Posted on: 2012-05-03

"Oh, Jane, he's wonderful." The two friends were walking together in the fields near Longbourn. "He's clever, and handsome, and so very kind." Charlotte beamed. "And he prefers me!"

Jane laughed. "Of course he does. You're as clever, handsome and kind as anyone. No man could hope to do better."

"I am not very handsome," Charlotte said, wrinkling her nose. Jane opened her mouth to reply, but Charlotte cut her off. "No, Jane, don't argue. I know you would have me be a beauty, but I am nothing compared to you."

It was true. Charlotte Lucas was, and had always been, rather plain. Not ugly, certainly, but nowhere near as beautiful as Jane. Jane Bennet, who at fifteen was four years Charlotte's junior, was declared by all who glimpsed her to be the loveliest creature they had ever seen. Her softly shining blonde hair, rosy complexion and the gentleness of her voice and expression made her easily comparable to an angel. Next to her friend, Charlotte, with her slightly pointed face, a nose too small for her face and a mouth too large for it, was very plain indeed.

She had accepted this fact years ago. Jane and Charlotte had been friends long before looks became the issue they were beginning to be - that is, long before either of them was thinking of marriage - and both felt that they were at this point too deeply entrenched in the ways of friendship for the bond to be broken over such petty rivalry.

"You are lovely, Charlotte," Jane said. "And I'm quite sure Mr. Aston is already in a fair way to be very much in love with you."

"I hope you're right, Jane," Charlotte replied. "I do so hope you're right. For I grow fonder of him every hour."

The gentleman in question, Mr. Thomas Aston, had recently moved to Meryton, the village in which Charlotte lived, to be a clerk at the law practice belonging to Jane's uncle Mr. Phillips. He was currently, however, staring blankly at the work before him on the desk and thinking about how very pleasant his time at Lucas Lodge had been the previous evening - the third such evening he had spent there since his arrival in Meryton. Charlotte would have been gratified to know that he was indeed thinking of her, and in very flattering terms. He did not pretend she was a beauty, not even in his private thoughts, but he found her to be amiable, sensible and witty. Yes, he had enjoyed her company very much, and he looked forward to Tuesday evening, when he had been invited to a party Longbourn, the home of the Bennet family. Miss Charlotte Lucas, he had been assured, would be there, and he was very eager to forward his acquaintance with her.

Charlotte was not the type to walk by Mr. Phillips' law offices multiple times a day in the hopes of running into Mr. Aston. She had too many tasks to see to at home to let herself engage in such foolishness - although she did find herself volunteering more readily to run errands in town, when she might normally have preferred to help the housekeeper plan dinner or assist her father with the accounts. (Her governess, before leaving, had declared to Lady Lucas that Charlotte was quite hopeless when it came to arithmetic. She conquered each new problem far too quickly, and was eager to move into more advanced subject matter. It was most unladylike.) Each time she passed Mr. Phillips' offices on such an errand, Charlotte would blush and hurry by, particularly aware that she would not have come out were it not for the possibility of running into Mr. Aston. However, she did not run into him, and as the week drew on, Charlotte grew ever more impatient for the Bennet's party on Tuesday evening. A week is a long time for a girl of nineteen who is beginning to fall in love to be away from the object of her affections, and so no one can really blame Charlotte for replaying her and Mr. Aston's initial meetings over and over again in her head.

"Miss Lucas," he had said on that first evening. "Delighted to make your acquaintance, I'm sure." And though the first time she remembered it he had seemed cool and distant in this, their initial moment of contact, the more she thought about it, the more she thought she had perhaps detected some hints of a blush - a manly blush - and perhaps a slight wistfulness in his voice. It had been, she was sure, love at first sight.

"Mr. Aston," she had replied - and by the time her carriage was approaching Longbourn on Tuesday evening, she was sure she had followed this statement with an alluring smile. "We are so very glad to welcome you to the neighborhood. I hope you find it pleasant so far?"

"Yes, quite pleasant, I assure you," he had replied with a significant look at her. Charlotte recalled blushing becomingly before switching to the more appropriate topic of books. Their similar taste in reading material - and, indeed, nearly everything else they discussed - was soon apparent, and Charlotte was quite certain that she detected some signs of affection in the way he spoke to her. Yes, he had certainly been at least halfway in love with her by the time they parted that evening, and their next two evenings had followed in much the same pattern. He had sought her out above all other young ladies in the room, and when there had been dancing, why, he had danced only with her! Charlotte could not contain a smile as she thought of the last conversation they had shared.

"My dear Miss Lucas," Mr. Aston had said, "how attached are you to the neighborhood of Meryton?"

"Pardon?" she had asked - for she had been busy contemplating how handsome Mr. Aston's hair was. He repeated his question. "Oh! I am quite excessively attached to Meryton. I have never lived anywhere else, you know."

"Yes, but - " Mr. Aston broke off, looked around the room and stepped closer to Charlotte. "How attached? What I mean to say - well…should you be very sorry to live here all your life?"

Charlotte's eyes widened, and she blushed. "I…well, I should think - that is, if I were…well…" She took a deep breath and smiled up at Mr. Aston. "No, not at all." And he had -

"Charlotte, my dear!" Lady Lucas' high, nasal voice broke into her daughter's thoughts. "We are arrived at the Bennet's." Charlotte, still collecting her thoughts, did not immediately reply. "Come along, child! Do you plan to sit in the carriage for the entire evening?" Lady Lucas sighed. "You'll never catch a husband at this rate."

"Mama, I am not yet twenty," Charlotte said as she got out of the carriage. "That hardly qualifies me as a spinster."

"Not yet," Lady Lucas said, "but whatever looks you might claim to have are going quickly." She fluffed the feather on her turban and smoothed her gown. "Well, dear, let us go in. Your father is anxious for us to follow him, I'm sure."

Charlotte, a slight blush lingering on her face from her mother's comments, entered the room and immediately scanned it for Ms. Aston.

"He's not here yet," Jane said with a smile as she approached her friend. "You look very well this evening."

Indeed, Charlotte had taken special care with her appearance. Her dress was a pale shade of primrose, which she thought suited her complexion better than anything else she owned. She had threaded a matching ribbon through her brown hair, and had spent nearly half an hour in front of her looking glass attempting to get the right tendrils of hair to hang loose, as well as pinching her cheeks so she would appear to be blushing becomingly when Mr. Aston saw her. The effects of her pinching were fading quickly, however, and, as Mr. Aston did not arrive for another half hour after the Lucas', they were completely lost on the person for whom they had been intended. Still, she was in quite good looks, Charlotte comforted herself as she touched her hair one last time to make sure it was in place. She was quite gratified to notice that Mr. Aston had noticed her almost immediately upon entering the room and, after paying his respects to Mrs. Bennet, was approaching her. She badly wanted Jane by her side for support, but her friend, as the eldest child, was currently engaged in putting her four younger sisters to bed. All were too young for such a party - even Jane would not be allowed to attend such an engagement, did it not take place in her own home.

"Miss Lucas," Mr. Aston said with a slight bow. "It is a pleasure to see you again at last."

At last! Charlotte smiled involuntarily at his words. But she took a deep breath to steady herself before replying. She had no wish to sound like a silly, lovesick child! "Indeed, Mr. Aston," she said with a nod. "I trust your week has been pleasant?"

"Ah. I'm afraid I find my work duller than I had expected - but nothing to tax my spirits too much." The way he wrinkled his nose and shook his head slightly belied his words, and Charlotte laughed.

"Poor Mr. Aston! You ought to come and call on us at Lucas Lodge one day. You do get breaks, do you not?"

"I do indeed, and it would be my honor to call on your family one day this week." He smiled down at Charlotte and leaned in so he could continue in a quieter voice. "And dare I ask - may I hope in particular, Miss Lucas, to find you there?"

Charlotte's heart beat faster, and she looked at the floor, blushing. Oh, dear. She had not meant to fall completely in love with Mr. Aston quite so quickly - though she had been thinking of him all week, she had hoped to remain simply fond for a while longer - but it appeared there was no helping it. Her heart had spoken. "You may hope, Mr. Aston," she whispered. Had her embarrassment not kept her from looking up at that moment, she would have saw Mr. Aston smiling rather broadly.
Indeed, they had not had the instant connection which Charlotte now imagined she remembered, but their evenings together at Lucas Lodge had been pleasant enough to make Mr. Aston, who was actively searching for a wife now that he was firmly established in his profession, interested in exploring the possibility of courting Charlotte. To be sure, she was no beauty, but was not a sensible, intelligent wife worth ten beautiful ones?

Such were his thoughts at the moment Jane Bennet reentered the room, though they were not his thoughts the moment after, when he caught a glimpse of her. His thoughts at that particular moment were not coherent enough to be conveyed in writing.

"Oh, there's Jane!" Charlotte motioned her friend over. "Jane, may I present Mr. Aston. Mr. Aston, Miss Bennet."

"A - a pleasure to make your acquaintance," Mr. Aston said, bowing low and kissing Jane's hand. Jane blushed and gently tugged her hand away.

"Indeed," she replied. "I've heard much of you from Miss Lucas this week, and all of it kind."

"Jane!" Charlotte whispered, pinching her friend on the arm where Mr. Aston couldn't see. Jane glanced sideways at her friend and smiled.

"Miss Lucas flatters me, I'm sure." He would have continued to speak, but he was interrupted.

"Surely we have enough young people here for some dancing!" Mrs. Bennet said loudly. There was a murmur of assent all across the room, and so Mrs. Bennet approached the instrument and sat down. "I'll play a reel, shall I?" she asked. "Mr. Bennet, come turn the pages for me."

Mr. Aston turned towards the two ladies. Charlotte felt herself about to smile, sure he was going to ask her to dance, and her answer - "Oh, yes!" - was practically on her lips when Mr. Aston instead extended his hand to Jane and said, "Miss Bennet?" Jane, with a startled glance at her friend, accepted his hand. As he led her across the room, Jane looked over her shoulder and swallowed hard at the sight of Charlotte, who stood with her mouth just slightly open and her eyes wide with disappointment.

Charlotte only remained thus for a moment. She composed herself, and moved to a nearby chair to sit down. It was because this was Jane's house, she reassured herself. Jane is owed precedence because we are in her home. That's why Mr. Aston asked her to dance. Surely, she thought, he would ask her next.

But the dance ended, and, amid the applause, Charlotte saw Mr. Aston lean in and say something to Jane. She could not hear, but he motioned towards where they had been dancing, and Charlotte swallowed hard - she knew, she just knew that he was asking Jane for another dance. Jane, however, shook her head slightly, and made her escape. She looked at Charlotte, sitting all alone, and wanted desperately to go speak with her, but she thought instead she should give Mr. Aston a chance to go and ask Charlotte to dance without her interference. Indeed, Mr. Aston seemed to be making his way across the room to where Charlotte was seated, and a smile began to form on both girls' faces. He stopped in front of Charlotte and bowed slightly, and Jane's smile grew. Surely any moment now he would hold out his hand, and her friend's romance would be back on track.

It was not to be. "Miss Lucas," was all he said, before turning away and heading towards the door.

"You are not leaving, Mr. Aston?" asked Charlotte, standing up and taking two steps after him before stopping herself. She would not chase him.

"I'm afraid I must," said Mr. Aston. He turned around slowly. "Mr. Phillips wants me rather early tomorrow morning, you see. I bid you goodnight."

And he was gone, leaving a stunned Charlotte in his wake. Jane, across the room, was horrified, and rushed to her side. But before she could reach her friend, Charlotte turned and saw her approaching, and did something she had never in her life thought she'd do - hurried in the opposite direction.

Charlotte spent the rest of that week waiting for Mr. Aston's promised call. She did not sit at home pining, though - it was not her nature. No, Charlotte kept busy. Her mother was always wanting her help with the housekeeping, and Charlotte viewed directing the housekeeper and choosing the menu, or even stepping into the kitchen herself from time to time, as good practice for when she would someday run her husband's home. However, as the week wore on and Mr. Aston did not come, a hollow, burning feeling grew in the pit of her stomach, and Charlotte found herself less and less able to focus on her usual tasks. Several times Jane tried to visit her friend, but each time Charlotte had the maid say she was not at home, or occupied in taking care of her younger siblings and could not possibly spare the time for a visit. Charlotte simply did not want to face Jane believing, as she did, that it was Jane's fault that Mr. Aston had not called during the week.

A full week passed, and Charlotte began to give up hope of Mr. Aston visiting her. She had not seen either him or Jane since the party. As she lay awake at night Charlotte had horrible visions of Mr. Aston calling at Longbourn, and spending hours in the gardens with Jane. Surely they would sit in front of the rose bushes, which would just be blooming. She could see Mr. Aston gently pulling a rose off the bush and presenting it to Jane, who would blush and look down. Then Charlotte's imaginings jumped forward to the image of Mr. Aston kneeling before Jane, who was still seated on the bench, and taking both of her hands in his. As he spoke, Jane's smile grew wider, and she nodded her head, and Mr. Aston stood, pulling her up with him, and they were embracing, and -

"Miss Bennet to see you," said the parlor maid.

Charlotte looked up, prepared to give an excuse, but instead found Jane standing before her. "Oh," she said. "I am so glad you are come, Jane. Do sit down." She motioned stiffly to a chair, and they both sat.

Silence reigned for the next few minutes, and Charlotte made a point of not looking at Jane. She examined the pale blue paper on the walls, admired the way the light from the window cast shadows on the wooden floor, and thought of seven ways to rearrange the furniture before her attention was pulled to Jane by the sound of a quiet sob. She examined her friend's face, and saw that Jane was indeed beginning to cry. Her resolve melted as her friend's tears began to flow more quickly.

"Why, Jane! Whatever is the matter?"

"Oh, Charlotte, it is too horrible!" Jane shook her head. "I hardly know how to tell you."

"My God, is your father - ?"

Jane shook her head. "No, nothing like that. My family are in health. Mama s-sends her greetings." Jane sniffled. "Charlotte, it's something much worse."

"Worse?"

Jane took a deep breath, partly to control her crying and partly to prepare herself for what must be said. "This morning," she began, "I received a - that is to say, I was - " She squeezed her eyes shut and took another deep breath. "Mr. Aston proposed to me."

Charlotte turned pale. "He - he did?"

Jane nodded, and spoke through her tears. "He's been calling on us this week, and he was very kind and attentive to me. I thought surely it was because I was your friend - I was so certain you two would have made up after your quarrel last week, and that he was beginning to court you. That is how these things go, is it not? The handsome man courts the beautiful, clever lady and they have a fight, but they make up and then everything is wonderful and they get married."

"And live happily ever after," Charlotte said, glaring at Jane. "Yes, he falls in love with the beautiful lady - but I am not she."

"Charlotte - " Jane began, but Charlotte rose abruptly.

"I knew it," she whispered. "All week I've been waiting for him like a fool, waiting every day for him to call, just as he promised he would. But he made that promise before he met you, did he not? I am no longer the object of his affections."

"Oh, Charlotte, I didn't mean - "

"I do not blame you, of course," Charlotte said, but she turned away from Jane as she spoke. "It's hardly your fault that you are so beautiful. Now, I'm afraid I must ask you to leave. I have some correspondence to attend to." She swallowed. "I wish you and Mr. Aston every happiness."

"But Charlotte!" Jane grasped Charlotte's arm and tugged her friend around to face her. "Charlotte, I refused him!"

"You refused him?" A sudden wave of dizziness engulfed Charlotte, and she clung to the back of her chair to steady herself.

"Of course I did! I saw him only as your suitor. My liking for him goes no farther than that."

"Oh." Charlotte sat down, and Jane knelt by her side.

"Charlotte, I am so very sorry," she said, reaching for Charlotte's hand. Charlotte, however, clenched her hand into a fist. Jane swallowed. "But there's still a chance," she said. "I refused him! Do you not think that now he'll remember how fond he is of you, and perhaps come back to you?"

"Please go," Charlotte said, her voice cracking slightly.

"But I - "

"Go."

Jane stood up and slowly crossed the room. "If you need anything, Charlotte, you know you have only to ask," she said, and then she was gone.

A tear slipped off the end of Charlotte's nose. How foolish she had been, thinking a man could prefer her over Jane!

Charlotte stood up abruptly and paced the room, attempting to compose herself. She must not cry. Her mother would notice, and there would be questions, and Charlotte, who had never been a particularly good liar, would be forced to tell the whole tale, and then there would be scolding's for not having secured Mr. Aston sooner. Besides which, as Jane had said, it was entirely possible that Mr. Aston, having been refused, would realize his foolishness in pursuing Jane and come back to Charlotte, repentant and loving. Charlotte closed her eyes to keep back the tears that were threatening - and saw her nightmare image of Mr. Aston proposing to Jane. She squeezed her eyes together more tightly, wishing that image, and this whole dreadful week, could be erased from her life.

Her wish was not granted. Instead, there was another knock on the parlor door, and the maid entered. "Mr. Aston to see you, Miss," she said with a quick curtsey, and Mr. Aston followed her in. He stood silently for a moment, watching Charlotte.

"I am to be chastised for not calling sooner, as I promised." He smiled slightly. "I'm afraid I've been quite taken up with work this week."

With that lie, and the wooden smile which went with it - a smile that did not reach his eyes - Charlotte knew Jane had been right, though not in the way she'd intended. Mr. Aston had indeed remembered Charlotte. He was not, however, recalling his earlier inclination and declaring himself foolish for having ever pursued Miss Bennet, as both girls had secretly hoped he would. No, it was more that, having been rejected by his first choice, Mr. Aston now recalled Charlotte as a palatable, if not equally desirable, alternative. In a sudden moment of clear-headedness, Charlotte knew that, if she let him, Mr. Aston would propose, and probably quite soon. For a moment, she let herself imagine it - a future with her Mr. Aston, living in a small house in Meryton, Mr. Aston eventually taking over Mr. Phillips' offices when the older man retired. She could see the two of them sitting up late by a fire and discussing poetry, or simply leaning against each other, enjoying the company of their most beloved spouse…But she shook herself out of such foolish daydreams. She knew that she was imagining a future with a man who loved her in return, and such a thing was not possible with Mr. Aston. He was far too easily distracted by beauty such as Jane's to ever be truly in love with someone as plain as Charlotte.

Charlotte could not simply tell Mr. Aston to go, as she wished to. So instead of ordering him out of her presence, she said, "I'm afraid, Mr. Aston, that you have not chosen the best time. I can feel a headache coming on, and am just about to retire in the hopes of preventing it."

"My sincerest apologies, Miss Lucas," Mr. Aston said. "I have no wish to contribute to your discomfort. But is there anything you require? Can I get you a glass of wine? Or perhaps - "

"Please, Mr. Aston. The only thing I require is solitude," Charlotte repeated. She caught his gaze, and he noticed the tears in her eyes.

"I will leave you, then," he said. He started towards the door, then paused. "Perhaps I could call on you tomorrow?"

"I think not, Mr. Aston. These headaches can sometimes last a long time, you see," Charlotte said. "It might be best if you did not call again at all." Her voice cracked on the last word.

Mr. Aston, confused but unwilling to press his suit any further, nodded, and departed without a word.

It was a full quarter of an hour before Charlotte could collect herself enough to stop crying. Blinking back the remaining tears, she stood up and approached the door, thinking she would go out. She had her hand on the doorknob before she realized that there was no place she wanted to go. Standing frozen, she could feel the tears welling up again, and she desperately tried to swallow them. "Well." She smoothed her dress with trembling hands. "I daresay I'm better off. For it is surely better to marry without love, and leave your happiness up to chance, than to marry with love and ensure your misery."