11. Chapter Eleven

Chapter Eleven

March 20, 1812 Hunsford, Kent Charlotte

C harlotte sipped her cup of tea gratefully, savoring the aroma and flavor of Jane’s home-mixed blend. “If you ever were in want of a profession, my dear friend, you might consider selling this particular tea. It is wonderful.”

“Thank you, Charlotte,” Jane began, only to be cut off by her husband.

“Indeed, my dear wife excels at her duties. These herbs, though we purchased them and were not grown ourselves, have been expertly mixed. Why, I flatter myself to say that even Lady Catherine has not such an excellent addition to her afternoon teas. I said to her just last week, “Lady Catherine, I wish to gift you with this particular…”

Charlotte continued to drink her tea, successfully ignoring Mr. Collins’s chatter. What a shame that Jane could not even accept a sincere compliment without her husband interrupting. Her friend bore it all with patience, though, and merely turned her attention back to the repast before them as her husband continued to speak. Before long, however, Mr. Collins’s preference for food overtook his desire to fill his mouth with words, and he once again fell silent.

Charlotte considered all that had happened since yesterday. Once back at the parsonage, Jane had excused herself. She claimed a headache, but Elizabeth professed a belief that her sister needed a moment to compose herself after the scene at Rosings Park. Charlotte agreed, and both friends were grateful to have witnessed a little of the old Jane again.

The ladies told Mr. Collins of Lady Catherine’s guests at supper that night, and he expressed an eagerness to make the acquaintance of other exalted individuals. Jane had calmly warned her husband that, by all appearances, his patroness did not like her guests, but Mr. Collins brushed off her concern.

“Lady Catherine’s hospitality and beneficence know no bounds, my dear. I am sure she will open her home and her heart to her relations. Dear Miss de Bourgh is, by your account, pleased with her grandmother’s presence. There is no mother as fine as my patroness, none willing to please their child as she is. Lady Catherine will enjoy her guests.”

“As you say,” Jane murmured. Charlotte noted the twitch of her lips, testifying to her amusement. Charlotte turned the conversation to other topics.

“I believe I shall walk out today.” She dabbed her lips with her serviette and set it beside her plate. “The weather is very fine.”

“Shall I accompany you?” Elizabeth asked.

“If you like. I cannot go as far and as long as you can, my friend, so I beg your patience in our endeavor.” Charlotte smiled at Elizabeth and winked.

“I promise to temper my enthusiasm for the exercise.” Elizabeth placed her hand over her heart as if she were making a solemn vow.

“I shall hold you to it.” The two ladies stood and left the room to collect their outerwear. Ten minutes later, bonnets and pelisses on and gloves in hand, they left the parsonage and ventured onto one of Elizabeth’s favorite walking paths.

“I do not believe I have ever come this way.” Charlotte admired the flowering foliage on either side of the path. Trees arched over the dirt trail, shading their journey.

“This path is not as well-worn as others. I do not encounter many people when I walk it. There is a lovely bluebell meadow a few minutes from here.” Elizabeth held a low branch out of the way so Charlotte could pass. “A stream crosses it, and there are several places one might sit and contemplate the universe.”

“The universe? Are your thoughts so profound when you seek your solitude?”

Elizabeth laughed. “Not usually. I confess, my thoughts have been on yesterday’s tea since last night. What a spectacle! How incredible it was to see Lady Catherine so flustered! Do you think she employs a walking stick because Lady de Bourgh does?”

Charlotte, too, laughed. “I had not considered it, but you may be correct! They do not get on well, do they?”

“By all appearances, they are mortal enemies.” Elizabeth shook her head. “Lady Catherine’s remark about being low born seems to speak of her long-held prejudices. I wonder what Lady de Bourgh’s origins are.”

“She carries herself like a lady of rank, no matter where she came from.”

“Yes.” Elizabeth agreed, brushing her hand against the rough bark of the trees as they walked. “It is likely that she has held her rank for longer than she was a maiden.”

The trees broke, opening to a large meadow. Charlotte could hear the babbling of the stream amidst the chirping of the birds. Bluebells were blooming all over, and there were several fallen logs that provided places to sit.

“This is lovely, Lizzy.” Charlotte breathed in the morning air. “I shall be quite happy to spend the next half an hour admiring this place. I think I shall go sit over there by the stream.”

“I wish to continue on. Shall I return for you in a while?”

Charlotte nodded. “Yes, you go on. I do not wish to be subject to your petulance should you not get your exercise.”

Elizabeth swatted Charlotte playfully and then continued across the meadow. Another path into the trees could be seen, and her friend quickly disappeared down it.

Charlotte perched on a large rock next to the stream. It was not very deep or wide, but she could see a few small fish darting in and out of the weeds and the rocks. It flowed in the direction of Rosings Park. Perhaps the stream emptied into a pond where gentlemen could angle after fish.

“Hello!” A deep, masculine voice sounded behind her, and Charlotte shrieked in surprise. She startled and lost her seat on the rock, slipping and landing in the stream on her backside. Water splashed up around her, soaking her bonnet and fichu.

“Steady on!” A hand appeared in her line of vision, and she looked up. The man’s back was to the sun, obscuring his features, though she could guess his identity. Ignoring his outstretched hand, she stood and climbed out of the stream. She twisted as much water as she could from her sodden skirts and shook them so they would not cling to her legs.

“Are you well? Miss Lucas, correct?”

“Yes, Sir Andrew, I am well.” Charlotte sighed and moved to a log situated in the sun. She hoped she could dry out before Elizabeth returned. Her friend’s questions would be uncomfortable.

“You remembered my name!” The pleasure and teasing in Sir Andrew’s voice held equal importance.

“It would be hard to forget after your entrance yesterday.” Charlotte smirked and looked at him. Sir Andrew stood next to the log, hands behind his back and a cheeky grin on his face. His dark hair was tousled in a deliberate way, and his impeccable attire flattered his figure. His hat was under his arm, gloves inside, and a walking stick swung from his free hand.

“Yes, Grandmother does like to make an impression.” He sat, straddling the log so he could face her. “What brings you here this morning?”

“Miss Bennet and I were taking our morning constitutional,” she replied.

“I do not see Miss Bennet.”

“No. My friend is a great walker, and I am afraid I haven’t the stamina, let alone the temperament, to keep up with her. She is to return soon.” Charlotte shrugged.

“Is that your way of warning me?” Sir Andrew cocked an eyebrow and regarded her.

“Warning you of what?” Charlotte furrowed her own brows in confusion.

“Why, that I must escape lest you be declared compromised! I do appreciate your consideration, though a lady of your years must surely wish for such, if only to get herself off the shelf and into a home of her own.”

She felt the sting of his words and scoffed in offense. “I am not the sort of lady to entrap a respectable man, sir,” she said stiffly. “Though I am now uncertain whether that application can be applied to you.”

Her words, rather than censuring him, seemed to spur his amusement. “You speak your thoughts with no hesitation. Are you so content to be a spinster?”

“Is this how you have managed to remain a bachelor, despite needing an heir? Insulting any lady that you meet to ensure they hold no expectations?” Charlotte’s retort was sharp, though she attempted to keep the hurt she endured from coloring her words.

“Ladies ceased having designs upon me almost five years ago. No, I am a confirmed bachelor, or so the matrons of the ton say.” He puffed his chest out proudly as if he were some conceited popinjay.

“Then is this attack your way of ascertaining my interest? I can assure you that I will not trouble you with flirtatious behavior or with attempts to gain your attention.” She sucked in a breath and continued. “I am aware that what little physical beauty I had faded long ago, and that my station is so beneath yours so as to not gain your notice.” Where is Lizzy? “This conversation has been both improper and invasive, and I must beg you to desist.”

Elizabeth came through the trees just then and Charlotte scrambled from the log. Her pride was injured, and she did not look at Sir Andrew as her friend approached.

“There is Miss Bennet. Miss Lucas said you were about.” Sir Andrew stood from the log and bowed to Elizabeth.

Elizabeth curtseyed in return, though her gaze stayed on Charlotte. “What has happened?” she asked in surprise. “You are soaked.”

“A little mishap in the stream.” Charlotte attempted to maintain her nonchalance and looped her arm through Elizabeth’s. “Let us return to the parsonage. Jane will be wondering where we are and I wish to change into something dry.”

She turned, determined to ignore Sir Andrew. He had made his position very clear, disabusing Charlotte of any hopes she might have developed in that direction. Not that she would have; Mr. Collins might have been perfectly suitable for the daughter of a knighted tradesman, but a baronet was too far to reach.

“Until next time, Miss Lucas,” Sir Andrew said. His voice lacked the dismissiveness and pride from his earlier speech. He sounded calm and courteous. Of course, he must behave in front of Elizabeth. He is old enough to be her father, and so she likely has no interest in him. His harsh words stung still, and she hurried Elizabeth back toward the parsonage.

“When did Sir Andrew appear?” Elizabeth kept pace with Charlotte easily. Her words were curious but not probing.

She likely does not imagine anything improper could have taken place. Who would want poor, plain Charlotte Lucas? “He came soon after you left,” she said aloud. “He startled me, and I slipped from my rock into the stream.”

“Goodness! Did he help you out?”

“I had no need of his aid.” Charlotte’s damp clothing stuck to her legs as they walked. “It was not deep.”

“But a gentleman—”

“He is no gentleman.” Charlotte’s words burst forth and she bit her lips to prevent further pique from spewing forth. “He made that quite clear. Do all men who have been long pursued by ladies seek to destroy any hopes before they even form?”

“Charlotte?” Elizabeth’s confusion was apparent.

Charlotte sighed. “Worry not. Sir Andrew’s words were meant to warn me from seeking an attachment to him. He believed that my desperation to be ‘off the shelf’ would lead to flirtations and expectations.”

“He is rather full of himself to believe such nonsense.”

“Is it nonsense, Eliza?” Charlotte sighed. “Most spinsters who have not the dowry to support themselves would prove so mercenary.”

“ You would not stoop to such machinations.” Elizabeth sounded so sure of her words.

“I would. I have no dowry and no prospects. If a worthy and eligible man offered me his hand, I would accept it without delay.”

Elizabeth scoffed. “Never! Charlotte, practicality and prudence have no place when falling in love.”

“Do they not? It is easy to speak those words now, Eliza. You are young, not even one-and-twenty. Have you looked at the future through the lens I have? My dowry is five hundred pounds. I have two younger brothers and a younger sister. I am a burden on my parents, and when John inherits, his wife will not want a spinster sister about the house, though she may condescend to keep me if I make myself useful. Should I not wed, there is no other path for me but genteel poverty. When you have reached my age, Elizabeth, and are still unwed, you can tell me that prudence and practicality have no place.”

Elizabeth was silent, and Charlotte did not look at her. “Our views on matrimony are very different.” Her words were quiet now and less severe. “You have the privilege of clinging to your romantic sensibilities, at least for a while longer. I no longer have that luxury.”

Charlotte glanced at Elizabeth. Her friend’s expression was contemplative. Does she wonder if Jane shares my views? Despite Mr. Collins’s defection, Charlotte approved of Jane’s choice. Her future was secure, and that of her mother and sisters. She did not blame the former Miss Bennet for seizing the chance to marry. Jane’s choice came from her head, not her heart; that was necessary when one considered what might be if Mr. Bennet died and none of the sisters were married.

They reached the parsonage and Charlotte excused herself to change. Dry and comfortable, she stayed in her room until tea, nursing the hurt caused by the sting of Sir Andrew’s words.