Elizabeth laughed, shaking her head. “It is nothing less than the truth. Jane has far more patience for Mrs. Bennet’s antics than I. Your skills will serve you well.”
Mr. Collins chose that moment to interrupt them. “Jane, dearest, tea awaits in the sitting room.” His smile faltered when his gaze landed on Charlotte again, but he seemed to put aside whatever it was that bothered him and extended his hand to help Jane stand.
“Shall we?” Jane asked. They moved to the sitting room, a large, well-lit room that was just off the entryway and across the hall from Mr. Collins’s study. “This is the room where I take callers.” She turned to the maid who was setting out the tea things. “Martha, will you fetch Mr. Bennet from his chamber?”
Martha dipped a curtsey and departed, leaving the others to settle themselves. Jane began preparing tea and Mr. Collins filled his plate with tarts, scones, and other delicacies that were set out.
Mr. Bennet entered but a moment later. He looked rather tired; more so than Elizabeth thought he should be. She glanced at Jane, wondering if her sister had noted their father’s condition. Jane gazed at him, too, her expression unfathomable.When she saw Elizabeth watching her, calm and serenity reappeared on her countenance, and she handed a cup of tea to Charlotte.
Mr. Collins was blessedly silent, his mouth filled with lemon tart. Elizabeth spoke exclusively with Jane and Charlotte, though her concerned gaze returned to her father more than once. When tea had been consumed, Mr. Bennet retreated back to his bedchamber, claiming fatigue.
“I shall be very happy there the rest of the afternoon,” he assured Jane. “The marvelous chair before my window beckons, and my book begs to be finished. I shall be down for dinner.” He kissed Jane’s cheek, searching her eyes for a moment before departing. Elizabeth pondered on the exchange, wondering if her father, too, looked for evidence of Jane’s contentment.
With Mr. Bennet’s departure, all that remained for the three ladies to converse openly was to be rid of Mr. Collins’s presence. “Mr. Collins, do you not have your meeting with Lady Catherine this afternoon?” Jane smiled pleasantly. Her husband looked up for a moment before fumbling with his pocket watch.
“My dear Jane, how right you are! I had quite forgotten. Lady Catherine will be most seriously displeased should I be tardy. I must ready myself at once.” He stood and bowed awkwardly to the ladies. “Until this evening.” He hurried from the room, muttering about notes and sermons.
“You seem to handle your husband very well,” Charlotte observed.
“Mr. Collins is not a complicated man.” Jane glanced out the window where her husband could be observed hurrying out the garden gate and down the lane toward Rosings Park. “His loyalty is to Lady Catherine first, and he will do everything in his power to see to that lady’s desires. He also wishes to be appreciated. I show him every consideration, seeing to his meal preferences and all that he desires in the running of our house. In return, heleaves me largely to my own devices. I have enjoyed caring for our parishioners and fulfilling my duties.”
“Are you happy?” The words blurted out of Elizabeth’s mouth before she could hold them back.
Jane nodded. “I am. I did not think it was possible to be so—happily married where there was no foundation of love. I was incorrect. I would feel differently, I think, if my husband were not considerate of me. In being Mrs. Collins, I have found purpose.”
“I do not understand.” Elizabeth was confused. Jane had been happy at Longbourn. She still seemed the same but there was something subtly different, too.
“I believe I do.” Charlotte sipped her tea, finishing the cup and setting it and the saucer on the tea tray. “Your sister has discovered what it is to be her own person. As a daughter and a dependent, we are required to go where our parents tell us to go, do what they tell us to do. We grew up with more freedom than most young ladies, but even so, our lives are not our own. When we marry, our dependency transfers to our husbands. If that man is a good man, a lady will, for the first time in her life, know what it is to have freedom. You have discovered that, Jane, have you not?”
Jane grinned. “I have, indeed. By my estimation, Mr. Collins is not the sort of man to subject his will on his wife, by force or by persuasion. As long as I fulfill my duties, he is content. In time, his more…objectionablequalities will be overcome.”
Elizabeth said nothing, finishing her tea and setting it aside.
“I can see your bemusement, sister,” Jane said softly. “You will understand in time. Now, I imagine you are impatient to see more of Hunsford. Lady Catherine has graciously allowed me use of her gardens, should I desire a formal stroll, but the woods and meadows surrounding Rosings Park are just as lovely. I knowyou,Lizzy, prefer more natural beauty.”
“I confess, I feel a great need to stretch my legs.” Elizabeth stood. “I shall meander down the lane for a half an hour.”
Charlotte spoke up. “I believe I will accompany you. Jane?”
Jane was apologetic. “I am afraid I must see to the rest of our supper preparation. Our income allows for a cook, a manservant, and a maid of all work. I am grateful for Mrs. Miller—I have not her skills in the kitchen. Martha, too, is a good girl.”
Jane waved them away. Elizabeth and Charlotte retrieved their bonnets and pelisses from their chambers and left the house. It was mid-afternoon. The winter sun had gone, and the warmth of spring kissed their cheeks. There were bluebells and other early spring blooms lining the lane.
They walked in silence, content to admire the surrounding landscape. Elizabeth stewed as they went, pondering Jane’s departure from their childhood dreams. How could she be so content?
Elizabeth knew her sister better than anyone, and Jane’s feelings were not feigned. Her heart had been attached to Mr. Bingley, and to put aside that love in favor of this tepid, passionless match was the worst sort of betrayal of Jane's girlish hopes. How, then, had she achieved her happiness?
Chapter Nine
March 7, 1812
Hunsford, Kent
Charlotte
“Do put on the nicest attire you have,” Mr. Collins admonished. “Lady Catherine will not begrudge your lack of finery. She likes to have the distinction of rank preserved. It is her prerogative as a lady of her status.”
Charlotte almost rolled her eyes. They had been at the Hunsford parsonage for only two days and Mr. Collins’s tediousness already grated on her nerves. Jane did not seem particularly bothered. Her serene smile stayed in place, though at times her eyes betrayed her true feelings.
