forster and me are such friends!) So she asked the two Harringtons to come, but Harriet was ill, and so Pen was forced to come by herself. And then, what do you think we did? We dressed up Chamberlayne in woman’s clothes on purpose to pass for a lady, only think what fun! Not a soul knew of it, but Colonel and Mrs. Forster, and Kitty and me, except my aunt, for we were forced to borrow one of her gowns and you cannot imagine how well he looked! When Denny, and Wickham, and Pratt, and two or three more of the men came in, they did not know him in the least. Lord! How I laughed, and so did Mrs. Forster! I thought I should have died. And that made the men suspect something, and then they soon found out what was the matter.”
With such kinds of histories of their parties and good jokes, did Lydia, assisted by Kitty’s hints and additions, endeavor to amuse her companions all the way to Longbourn. Elizabeth listened as little as she could, but there was no escaping the frequent mention of Wickham’s name. Though for Charlotte, it was rather more a matter of wondering if Colonel Fitzwilliam was the sort of commanding officer to allow silly young ladies to dress up his officers in his own home. Or if the fortunate young heiress who would become his wife would be the sort of girl to make friends with Lydia Bennet.
Needless to say, it was a relief for Charlotte to be dropped off at Lucas Lodge. She managed to slip from the carriage without disturbing too many of the boxes. She cast a commiserating look at both Jane and Elizabeth before she shut them back in the carriage and sent them on their way home to deal with officers and trips to Brighton, uncertain which would cause them the most difficulty.
Charlotte had a brief moment to look up at her own house and feel the peace of it before she was met by a tumble of siblings. Young Thomas all but leapt into her arms, while Lucy tugged her brother out of the way so she could have her turn. “You’re home!”
“Of course she’s home, you’re hugging her.” Charlotte let Lucy slip to the ground and dragged them both into equal hugs before they could start snapping at one another. Soon enough Charlotte nudged them into the house while William gave her a regal little nod and carried in her luggage. At fourteen, her brother and the heir to Lucas Lodge was at that precocious stage where he had decided he was too mature for hugs and kisses, no matter how much he might want them.
Her dear mother and father met her with more restraint but all the same love as Charlotte’s siblings. Maria dragged her from the front walk into the sitting room where she could be properly surrounded by family demands to hear every speck of her journey.
“Was Lady Catherine grand?” her father asked. “Of course she was grand, she is Lady Catherine de Bourgh, how could she not be. But how grand?”
“How was the food? Did you have pudding with every meal?” Thomas demanded.
“Tell us about her dresses!” came from Maria and Henrietta, while Lucy wanted to hear about the park and Lady Lucas was rather more concerned about the neighborhood in general.
Charlotte answered Thomas first since he was the one least likely to wait with patience while everyone else’s questions were answered. “Pudding was only with dinner, as it should be. Though you would have been disappointed because it wasn’t nearly as sweet as you prefer.”
“Why not?” He asked, offended for all puddings everywhere.
“Lady Catherine thinks sweet puddings are not worthy of her station. I believe she claimed that they were, ‘only good for those people who lack the ability to discern between the charming flavors in desserts instead of the flat nothingness of sweets.’”
Sir Lucas and all his children looked horrified, each of them having inherited his sweet tooth. Charlotte nearly laughed at how they all tried to find the balance between two of their father’s great loves: sweets and trusting the advice of their social superiors. It was William who finally looked to Charlotte for guidance and said, “I don’t think that sounds quite right, Charlotte. What if I like sweets anyway?”
“Then you shall like sweets. Miss Anne de Bourgh, Lady Catherine’s daughter, is of a gentle constitution and I believe Lady Catherine’s dislike of sweets has less to do with her actual beliefs on the matter and more to do with supporting Miss de Bourgh.”
“But that’s silly,” Thomas said.
“You’d be surprised at how often adults can be silly, darling.”
“Except for your father and mother. We’re never silly.” Lady Lucas corrected. “Now tell me about Lady Catherine’s dresses, and Miss de Bourgh’s. We must know all about them if we are to try out the fashion.” And so Charlotte told her mother and sisters all about Lady Catherine’s extensive dress collection, and how the lady would change clothes several times throughout the day depending on where she needed to go and which part of the parish she had business in. The dress she chose to visit a friend was quite less stern then the one she would choose to go and visit that same friend the very next day when they had been quarreling with a neighbor. Charlotte was careful to keep herself from sharing any specific details that would have been too difficult for her sisters to achieve on their income, instead speaking of colors, sleeves, and feathers.
Her father’s questions were rather more difficult to answer, for how did one explain someone’s ‘grandness’? Charlotte knew her father well enough to realize he was looking for those details that Mr. Collins would have had an easy time spouting out: the size of Rosings, the cost of the windows that Mrs. Collins had introduced them to even before any of the house’s inhabitants, the number of rooms, the number of pianofortes, and the style of her china. These were details of no consequence and so Charlotte shared them all with ease.
Charlotte was content with this, for every time she spoke of the fancy nothingness of the de Bourgh household it was another moment she wasn’t speaking of Lady Catherine’s cruelty. Things being as they were, her father was never going to meet Lady Catherine, and so Charlotte did not feel the need to ruin his perception of her.
Contrary to what might be the popular opinion amongst those who considered themselves clever, Sir Lucas’ genial disposition did not mean that he was nearly so unobservant as others supposed. Charlotte’s father was quite aware when people considered his attempts at conversation ill-placed, but Sir Lucas had long ago decided to be more concerned with drawing even the most discomfited out of their shells. It was a trait Charlotte applauded. When people were not determined to be contrary, Charlotte could say in all confidence that her father was quite adept at finding even the most uncomfortable partygoer a place.
This generosity did not mean her father was unaware when he was being insulted, however. There was no small amount of people who considered his openness of spirit a thing to mock. While Charlotte was certain that it must have hurt her father more than he ever let on—for no father wanted to burden their child with such feelings of disappointment—in the end, Sir Lucas considered even such reactions a success because the people had found his deficiencies a topic of shared conversation.
In the case of Lady Catherine, however, while the noble lady’s words might have been no worse than any others her father had endured, their speaker meant the words would have cut him to the quick. As the only one of her father’s children who had been born at the time, Charlotte remembered her father before he had become a knight. She knew precisely how much the honor meant to him. With no offense to her mother, herself, or her siblings, Charlotte believed that her father considered the day he was knighted to have been the greatest of his life. To have such a shining example of that lofty height to which he considered himself a part speak ill of his child would break Sir Lucas’ heart. He would strive to find some other way to interpret the comments, but as he was aware enough to understand when people were mocking him instead of thanking him for his efforts to make them comfortable, so too would he always know that Lady Catherine had fully intended to be cruel
.
So instead, Charlotte told a pleasant interpretation of Lady Catherine’s words. Not lies, she respected her parents too much to lie to them outright, but she was careful about the details she shared. This time it was a particularly difficult balance to strike because while she could anticipate the things Elizabeth would share with Mrs. Bennet about their time in Kent, there was no certainty about Mary.
Charlotte felt safe in the assumption that Mary would focus on the quality of the pianoforte and a thorough examination of Lady Catherine’s music collection, but there was no certainty that she wouldn’t mention the presence of Mr. Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam. So, Charlotte must do the same. She presented Mr. Darcy’s manners as they always were, though perhaps a bit more open with his cousin at his side and in the comfort of his aunt’s home.
To which her father exclaimed, “Of course he must be! He was always a polite gentleman, even when he was not feeling particularly communicative. I am certain that he is a much more personable young man when he has the comfort of his family.” Charlotte wouldn’t quite agree that he had been much better, but she had heard far more words out of Mr. Darcy’s mouth when he was in the presence of Colonel Fitzwilliam then when he had been left to his own devices.
The Colonel, she explained as quite the gentleman, rather more like a brother to Mr. Darcy than a cousin and terribly adept at improving conversation. As she had hoped, her father immediately asked how he managed such a thing. Charlotte was happy to lay out every moment of graceful transition she could remember, and determined to spend some time recollecting all those instances that did not immediately come to mind since they pleased her father so.
Charlotte longed to tell her father about how deftly the Colonel managed to turn Lady Catherine’s attention away from the quiet moments between Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy, how impressed she was that he noticed them at all, and how it made her smile that he put forth such effort on their behalf. Her father would’ve applauded the Colonel’s devotion to both his cousins, even so quiet as it was to Miss Anne. Lady Lucas would’ve wanted the Colonel’s opinions on the best parts of town, always planning a venture into London that would never come to pass. But perhaps with the Colonel as their guide, this time it might. Charlotte wanted him to give her little sisters that gentle smile that wore when speaking of Georgiana. She wanted him to take aside her brothers and show them what a quiet, honorable man looked like.
But all of those were silly thoughts that Charlotte couldn’t maintain for more than a half a second before she started to ache. It was foolish of her to have any thoughts at all about Colonel Fitzwilliam. They ought to be cast out of her mind where she couldn’t wonder what it would be like if she got to speak of the Colonel with a knowing smile. But no, Colonel Fitzwilliam would never sit in the same room as her family, never make her father feel credible, never look after her sisters like his own, and never guide her brothers. It was an absurdity to even contemplate and Charlotte Lucas was anything but absurd.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Elizabeth’s impatience to acquaint them with what had happened to her in Kent could only temporarily be overcome. The eldest Bennet sisters appeared at Lucas Lodge the morning after their return home. Since the level of privacy required for the coming conversation would be difficult to achieve within the walls of either of their houses, they chose to take a walk. When they reached a safe distance, Elizabeth’s desire to unburden herself of the secrets was stalled by the difficulty of actually saying the words out loud. Elizabeth was nothing if not determined, and soon enough she steeled herself and declared, “Mr. Darcy proposed to me.”
Charlotte and Jane both stared at her as though they must have misheard, so Elizabeth spilled out the entire story. It had happened while Elizabeth had been ill—a state which she paused before announcing. She explained that she had retreated to her favorite place in the park for a few minutes of certain privacy to recover, only to be found there by Mr. Darcy. He had been with her scarcely a minute after ascertaining her good health before he erupted into his unexpected proposal. Jane’s astonishment was soon lessened by the strong sisterly partiality that made any admiration of Elizabeth appear perfectly natural, while Charlotte was more surprised that Mr. Darcy had spontaneously proposed in the out of doors than she was by the proposal itself.
Elizabeth spoke of Mr. Darcy’s confidence in her acceptance, his lack of anything approaching romance in the effort, his rather insulting behavior in describing why he had hesitated at all, and her rejection of him for all but having to force himself to propose to her against his better judgment. Charlotte was of the opinion that if Elizabeth had exerted even the smallest amount of patience that Mr. Darcy could have been groomed into quite a proper husband, which she did not say out loud. Jane was sorry that Mr. Darcy should have delivered his sentiments in a manner so little suited to recommend them, but she was still more grieved for the unhappiness that her sister’s refusal must have given him.
“His being so sure of succeeding was wrong,” said she, “and certainly ought not to have appeared, but consider how much it must increase his disappointment!”
“I cannot imagine a world in which Mr. Darcy would not be entirely sure of succeeding.” Charlotte pointed out.
“Whether his certainty was justified or not, I am heartily sorry for him,” replied Elizabeth. She caught Charlotte’s expression. “I am, Charlotte. I am not so unfeeling as to not comprehend the pain of a rejected proposal.” Charlotte was tempted to point out that such empathy had not been in play after Elizabeth had rejected Mr. Collins, but Elizabeth was watching her with such heavy eyes that Charlotte realized she was trying to convey that she had learned from Charlotte’s struggles. She had watched Charlotte’s pain of rejection, as unconventional and half done as that rejection had been. For Charlotte, she had learned to be perhaps a bit better on the subject. Charlotte took Elizabeth’s hand and gave her a squeeze in apology, though only Elizabeth would understand the gratitude behind it as well.
“But I confess, he has other feelings, which will probably soon drive away his regard for me. You do not blame me, however, for refusing him?” she asked of them both.
“Blame you! Oh, no.” Charlotte nodded along with Jane’s refusal. Like Elizabeth, she had learned from her time at Rosings. A month ago she would have been disappointed in Elizabeth for wasting such a marvelous opportunity because the proposal was insufficiently romantic—though she still thought it was a foolish decision that a bit of planning could have remedied—but she could not fault Elizabeth for rejecting a proposal as she would have done before. There were some circumstances where the certainty in a lack of future happiness in a marriage was guaranteed.
“But do you blame me for having spoken so warmly of Wickham?” Elizabeth asked, and they were both confused as to why that might be. It was then that Elizabeth spoke of the letter Mr. Darcy had given her the day after his failed proposal. Elizabeth repeated the whole of the contents as far as they concerned George Wickham. Sweet Jane was perfectly torn between her disbelief that such wickedness existed in the whole race of mankind as was here collected in one individual and her vindication in Darcy for such a valiant defense of his sister. Most earnestly did she labor to prove the probability of error, and seek to clear the one without involving the other.
“This will not do,” said Elizabeth. “You never will be able to make both of them good. Take your choice, but you must be satisfied with only one. There is but such a quantity of merit between them to make one good sort of man. I confess that of late it has been shifting about. For my part, I am inclined to believe it all Darcy’s, but you shall do as you choose trying to think well of the both of them.”
Jane attempted to cajole some empathy from Elizabeth, who was content to tease her sister back into smiles instead of trying to find something praiseworthy in both the gentlemen and a forgiveness of both of their defects without detracting from the other.
Charlotte said not one word on the subject. Her thoughts were more concer
ned with what Colonel Fitzwilliam had done when he had been presented with the news. The man had transferred from the regular Army to better tend to the needs of his cousin only to find a villain—who if he had been a friend of Darcy’s youth must also have been a friend of the Colonel’s—preying on Colonel Fitzwilliam’s charge in such a way. The Colonel had sacrificed to protect Georgiana and Darcy both, and Charlotte could scarcely imagine how heartbroken he must have been to discover that his attempts were almost for naught. Charlotte knew the guilt she would feel if Maria or Henrietta did such a thing, but at least she was not the guardian of her sisters. It would be agony to be almost a father and know you had not done enough.
Elizabeth interrupted the temptation Charlotte felt to write to the Colonel and soothe him, even all these years later. “There is one point on which I want both your advice. I want to be told whether I ought, or ought not, to make our acquaintances in general understand Wickham’s character.”
Miss Bennet paused a little, and then replied, “Surely there can be no occasion for exposing him so dreadfully. What is your opinion?”
