Charlotte Collins: A Continuation of Jane Austen's Pride and Prejudice (3 page)

Arm in arm, the two sisters wove their way through the crowd toward an empty spot near the fireplaces where they could observe the dancers. Maria sparkled in her white gown with its puffed sleeves and pale green trim around the neckline, and though she would never admit it, Charlotte felt somewhat attractive in the modestly cut lavender gown with black trim, which seemed to flatter both her face and her slim figure.

Maria jabbed Charlotte in the ribs. "That must be him." Her voice was sharp, but at least she had bothered to whisper.

Charlotte scanned the ballroom for the gentleman who had captured her sister's attention so forcefully. Maria gestured with a turn of her pretty blond head and giggled. Charlotte looked but could see no one spectacular. "Who?"

"The gentleman. The
American
." Again the word was spoken as though it denoted something unusual and not just an ordinary man. "The one standing next to Colonel Armitage."

Charlotte found Colonel Armitage easily enough, for he had a memorable physique, large and jolly, and always stood out, even in a crowded room. Beside him was a young man, who appeared to be rather tall and had dark blond hair, which had been styled to convey unconcerned wildness. She was certain that such perfectly tousled wildness actually took his valet hours to achieve. He spoke to Colonel and Mrs. Armitage, gesturing broadly, and smiled just as broadly. He appeared to have engaging manner, for the Armitages attended to his every word, as did many guests, but Charlotte thought she sensed a cocky air about him.

No, she must not believe the worst of him. Not yet. Perhaps her own poor experience with gentlemen was coloring her opinion of the young man. "He looks quite..." She searched for the word. "...nice."

"He certainly does. I expected him to appear different somehow, being that he is an American. Perhaps more uncouth. But he is dressed in proper English attire."

She was quite correct. His striped waistcoat, tan trousers, and dark coat caused him to blend with the other gentlemen in attendance. "He seems to fit well indeed, but we shall see how well he gets along in society."

Maria tore her eyes from the American and turned to her sister. "You must arrange a meeting for me before another young lady steals his attentions for the evening."

How quickly Maria had forgotten her promise of good behavior. Charlotte would have to guard her carefully indeed. "I shall do my duty as your chaperone and arrange an introduction, but everything will be done in a proper manner. I certainly will not rush straight to the colonel and demand a meeting."

There were rules of behavior that must be followed without question. Appearances meant everything for a woman who hoped to gain the protection of a husband. Was she naturally witty and a good conversationalist? No? Then she must learn to be so. Was she a natural musician? No? Then she must practice until she seemed to be naturally gifted. Was she happy? No? She must pretend to be so.

A woman must be an artist, a seamstress, and a great reader, and this she must do with an air of gentleness and decorum. She must behave
comme il faut
even if she wished a thousand times a day to do otherwise. It simply had to be done in the name of keeping oneself from falling low in society and being forced to accept charity from those formerly called equals.

Maria's gaze rested again on the American. Her voice was wistful. "No, indeed. That would not do at all. I do not want to appear to be overeager."

"The best way not to appear overeager is not to be overeager in the first place."

Maria groaned. "Please do not take the pleasure out of this for me."

Charlotte took Maria by the hand, gently turning her away from the American. "I do not intend to rob you of pleasure, but neither do I intend to sit by and allow you to be injured or to injure yourself socially."

"You fret too much."

"You do not fret enough." She glanced at the gentleman out of the corner of her eye. He did not appear to be a ruffian.

Maria said, "Then together we will fret just enough."

Charlotte hoped it would be so. "We must act decorously."

The frustration Charlotte had felt from her sister seemed to vanish. Perhaps her warnings had taken hold.

"I suppose you are right, but I am so tired of being alone. I do not think a little indecorous behavior would destroy my reputation."

Perhaps her warnings had not even been heard.

Charlotte was about to offer a stern rebuke when old Mrs. Farmington and her young granddaughter sidled up to them. Mrs. Farmington maintained a powdery, aged appearance even in the generous softness of so many candles. The pattern and color of her dress, a fleshy background with a subtle chevron pattern, were also reminiscent of powder, causing Charlotte to wonder if she ordered her entire wardrobe after the substance. She groaned at her approach, for Mrs. Farmington's mind was as dusty as her appearance, and she was forever speaking out of turn.

Polite curtseys were offered and the older woman began the conversation. "Such a lovely ball, is it not, Mrs. Collins?"

Thankfully, a safe subject. "It is indeed, Mrs. Farmington."

"It has been quite some time since we have seen you out in society."

"Yes." Mrs. Farmington had put together two sentences of good sense, and Charlotte wondered if a third could possibly follow.

She gestured to Charlotte's half-mourning attire. "You do Mr. Collins credit by your devotion to him. And it was such good fortune that he was able to leave you a little something on which to live."

Apparently, two reasonable sentences were her limit.

The old lady was rude but correct. Mr. Collins had left her some money. Before their marriage, Charlotte had the foresight to maneuver him into arranging a jointure, a fitting sum of money left to her in the event of his death. Charlotte's father had encouraged her not to make any such request, believing it wisest not to be troublesome before the marriage was official. But she had ignored his advice, and at first blush, Mr. Collins, being very much against the idea, had proven her father right.

Mr. Collins had railed against the idea. A woman inheriting money was unbiblical, he said.

Then, she had reminded him of Mr. Bennet, who had made similar arrangements for his wife and children and whose house Mr. Collins himself would inherit. Of course, Mr. Collins could not allow his relation to appear to be his better. And so employing the straightforward and uncomplicated tactic of exploiting her husband's desire to keep up with his relations, Charlotte had contrived a jointure.

Straightaway after Mr. Collins's funeral, she had visited his solicitor and invested her small inheritance in the Funds, and with good luck and a high rate of interest, Charlotte had been satisfied that she would be able to exist in her widowed state.

She then sought suitable accommodations, for she was forced to vacate Hunsford parsonage so that Lady Catherine could prepare it for its next occupant. However, hoping to spare herself the embarrassing task of making inquiries of those whom she had formerly considered her social equals, Charlotte asked after another structure on Lady Catherine's estate: an unused hunting cottage inconveniently located on the fringes of Rosings Park.

Lady Catherine had agreed to rent it to her at a greatly reduced rate, a circumstance that Charlotte suspected had arisen not from charity or kindness but from a feeling of responsibility. But she did not care why Lady Catherine had given her such charity, and she certainly did not intend to jeopardize it in any way. And now that she was a lowly tenant of Lady Catherine, she was no longer invited to attend the tedious social functions at the great house.

Truly, the situation could not be more agreeable.

But it was none of Mrs. Farmington's affair. Charlotte certainly had no desire to discuss her situation with this old crone or anyone else, so she chose to deflect her line of inquiry. "Mr. Collins's death was quite a shock, but I am coping with it as best I can."

Mrs. Farmington's smile oozed pity. "Yes, yes, my dear, it is good to see you out amongst society again though I doubt there are any suitably unattached gentlemen in attendance tonight to give you a turn around the dance floor."

Charlotte did not know what reaction was proper in the face of such indiscreet comments. She could not laugh or manage to muster anger. She simply stared at old Mrs. Farmington and wondered if it were possible for her to attain the coveted blunder trio and discuss not only income and matchmaking but to comment on her out-of-fashion attire as well.

She meant well, Charlotte was certain, but rather than allowing her to direct the conversation any longer, she gestured to Maria, who stood quietly beside her. "I am acting as my sister's chaperone. And is this your granddaughter?" She nodded at the woman who stood at the old woman's side. "She looks far too grown up to be little Miss Farmington."

Mrs. Farmington beamed. "This is indeed our Constance. She is quite a good deal bigger, is she not?"

A quick glance at Miss Farmington revealed that she did not appreciate being called a good deal bigger, but she said nothing as her grandmother continued. "This is her first season out. Is she not lovely?"

Constance Farmington was a lovely young lady with chestnut hair and a sprinkling of dainty freckles across the bridge of her nose, but she rather reminded Charlotte of the red roan pony her family had owned when she was a girl. She hoped that Miss Farmington was like the pony only in appearance and not in manners, for the beast had ignored her protestations and dragged her all over the countryside in search of the most delectable grasses. That pony had taught Charlotte a great deal about the complexities of social interaction: most people--and horses--behave in ways that benefit themselves and care little for the wishes and feelings of others.

Charlotte glanced again at red roan Miss Farmington, who was clearly thrilled to be among members of the opposite sex. She leaned forward conspiratorially and spoke to Maria loudly enough for the group--and perhaps the entire assembly--to hear. "Have you had the pleasure of meeting Colonel Armitage's relatives yet?"

"No, indeed, we have not." Maria shot Charlotte a haughty look under her curving blond lashes.

"Oh, you must, for they are the most fascinating--and handsome--men as I have ever seen." Miss Farmington gestured across the room to where Colonel Armitage, the young American, and an unfamiliar gentleman were surrounded by a large group of people. "Mr. James Westfield stands there beside the colonel." She indicated the young man Charlotte and Maria had observed earlier. "He is a bit older than I, but still very handsome, do not you think?"

Maria agreed perhaps too wholeheartedly. "Yes, quite handsome. And so tall."

"His uncle stands beside him. He is quite old indeed, and his attire is certainly not up to the standard of his nephew. His name, I believe, is Mr. Benjamin Basford."

Charlotte looked at the very old Mr. Basford who was probably not more than a few years older than herself, and although his dress portrayed a certain rawness not usually seen in an English ballroom, she found him to be handsome in a rather untraditional way. His hair was stylishly tousled, although she was certain that the wind--and not a valet--had arranged it. He seemed to find the ball to be very amusing and appeared to enjoy the attention he and his nephew had generated. His expression had a rather comical bent, and he did not appear to be a serious person. Charlotte disliked his smirk immediately.

But Mr. Basford was insignificant. Mr. Westfield was the prize.

"How charming they look!" exclaimed Maria.

"Oh, they are!" Miss Farmington said. "Mr. Westfield is said to have a fortune awaiting him in America, and his uncle is apparently of no little means as well, although he certainly does not dress the part."

"Oh, how lovely. They are rich as well as handsome."

Charlotte too was pleased to hear that Mr. Westfield was of substantial means. If her sister were successful in making a match with him, she would have security, and if the dewy expression in her eyes were any indication, she might have love as well. Indeed, the situation was quite possibly ideal.

The girls continued to speak about Mr. Westfield and Mr. Basford until Mrs. Farmington became bored and, claiming a parching thirst, bustled her granddaughter away into the crowd toward the refreshment room, where lemonade, negus, and white soup awaited.

Ever the dutiful chaperone, Charlotte was soon left to stand alone to watch her sister dance with Mr. Jonas Card, an acquaintance she had made on her early visits to Hunsford. He stumbled good-naturedly through the quadrille while Maria laughed.

Though he was a well-looking gentleman, always polished and elegantly dressed, Mr. Card's fortune and property caused many of the young ladies of his acquaintance to view him as more handsome than his features warranted. Maria, however, had never looked at him twice, fortune or not, and Charlotte had always been rather sorry for that, for he was a genial sort of man who would tolerate her sister's frequent flights of fancy and was capable of financing her shopping trips.

Charlotte was contemplating Mr. Card as a potential suitor for her sister when she felt someone bump into her. Slightly off balance, she reached to steady herself against the side of the mantel and turned, annoyed, to find the offender to be a large gentleman with a shock of red hair and piercing eyes. The gentleman's gaze was intense, and he offered a slight bow. "Pray excuse me."