18. Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Eighteen

April 1, 1812 Hunsford, Kent Charlotte

S he waited in the garden for Sir Andrew to appear. The baronet had not failed to present himself every day except Sunday. He usually came mid-morning, after Elizabeth had already departed the parsonage for her walk. No one knew about her clandestine rambles with Sir Andrew; Charlotte selfishly guarded the information. She did not want to share his company with anyone. Despite knowing that he would never offer for her, she felt the stirrings of tender feelings toward him.

It was the height of foolishness to fall in love with a confirmed bachelor. Such men could not be induced into matrimony for anything other than their own inclination. Surely, other ladies had attempted to gain his notice and failed. Ladies with finer looks, breeding, accomplishments, lineage… Charlotte had always known her small dowry would be little inducement for any gentleman. Her lot would be to marry a shopkeeper or other tradesman. Her five hundred pounds would not be enough to live on without support. Twenty pounds per annum was a pittance. Certainly, it was more than many housemaids earned, but they were given room and board. She would not have that.

Sir Andrew’s teasing and irreverent behavior he often displayed for company masked the man she had first witnessed when dining at Rosings Park. He gave the impression that he cared for none but himself, that the feelings of others deserved only disdain and dismissal, but his concern for his cousin had disabused Charlotte of her previous notions. Since that evening, Sir Andrew had been more open with her, and their rapport grew with every meeting.

“Miss Lucas.” He stood by the gate. Charlotte had completely missed his arrival amidst her thoughts.

“Good morning, Sir Andrew.” She came forward and he swung the gate open for her. He offered her his arm, and Charlotte took it. He had done so before, and she liked the feel of his arm beneath her hand. They walked briskly toward their path.

“I understand that the occupants of the parsonage have been invited to dine again on the morrow,” he began. “I feel I should warn you that Lady Catherine is being particularly unbearable today.”

“What has her in a dither?” Charlotte asked curiously.

“Apparently, she has learned that Mrs. Collins may be with child. She is offended that the lady has not sought counsel from her patroness yet.”

They arrived in the clearing and Sir Andrew took his customary spot straddling the log. Charlotte sat next to him, turning to angle his body to look at him.

“Jane only confided her suspicions to us two nights ago.” Charlotte suspected the maid carried tales to the great lady. Did this confirm those suppositions?

“How did Lady Catherine manage to learn the information, then? If Mr. Collins knew, I am certain it would have been he who brought the information to her ladyship.”

Charlotte considered the shadow outside the parlor door that evening. “I believe Mrs. Collins has a nosey servant,” she said, quickly relating what she had seen. “Elizabeth saw it as well. We did not voice our concerns, but I could tell she shared them.”

Sir Andrew considered this. “Such knowledge could be used to our advantage in the future,” he murmured. “Now, tell me, has Miss Bennet been meeting with Mr. Darcy? He walks out every day after he has completed his work.”

“She has not mentioned anything since Saturday. We… exchanged words, and I believe she does not wish me to know when she encounters him on her rambles.” Charlotte glanced away. She did not wish to tell Sir Andrew of Elizabeth’s words. They still hurt.

“I am sorry to hear that.” He paused. “Today is April first.”

“You had best not attempt to prank me. I despise such antics.” She shuddered.

“Oh? And what, pray tell, could cause such a fearless, strong, poised lady to despise pranks?” Sir Andrew’s words were not mocking or censorious, but curious and kind.

“My brother John has an affinity for causing mischief. April first is his favorite day because he knows as long as he performs his pranks before noon, he will not be punished for them. He takes great pleasure in causing his sisters to scream. I will never forgive him for dumping spiders in my jewelry case or for replacing my hand cream with real cream.”

Sir Andrew laughed, his form shaking with mirth. “A child after my own heart. Shall I tell you the best prank ever pulled on me?”

“Not by you?”

“No, for I could never come up with something half so devious as this. Do you wish to hear it?”

Charlotte nodded at him to continue.

“When I first inherited the baronetcy, I confess, I did not have the assurance and confidence I now possess. I was eager to please my peers, and as such, I became a target for pranks, jests, teasings, and more. One day in the spring, I received in the post an invitation on heavy, expensive paper. The card’s edges were gilt, and the embossed seal at the top appeared official. Tower of London, it read. Pleased to admit the bearer and friend to view the annual ceremony of the washing of the lions on Tuesday, April first, 1794. Visitors only admitted at the White Gate. Thrilled, I asked my closest friend to attend with me. He had another engagement, or so he claimed, and I went alone, only to find out that I had been pranked by several peers whom I called my friends. It was a manner of initiation, they claimed, and now that I had been welcomed to their group, I could do the same to other new heirs.” He shook his head. “I have never done anything of the kind, for I did not wish others to feel my mortification.”

“You do not seem one to be easily dismayed at a paltry trick.” Charlotte hoped to reassure him. Anyone might have fallen for such an elaborate ruse.

“I was not always as I am now. Most heirs to great estates and fortunes are taught all they need to know over long years of childhood, adolescence, and sometimes even into adulthood. I did not have that opportunity. I inherited a few short years after my father did, and in consequence I floundered. My dear grandmother helped; she kept those who would take advantage of me away, and I am forever grateful for her aid. It took many years for me to be comfortable in my life, and I am as you see me now.”

“You hide, still.”

Charlotte’s words caused a look of surprise, and he looked at her questioningly.

She tried to explain. “You do not behave around company as you do me. I would wager that the Sir Andrew I know is similar to the one Lady de Bourgh knows, though I cannot claim such intimacy with you as she. The Sir Andrew Lady Catherine sees is different. What of the other gentlemen at Rosings Park? Who do they see?”

His serious gaze caused her to shift uncomfortably until it devolved into a cheeky grin. “There is more to you than meets the eye,” he said. “The plain spinster possesses depth!” His tone mocked, and she bristled despite knowing his words were an attempt at deflection.

“I believe I shall return to the parsonage,” she said cooly, rising to her feet. “Thank you for your company, Sir Andrew.”

“Same time tomorrow, then?” he asked. She paused. She faced away from him, attempting to hide the hurt his words caused by standing tall and appearing sure of herself.

“No, I am otherwise occupied on the morrow.” She needed a day to sort her emotions and properly lock them away. She knew she could easily love Sir Andrew. Not the mocking man, but the gentleman she understood existed beneath his protective demeanor. He would not marry her, and she could not allow her rebellious heart free reign.

His reply sounded uncertain. “I am at my leisure, Miss Lucas. We can walk when you are free to do so.”

“I shall be free on Friday.” Her firm reply brooked no argument, and she walked away before he could reply further.

Elizabeth is wrong. I have felt love. I just do not allow it to flourish. Her thoughts were bitter as she approached the parsonage. Upon entering, she realized her friend had not yet returned. Jane sat in her small parlor and Charlotte joined her after divesting herself of her outerwear in her chamber.

“How was your walk, Charlotte?” Jane did not look up from her work.

“How did you know it was me?” she asked teasingly.

“Elizabeth is shorter than you. Her steps are closer together.” Jane’s sound reasoning surprised her.

What an astute observation. “You are quite right. I enjoyed my walk. I believe I shall remain here tomorrow and be at your disposal.”

“I am to visit parishioners tomorrow. I would welcome your company.” She paused. “Mr. Collins is to accompany us.”

“I am not uncomfortable in his presence, Jane,” Charlotte admonished. “I have told you of my sentiments. There are no hard feelings.”

“I am pleased to hear it. I merely wished you to be aware. He will not be pleased. I have not confronted my husband; I believe he knows he behaved badly and is uncomfortable around you for that reason.”

“Shall I seek to reassure him that I am no longer wounded by his actions?” Charlotte did not wish to do so but would do anything she needed to ensure Jane’s felicity.

“I think it best to leave matters be.” Jane nodded as if agreeing with herself. “Have you told Elizabeth yet?”

“No.” Charlotte shifted uncomfortably. “There has not been a proper moment to bring such a topic up. I knew she would disapprove when I attempted to… you know. She will say I should be pleased to have avoided a loveless marriage and I do not wish to hear that from her.”

“Mayhap she would temper her words, given her elder sister married the same man she so disparaged.” Jane shrugged.

“Why did you?” Her question tumbled forth. Her curiosity had known no bounds since Jane had confronted her in the garden weeks ago. “You did not love him, not then. You and Elizabeth swore you would marry for the deepest affection.”

Jane paused in her work, then set it aside and turned to Charlotte. “Surely, you have suspected.”

She hesitated. “I have only my suspicions. I do not believe Elizabeth shares them.”

“Elizabeth will not see that which discomforts her. She sketches characters upon a moment’s notice but fails to properly evaluate those closest to her. She has always done this. I think in many ways she is my opposite. My father has taught her to see the follies and foibles. I have always seen the good and the possibilities. When she casts her judgments, she outlines as my father taught her. In Lydia, she sees a brash, headstrong young woman who wishes to outshine her elder sisters. I see a young girl desperate for direction and occupation, one who craves her father’s attention.” Jane sighed. “No, the signs go against Elizabeth’s inclinations. She does not want to believe she might have been wrong to refuse our cousin when he offered his hand. She does not want to acknowledge that our father is anything but the robust, strong man he has always been.”

“Then… is it true?” Charlotte’s heart ached for Jane.

“I have reason to believe my father is not well,” confirmed Jane. “If I am wrong, then I shall be pleased to have him as master of Longbourn for many years. If I am correct, then I expect Mr. Collins will need to hire a curate before too long.”

“If you are wrong…” Charlotte trailed off.

“I cannot repine my marriage, if that is what you mean.” Jane smiled, though it seemed a sad one to Charlotte. “My family is secure, and so I am content. If I dwell only on the what ifs and the could haves, then I shall never know happiness. Instead, I focus on that which I can change, and on the coming joys.” Her hand rested on her stomach, which was beginning to bulge out ever so slightly.

Sir Andrew’s words from their walk returned to her mind. “Jane,” she asked, “were you aware that you have a servant reporting to Lady Catherine?”

Jane frowned. “I had considered the possibility but have had no irrefutable proof. Lady Catherine hired my staff before my arrival, except my personal maid. How came you by this information?”

Charlotte wavered. She did not wish to share her source but felt it necessary to warn Jane. “I have it from a reliable source that Lady Catherine is in a pique today. The cause… you have not approached her for advice about your delicate condition. Knowing you only confided in Elizabeth and me two nights ago, I knew there had to be another who overheard and reported the news.”

Jane leaned back in her chair and sighed. “Martha,” she said. “It must be her. She has a sister who works at Rosings Park.”

Charlotte concurred. “She may very well have disclosed the information accidentally.”

“I do not believe it.” Jane’s uncharacteristic bitterness surprised Charlotte. “Martha’s sister is a chambermaid. How would she gain an audience with Lady Catherine unless she had already been recruited to report on the residents of the parsonage?”

“It may be nothing. I simply wished you to be on your guard. Perhaps you can mitigate Lady Catherine’s ire by speaking to her before dinner.”

“I will consider it.” Jane set her work back in her basket and stood. “I believe I shall go rest before tea. Have you need of anything before I go?”

Charlotte shook her head. “I believe I shall take a book outside to the garden. It is a lovely day.” In truth, she wished for time to reflect on the tumultuous feelings her most vulnerable organ constantly urged her to give her attention. It would take time, but she would conquer this unadvisable attraction she had toward Sir Andrew.

Jane left, and Charlotte made her way to the garden. She sat on the bench beneath the trees, sufficiently hidden from sight that passersby could not observe her. She watched the lane, her thoughts meandering aimlessly, only to witness Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth approaching. Mr. Darcy said something to his companion before bowing and moving away toward Rosings Park.

Elizabeth watched him go, arms crossed, before turning and going into the parsonage.

He loves her. Charlotte knew it in her bones. But what could be done? Elizabeth did not like him at all.

Then let us force her! Sir Andrew’s passionate exclamation came to mind. Elizabeth did not know what was best for her. The doubts remained, though. Could Charlotte ensure her friend did not make a foolish and hasty decision if Mr. Darcy proposed? Would it be the correct thing to do? And would Elizabeth ever forgive her if she interfered?