Charlotte Collins: A Continuation of Jane Austen's Pride and Prejudice (16 page)

Certainly he had already proven himself to be an upstanding man and very much unlike what she had expected upon their first meeting. His letter had soothed her in a manner that nothing--neither the rosehip tea and toast nor Mrs. Eff's conversation--had managed.

• • •

Maria returned inside and sank ungracefully onto the settee beside Charlotte. She looked fresh and excited, her blue eyes shining. Charlotte felt like a storm cloud--a woman of dark and changeable moods--and probably resembled one as well.

"Did you enjoy your walk?"

"I would have much rather talked to you, but you refused to get out of bed at a reasonable hour. I suppose you felt ill?"

"I had a dreadful headache this morning, but I am feeling better now."

"I am glad to hear it." Maria took Charlotte's hand. "I do not say it often enough, but I do not know what I would do without you. You have given me a home and a chance to enjoy society. If it had not been for you, I would never have met Mr. Westfield."

Guilt raced through Charlotte. Maria's happiness was indeed attached to hers. And how tenuous was Charlotte's happiness! Unsure of whether she should break the bad news to her sister, she hugged Maria tight, looking down at her blond head where it rested against her shoulder. The poor girl had already been the target of the sharp arrows of gossip, but still she managed to retain her innocence and optimism. Her good nature had seen her through the loss of her friendship with Miss Farmington and Mr. Card. Perhaps Charlotte ought to rank optimism a little higher in her list of virtues.

Charlotte sighed. She feared that her brush with the slings of society would not leave her as innocent. The horrid tale would become public eventually, and it would be better to tell Maria beforehand. But Charlotte could not bear to ruin her sister's elevated mood, and there was Mr. Westfield's impending visit to consider.

Perhaps tomorrow he would propose, and engaged to the man she loved, Maria would be safe from partaking in Charlotte's ruin.

• • •

Mr. Basford and Mr. Westfield arrived at the cottage the next day in the early afternoon. In the sitting room, Maria sat in a chair appearing completely composed while Charlotte fidgeted on the settee.

"Mr. Basford and Mr. Westfield." Mrs. Eff announced them at the door. Charlotte imagined that her voice held a note of finality.

The sisters stood and turned to greet them.

"Good day," Charlotte said. She tried not to seek reassurance from Mr. Basford that the news had not yet spread, but she could not help herself. Her eyes sought his.

He smiled, his lips drawing into a subtle U-shape, and she knew her secret remained safe.

She released the breath she had been holding. His smile deepened, revealing a row of nicely formed teeth. Charlotte dragged her gaze away from him and focused on Maria, who was blushing prettily as Mr. Westfield greeted her.

Charlotte forced herself to remember her role as hostess. "Please, do sit down."

"That is very kind of you, Mrs. Collins," Mr. Westfield said, "but I was hoping to have the pleasure of taking a turn about the garden with Miss Lucas. Would you grant us your permission?"

If it were possible to shout inwardly, Charlotte did so. Outwardly, she remained composed. There could be no doubt but that Mr. Westfield was going to propose! Charlotte would convey her parent's blessing forthwith, and perhaps the marriage would occur before Mr. Edgington's news could do damage. At the very least, her sister would be securely engaged when the dreadful news became available to the public.

"Certainly, Mr. Westfield. It is a fine day for walking." Charlotte had to restrain herself from pushing them out the door. Instead, she kept her seat as Mr. Westfield escorted Maria from the room, but she did wink at her sister when she turned back in the doorway and smiled hugely.

Once the door had been shut behind them, Mr. Basford said, "That was a very cheeky gesture for so refined a woman."

Charlotte elected to reply in a similarly cheeky manner. She actually felt a bit cheeky just now. "You forget, Mr. Basford, that I am--or very soon will be--a woman with a reputation. It is expected that I would behave in such a shocking fashion."

He sobered. "You don't believe that, do you?" he asked, leaning forward in his seat.

"What? That soon society in general will believe me to be only slightly better than a harlot and that they will expect me to behave accordingly? I cannot help but believe it."

"Surely no one will believe you capable of what Mr. Edgington will assert."

"I wish that were true." She looked down at her skirt. "But in my experience, people are eager to believe the worst in others."

A pause.

"What about you, Charlotte, are you inclined to believe the worst in others?"

Charlotte considered. She had believed the worst of Mr. Basford, and in reality, he was the best of men, but she had believed the best of Mr. Edgington, and he had turned out to be a pig. A serpent. A demon! She stopped her litany of insults. "It appears that I always believe the opposite of what is true. I find that I cannot read the character of others at all."

"First impressions can be deceiving."

"Indeed."

Although the conversation dwindled, the two sat comfortably together for a time. Then, Mr. Basford shifted in his chair. "My nephew is proposing to Maria."

Charlotte's head snapped up. More inward rejoicing. "I am so pleased, and I know my sister will be pleased as well. She has developed deep feelings for your nephew."

"James is quite fond of her too. He needed only a little encouragement from me to make his proposal."

"Encouragement was required?"

"Oh, no, do not misunderstand. The boy wanted to propose. He told me so himself. He simply needed a little nudge to overcome his initial hesitancy."

She was somewhat relieved. "I see. And you merely nudged him."

"I thought the timing was right."

He meant, of course, that the timing would prevent his young charge from caving in to societal pressure once Charlotte's disparaging story was known. She dropped her eyes, ashamed that she had the potential to affect her sister's life negatively. But if it resulted in an engagement, the circumstance could not be entirely bad.

"I did not tell him your situation."

"I greatly appreciate that."

He stood, crossed the room, and joined Charlotte on the settee. He sat at a respectable distance, but Charlotte slid further toward the armrest. She made a great pretense of rearranging her skirt. And then, realizing that she was preening like Maria in a room of eligible gentlemen, she took a fortifying breath and looked at Mr. Basford.

He was lounging against the back of the settee, looking calm and relaxed indeed. How could he manage to be so calm when she felt so nervous? His legs were stretched in front of him in a very inelegant position that somehow managed to suit him quite well.

Her eyes moved up past his deep blue frock coat, his loosely tied white cravat, and his neck to his face. Slowly, she met his eyes, and the events that had concerned her only moments ago seemed to disappear into insignificance. What cared she about Maria and Mr. Westfield when she felt such a pull toward Mr. Basford?

Charlotte did not know exactly what to do next, but she could not force herself to remove her gaze from his. She clasped and unclasped her hands in her lap several times before she realized she was fidgeting. How inexperienced she must appear. She dropped her hands beside her, allowing them to rest on the settee. Finally, she sat, unmoving.

Mr. Basford, however, was not so immobile. Gradually, gently, his hand moved from where it had laid across his chest. It slid ever so slowly across the brocade fabric of the settee. Charlotte saw the movement in the periphery of her vision, but she continued to meet his eyes. Her heart beat faster as his hand approached hers. Slowly, slowly, his hand continued to move toward her, and time seemed to stop as she waited for their fingers to meet.

His hand was so near to hers that she could feel the heat from his skin. A shiver of anticipation rushed through her. Her whole being was focused on Mr. Basford, and she was shocked to discover how desperately she wanted his touch and wished to experience his ever-present warmth.

The door burst open in the moment before Mr. Basford's hand met hers. His hand retracted politely to his lap as Maria and Mr. Westfield dashed in, smiling and laughing. The moment dissipated like dew on morning grass, leaving Charlotte's face as warm as if she had been standing in the sunshine.

Charlotte was thankful that her sister was unobservant, for she did not notice the blush on her cheeks, and she did not feel the tension between her and Mr. Basford. She simply hurried into the room and said, "Charlotte, Mr. Westfield would like to speak with you."

Composing herself, Charlotte adjusted her position on the settee, sitting straighter and turning her gaze to Mr. Westfield. She attempted an authoritarian demeanor, but she feared her red cheeks would hinder the facade. "Should we step into the next room?"

Mr. Westfield came forward, clearing his throat. Maria stood behind him, her face flushed with excitement. "No, Mrs. Collins, I believe everyone here will share in our joy."

He paused, glanced down at the floor, and cleared his throat again. Charlotte wondered if he had lost his nerve. Finally, he said, "I have asked Maria to become my wife--"

"I said yes!"

"Yes. Indeed, she gave her consent, but now I must ask the permission of her family--"

"And is it not true, Charlotte, that Mama and Papa have given you the power to agree to a match?"

Charlotte glanced between them. Mr. Westfield was still staring at the floor and periodically clearing his throat, and Maria was looking at her with wide, hopeful eyes.

"Yes. Mama and Papa have given me the option of granting their permission in their absence."

Maria stepped forward and grasped Mr. Westfield's elbow. "And will you grant it?"

"That depends." She glanced again at Mr. Westfield. "Sir, do you promise to make my sister happy? To provide for her? And, most importantly, to love her knowing that she has no dowry to speak of?"

Mr. Westfield met Charlotte's direct gaze. "I will do my best, Mrs. Collins, with or without a dowry."

"Then, I do grant permission."

Maria squealed with glee. She abandoned her betrothed and ran to throw her arms around Charlotte while Mr. Basford rose to clap his nephew on the shoulder.

Maria bounced up and down in Charlotte's embrace. "We must begin planning the wedding immediately!"

"Maria wants to be married as soon as possible," Mr. Westfield explained. He paused. Another cough. "As do I, naturally."

"We will see to the license while the ladies plan the ceremony," Mr. Basford assured him with a glance at Charlotte. She felt heat rise in her cheeks, and she focused instead on her sister.

"First, we must see to a dress...."

The good news of Maria's engagement to Mr. Westfield spread around Westerham, and soon there were many callers wishing to congratulate them. Mr. Basford and Mr. Westfield had procured the license and the ceremony was set to take place in three weeks' time. The gentlemen were frequent callers at the cottage, and the sisters always looked forward to their arrival.

In her happiness, Charlotte had almost forgotten about Mr. Edgington's intended blackmail, but the threat had not yet passed.

Sixteen

It is said that bad news spreads quickly, but whoever first uttered those words probably did not realize that there was something that spread faster: pernicious gossip.

No one was quite certain how the story began, but everyone knew without a doubt that it was true.
Someone
had seen the glove. No one was quite sure who.

The only thing that was certain was that Charlotte Collins was a fallen woman.

The news came to Charlotte in this way: she was in the kitchen stitching new ribbons onto the dress Maria intended to wear on her wedding day when Mrs. Eff, who had been with Edward in town procuring foodstuffs for the household, arrived at the cottage looking very grim. She entered and immediately sent Edward to their chambers, which were adjacent to the kitchen, instead of requiring his help with the provisions. He disappeared through the open door, and Charlotte heard him moving about.

She looked at Mrs. Eff, whose face appeared pale. Immediately, she was concerned. "Mrs. Eff, are you ill?" For once she hoped for illness because the alternative was her own downfall.

"No, Mrs. Collins. Not ill. Just sick at heart."

Oh dear.

Charlotte pushed the ribbons and cloth aside and gestured for Mrs. Eff to sit at the table. "Do tell me what is the matter." She did not really want to hear what she knew must be forthcoming.

"Edward and I have heard the most dreadful news in town."

"Has someone died?" Now Charlotte hoped for a death. Please, a death.

Mrs. Eff sucked in a deep breath. "No one has died, but a reputation has perished."

Charlotte's fingers curled around the edge of the table. The story had begun to spread. She knew it with perfect certainty, but she asked anyway, "What do you mean?"

"Word has got out that," Mrs. Eff hesitated, looking down at the floor and then back at Charlotte, "well, that you committed an indiscretion with that awful Mr. Edgington. Someone said you gave him a glove as a memento."

Charlotte's hand tightened again on the table, and her knuckles turned white. Her eyes dropped to her lap, and she knew that her face flamed with anger and embarrassment.

"It is not true, is it, Mrs. Collins?" she paused for a quick breath, and then continued, "Well, it could not be true. I told Mrs. Sinclair that myself when she told me. I told her there was no possibility that an upstanding lady like you would do such a thing."

Charlotte shook her head, but could not speak, and to her horror, tears began sliding down her cheeks. What a weak and pitiful woman she was! She could not even bear up under the scrutiny of Mrs. Eff. Imagine how she might humiliate herself in public. She would have to become a recluse. There was no doubt.

Mrs. Eff leaned forward with a look of pity on her face. "Oh, my dear. Tell me what has happened."

Charlotte took a few moments to compose herself. The kitchen was silent, and Edward had stopped knocking about in his chamber. Everyone, it seemed, was awaiting an explanation that would vindicate her. She took a bracing breath, but still her voice shook. "I was completely deceived by Mr. Edgington. Completely and utterly deceived! I believed him to be a man of good character. But he is not."

Mrs. Eff's frown deepened as Charlotte relayed the entire story, including the stolen glove and Mr. Basford's role in the debacle. When she finished speaking, Mrs. Eff leaned back in her chair, and Charlotte let her head fall into her hands.

"Well, this is quite a fix indeed."

Charlotte massaged her temples, trying to relieve the pressure that bore down on her. "There is nothing to be done, I am afraid. Nothing. Now that the slander has become public, I am ruined."

"That is not true, Mrs. Collins. Everyone in Westerham knows your good character."

"Yes, but they will have no choice but to believe Mr. Edgington. In fact, they already believe it. You have said so yourself."

Mrs. Eff let out a frustrated breath. "I cannot believe that the rumor will persist when people begin to think logically about your character. None who knows you will believe such a thing for long."

"Will they not? You know as well as I that people do not think logically about gossip. What is heard is believed. It is as simple as that." Tears continued to fall down her cheeks and she swiped them away. "Everywhere I go, his lies will haunt me. Even if I leave Westerham, I will always look behind me."

"Surely you do not think he would follow you?"

"I do not believe so, but he is well traveled. Will he happen upon me in Hertfordshire and expose me there? If I go to Bath, will the story follow there as well? Can I go anywhere to be completely safe?"

Mrs. Eff considered for a moment, and then said, almost to herself, "As long as he has that glove, he might be able to convince others, but without that proof, his power is gone."

"If only I had not accepted those gloves in the first place..."

"You cannot go into the past and undo it now, but perhaps if we could get that glove back.... Do you have its mate?"

Charlotte hung her head. "No, I destroyed it the night of the ball."

"There must be some means by which to retrieve that glove," Mrs. Eff said. "Can you not think of a way?"

Charlotte had thought and thought of how to get that glove. Each of her schemes had ranged from the far-fetched--sneaking into his home and stealing the glove--to the utterly immoral--setting his home ablaze, and the glove with it.

"There is no way."

Mrs. Eff looked a bit deflated and pondered the situation for some minutes before asking, "Did anyone see you alone with Mr. Edgington at the ball?"

"I cannot be certain, but I believe only Mr. Basford observed us. Though anyone could have looked out onto the balcony without my notice."

"I do believe that Mr. Basford is a gentleman who can be trusted."

Charlotte looked up, her chin in her hands. "I hope so. I do not know anymore. The people I think I should trust seem to turn out to be unsavory, and those I mistrust at first meeting seem to be the true gentlemen."

"Is not that always the way?"

• • •

Later that day, Maria returned from paying a call at the Armitage house and dropped her bonnet on the kitchen table where Charlotte was distracting herself by arranging a vase of flowers cut from her garden. Maria fluttered around the room, searching for a biscuit to assuage her appetite, and recounted the events of her afternoon. Her conversation barely registered in Charlotte's ears. It was quite plain to her that Maria had not heard the vicious gossip. Charlotte was relieved that word had not yet reached her, but she knew she would have to confide the whole sordid, embarrassing story to her.

Charlotte interrupted her sister's soliloquy regarding her impending nuptials. "Maria, sit down. I must tell you some news."

Oblivious to her sister's grim tone, Maria perched on one of the kitchen chairs and began idly touching the flowers before her. "I do hope it is delicious news, for I have had a delightful day. Is it news of a tender nature? Has a new couple formed an attachment?"

"No, indeed. It is not news of an attachment. In fact, it is the opposite."

"Oh, then do not tell me, for I am in no mood for ill news." Maria dropped a flower back into the vase.

"I am afraid you must hear this." Charlotte pushed the vase out of the way. "For it affects you."

"How can that be? I have done nothing to warrant the gossip of others. At least not recently."

Charlotte quieted Maria with a serious gaze. "I am afraid that I am the subject."

Charlotte recounted the story, attempting to conceal the seriousness of the issue from her younger sister, but Maria comprehended the situation fully. She listened in shock, her blue eyes large and watery on her sister's behalf, and then she lapsed into anger. Her porcelain-colored skin flushed red. She leapt from her chair and rushed to her sister's side and wrapped her arms around her.

"He is a monster! What kind of man would do such a thing?"

Charlotte's eyes filled with tears as she listened to her sister's outrage and felt her comforting arms around her. She was so quick to jump to her defense and had not even considered the repercussions to her own life.

Maria rocked Charlotte back and forth in her arms, repeating, "Poor, poor, Charlotte. You do not deserve this."

Charlotte pulled away gently, wiping the tears from her eyes. "Listen to me, Maria." She held her at arm's length so she could see her face. "This situation could affect you as well."

"What? How?" A look of genuine confusion crossed her face.

"Gossip is already spreading through town. Mrs. Eff and Edward heard this morning. It is but a matter of time before our friends and neighbors are acquainted with the terrible story. I am rather surprised that you did not hear of it while you were with the Armitages today."

"Oh dear, I had not thought...."

"And you know how things like this are wont to go. The gossip never affects just one person. It affects the entire family, I am sorry to say."

"What are you saying? How can this affect me?"

Charlotte, searching for delicate words, hesitated and then said, "People might believe that you engage in the same type of behaviors of which I am accused. Or at the very least, they will look down upon you because you are related to me. You may lose more friends over this."

"Lose friends? Over nothing? How could anyone believe this of you? Even if he does have that glove!"

"I do not want this to spoil your wedding. You deserve a perfect day."

A wistful expression crossed Maria's features. "I am safely engaged to Mr. Westfield and nothing will ruin my wedding. We are so blissfully happy. Until then, I will just ignore any gossip I hear."

Charlotte mustered a smile at her sister's bravery, or her foolishness, whichever it was.

• • •

The next week proceeded in the way Charlotte had expected. The story circulated through Westerham, and soon there was no one who had not heard of her supposed downfall. Visitors called on her, demanding to hear the truth of the matter. Some supported her, but a majority seemed to reject her. Still others shunned her, choosing to believe Mr. Edgington's story without first seeking her version of the event.

Soon the visits began to dwindle, and Charlotte could not decide whether to be relieved by the fact that she was no longer forced to defend herself to inconsiderate neighbors or to be upset because many of her acquaintances had chosen to believe Mr. Edgington's slander.

As the cottage became quiet, Charlotte became depressed. But when the next visitor arrived, she realized how utterly unprepared and completely naive she herself had been.

Maria was on a drive with Mr. Westfield when a closed carriage, complete with gilded family crest and team of four perfectly matched steeds, rumbled ceremoniously into the drive. The sound attracted Charlotte to the window, and she drew away immediately at the sight, as though a view alone could injure her. And injure her it had, for she recognized the carriage as one belonging to Lady Catherine de Bourgh.

Charlotte withdrew further from the window and debated which room to choose to meet her inevitable doom. Perhaps she ought to go out and meet the carriage. Face her destruction head on. She took two steps toward the door and stopped.

No, she would not go like a lamb to the slaughter. Lady Catherine would come to her. It was the only power she retained: the power to inconvenience.

Charlotte arranged herself in the sitting room. She selected the high-backed chair by the fireplace, for it seemed the most regal, and she waited. She had hardly allowed herself to consider how Mr. Collins's former patroness and the proprietor of her rented cottage would react to the slander. Certainly, the encounter would not end well.

Mrs. Eff announced Lady Catherine, and the great lady swept into the room, skirts swirling in her wake. Charlotte contemplated keeping her seat, but then she stood. Her heart fluttered in her chest and her palms began to sweat, and suddenly, the world seemed to shrink as her vision closed in on her guest.

She closed her eyes, to regain her composure, and spoke. "Lady Catherine." The name held power, and Charlotte felt certain that merely speaking it aloud would unleash the plagues of the Day of Judgment.

When she dared to open her eyes, she saw no swarm of locusts or apocalyptic horsemen. The world was as it had been moments before, quiet and calm, only now a woman in severely fashionable attire stood before her.

"Mrs. Collins." Her voice was as severe as her attire.

"Will you sit?"

"No, I shall not! I do not hold pleasant discourse with women such as you."

Charlotte sat. She might as well be comfortable when the ill news was delivered.

"A report of an alarming nature has reached me."

"Has it?" Charlotte attempted indifference. "I find it surprising that you would come to me with gossip."

Lady Catherine's eyes narrowed, and her face hardened into planes and steep ridges. "It has come to my attention that the state of your morality has declined drastically."