Charlotte Collins was at the heart of many of the stories Elizabeth told about Longbourn and her childhood. Although Charlotte had married a man who had once first proposed to, and been rejected by, Elizabeth, her letters were some of Elizabeth’s favourite to receive. Only letters from Charlotte and from any of her four sisters would Elizabeth drop everything to read immediately. Charlotte was, by all reports, a kind and hardworking woman who was willing to fight for what the world would not easily grant her. Meeting her after hearing so much prior felt a little like meeting a character from a much-loved book.
I was delighted to walk alongside Charlotte as she led the way back to her home. She did not ask about my sudden appearance at Rosings, instead focusing on how she plannedto roast the chestnuts she’d collected, and how roasted sweet chestnuts used to be a favourite of Elizabeth’s. Charlotte seemed pleased when I informed her that they still were, and that I had since acquired the taste for them, too.
The parsonage was entirely new to me, but it was clear it was Charlotte’s domain. She led me around to a door at the back of the cottage and showed me through to a small kitchen. A maid stirred a pot on the stove, turning quickly and hurrying forwards to take the basket from Charlotte.
“Mr. Collins has been looking for you, ma’am,” she said.
Charlotte’s mask slipped for only a moment, an almost imperceptible frown. It was quickly covered by a serene smile and a nod.
“Please inform him I am entertaining a guest for a little while, and will find him when I am free to do so,” she said, and I realised I was a tool she was using to delay that meeting. If she needed distance that much, I was happy to help her provide it.
Charlotte left me in the front parlour for a few minutes before reappearing with a baby girl who sat happily on her knee, burbling a little as if she wanted to join in with the conversation but had not yet mastered the fine art of speech.
“This is Catherine,” Charlotte said, introducing me to the little girl. “Named after your aunt, of course. My husband wouldn’t have it any other way.”
I laughed. “There seem to be an awful lot of Catherines in my life at the moment; what is one more?”
“Beyond this little one and your aunt?”
There was clearly a question behind Charlotte’s words,fuelled by genuine, innocent curiosity. If she was good friends with Elizabeth, I could only assume that she was at least passably acquainted with the rest of the Bennet family.
“Catherine Bennet?” I offered.
With any luck, my cheeks appeared less red to her than they felt to me. Simply saying Kitty’s name brought to mind her smile and her curls, and it was enough to remind me how completely in love with her I was.
Charlotte lit up at the name, recognising it instantly. When she realised I knew more of the Bennets than just Elizabeth and that I had, until recently, been staying with them, she was keen to hear updates on how they were all doing. She spoke so fondly of Meryton that it was clear at least part of her heart was still there. I was as forthcoming with the information she wanted as I could be, until she asked why it was that I’d left the Bennets to stay with my aunt. I didn’t want to dwell on thoughts of Wickham, instead opting to cite the overcrowding of the Bennet house as the reason for my departure. It was either an underwhelming topic for Charlotte, or she could sense my reticence to talk about it, because she swiftly moved the conversation back to happier subjects. I could talk about Kitty endlessly.
“You are fond of Miss Bennet?” she asked when I paused to take a breath.
I bit my tongue in my haste to shut my mouth. I had said too much, been too indiscreet. The opportunity to speak freely about Kitty had simply been overwhelming, but I barely knew Charlotte.
“They are a kind family,” I said, keeping my words measured and careful. “I have enjoyed getting to know them all, Kitty included, since my brother married Elizabeth. I… I enjoy her company.”
“I used to be able to talk as much about Elizabeth as you do about Kitty,” Charlotte said wistfully. “It seems a lifetime ago, before all this.” She gestured to the parsonage around her.
“You married rather late, did you not?” I asked, before I realised how dreadfully rude it sounded, my eyes widening with horror. “Forgive me; I did not mean to offend.”
“I take no offence,” Charlotte assured me. “It is hardly a secret.”
“Some of the girls I knew in London spoke of waiting to marry like it was the most shameful thing, but it only seems sensible to take time to find someone you truly want to marry, rather than rushing into things,” I said.
It was a line I’d been testing out in my mind. I did believe it, but I was also hoping it would buy me time when people started to ask too many questions about my own unwedded state.
Charlotte’s smile didn’t quite meet her eyes.
“There is certainly no shame in waiting for someone you love. What hurts most is finding that love and it still being out of reach. I suspect you might know what that feels like as well as I do. Sometimes I wonder what my life would have looked like if I had not been forced into this choice.”
I blinked at her, trying to find a sensible way to interpret what she was saying. She could not be suggesting whatI thought she was. There was no possibility that she could be trying to tell me that we shared an affection for other women. But her smile was small and almost nervous, and she carried the tension in her shoulders of having revealedsomething. I wanted to press her on it, to confirm or deny my wild hopes, but baby Catherine began to cry and Charlotte hurried to sooth her. As she bounced her daughter in her arms, I repeated Charlotte’s words to myself so I could overanalyse them later.
Both Charlotte and I benefitted from my time spent in her home, each hiding from a family member we wished to avoid, but I couldn’t stay there forever. There was no doubt Lady Catherine was already seeking to bring me back and subject me to a daylong lecture of how best to attract a husband, and I had already delayed its commencement by a handful of hours. Not to mention how I’d lied about simply taking a walk in the garden.
Reluctant to let me go, Charlotte had me promise to pay her another visit. It was an easy assurance to make—the warmth of the parsonage was far preferable to the cold grandeur of Rosings. I left her with a curtsey and baby Catherine with a tap on the nose to make her giggle, and walked myself home.
As I made my way up the driveway towards the house, I knew my absence had certainly not gone unnoticed. There was an unknown carriage parked in front of the house, with afamily crest painted on the side that I could not place. When the front door opened to reveal my aunt, her arms crossed and face pinched, there was a man beside her I didn’t recognise. From a distance I assumed him to be a member of the household staff, but as I got closer, it became obvious from the cut of his clothing and the tilt of his chin that he thought far too highly of himself for that. This had to be the owner of the carriage.
“Miss Darcy,” Lady Catherine said, disappointment dripping from my name.
The entire walk back had been spent planning how best to approach this moment, and I quickly deployed the tactic I had settled on, despite the unexpected additional audience. Sweeping into a deep curtsey, I ducked my head so she couldn’t read any insincerity in my eyes as I spun the events of my morning into something that was not entirely a lie, but fell short of an accurate truth.
