Mary poked her head around the door. “Pitt has just told me that dinner will be ready shortly. Would you like to join me downstairs?”
Charlotte blinked, startled. “Have so many hours passed?”
“You must be enjoying that book, then.” Mary grinned. “I have been gone almost two and a half hours.”
Charlotte rose, rolling her shoulders and finding her neck a little stiff. “Gracious, I must have been entirely engrossed. It is a compelling read.”
She followed Mary out of the room and downstairs, feeling her stomach rumble. “I do hope you enjoy dinner,” Mary said, as they entered the dining room. “My cook is glad I have a visitor, for I never eat so much or so well by myself. I believe she has gone to a bit of trouble to impress you.”
“Impress me?” Charlotte blinked, surprised.Why would anybody bother to try to impress me?
Mary did not elaborate, and in a few moments, overseen by Pitt, the footmen brought out a first course of spiced turnip soup, swiftly followed by veal cutlets, liberally buttered new potatoes, and roast asparagus. The accompanying wine was a delicate white, smooth on the palate, with a hint of smoky oak.
“This is simply sumptuous,” Charlotte announced. “Why, I cannot remember the last time I had veal so delicious. It quite melts on the tongue.”
“You must have eaten well at Rosings, surely? Did you not dine there often?”
“We did,” Charlotte conceded, “but unfortunately Lady Catherine does not believe in having a light hand with a cow. I believe she would have served us all blackened slices if she thought she could get away with it. She seemed to prefer her meat done so well the animal was entirely unrecognizable.”
“That is a terrible shame indeed.” Mary speared a piece of veal and lifted it into the air. Blood pooled on her plate. “I myselfprefer it rare. In fact, if the cow has only just stopped mooing, that may be a touch too late for me.”
Charlotte couldn’t repress a chuckle of amusement. “It is exceptional fare,” said she, “and you ought to tell your cook so. Why, I was alone often at Hunsford but that never stopped Mrs Waites from creating the most marvelous dishes, or me from enjoying them. One does not have to be in company to savor a good meal.”
Mary picked up her wine glass and swirled the contents thoughtfully. “Was Mr Collins gone often?”
Not as much as I would have liked, Charlotte thought, and swallowed a hasty forkful of potato to stop herself from saying it. “Oh, certainly. He liked to go on small visits to the surrounding village, as well as the next few over. On several occasions he was gone for weeks at a time.”
“Did you not have any particular friends in Kent?”
Charlotte’s stomach clenched. “We hosted people passing through, and met many distinguished guests at Rosings who stayed with the de Bourghs.”
Mary studied her. “That is not what I asked.”
Charlotte chewed, delaying her response in the hope that her host would move onto a different subject, but the silence merely lengthened. Mary watched her, apparently satisfied to wait until she had an answer. She sighed. “Not really. Anne de Bourgh is very kind, though I would not call us close. And there was not anyone else of my own age or class within walking distance.” Her pleasant friendship with Mrs Waites was something that Charlotte’s acquaintances would likely find bizarre or gauche; having friendships across class boundaries simply was not done, particularly with one’s own servants. Even Mr Collins had been kept unaware of the depth of their camaraderie, for he would have undoubtedly seen it as pity and kindness on Charlotte’s part, and would have been unable to comprehend the real value that Mrs Waites contributed. She shrugged. “My job was tobe a good wife for my husband, and to allow him to continue his work unimpeded. It hardly mattered what I wanted.”Nor has it ever, she thought.
“It sounds like rather a lonely life.”
Charlotte wasn’t quite sure what Mary was getting at. She’d forgotten how these statements could feel rather like judgements. “Perhaps it was. Are you not alone here? Do you ever feel lonely?”
Mary sipped her wine. “I would like to introduce you to a few of my acquaintances while you are here. Miss Highbridge is a particular friend of mine and I believe you shall get on famously.”
Miss Highbridge.The name sent a sharp shock through her chest.Miss Anne Highbridge, perhaps?She wondered how she would feel if she saw in person the woman from the nude drawing. Would she be able to look her in the eyes?You told Mary you were not a prude, the little voice inside reminded her.I do not believe that I am, she argued back,but there is something rather different about seeing a woman’s body unclothed before you have even been introduced to the lady in person.
Hmm,the little voice said.And it is nothing to do with the fact that Mary might have seen her nude? Also, she did not answer your question.
Unable to answer that, Charlotte curled her fingers into fists under the table, doing her best to ignore the thrum of discomfort pulsing through her stomach.
“Now, shall we eat a little dessert?” Mary asked.
A little dessert turned out to be a glass of brandy and an enormous slice of rum cake. Charlotte took a large mouthful of the latter, and was astounded by the familiar taste. The cake was sweet without being cloying, and spiced perfectly. “Why, this is just like Mrs Waites’! However did you manage it?”
Mary grinned. “That’s because I asked her for the exactrecipe. I wanted you to feel most welcome here. I do hope my cook did it justice.”
Charlotte halted mid-chew. In all her life, she could not think of anyone doing anything half so kind and thoughtful for her and, intriguingly, Mary had somehow managed what half the village could not, and obtained a recipe from Mrs Waites’ fiercely defended collection. “How on earth did you convince her to give that to you? I would swear God Himself would have to ask for Mrs Waites to even consider sharing. And even then, I believe she would have to think twice.”
“I told her it was for you.” Mary shrugged, but her eyes watched Charlotte nervously. “I was fully prepared to beg, but she gave it up rather easily after that. Do you like it?”
“Indeed I do. Please give my deepest thanks to Miss Brodie.” Charlotte picked up her brandy and sniffed, picking up delicious notes of dried apricot and nutmeg. The first sip sent a pleasurable warmth rolling through her mouth, coasting down her throat. “And how goes your letter-writing?”
