at the Royal Society.
The only problem with Catherine and Anne was to find them husbands. Mr. Collins thought all women should be married. He saw no purpose for them on earth other than as handmaidens to men; this, he said, was the Will of the Lord. But he disliked the necessary preliminaries, finding the idea of courtship somewhat distasteful when applied to his own daughters, though he could not have explained why. Explanation was not in fact his strong suit; he preferred deferential unquestioning acceptance of his pronouncements. But it was not too difficult for Charlotte to persuade him to allow them to attend assembles and private dances with their Lucas cousins, and to visit with new friends. Catherine was engaged to a very correct young man she met while on holiday at Sanditon; Charlotte encouraged Anne, the less confident of the two, to accompany her sister when she could.
And then there was Eliza. Charlotte smiled to herself as she thought of this particular daughter. Eliza, holding Henry’s hand, had come to her earlier to whisper of their engagement. Then Henry had departed to find his own mother and father. There would be no public declaration at this time, no intrusion on Fitz and Amabel’s glory, but later it would come. Consent had been given. Henry was quietly determined, and his happiness was tangible. And since then Charlotte had spoken with the Darcys, and found them both accepting of this outcome. Mr. Darcy went as far as to say, unexpectedly, that he thought Eliza was a young lady of infinite resource who would be a refreshing addition to the Darcy family. A year’s engagement was suggested, to allow Henry to find his feet, and this was acceptable to all.
What a triumph for Eliza to marry Henry Darcy. How Mr. Collins would have pranced! Charlotte felt a rueful compunction that he should have missed the chance, even as she thought how insufferable he would have made himself to Mr. Darcy. And for Eliza to marry for love, not just for advantage! “I have always had a taste for consequence,” Charlotte admitted to herself. “It is a weakness.” And she remembered advising Elizabeth, at the Netherfield ball all those years ago, not to be a simpleton and allow her liking for Mr.Wickham to make her appear unpleasant in the eyes of Mr. Darcy, a man of ten times his consequence. Her advice would not have changed. How right she had been although, she now admitted, perhaps for the wrong reasons. Elizabeth had fallen in love with Mr. Darcy and married him; her life was a success. Charlotte’s heart was glad for her friend. She herself had never been in love, and her marriage of convenience had served her purpose. But Eliza, her precious Eliza, like Elizabeth before her, had a chance of achieving not just security, but great position and prosperity, with the lasting blessing of true affection.
Elizabeth was speaking to her again. She collected her thoughts.
“You must go tomorrow, of course. But why not leave the children here? Henry will not wish to part with Eliza so soon, and Jonathan has proved so good with Lucy Baluster (such a shy child). They could follow in a day or so, for the funeral.”
Charlotte looked with gratitude at her friend. “That would indeed be acceptable, Elizabeth. There would be no public impropriety. William and Eugenia will have to travel from Highbury; my elder daughters are visiting at Sanditon. They must all be sent for, and it will be quite suitable if they all arrive at much the same time.”
They sat in silence for some moments, watching the dancers circle in front of them.
“Forgive me if I invade your privacy, but have you ever regretted your marriage?” asked Elizabeth.
Charlotte looked down at her hands, folded in her lap.
“No,” she said, after a moment. “No.When I have been tempted to repine—and oh, Elizabeth, I must confess there were times—I have reminded myself of what my life should have been if I had never married. I think of poor Maria—and remember that that would have been me—and I know what I did was for the best.” (Maria Lucas had not married, and now lived with her widowed mother in a small house owned by one of her brothers. Lady Lucas was in her late seventies; her wits were wandering and she was very difficult to manage. Maria was some seven years younger than Charlotte, but looked far older.)
Miss Bingley passed by at that moment, all nodding plumes like a carriage horse, parading with Mrs. Yates, in puce satin, and Lady Bertram, in an unfortunate olive green. Charlotte took note. That was the other alternative to Maria, she thought. If I had never married, I might have been like Caroline Bingley. Bitter and resentful. Miss Bingley at least had money of her own, but Society and her own conventionality had allowed her no house, and of course she had no children. Something tight and hard within Charlotte’s bosom expanded and softened.Without thinking highly either of men or matrimony, as a young woman marriage had always been her object; it was the only honorable provision for well-educated young women of small fortune, however uncertain of giving happiness. She had not loved her husband, poor Mr. Collins, blighted from childhood, but she could be grateful to him. He had given her what she had wanted most in life.
“What will you do now?” asked Elizabeth, remembering her own mother’s fears, and her determined incomprehension of the entail of Longbourn.
“For the moment, I do not see my way,” said Charlotte. Her forehead was creased with worry but her hands stayed quietly in her lap. “William and his wife will move into Longbourn with all due speed, and I fear I cannot like Eugenia. I do not think we shall deal well together.” William Collins’s wife, the former Eugenia Elton, was a disagreeable young woman, snobbish and pretentious, with a sharp tongue.
“My dear, I wish to make a suggestion. I am sure Mr. Darcy will agree. Come to Pemberley and live in the Dower House. It is empty, since the death of Great-Aunt Ernestine, and needs a tenant to maintain its well-being. And if the time comes that I need it for myself (and I hope and pray Mr. Darcy and I expire together, and burst into heaven arm in arm), I am sure you and I will happily share it.”
Charlotte found herself moved to tears. What her husband’s death could not bring about, this unexpected kindness achieved. Her friendship with Elizabeth Bennet had been one of the rewards of her life. Charlotte had known Elizabeth since childhood—the families had always been close—but Charlotte was seven years older than Elizabeth, and until Elizabeth reached fifteen, they had not been much together. Then they had begun to find pleasure in each other’s company. Both were intelligent, thoughtful, fond of long walks and the observation of humanity in the form of their neighbors. The quiet, self-possessed Charlotte had watched with admiration the development of the younger girl, with her vivid face, amusing tongue, and love of life and laughter. She had always felt Elizabeth was bound for great things, a fine position—and so it had proved. The admiration Charlotte felt for Elizabeth Bennet was surpassed only by her admiration for Mrs. Darcy! And there had been more than passive admiration; there had been true friendship and enjoyment of each other’s company, despite differences of opinion and judgment. Going away from Elizabeth had been one of the drawbacks to her marriage. Their steady correspondence, recording the small events of their daily lives, had been a welcome compensation.
Sitting in the ballroom through the long and glittering evening, burdened by her secret, Charlotte had thought long and hard. Distracted briefly by the excitement of Juliet’s escapade, and then the joy of her best-loved daughter’s engagement, she had retreated once more into reflections that weighed heavily on her heart.What was she to do? Where was she to live? There was some money saved; she had always been a careful housekeeper, and had kept in mind her daughters’ need for dowries. But she would not be allowed to live alone. Convention demanded that William and Eugenia offer her a home with them at Longbourn, but she could think of such an arrangement only with repugnance. Now this unexpected kindness, from Elizabeth, on top of all else, was almost too much for her. She was used to bearing her burdens alone and silently. To be offered help—and such help—was overwhelming.
She blotted the moisture from her eyes surreptitiously, and straightened her spine. The Dower House. All her life Charlotte had loved houses. Living at home in her mother’s shadow, as the years passed and her youth receded, she had longed for a free hand, the right to make decisions and arrange her rooms, order her servants, plan her days as she wished. She had won that right and, despite the presence of Mr. Collins and the interference of Lady Catherine de Bourgh, had enjoyed her home at Hunsford Parsonage (and Rosings, after all, detached from Lady Catherine, was a handsome building). Then had come the move to Longbourn, back to the neighborhood she knew and loved, and the house that had once sheltered her friend.With the greater elegance of the country house and the security of a comfortable income not dependent upon Lady Catherine’s good will, Charlotte had been most content. She had never imagined anything more to her liking, and the thought of living at Longbourn under the patronage of Eugenia Elton, or leaving it for a small house in Meryton, was deeply dismaying.
To move to Pemberley, to live near Elizabeth and possibly Eliza and Henry (and without Mr. Collins), in the elegance of the Dower House, was as near to perfect happiness as she could wish. She had done her duty by the marriage bed, enduring Mr. Collins’s sticky fumblings while planning her menus for the next day; but now, to sleep alone would be a great comfort. What had she done, she wondered, to deserve such bounty?
Thinking back on the order of her life, she recalled the circumstances of her marriage, her unmaidenly
