It was clear she wasn’t going to let up until I took them off. With Anne staring intently at her bread, I picked at the knot I’d tied in the ribbons and carefully unwound them from my wrist. My aunt held her hand outstretched, palm up, expecting me to surrender them to her. Nothing on earth could have persuaded me to give them up.
“I will return them to Emma,” I lied, “for use in my hair.”
Lady Catherine’s fingers curled in one at a time, elongating her dissatisfaction, but she didn’t protest any further. The second her attention was instead focused on Anne, I tucked the ribbons into the top of my bodice, planning to hide them alongside Kitty’s letter in my bag. I would not risk losing them.
Breakfast continued, for me, in dutiful silence. Lady Catherine believed young women should speak only when spoken to, and all her further comments prompted only Anne for a response. It suited me perfectly fine, leaving me with time to listen and observe. Beyond enquiries into Anne’s health, the conversation was awfully bland. Not only was there none of Kitty’s gossip and revelry in scandal, there was equally nothing of any thoughtfulness. I never thought I would find myself so specifically missing Darcy asking me my opinions on the current political situation on the Continent, but I was desperate for news of the wider world. Doubtless Lady Catherine did not think reading newspapers a fitting activity for a young woman seeking a husband.
Once the table had been cleared, Lady Catherine rose from her chair and finally seemed to remember my presence.
“I will have one of the maids set you up with some needlepoint in the front parlour,” she said. “If I am to prepare you to be an acceptable wife, I must at least first see that you are capable of embroidering your linens.”
I could already tell her she was going to be disappointed. My sewing was functional, but rarely pretty. If the linensneeded mending with fast, sturdy stitches, then I didn’t doubt my capabilities would be perfectly adequate, but scrolled initials and decorative flowers never came out quite as planned. A lack of innate skill and several years of lapsed practise were going to do nothing to endear me to her.
“Actually, I was hoping to see the library?” I asked, by no means confident of any results.
“The pertinent books will be brought to you,” my aunt said, dismissing the request with a wave of her hand.
The books she deemed pertinent were likely far from the ones I would have chosen for myself. Sermons and etiquette guides were all perfectly suited to certain situations, but my current desire for escape and distraction were likely to go unfulfilled. I had never longed more for free roam of Pemberley’s library.
“Might I at least take a walk beforehand?” I tried. “I have not had time to properly settle in, and I should like to settle my thoughts.”
Lady Catherine’s eyes narrowed, no doubt suspicious that I sought only to delay my needlework. While amongst my aims, it was secondary to my need to breathe for a little while. I forced a demure look of deference while I was scrutinised, until my aunt sighed and waved me away. It was as close as I was going to get to permission, and I quickly made my exit before it could be revoked.
Chapter Eighteen
I had not visited Rosings Park in quite some time, but I still remembered the grounds fondly. While the house was austere and often unfriendly, the gardens held happier memories of long walks and peaceful escape. Beyond the manicured pathways and orchard, I sought out the woodland.
Lady Catherine had imposed no limits on the length of my walk, neither in duration nor distance, and it was a lapse of judgement I was happy to exploit. I didn’t doubt that my excursion would soon be called to an end, but if I was beyond the landscaped boundaries of the gardens, I was going to be much harder to find and bring back.
In my haste to gain a little freedom, I had neglected to seek out proper footwear for traipsing through the woods,but my time spent with Kitty had me used to unfamiliar terrain underfoot. Be it the gardens of Pemberley, the forest at Longbourn, or the paths of Rosings, I was starting to find myself rather enjoying being able to feel pebbles and branches through thin soles.
The commonality of woodland eased my unhappiness. As I put Rosings behind me and allowed myself to get lost amongst the trees, I could have been anywhere. It was easy to pretend I was only minutes from my home of books and musical instruments in Pemberley, or that Kitty was just behind a tree, waiting to jump out and surprise me with a kiss. I let nature guide me through the fantasy, taking the paths that the trees seemed to gesture to with the bend of a limb or dip of a branch.
Despite the innate musicality of the woods as distant birds chirped to one another and the breeze rustled branches high above my head, there was a kind of natural stillness that made it quite possible to believe yourself alone. It was only when I pushed my way through a denser collection of branches that I realised I wasn’t the only person there. A woman in a dark grey day dress and apron was kneeling on the ground, picking a few fallen chestnuts to add to a basket already half full with glossy brown shells. When she looked up and saw me, she rose to her feet and revealed the noticeable sign of late pregnancy under the fabric of her dress.
“Oh!” I couldn’t help my surprise. It was rare to see a woman so far along in her condition out and about, but she seemed happy to be on her feet.
“Miss Darcy,” she greeted me, nodding her head politely.
I blinked at her, confused by her immediate use of my name. In my surprise, I had forgone the polite greeting and apology for my intrusion that I should have voiced. She seemed to know me, yet I could not place her amongst those I had previously met on visits to my aunt.
“I’m sorry, I don’t… Have we met?” I asked, hoping I was causing her no offence.
“I’m afraid I have not had that pleasure, but you look just like your brother, and I heard this morning that you had come to stay,” she said with a smile. “My name is Charlotte.”
I dipped into a curtsey to greet her properly. It was rare for a woman of standing to introduce herself with only her given name, but it would be impolite to correct her on her own introduction, and I had already been rude enough. Some days I was tempted to omit my surname, too, when I didn’t want the weight of its gravitas.
“Please, allow me to carry that,” I insisted, gesturing to the basket. Women in a delicate way were encouraged to rest often. They certainly were not supposed to be collecting chestnuts from the forest floor. “Forgive me, but ought you not to be in bed? If you are acquainted with my aunt, she would no doubt be happy to lend you some assistance until you are delivered, if you need it.”
Charlotte laughed fondly and simply bent down to add another handful of nuts to the basket, seemingly completely unimpeded.
“Thank you, but I am relieved to still find myself able totake the air. This will not be my first child, and I am quite capable of staying on my feet,” she assured me, with an easy confidence I found myself entirely unable to argue with. “But I would happily welcome the company for my walk home, if you wished to extend your walk as far as the parsonage.”
“Mrs. Collins!” I said almost gleefully, once I realised exactly who I was speaking to—for only Mr. Collins’s wife could be before me. “Elizabeth speaks of you fondly.”
Charlotte’s smile fell a little at the use of her married name but was much revived at the mention of Elizabeth.
“Please,” she said, “you must call me Charlotte. Any friend of Elizabeth’s is a friend of mine, thus her sister-in-law must be as dear as a sister to me. She writes equally fondly of you in her letters.”
