Charlotte Collins: A Continuation of Jane Austen's Pride and Prejudice (14 page)

Mr. Edgington took her hand in his rough grip and kissed her knuckles. Charlotte pulled her hand away, wiping it on her gown to remove the sensation he had imparted on her skin. Her fingers and her spirit felt bruised by his roughness. Mr. Edgington walked back into the ballroom, leaving her at the mercy of whomever had come onto the balcony.

Fourteen

Charlotte's mind whirled, yet her thoughts were disconnected, and she could not latch on to one before another overtook it. She felt hot and cold at the same time, and she began to fear that she might faint. She had never fainted in her life, and she refused to begin now. Not over that swine Mr. Edgington. She grasped the hard wood of the railing until her knuckles turned white, and her eyes ached with barely restrained tears.

What should she do? What could be done? She had blundered far worse than Maria ever had.

She was ruined. Irrevocably ruined.

Suddenly, she heard a voice behind her. "Charlotte?" She jumped and spun quickly to find that Mr. Basford looked concerned. "Are you well?"

She responded without thinking. She could not think. At least not rationally. "I am quite well." It was, of course, a lie. A polite lie, but a lie nonetheless.

He studied her in the dim light. "I can see, despite your words to the contrary, that something is amiss."

Charlotte bit back a sob. "No, I assure you..."

He took her hands in his, a soft, reassuring touch, but the contact of his gloved hand on her naked skin only served to remind her of her missing glove.

"What has happened?"

Aghast, she pulled her hands away and stepped back two full steps. "I cannot say."

When Mr. Edgington's slander became public, the last thing she needed was for anyone to have seen her alone in the company of Mr. Basford as well. She would be labeled as an irrevocably fallen woman and the results would do no favors for herself or her future happiness. She stared at the ground while attempting to compose herself.

"Please, I may be able to help."

She looked up at him sharply. "I am afraid no one can help. I am quite beyond it."

Mr. Basford answered her with a skeptical look and stepped back to lean his hip against the railing. His posture was much like that of Mr. Edgington, but his bearing was completely opposite. He made the position seem more amicable than antagonistic He studied her silently for several moments while she tried to gather her wits about her.

He did not move, but the concern in his eyes conveyed as much as any physical comfort he could have offered. "I saw you here with Mr. Edgington. Has he done something to upset you?"

She was shocked at how easily her facade cracked under his kindness. Tears welled again in her eyes, and she only shook her head.

He turned abruptly, searching the ballroom intensely. "I can see that he has. I'll speak to him."

"No!" She laid a bare hand on his arm to restrain him. "You must not." She desperately wanted to tell him everything, to share her burden. In fact, she could not prevent herself. "Please, I am already ruined."

At her words, he turned back to her, and her hand fell to her side. His face was drawn into a confused expression. His forehead was a furrowed as a farmer's field, and Charlotte had the strange inclination to smooth it with her bare hand. "Ruined? Impossible. You are the most upright woman I've ever met."

"It does not matter. He will tell people, and they will believe him."

"Tell people what? No one who has ever met you will believe any negative remarks about you."

"They will believe him when he shows them the evidence."

He noticed the single glove clutched in her hand, and gently, he took it from her. The cloth seemed to burn her hand as it slipped through her fingers.

She hung her head as she saw understanding begin to come over him.

"He has the other glove?"

"Yes."

"Why would he take it?" He looked at it as though it would reveal its secrets.

Charlotte shook her head, unable to speak the truth, wiping at her eyes to keep the tears from falling.

His voice came out in a harsh whisper, his eyes hard. "He is trying to intimidate you into some sort of illicit affair with him!"

Charlotte nodded but did not meet his eyes. "He will ruin me if I do not give in to his demands, and I will be ruined if I do as he wishes. Either way, my reputation in society will be completely and utterly destroyed."

Saying the words out loud caused Charlotte to comprehend the full extent of her situation. "Not only will I be ruined, but so will my family. And poor Maria will have no hope of ever marrying well. Oh Lord.... And my house. I shall lose that as well once he goes to Lady Catherine."

Charlotte covered her face, her hand shaking, but she did not even think to be embarrassed by her exhibition of feminine frailty. She cried quietly for a moment and then took a deep, fortifying breath. Now was not the time for hysterics. She must try to think of a solution.

Unfortunately, she knew very well that nothing could be done, but she reviewed possible courses of action anyway. Perhaps she could somehow retrieve the glove during the evening, but how? Impossible. In all likelihood, he had already sent for his carriage and would soon be away. Perhaps she could destroy the remaining glove and deny the matter entirely. Also impossible, for the glove bore her own initials. She could go to Lady Catherine and tell her what had happened, but why would she believe her over her own relation? Indeed, nothing could be done to save her.

"He will show them my glove, which was a gift from him many months ago. A gift that bears my initials. And that dance...." She winced. "I have been here alone with him all this time. People will believe him. They will have no choice in the face of such evidence."

She expected Mr. Basford to leave her now, to save himself from sharing in her ruin. But he did not move. He stood like a rock before her.

Seeing his implacable features, Charlotte turned to leave, to spare him if he would not spare himself. "I must find Maria and procure a carriage. I must leave here immediately! Please order the carriage for us, if you please."

"No."

He was refusing his carriage! Feeling trapped, she began to panic. How would she and Maria get home? Would they have to walk home in shame through the dark streets of Westerham?

"You must not leave, and you must not cry. What you do now will have a large impact on your future." Mr. Basford's voice sounded authoritative and calm.

Even amid her distress, the truth of his words penetrated. She must minimize the damage. She turned back to him and watched in horror as he removed his own gloves and placed one in his jacket pocket. "What are you doing?"

"You must have gloves for the rest of the evening. I understand that going without them is simply not done. People will take notice and ask you about them, and you're certainly in no frame of mind to deal with the situation directly, at least not yet." He handed one glove to her. "Put on your glove and carry this other with you. People may notice that you're only wearing one, but they will see that you carry its mate. If anyone asks, tell them that the fabric has irritated your skin and that you regret that you must carry it."

She stared at him, unsure of what to do or think. Her mind was muddled, her thinking unclear. Would it benefit her to allow Mr. Basford to come to her aid? Could she trust him? Did she have any choice?

She did as he suggested and slid her glove back on her hand. She took his glove, which she folded to disguise its masculine cut, and held it in her hand.

"But you will be without gloves."

He rolled his eyes subtly. "I'm an uncouth American. It will be expected that I would break with custom in this way."

"But--"

"Do not concern yourself with my reputation, Mrs. Collins." He offered his arm, but Charlotte only stared at it, uncomprehending, as though he were the first gentleman ever to offer her such a courtesy. All proficiency of etiquette seemed to have deserted her. "You must go inside, speak to people, and behave as if nothing has happened."

"I do not think I can." Her hands shook, and her stomach was tight. The world seemed to tilt around her, and she leaned against the wall for support.

He stood squarely in front of her. His body was very broad and strong, but his carriage was not at all intimidating. He waited until her eyes met his. His voice was firm when he spoke. "You can and you shall. You must begin to fight his lies even now. You have done nothing wrong."

She nodded mutely, taking another bracing breath as a faint glimmer of courage shone inside her heart. She knew what she must do and turned to Mr. Basford, took a deep breath. "You must dance with me."

Charlotte almost expected him to make a jest about her forward behavior, but, thankfully, he appeared to give the idea serious consideration. "Yes, I think it wise for you to dance with me, and also with any other gentleman who asks. Talk with your friends. You and Maria will depart in our carriage at the end of the evening as planned."

He offered his arm again. Slowly, she reached for it. He took her ungloved hand, tucking it in the crook of his arm, and led her toward the door.

As they walked toward the ballroom door, Charlotte tried to think through her situation. Was she behaving wisely or would she exacerbate the problem? Every emotion told her to flee, to leave the ball and continue to run, but her mind said that flight was the easy course of action. And Charlotte had often found that the easiest solution did not yield the most desirable results. The difficult road was usually the one that ought to be travelled.

They reached the doors, and Charlotte took a shuddering breath. Mr. Basford gave her a stern look. The furrows were back in his brow. "Just don't cry."

She looked at him crossly. She may be a little rattled, but did he think her so weak that she might burst into tears in public? Perhaps she had cried on the balcony, but she would never do so in the ballroom! She was stronger than that. She detested debutantes who allowed their emotions to rule their behavior, or worse, who used their tears to manipulate others. She would see herself through the evening, and she would behave with her usual grace and good sense.

She hoped.

Charlotte kept her focus ahead of her as they entered. The room was alive with movement and sound. Couples danced in dizzying patterns, and voices seemed to swirl around her. What had seemed so pleasant only ten minutes prior now overwhelmed her, and she wondered suddenly if she was capable of maintaining her poise.

Her hand tightened on Mr. Basford's arm.

He whispered, "You've spent your whole life performing for others. You can certainly continue to perform for the rest of the evening."

Again, anger cut through her embarrassment, and she glared up at Mr. Basford. Did he think her merely a performer?

He only smiled back. Pleasantly. Charlotte wanted to remove that smirk from his face, but she forced her attention to the people around her. She had a fleeting recognition of her longtime friends as they moved around the ballroom. Would any of these people ever speak to her again after Mr. Edgington's news came out? Mrs. Card and Mrs. Farmington were seated in a corner, leaning toward each other to share gossip. Maria stood nearby watching as Mr. Westfield finished a dance with Miss Farmington. Would any of these people ever deign to speak with her again?

When the next dance began, Charlotte found herself being led to the floor by Mr. Basford. The steps came automatically, and she scanned the room for Mr. Edgington. She found him leaning insolently against the far wall. Mrs. Holloway stood nearby, conversing with two women. She looked frequently at Mr. Edgington and was obviously attempting to draw him into their conversation. Charlotte wondered where Mr. Holloway was. Perhaps he was taking some refreshment or had stayed at home with his pig. It was most certainly better company than his wife.

Mrs. Holloway's ridiculous bird adornment bobbled as she spoke, still glancing at Mr. Edgington, but he paid her little heed. He was watching Charlotte. Heat rose along the skin of her neck, and angry tears jumped to her eyes.

Mr. Basford spoke to her softly. "It is a nice ball, is it not, Mrs. Collins?"

She tore her gaze away from her enemy and looked at her partner, and his gaze was intense, calling her to focus and forget Mr. Edgington. "It is indeed, Mr. Basford."

"Of course, since it was given by my uncle, it would be rude of you not to agree."

Charlotte laughed, but even to her own ears, it sounded odd, forced and unnatural.

"I find that I enjoy your English country dances more than I expected." Mr. Basford was attempting to be companionable. "We have many similar dances in Savannah."

Charlotte made her best effort to focus on the topic of conversation. "It is nice to hear you say something positive about our land."

He smiled down at her sincerely. The furrows were gone, and smooth skin took their place. He looked so attractive, even to her overwhelmed mind. His steps were confident, and each time his bare hands met her bare one she could feel his strength enter her body.

As their hands met again, he gave her fingertips a gentle, warm squeeze. "There are many things I like about England, although I may not have shared as much as I should have."

"And I find that Americans may not be as ill mannered as I originally believed."

He grinned widely, and somehow Charlotte knew that her secret was quite safe in his possession.