Charlotte Collins: A Continuation of Jane Austen's Pride and Prejudice (13 page)

Maria gave Charlotte a cross look, but when she spoke again it was with a softer voice. "I have had two dances with Mr. Westfield, and he has proclaimed that were it possible to do so, he would dance every dance with me."

"I am pleased for you, but you must not be so public about your feelings."

"Maybe I am not the problem. Maybe you should be more overt about yours. Poor Mr. Edgington probably thinks you do not like him."

"Well, I..."

"You do not like him?" Maria asked, confused. "I believed you did."

"Let us not speak of this here." Charlotte glanced at those around them. Then in a louder tone, she asked, "Does not everyone look well tonight?"

"Most people do look lovely, although I find some questionable hairstyles. I believe one woman has a bird's nest in her coiffure this evening."

Charlotte was preparing to remind Maria that it was impolite to criticize other people's fashions in public, but something niggled at her mind. A bird's nest? She had seen a bird's nest used as an accessory of late. But where?

She thought for a moment and then the memory came to her. The theater. At Drury Lane in London! She had seen a woman with such an audacious affectation in her hair from the balcony of the theater. The woman whom Mr. Edgington had escorted. The plump one she had believed to be his poor country relation. Could it possibly be the same woman? Charlotte hardly thought so, but she leaned to her sister anyway. "Who is wearing the bird's nest?"

"Oh, I can never recollect her name. A plump woman. There was some gossip about her recently. Why can I not recall her name?" Maria scanned the room. "There!" She inclined her head toward a group of people beside the fireplace.

Charlotte did not instantly see the bird's nest, but when the group shifted, she saw a woman wearing elaborate wrap. Her hair dripped in bouncy ringlets. But was it the same wrap and the same ringlets that she had seen at the theater? Charlotte could not be sure until she saw the bird.

The mystery woman shifted slightly, revealing more of her hairstyle. Charlotte's heart began to flutter as the bird emerged. It was definitely the same one she had seen in the theater. It had to be. There could not be many women who would wear a bird in their hair in that very style. It must be the same woman she had seen with Mr. Edgington. She had the same build, and, now that Charlotte considered it, she thought it could be the same gown, although she was not certain.

Who was this woman? She strained, but still she could not see her face. Was she accompanying Mr. Edgington this evening? If so, why ever would he have danced with her? Had his companion observed their dance? She certainly would not have been pleased to see the rapt attention he paid Charlotte. She would be jealous indeed.

The woman turned, and Charlotte stifled a gasp. It was Mrs. Holloway!

Mrs. Holloway, who was rumored to be having an affair with an unknown gentleman. She had been with Mr. Edgington in London. She was engaged in adultery! With Mr. Edgington.

Clearly, Mr. Holloway was right to focus his attentions on a pig, for his wife was an undeserving creature.

And even more clearly, Mr. Edgington was the worst of men.

While Charlotte was deep in contemplation, Mrs. Farmington joined them with her granddaughter in tow. "Mrs. Collins, Miss Lucas, how lovely you look tonight."

Charlotte wondered how she could possibly look lovely. In all likelihood her realization about Mr. Edgington had robbed the color from her cheeks. But it would not do to behave as though something ill had occurred, and she schooled her features accordingly.

Would not Mrs. Farmington, and indeed all of Westerham, relish this news? But she certainly did not care to reveal her knowledge of this illicit affair. She wished she knew nothing of it.

Charlotte turned her attention to the older woman. She wore feathers in her colorless hair, but no bird. Her frost-colored curls bobbled as she walked and the plumage on her head waved back and forth. Miss Farmington was more attractively attired in a softly patterned blue dress with white trim. Her chestnut hair--also styled without a bird--glowed in the candlelight, and her eyes gleamed with malice as she looked a Maria. The harridan!

"And how popular you both are!" Miss Farmington looked slyly at Charlotte.

Oh! If this ninny had marked Mr. Edgington's attentions, then everyone had. Of course, no one knew that he was Mrs. Holloway's lover and was, therefore, a disreputable fellow. So she seemed safe.

"Yes, we could not help but notice how much attention Mr. Edgington paid you, Mrs. Collins," old Mrs. Farmington agreed.

Charlotte clasped her hands into fists and felt the material of her gloves wrinkle in her palms. "I can assure you that I have done nothing to invite his attentions, if indeed he paid them to me."

"He had eyes only for you." Miss Farmington sneered and made Charlotte want to clap her hand over her mouth. Fortunately, her next words changed the course of the conversation in a different, thought not entirely pleasant, direction. "And it seems that Mr. Westfield has eyes only for you, dear Maria. If I did not like you half so much, I believe I would be jealous."

Maria seemed taken aback by Miss Farmington's abrupt tone. She thought a beat. "You have no reason to be jealous. Mr. Westfield is very kind, but we have no attachment."

"He selected you for the first two dances."

"Yes, but he has danced twice with you, has he not?"

"I suppose he has."

"He is a delightful dancer."

"Yes."

"You see." Mrs. Farmington leaned in closely and inclined her head toward Mr. Edgington's group. "I was right. You two are indeed popular tonight."

"You are too kind," Charlotte murmured, still barely able to latch on to a coherent thought.

Mrs. Farmington spoke. "Are you certain you do not wish to tell us of an impending engagement to Mr. Edgington?"

"No, indeed, for we have no understanding. We had only one dance, and one dance does not a betrothal make. It does not even signify a friendship." But a bird's nest in the hair did signify an affair. "It barely even signifies an acquaintance."

"Well, you may mark my words, Mrs. Collins. Mr. Edgington will make a proposal to you very soon."

Charlotte certainly hoped not.

She was spared a reply when Mr. Basford spoke. He had appeared beside them without drawing Charlotte's immediate notice. The ladies curtseyed and greeted him. "Good evening, Mrs. Farmington, Mrs. Collins, Miss Lucas, Miss Farmington. Are you enjoying this evening's entertainments?"

Charlotte certainly noticed him now. His attire, while still somewhat informal and his cravat rumpled, was striking. His dark green coat drew her attention to his eyes, which beamed openness and honesty. Her tongue clung to the roof of her mouth, and all thoughts of Mr. Edgington and Mrs. Holloway and the bird vanished. They were none of her concern anyway.

"Indeed we are, Mr. Basford," Maria replied for her.

Old Mrs. Farmington and Miss Farmington gave their agreement.

"I am only sorry that my uncle could not be a little more in spirits tonight. He enjoys society and balls."

"Oh, is Colonel Armitage ill?" Mrs. Farmington asked, with concern in her voice. The elderly did not relish hearing of sickness, for fear that the words would somehow pass the condition on to them.

"Don't trouble yourself, Mrs. Farmington. He is quite well. It is just a touch of gout. He will be himself in no time. Until then he will have to be content to sit on the side of the action and enjoy his wine."

"We must be certain to give him our regards. Now come along, dear, I am in need of some refreshment." Miss Farmington and her grandmother bid them good evening and headed toward the door to the refreshment room.

Mr. Basford turned his attention to Maria. "I know my nephew enjoyed the favor of your dances together."

"You may tell him that I enjoyed them as well."

"It was nice to see you dancing as well, Mrs. Collins."

"I was just saying as much to her myself."

He turned to Charlotte and smiled. "Would you dance with me? We arranged it at the winter ball, if you'll remember."

Charlotte had forgotten his offer. She had not accepted it, had she? There was no obvious way of refusing him this time, so she accepted. As he led her to the floor, he subtly leaned closer to her ear. "Thank you for not embarrassing me with another rejection."

Surprised, she smiled. Standing at such close proximity, she could smell him. He smelled like the woods they had walked in several weeks ago. Without thinking, she inhaled deeply.

He continued as he led her into the dance, "I know you do not like public displays, so I'll be a proper gentleman, I assure you."

"Thank you."

"I saw you dancing with Mr. Edgington."

"Did you?" She still hoped she had imagined the attention they had attracted.

"He was very intense."

"I suppose he was."

He gave her a look of disbelief and said, "You are too kind to tell the truth."

"But I am not kind enough to think well of inappropriate behavior."

They walked forward with the other dancers, and conversation paused.

"You have reminded me of the importance of appropriate behavior several times."

Her back prickled, but there was no reprimand in his eyes.

She attempted a joke. "Perhaps you needed reminding."

He was silent for a moment, and she feared she had offended him, but then she looked into his face. His grin was somehow a mix of honesty and humor, and Charlotte smiled back. "Perhaps I ought to pass your reminder on to Mr. Edgington."

Charlotte could not repress her laughter, but she sobered at the intensely kind expression that suddenly lit Mr. Basford's eyes.

They finished the dance in companionable silence. Charlotte contemplated Mr. Basford. She had chastised his behavior almost from the moment she made his acquaintance, but it was now evident that he was a true gentleman. And more disconcertingly, it appeared that her own good judgment, which she prized, was flawed.

It did not matter now. She knew the truth. She would be kind to Mr. Basford, and she would never again hold two minutes' discourse with Mr. Edgington. It was as simple as that.

Thirteen

Mr. Basford proved to be an excellent partner, and it felt natural to move with him around the floor. Charlotte found herself forgetting about the steps and the onlookers--including Mr. Edgington and Mrs. Holloway--and simply enjoyed being on the dance floor.

When the dance ended, he led her from the floor, and she was reluctant to go. When he returned her to her place near the balcony door, he gave her hand a squeeze before releasing it. "Thank you, my friend."

She suddenly felt flushed and rather weak. A warm rush moved through her body at the sincerity in his voice.

Charlotte watched as Mr. Basford disappeared into the crowd. She realized that she was holding her hands in front of her as if to retain the feel of his hand on hers. Abruptly she relaxed her arms, letting them come to her sides and skim her skirt. She should not feel anything for him, of course, but there was warmth that still radiated through her body, and she did not know how to explain it. Thinking the fresh air might cool the heat that Mr. Basford had caused, she stepped onto the moonlit balcony.

The breeze did little to cool her cheeks, but there was no one else on the balcony and Charlotte was glad for the solitude. Mr. Basford persisted in her mind, however, and as she reviewed her interaction with him, she indulged in a bit of girlish fancy.

Mentally shaking herself, she pulled off her gloves and clutched them in her left hand. She should not be thinking of any man, not Mr. Collins, Mr. Edgington--the swine--or even Mr. Basford. She should be thinking of Maria and chaperoning her, as was her duty.

Charlotte turned to go back inside the ballroom and find her sister, but she stopped abruptly at the sight of Mr. Edgington behind her. His face was in shadow, and a shaft of light coming through the ballroom windows illuminated his fine dress clothes.

She glanced quickly around her. The far edges of the balcony were in deep shadow, but it appeared that they were alone.

"Mr. Edgington, I did not hear you arrive." Charlotte attempted to sound stern. Instead, she sounded as squeaky as a mouse cornered by a hungry cat.

"I did not mean to startle you, Mrs. Collins. My apologies."

Charlotte was on the verge of following her original intention of never again speaking to Mr. Edgington and returning to the ballroom, but he moved toward the railing, blocking her way. His face came into the light. He was smiling. He took his place near her and leaned his hands casually against the railing. "It is a pleasant evening, is it not?"

"For some, I suppose it is. But it is a very welcome relief from the rain."

"Yes, travel was quite difficult on the muddy roads."

"I imagine it was."

Charlotte leaned against the corner of the railing and looked at him sidelong. She must find a way to return to the ballroom. It would not do to be alone with this ogre.

Mr. Edgington moved slightly closer, his eyes intent on her profile. "I am pleased that I chose to return to Westerham when I did, despite the poor traveling conditions."

He was facing her squarely now, his hip leaning against the railing.

"Are you?" She kept her gaze resolutely forward and attempted to keep the malice from her voice.

"Very glad," he whispered.

Mr. Edgington appeared to be reaching for her hand, which was resting on the rail, but then he reconsidered, and he was left standing very close to her, leaving her no means of escape. She could feel his breath on her nape, causing wisps of hair to stir along the neckline of her dress. She wanted to gag at his overbearing presence, and all she could think of was fleeing him.

"I must return inside."

She expected him to move away, to allow her to pass, but instead, he said, "You are always leaving, Mrs. Collins."

"I fear I must."

Again, he did not move. "I missed you when you departed London."

"I do not think it is possible to miss someone with whom you barely associated."

"On the contrary, we saw quite a bit of each other, although not as much as I would have liked."

"It is polite of you to say, sir, but--"

"It is the truth, Mrs. Collins. I find myself thinking of you often."

Charlotte shrank back at his words. He only came forward to fill the vacated inches between them.

She looked up at him firmly. "That is very flattering, sir, but it is probably best that you do not think of me at all."

"I do not see how I can stop myself."

"I am certain that it will be an easier task than you anticipate. I am not a particularly memorable or exciting woman."

"On the contrary, Mrs. Collins, to me you are both memorable and exciting."

She glanced around. Still no one had appeared on the balcony. "Pray, do not say such things."

He leaned even closer. "I cannot help myself. I must say these things."

"One always has the capability of helping oneself when one so chooses."

He smiled and laughed at Charlotte as though she were a child who just said something very foolish. She looked sideways, searching again for an escape route, but Mr. Edgington had effectively blocked her in the corner with his large body. She began to fidget with the gloves in her hands. She wished she had not worn them. Perhaps they were unduly encouraging him. She would burn them as soon as she returned home. If she could ever get off this wretched balcony.

He glanced at the gloves, too, and reached down and took the fingertips of one glove in his and stroked them, but he did not touch her directly.

"Mrs. Collins, I would like to court you," he said with his head bowed over her hands.

"I...I..."

"I have admired you from the first, and I would like to know you better. Much better."

"Mr. Edgington..."

"Please, call me Lewis."

"No," she said sharply.

Her eyes met his, and he gave her a wry grin. "My proper Mrs. Collins."

Charlotte recoiled at the sarcastic tone of his voice. "I am not your Mrs. Collins."

His eyes turned hard, and she immediately dropped the glove that he held in his hand, releasing it to his custody. The other glove remained clutched in her fingers.

He moved back half a step, giving Charlotte a modicum of personal space. She could not see his eyes clearly now that his face had gone into the shadow. But he seemed intent on the glove that now dangled from his fingers. He transferred it to his other hand and began to follow its contours with his index finger. Charlotte watched as his fingertip reached the top of the glove that had so recently rested in the crook of her elbow. He began to trace the monogram he found there.

"I am glad you wore the gloves I gave you." His voice sounded cold.

Charlotte could not respond, but only watched him continue to examine her glove.

"They mark you as mine."

"Yours?"

"Mine."

He raised his eyes to her. "Did you not know that accepting gifts from men is often a sign of a deeper relationship?"

"That is certainly not the case here," she said in a desperate whisper.

"Is it not?" He slapped the glove gently against his opposite hand and then let it slide slowly across his palm.

Charlotte's eyes flew to his. His face was very close again, and for a moment she feared he would breech propriety and kiss her, but he did not. He simply continued to look at her with the same hard intensity.

"We have no relationship." She spoke with as much dignity as she could muster. She turned with the intention of sweeping back into the ballroom, but he shifted, effectively blocking her movement.

Acting as if he had not purposefully and rudely blocked her, he said nonchalantly, "Yes, but we could have."

Charlotte stiffened her resolve in preparation to reply in the most negative manner possible when he interrupted her.

"Before you refuse, consider, imagine, the possibilities. We have both experienced the world. We know that love is an illusion, and marriage is good for nothing other than securing a fortune or creating children."

"I certainly would not marry you," Charlotte spat.

He looked angry, but when he spoke again, his tone was even and quiet. "I will not be offended by your unkind words because I did not propose, nor do I intend to do so. My proposition, Mrs. Collins, is completely different."

He spoke her name now as though it were a slight.

"Unless your proposition is that we return to the ballroom and join the others before someone gets the wrong impression, you may be assured that I will say no."

"Dear Mrs. Collins, always so concerned about the opinions of others. My proposition is very simple. As two mature adults, we are ideally suited to take care of each other's physical needs, are we not? Widows often have arrangements with men such as myself."

Charlotte recoiled as he reached to stroke her cheek.

He smiled at her evasion. "We who are unfettered by the bonds of marriage can truly enjoy each other."

"No! Indeed we shall not, and it is indelicate and offensive of you to make such a suggestion." The pitch of Charlotte's voice was high with panic, but she tried to maintain a whisper.

He leaned closer, and Charlotte could feel the heat from his body. "What is it the poets say, 'Gather ye rosebuds while ye may'?"

"I do not trust poets, and I certainly will not let pretty words change my decision."

"All the same, you might want to reconsider." He tucked her glove into the pocket of his coat with careful deliberation. "After all, it may appear to some people that we are already so engaged. We have been alone here for quite a long while, and I have a memento of our time together. A memento that, I believe, was also a rather intimate gift."

Charlotte was stunned into utter silence.

"You may cling to your high moral principles, but you will have to content yourself with them. Your morality may be questioned by society when they see such damning evidence of your behavior."

The realization that he was threatening Charlotte, blackmailing her into an indecent relationship, registered despite her shock. Was this how he had begun with Mrs. Holloway? Was she not so much his lover but his victim?

Regardless of how he had engaged the services of Mrs. Holloway, Charlotte was ruined no matter what decision she made. She would either be a woman defiled or she would appear to be one to the rest of the world. She would devastate her family and lose her friends, or she would lose her self-respect. How could she--a woman who prided herself on common sense and propriety--have been so foolish?

"Return my glove this instant," she demanded with more confidence than she felt.

He smirked. "Indeed, I will not."

She stared, still unable to believe the baseness of his character.

"It would behoove you to reconsider my offer, Mrs. Collins."

Though her reputation was already as good as ruined, Charlotte still could not consider his proposition. "Mr. Edgington, do you find joy in blackmailing women in this manner?"

He glared. Moments crawled by. "You misunderstand, my dear Mrs. Collins. For a gentleman such as myself, it has nothing to do with the joy of mere words. I desire an entirely different sort of joy. Perhaps I ought to use the word euphoria. With this token," he said as he patted the pocket where her glove was concealed, "I have the opportunity to experience the sort of joy I desire."

Charlotte struggled to breathe. He was a monster. "Why are you so intent on torturing me? I have done nothing to merit it."

"Done nothing?" His voice became thick with barely restrained anger, "You reject me. No other man in England would have you, a cold, joyless woman, and still you reject me. I would have you."

Charlotte suddenly had the urge to throttle him, and instead of launching herself at him bodily, she struck him across the face with her other glove. Then, shocked at her physical outburst, she stared as his hand went to his cheek.

"You old fool!" he said between clenched teeth. "Do you realize what I may do to your reputation? Do you not comprehend? My connections in Westerham society, to Lady Catherine, will assure your ruin. One well-placed word from me about how you offered this glove as an inducement to an affair, and the dear old bat will see that you lose everything. Including your very home!"

Charlotte stepped backward. She knew that Lady Catherine would not hesitate to remove her from the cottage if she merely suspected her to be a part of the demimonde. Her cottage. It was her only real security. She could not lose it. But what could she do?

Her eyes darted around the balcony as if the answer would be written on the wall. But no such response appeared. After a long hesitation, Charlotte resigned herself to her fate. "Do what you will, but my conscience is clean and the truth will set me free."

He sneered. "I thought you many things, my dear Mrs. Collins, but never naive. Truth is found in perception, and we have already been perceived," he said, gesturing to a movement on the opposite side of the balcony.

Charlotte squinted into the shadows. She could see a hint of motion, but she could not discern who had joined them.