“He is a fine gentleman,” Charlotte admitted. “Everything one might hope for in a match. But even so, I could never bring myself to marry him. I don’t suppose that will make a great deal of sense to other people, but…”
Anne picked her cup up and sipped. She made a face, evidently finding it still too hot to drink. “Perhaps you forget that my mother never remarried.”
“Oh.” Charlotte’s eyes widened. She had indeed forgotten. “Yes, of course.”
“Indeed. Other people thought that my father took a great risk, leaving it all to my mother.” Anne stared down into her teacup. “They told him she would likely marry again, for whoever heard of such a lady remaining unwed with so great an estate? And yet, he knew her better than anyone in the world. I cannot say what passed between them, for it was so private, but it was love and what’s more, it was respect. Though my mother can be overbearing at times, she believes in standing by one’s beliefs, even if others may try to sway you from it with their expectations of what a lady ought to do. The only thing a lady ought to do, in her opinion, is fix her eye upon her intended target, and take it. If you do not wish to marry again, Mrs Collins, then let no one persuade you otherwise.”
They passed the remainder of the time together discussing all the gossip Charlotte had missed while she was gone, and when she returned home from Rosings, her footsteps were a little lighter. One barrier was removed, but it remained to be seen whether the second obstacle would be quite as easy.
Chapter Thirty
Dearest daughter,
By the time you receive this letter, we will be on our way and should arrive on Thursday morn.
It is so unfortunate that we cannot accommodate your brother’s whims nor his children; so, so unfortunate.
Life is full of little prisons and little escapes, is it not?
With fondest regards,
Mama and Papa
The letter was short, revealing nothing of their mood or intentions, though it was signed in the usual way with love. Attempting to decode it for hidden meanings revealed none, bar their usual mild humour, and only served to increase Charlotte’s anxiety, so she threw herself into preparations for their arrival in a desperate attempt to distract herself. Mrs Waites permitted Charlotte to hover around the kitchen, tasting dishes and putting together a menu—usually, this was the cook’s domain and Charlotte would never dare interfere, but she suspected that Mrs Waites was being extra patient with her and took full advantage. Bessie scrubbed every surface until it gleamed, and polished the silverware until the dining room looked likethe treasure trove of an ancient king. Charlotte put together a wreath for the table; white, delicate lily of the valley forhumility, blazing blue azalea fortemperance, and regal, poised magnolia, forthe love of nature. She almost added thistles, for defiance, but the memory of the thistle embroidery on Mary’s dress stopped her short. Besides, she did not know yet whether she would need to be defiant or not.
Lord and Lady Lucas arrived in short order, and though they spent the first hour in the parlor watching Charlotte with worried eyes, as any parents might with a recently-widowed child, their anxiety lessened with every minute until they seemed quite comfortable. “I admit I was a little concerned when you did not want to come home immediately,” her mother admitted, “but everyone grieves in their own way. I thought perhaps you felt most comfortable here in the home you shared with Mr Collins.”
“Yes, I did,” Charlotte confirmed. “But I also visited Canterbury for a couple of weeks with Miss Mary Bennet. I only returned a few days ago.”
“Miss Mary Bennet?” her father repeated, looking slightly puzzled. “Why, I thought Miss Elizabeth Bennet—I mean, Mrs Darcy—was your particular friend.”
Charlotte told them about Lizzie’s son, assuring them that the illness wasn’t serious, and how this had resulted in Mary visiting instead. She was thankfully saved from having to explain more about Mary—which she did not think she could do without breaking down into tears again—by Bessie’s appearance in the doorway, announcing that dinner was ready. Mrs Waites cooked a wonderful dinner for her parents—a starter of Scotch broth, a roast chicken surrounded by honeyed carrots and parsnips for the main, and a slice of her infamous rum cake for dessert, liberally covered with thick cream. All the dishes were praised to the highest degree, and Charlotte sent a silentprayer of thanks towards the kitchen, for those with full bellies were more inclined to be agreeable.
“Now,” her mother said, fixing her with a stern eye, “perhaps you’ll tell us why you invited us here. Your letter made it plain that there was something afoot, though I could not tell what, and you have been careful not to mention it.”
“Well,” said Charlotte, laying down her spoon. She swallowed. “The thing is… I have been offered a position.”
Lord Lucas paused, his spoon halfway to his mouth. “What do you mean?”
“In Canterbury I was introduced to a wonderful gentleman called Mr Mellor, who has the finest collection of flowers in all of England. He has won many prizes for them, and…”Do not ramble, she reminded herself.Keep to the point. “After he discovered that I am very fond of my own garden, he invited us to view the collection.” She bit back the bitter memory of Mary confessing her love under an oak tree, kissing Charlotte like her whole heart was in it. “It was everything I expected it to be and more.”
Lady Lucas raised an eyebrow. “And the position?”
“Well, I came up with a successful solution for an insect problem, which none of his gardeners had managed to solve.” She took a deep breath. This was it. “And so he offered me a job. As head gardener.”
A look passed between Lord Lucas and his wife that Charlotte could not decipher. “What sort of a gentleman is he?” her father asked, his tone measured.
“Oh, he is most agreeable, I am sure you would like him very much. The estate is very large, and he has no wife or living family, though Mr Mellor is too, uh,” she licked her lips, “busy to consider producing an heir at this time. I would not call him lonely, though. He loves flowers, just as I do.”
Lady Lucas chewed her mouthful before responding. “I haveheard the name before. You say he has won several competitions for his flowers?”
“Yes, Mama. Many years running.”
“And you want to…work for a living?” her father added, looking politely bewildered.
“Yes.”
“Well, I—” He caught his wife’s eye, and again something passed between them. “You have always been a sensible woman, Charlotte, and you have never asked us for anything. If this is something you want, then we shall try to support it. Though I do not like the idea of you living somewhere with a man we have never met. Is he… Is he…”
