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Chapter 1

Posted on 2013-09-02

Hope deferred makes the heart sick,
But when the desire comes, it is a tree of life.
Proverbs 13:12
June, 1806

He heard her. Richard Fitzwilliam would know that merry laughter anywhere. She was here. Scanning the bouquets of ball gowns in the London townhouse, his eyes discovered the source of mirth. His pulse quickened; there she was, Charlotte Lucas. Not thirty feet away, her innocent countenance was radiant as she conversed with her family, holding her brother John's arm.

She was familiar in appearance, yet different. No longer a thin young girl with flying braids, she was now a woman. Although some would call her plain, there was an alluring simplicity and ease about her. Watching her from over the rim of his glass, Richard stood captivated. Her brown hair was drawn back in a relaxed knot adorned with a simple garland of white flowers. Loose tendrils framed her face; no fussy curls as was the prevailing style. Her attractive white gown, void of flamboyant frills or flounces, alluded to her genuine purity. Would she remember him?

As her father turned to speak to an acquaintance, her focus shifted. He knew the moment she recognized him. When their eyes locked, she tilted her head and momentarily furrowed her brow before an unmistakable charge united them, pressing a quiet gasp from her. Her brother, also recognizing him, steered them in his direction through the throngs of unfamiliar guests.

Richard pushed a stray dark blonde lock from his brow and drew himself up to his full height. "Miss Lucas, Mr. Lucas." He bowed as John Lucas returned the gesture, and Charlotte dropped a curtsey. "What a pleasure to see you again. I believe it has been nearly ten years since my attendance at your aunt's Cragmount picnics. Your family is well?" he forced himself to address John.

"Very well, thank you Mr.--...uh...Fitzwilliam." He observed the young man scanning his uniform to determine his rank.

"Captain."

"Yes, Captain Fitzwilliam. May I ask after your family, sir? They are well?"

"They are indeed. You will find them amongst the guests. I see your family there. I shall be sure to reacquaint myself." At last he turned to Charlotte. "Miss Lucas, you look lovely tonight. If you are not otherwise engaged, might I request a dance? Perhaps the supper set?"

"You may, Captain Fitzwilliam; I am not engaged."

He was further rewarded when she smiled and lowered her chin as she twisted her fingers together just before he excused himself with a bow.

Richard Fitzwilliam's heart pounded as he wended his way through the crowded room in search of his next partner, the pretty daughter of a baron who had recently come out. Even as he extended his hand to claim her, his mind remained fixed on Charlotte among the gay chatter and glimmering candlelight. As he performed the familiar steps in time to the music, the smile upon his lips paled as his mind recalled the childhood summer picnics spent with Charlotte at her aunt's Derbyshire estate all those years ago.

Having married well, her aunt had been mistress of Cragmount outside Matlock. His family's larger estate was nearby. Lady Matlock, his mother, and Lady Heath, Charlotte's aunt, had grown up together as best friends and had attended The London Academy for Ladies. Richard recollected that Charlotte's mother was several years younger than her sister.

Every summer the Lucases spent their holiday at Cragmount. Lady Heath hosted a picnic, inviting the Fitzwilliams and the other better families of the neighbourhood. For the few weeks following the gathering, the children were often in each other's company as the ladies shared tea most afternoons. Though those picnics had ceased several years ago while he was away at university, tonight they were in attendance at a ball honouring Lady Heath's fiftieth birthday hosted by her daughter.

Richard released a sigh as his partner promenaded to the next gentleman in the line. It was unfortunate Charlotte's mother had not married as well as her older sister, or Charlotte would be just the sort of wife he would be happy to have as his own. Apparently the provision of a handsome dowry by Charlotte's grandfather had allowed his eldest daughter to marry the second son of a baronet who later inherited the baronetcy. However, foolish investments had consumed the allotted dowry for Charlotte's mother, and a man in trade was the best she could secure, though Richard heard he eventually became knighted. Richard was fortunate that his own mother, the daughter of a respected gentleman, had married well herself.

Meeting his partner for a turn, he smiled, but not at her. His countenance reflected the satisfaction of times gone by as he recalled adventures he and Charlotte had shared, riding over open fields and playing Robin Hood with the other children. Fearless and fun-loving, she had made a better comrade than most boys. The only company he had preferred to hers was that of his cousin, Darcy.

Finally the set came to an end, and he bowed before escorting his partner from the dance floor. After refreshing himself with a glass of punch, his father bid him to dance with a striking young beauty whose stylish pink gown enhanced her glowing cheeks and honey blonde hair. Her coquettish manner and fluttering eyelashes rewarded his every word. He was thankful to be rid of her at the music's conclusion. That sort of flirtatious fawning, so common among women of the Ton, disgusted him.

At last he could claim his dance with Charlotte. "Miss Lucas, I believe ours is the next set. Shall we?" He extended his hand.

When their gloved fingers touched, that spark again ignited between them, and their eyes locked. It was an extended second before he beamed a brilliant smile at her. It appeared she did remember their close companionship during those summers spent in Derbyshire. She relaxed her shoulders and they conversed easily proceeding through the steps, weaving in and out. The memory of wading in streams and playing hide and seek with her as a girl paled in comparison to the sensation of dancing with her now as a woman.

He grasped her hand for a turn. "Your dancing is excellent, Miss Lucas. It is truly good to see you again."

"Thank you." He could tell she was trying to conceal her broad smile. Then circling, she teased, "Who knew Blind Man's Bluff was such good practice for lightness of foot?"

Circling the other way he replied right back, "And who knew my brown-haired companion in a mud spattered frock would become such a lovely young woman?"

Her gaze dropped.

He extended his hand to meet hers. "As I recall, you and your aunt share the same month of birth. I congratulate you on becoming of age--this year, I believe it is. Shall your family attend the picnic celebration tomorrow?" An afternoon spent in her company would well make it worth his attending.

"Yes. I am looking forward to it."

He expelled a relieved breath as he bowed in closing. "As am I, Miss Lucas. As am I."

Galloping over the green fields near her family's modest home in Hertfordshire three days later, Charlotte longed to share her news of Richard with her dearest friend, Victoria Brantley. Unfortunately, the girl's family had quitted Netherfield and moved to Town just a few weeks earlier.

The recent evening spent with Richard had indeed been enchanting. Her heart swelled at the thought of him. No longer a mere boy, he was now a man. Although of average height, his commanding presence and strapping build had given the illusion of towering over others. His broad shoulders filled his red tailored uniform, while a sword hung beside him. Snow white breeches tucked smartly into champagne-shined hessians.

He had been unaware that after their last dance together, she had stood in shadows not fifteen feet away and observed him. His countenance and speech were animated as words poured forth to three officers before him. His trio of companions then burst into laughter. Although not particularly handsome, his blue eyes twinkled, and his good-natured disposition reflected on his face. One of the soldiers returned a quip to punctuate the tale; Richard threw back his head, roaring laughter in response. That was the Richard she remembered, jovial and full of life.

As long as she could remember, they had shared a certain comfort. Just what was it they shared? A sort of soothing familiarity...like a place one doesn't want to leave...like home and a cosy fire--and hot cider on a frigid day.

Slowing her horse, she giggled recalling his antics. Richard had always been in some sort of scrape. She could have been no more than five when he showed her how to catch fish in the fountain pond. His mother had been furious! Lady Matlock said Charlotte could have drowned. She shook her head. That same year, as a boy of seven, he had been racing over the lawn at Cragmount, his kite streaming, she running behind. He decided she was his favourite when she gave him her kite, after his brother Andrew hung his in a tree. Oh, and the fury of Mama the year they waded in the brook and Charlotte soiled her best gown chasing Maria with a frog!

No one was like him. He had never made her feel plain, and it had not mattered that his father was an earl and hers only in trade. With reckless joy, she threw her leg astride, bumped Ami's flanks, and bolted through the field. With her bonnet trailing, the June breeze gently caressed her face and freed her hair. Riding like the wind was her fondest memory, racing across the fields with Richard Fitzwilliam and the other children. Of course, Richard had most often been the victor.

She slowed her mount again and sighed. Now at one and twenty, she was grown up--a lady--too old for childhood antics. How she longed to return to those carefree days with no thoughts of dowries and decorum!

Approaching her home, she repaired her dark brown hair, retied her bonnet, and resumed her lady-like seat on Ami to appear more proper than she felt.

Winter, 1811. Five years later

"Your supper, sir." The breath of Richard's aide-de-camp hung in a white cloud as he handed him the steaming plate.

"Thank you, Stevens." Richard hunkered into his coat before a small campfire and passed his spoon through tasteless chunks swimming in gravy. It was another meal spent in cold desolation.

Hearing muffled laughter coming from the adjacent officer's tent, Richard glanced over his shoulder and observed moving shadows. He sighed and shook his head. Colonel Preston was fortunate to have his wife accompany him to the field. No wonder the man could still smile amidst long marches, muck, and deplorable army food.

Richard crushed his biscuit under his boot's heel and scooped another mouthful of slop as his thoughts turned to the only woman who ignited passion in his soul. Charlotte would have made the ideal field wife. He fingered the smooth stone he carried in his pocket and smiled remembering her teary eyes the evening she had given it to him. What he would do to have her warm presence beside him now. Though small, she was no helpless female. She could ride better than many men, and her skill with herbal remedies would be invaluable here.

But it was over now. He had not seen her in over a year--not since his last appearance at her aunt's annual birthday celebration in Town. He soaked a stale biscuit fragment in the slimy brown liquid and stared at the fading embers. Nearby a fiddler sawed practice licks as a group of enlistees settled around. Ironically, the popular tune he struck up was the spirited one played at the closing of those London picnics.

Richard released a white puff of breath and pulled his coat closer. He had been fortunate to have been assigned to Household Guard back then, allowing him access in Town for all but one of the five annual birthday ball and picnic celebrations.

Every year his father had admonished him to mingle with the young ladies of fortune, yet Charlotte's company was so enticing, he asked her for as many dances as propriety allowed and conversed with her during most of the others. Even at the picnics, they had made a spectacle partnering for games, laughing, lapsing into their former comfortable companionship. Though forbidden by station and economy, he felt as if they belonged together.

He shivered as a chilled wind whipped his coat. Leaning over, he picked up a stick and stirred the embers as a smile curled his lips recalling the thrill of introducing her to his passion for opera. His mother and Lady Heath had added a London shopping tour each February, inviting the Lucas ladies to accompany them. Though he rarely joined his family at their home in Town due to friction with his father, he made an exception for the opera.

When the singing had begun that first time, her eyes widened, and her arms broke out in goose flesh. For his part, the emotions that had been provoked by the music and drama on the stage below were nothing compared to the stirring invoked by her presence beside him in his family's box. She had been mesmerized, and so was he--not by the opera, but by her wonder at it. After that night he began marking the passage of time by those balls and operas: February to June, June to February.

He forced another mouthful of the mysterious fodder and washed it down with a swig of ale.

He had missed the fourth ball. Having been promoted and reassigned to General Picton, he had returned to the continent. The night of that ball two years ago had found him sitting in a grimy uniform staring at the embers of another campfire, longing for her easy companionship. It was then he knew he really loved her.

That February came and went and still he tramped across Europe. His mother's letters had mentioned Charlotte's enthusiastic response to The Magic Flute, his favourite opera.

Flicking a maggot from the dry biscuit, he swabbed it over the remaining gravy and crushed it between his teeth.

A painful longing recalled their glorious reunion in June of last year at the fifth ball. In just the nick of time, Richard had been recalled to England on a recruiting tour. He had appreciated the assistance of his valet that evening and hoped his jittery fumblings were not evident. It had been embarrassing to be a seasoned soldier of twenty-seven acting like a lovesick schoolboy still wet behind the ears. When her eyes found him that night in the glow of the ballroom, his beaming smile awaited her and relief washed over him. At last he had led her to the dance floor--he could touch her.

He scratched his unwashed hair and shook his head. The agonizing decision he had made that night still robbed him of slumber. He was keenly aware that she was getting on in years and needed to marry. He shuddered at the thought of her with another man, but it could not be helped. She could never be his. He had wished he could ask for her hand, but instead it had been one of the darkest days of his life. Even now he could recall it in vivid detail.

As her family sauntered across the picnic lawn that day, one look at Charlotte had told him their previous night's thoughts had gravely differed. Her countenance reflected that she had eyes for no other, his the deep anguish and loss he felt. She was twenty-five. He had to let her go--not just let her go, but push her away; snap the cord that bound them in hopes she would attach to another. It was for her own good.

"Good afternoon, Miss Lucas."

"Good afternoon, Major. Is something troubling you? You look rather downcast. It is lovely weather and looks to be a pleasant afternoon."

He sighed and closed his eyes. How could he tell her there, in a few words, all that was on his heart knowing that it would break hers? He had to do it. His brows remained tense.

"Have I offended you, sir?"

"N--No, Miss Lucas," his tone was grave.

"What has you so troubled?"

Frolicking laughter rang out nearby, reminding them of the presence of others. "Meet me around the pond under the weeping willow at the picnic's conclusion, just before the dance. We may speak freely there." Bowing, he turned away from her anguished expression to join his family.

At last the birthday song was announced, and the happy crowd assembled around Lady Heath. As they sang, the mood was festive and merry for all but two among the throng. While the guests grouped for the last dance, Charlotte and Richard drifted away and made their way to the familiar tree.

"There you are." She twisted her hands in front of her. "Rich--Major, what is it? Are you to be deployed? I am nearly ill with worry. My thoughts have been so preoccupied, I could do naught but anticipate the end of the occasion. Last night's ball was so delightful that I think I shall never forget it. But today..."

"Miss Lucas," he expelled a breath, "our acquaintance spans nearly the entirety of our lives. We share a rare familiarity." He paused, dreading his next words. "But we can not go on like this."

Her brows knit in confusion.

"Or rather, I can not allow us to go on like this. Charlotte, it is time you settled down. We shall never be together. We can never wed." He searched her eyes. "Do you not see?"

She dropped her gaze.

"The situation is impossible. You know the reasons." He passed his hand through his hair. "This bond must be broken--even if I must push you away--for your own good." He bent to seek her eyes, willing her to understand. All he saw were tears pooling.

She hesitated before raising her head. "I desire no one else--I have not even the desire to desire another."

"You must. You long for a family. We can never have it. Your only hope for future happiness is to break this tie with me--now." He turned his head away, feeling the pain of his own words.

"Richard, no one will want me. I am poor, plain. I am already five and twenty. I have no dowry, connections, or accomplishments to offer a husband."

Hearing a hitch in her voice, he turned back and grasped her shoulders. "Whatever becomes of you, Charlotte, you are loved." He stepped closer. "I love you. I love you just as you are."

She fell into his arms, her weeping muffled against his chest. Holding her securely, he closed his eyes in sweet torture.

They could hear the music nearby; the dance was nearing its conclusion.

Regaining herself, she met his eyes. "Thank you. Thank you for loving me." She sniffed and brushed her tears. "At least I have that."

At that moment, she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. He lifted his hand and touched her face, as if to imprint her beauty on his hand. Her skin was soft and smooth under his thumb as he stroked her cheek. They were inches apart. Her innocent, trusting eyes looked into his soul, then focused on his lips inviting an imprint of another kind.

He moved as if in slow motion to oblige her, gently settling his lips on hers.

A welding heat flashed over him, binding him to her. He tenderly impressed her lips with his again and again, hers responding in synchronized harmony.

The spell was broken as two crows in the weeping willow canopy overhead scolded, dislodging a flutter of dead leaves as they ascended into the air.

"We must go." His voice was low but final. He grasped her shoulders and met her eyes. "I will not be at the next opera, nor the following ball or picnic. Goodbye, Charlotte."

He dropped his hands and strode away, his heels striking the ground with the force of his resolve. Steeling himself and clenching his teeth and fists, he willed himself not to look back at her. Severing their attachment had been the hardest thing he had ever done. He had to remind himself that he had done it for her.

When at last he rounded the corner in sight of others, he slowed his pace and relaxed his posture. It was then he allowed himself to recall her soft skin under his palm and the deep satisfaction of his lips moving over hers. He wrapped the image and sensation as if in a package and stored it in the recesses of his mind. He did not want to lose it, but he could not dwell on it now. He had been foolish and erred greatly by kissing her--he had never intended for that to happen. He would not err again. He could remove his presence from her, and he would--for her.

The campfire popped, snapping him out of the recollection. At the numerous balls and parties he had attended since coming of age, he had been pawed and fawned over by pretty young girls as much for his uniform, family status, and rank as anything else. But none resonated with him as Charlotte did. The thought of marrying a frivolous woman of no substance turned his stomach. He wanted a companion for his soul, not an ornament for his arm.

He felt sure Darcy, his best friend and cousin, staunchly loyal to family duty, would ridicule him if he knew of his fondness for the inconsequential country girl. Certainly his father would. As a second son, he needed to marry money. Perhaps he should marry his cousin Anne and her sizeable inheritance. Not only could he then quit the army, but he could also fulfil a long-held desire to manage a country estate and appease his father. Although Anne was sensible, she was ill and could probably never give him the family he desired. Neither did he love her.

With a sigh, he rose to his feet. Scraping his plate, he flung its remains into the fire before retreating to his tent. As he perched on his cot to remove his boots, he heard giggles from the colonel's tent before it went dark. He wished he could extinguish his longing for Charlotte as easily as the candle next door had been snuffed out.

Chapter Two

Posted on 2013-09-05

Meryton Assembly--Autumn 1812

She saw him. Fitzwilliam Darcy was no longer a mere boy, he was a man, and a strikingly handsome one at that. With a regal bearing, he entered the room with the party from Netherfield as the locals stared. Charlotte shook her head in wonder. Would he recall meeting during her tenth summer at Cragmount? Though quiet and reserved, he and Richard had been thick as thieves. Richard had preferred his company to hers, and she had been jealous.

Her eyes followed him as he and the gentry beside him proceeded further into the room. Although impeccably attired for the simple country assembly in Hertfordshire, Mr. Darcy appeared uncomfortable as his eyes darted to and fro. She assumed the good looking gentleman next to him wearing a delighted expression of anticipation was Mr. Bingley. And the lady on his arm with an air of decided fashion was surely his sister, judging by their resemblance, while the couple behind appeared older and somewhat bored. Charlotte could hear Mrs. Bennet's animated gossip nearby, "...Bingley...five thousand a year! ...my Jane..."

With smug satisfaction, Charlotte curtseyed to Mr. Bingley's party as her father, the mayor and social host of Meryton, introduced her post haste. Though Sir William Lucas made mention of the family's association with the Fitzwilliams of Matlock, Mr. Darcy revealed no recollection and retreated to the shadows. She felt honoured when Mr. Bingley requested the first dance from her. A lively dancer, he was as amiable and gentleman-like as previously reported.

She was sure the flutterings she heard of Mr. Darcy's ten thousand a year were circulated by her mother. But as his manners and mien proved disagreeable, she knew her mother would claim no previous acquaintance.

After the third set, Charlotte refreshed herself with a cup of punch. Sipping her drink, she heard Mrs. Bennet's shrill voice not more than a few feet away. "Sister! Oh Sister, did you see Mr. Bingley dancing with my Jane?"

"Yes." Mrs. Phillips nodded with a smile. "He has paid her particular attention. It must make you very proud."

"Indeed it does. And the way he looked at her. I knew there was a reason she was so beautiful. At first I was vexed to see him choose Miss Lucas for the first dance, but he did not admire her at all, nobody can. Besides, she is too old and far too plain for Mr. Bingley. She is now a confirmed spinster, you know."

Charlotte froze. Confirmed spinster? She most certainly was not! Placing a hand on the table to steady herself, she took several deep breaths. She closed her eyes in mortification and slumped as the realization sunk in...yes...she was. How could she have let this happen? Her mother had warned her; Richard had warned her. What had she done?

She had hardly regained herself when Lizzy Bennet, her dearest friend, sauntered over wearing a playful smirk.

"Charlotte, shall I tell you the grave insult I just overheard? Mr. Bingley suggested that Mr. Darcy should ask me to dance. And the arrogant man replied," - here she imitated a deep male voice - "'She is tolerable but not handsome enough tempt me.'" She laughed in disbelief. "Can you imagine such pride? Such incivility! I should not care to dance with him if he were the last man in the world."

Charlotte, knowing her friend, suspected the insult stung more than her jesting betrayed. But she could scarcely console her, being haunted by her own spinster spectre.

Had things been different, perhaps she could have related to Lizzy that she knew Mr. Darcy to be shy and reserved, which could possibly be mistaken for pride and arrogance. But that would have obliged her to reveal her past with Richard. She could not share those painful, sacred memories with anyone, even Lizzy.

Instead, a cloud settled over her that evening, marking a turning point. It was then she lost her optimistic outlook and hardened her heart. She determined to prove Mrs. Bennet wrong and vowed to secure the next eligible man who came her way.

Thus began a long, dark chapter of her life.

"We are nearly there, my dear Charlotte. The parsonage is up ahead, and Rosings is beyond those trees." He pointed out the carriage window. "I am anxious for you to meet my esteemed patroness, Lady Catherine de Bourgh, and see her grand home. I hear the glazing alone costs upward of..."

As her new husband prattled on, Charlotte stared out the coach window and felt butterflies in her stomach. Was she frightened? A chill ran down her spine. Not frightened, just repulsed. The gravity of her decision swept over her. What had she done? It had seemed such an easy, sensible decision at the time, marry William Collins and rid herself of the stigma of spinsterhood that hung about her like an unwelcome cloud.

At least she could look forward to the upcoming visit from her father and Maria a few weeks before Easter. Lizzy had promised to come as well. Richard had mentioned on occasion that he visited his Aunt Catherine at Rosings every spring.

She recalled the moment at a ball hosted by Mr. Bingley where she had learned of Mr. Collins' connection with Rosings, the home of Richard's aunt. It had been surprising enough that Mr. Darcy had appeared in their humble town. But when she discovered that Mr. Collins was Lady Catherine de Bourgh's rector and he was in want of a wife, she'd had difficulty maintaining her equanimity.

It was clear that Mr. Collins had set his sight on Lizzy, his cousin. But when Lizzy decisively rejected him, Charlotte saw an opportunity to shed that spinster spectre and gain a home of her own. Should Mr. Bennet die, she would even have the satisfaction of taking Mrs. Bennet's place as Mistress of Longbourn, for Mr. Collins was the heir to the entailed estate. She glanced at her new husband as he prattled on about a recent wedding he had performed, and another memory intruded her thoughts...Mr. Brantley. She sighed and turned away.

In her youth, her failure to secure the affections of Mr. Brantley had taught her a hard lesson. She learned how important it was to make her feelings clear, leaving no room for ambiguity. As a result, she had flaunted avid interest in Mr. Collins, and indeed he had proposed before the week was out. Now, finding herself married but a few hours, she was questioning her prudence.

"Here we are my dear! Let me help you down." Stepping onto the gravelled lane, she surveyed her new home. With ivy growing up one side to meet the slate roof, the generous stone parsonage was separated from the lane by a laurel hedge and picket fence. Though tidy, the barren trees and desolate December landscape reflected the despair she felt. As they passed under an arbour, he blathered on, "This is my garden. See the winter vegetables growing there?" He pointed to neat rows beside the house. "And you shall have space for your very own herb garden over there."

The door opened and a petite girl in a starched apron of nigh twenty or so stood in the doorway. "Oh, there is Nan now."

"Hello, Nan." Charlotte felt an instant fondness for the girl.

"Ma'am." The girl's tight brown curls bobbed under her mob cap along with her curtsey.

Charlotte stepped into her new home and scanned the tasteful interior as her husband resumed his oration. "Come in, come in my dear!" He pulled her hand. "Over here is my library. Isn't this panelling handsome? With a perfect view of the lane, I can easily see when Lady Catherine's carriage passes by. I am always prompt to meet it and bestow a wave. You must learn to listen for it as well. We must render her the esteem she deserves. Now come, come this way, Charlotte. Here is a parlour." He led her into the room and she glanced around. "I thought you might like this one to be your very own, to write letters and such. Do you see those bee hives there?" He moved to the large window and pointed out. "On the advice of Lady Catherine..."

This parlour is a lovely room. Quite cosy. And in blue, my favourite colour. I believe I shall be quite content in here. Perhaps that large garden will keep him well occupied.

"This way, my dear." He was tugging at her sleeve.

She followed him from room to room as he pontificated about each space and extolled Lady Catherine's generosity and fine taste in its furnishings.

During dinner, she stifled a yawn as his monologue continued. "I am sure her ladyship will continue her twice weekly invitations for us to dine with her and her daughter. It is quite an honour, and we shall bestow on her the respect she is due. Now, Miss de Bourgh shall be seated directly to her mother's right, her middle-aged companion, Mrs. Jenkinson, beside her, accommodating her every need."

At last he paused for a bite of roast pork.

He went on, gesturing with his fork as he spoke. "The heiress excuses herself at the conclusion of every meal, which I believe is symptomatic of her malady, but we dare not be so impertinent as to pry for details. However, I believe you will find her pleasant enough. Although somewhat shy, you cannot help but admire her large blue eyes, her..."

Charlotte's eyes wandered about the pleasing room as his tedious dialog droned on. Having hardly spoken a word of her own, at last the meal concluded. As he led her up the stairs, he appeared somewhat nervous himself.

He stopped outside her chamber. "My dear Charlotte, I know it is customary for a husband to give his new wife several minutes to--" he leaned in closer, "prepare herself--with laces, fragrances and such. Should a quarter hour be sufficient?" His close proximity and gushing grin made her draw back slightly.

"I believe I would prefer three-quarters of an hour."

"Oh! Oh my," he flustered. "Yes, well, I can see how you would need more time to look your best for such a...momentous occasion." Gingerly siding up to her, he gave her a peck on the cheek before scuttling down the hall.

She braced her back against the closed door and shut her eyes as she expelled a deep breath. How had she thought she could live with the man for a lifetime? It had seemed so sensible at the time. A home of her own and security. Was that not what she wanted? Charlotte dropped her head in mortification. She had flirted shamelessly to snatch him up, and now that she had him, the realization of a life with such an inane and embarrassing man swept over her in full force. A lone tear slid down her cheek. Wiping it away, she swallowed back pain and breathed out on a whisper, "What have I done?"

Not a moment more than forty-five minutes later, her new husband rapped on the door. Cracking it, she held her arms against her modest gown, shielding her person from him. He resembled a caricature bobbing in nervous anticipation, having donned a ridiculous grin, an oversized night shirt, and a cap that slid over one eye. Hesitantly, she stood aside as he skittered into the room.

When finally he left her, she turned into the pillow and wept...bitterly.

As the remnants of winter faded, crocus and daffodils now dotted the garden, and life fell into an acceptable routine for Charlotte. She was delighted to have been granted license to exercise the horses at Rosings and thus began making parish calls on horseback. Though the weather was cool, she rode nearly every day and was soon well respected by the locals for her extensive skill with herbal treatments.

When not out of doors, she kept to her blue parlour and quite enjoyed the cosy space, while her husband spent much of his time in the garden or library. She found that with this arrangement, she could often pass the majority of her day out of his company.

She resented his overbearing patroness who took full liberty at their meetings to give her advice on every affair from the arrangement of her parlour, to the arrangement of her hair. But Charlotte soon learned that placating the domineering woman kept her in good graces with both her husband and her ladyship.

On one such visit, Lady Catherine adjured Charlotte to practice the pianoforte at Rosings that she might play at their dinner gatherings. Though initially regarded as an imposition, she later saw it as a means to improving herself while removing her person from the incessant blathering of her husband. Having accepted the offer, she arrived at the appointed time.

Charlotte had never called on Rosings out of the company of her husband. She twisted her fingers as the butler showed her into the drawing room and presented her to the patroness and her daughter. Standing before the two women, she noted the sharp contrast between them as if seeing them for the first time. Charlotte could scarcely believe they were related. Her ladyship, a tall, large woman who might once have been handsome, projected an air of self-importance. Anne, a thin little creature with arresting blue eyes, emanated a reserved, but gracious sincerity. The younger woman's pale skin contrasted with the dull colours of her gowns while the attractive waves in her raven black hair were disguised in an austere knot.

Charlotte shrunk under Lady Catherine's contemptuous glare. "Mrs. Collins, I was beginning to think you had scorned my generous offer. We expected you several minutes ago."

Charlotte knew it was futile to explain that a tenant with an ill child had called just as she was preparing her departure. Lady Catherine accepted no excuses, thus Charlotte remained quiet and only acknowledged the comment with a slight smile and nod.

"So have you instructed your maid in the use of a hard brush and cork to properly clean your parlour table? Upon my last visit, I noticed several stains. I will not have my rector's wife keeping a shabby house."

Knowing the woman expected she would be offended, Charlotte bit her tongue and merely replied, "Yes, your ladyship."

Having no bait for further admonishment, the seated matron drew herself up to her full height as if to emphasize her superiority, then turned to Mrs. Jenkinson. "Show Mrs. Collins to the pianoforte in your sitting room. She may practice in there."

Without a word, Miss de Bourgh's companion led her up a flight of stairs and down a hall to a small sitting room.

"Thank you." Charlotte curtseyed to the woman who responded with a disinterested smile and nod.

Though invited, she felt like somewhat of an intruder. She could not recall the last time she had pressed ivory keys. With only the ticking of a mantle clock as her companion, she sat at the instrument hesitant to touch it in the hallowed house.

At last she struck a chord. The resounding tone affirmed the instrument's quality. After several blundering attempts at a simple minuet, she went in search of music. Finding a stack on a nearby shelf, she chose a simple etude. Charlotte hardly noticed that more than an hour had passed before she produced some acceptable bars of music. She massaged her sore fingers and turned, detecting the slightest presence in the doorway.

"Miss de Bourgh!" She rose, surprised to see her hostess.

"I hope I have not disturbed you. It has been so very long since this pianoforte has been played." Anne's manner was gentle and warm.

"We might fully appreciate its resonant tone could my fingers manage the correct keys."

"Please do not stop on account of me. I was enjoying the melody."

"I believe my hands have had quite enough for one day."

"Well, then perhaps you might join me for some refreshment."

Charlotte had never heard so many words from the shy woman. "I would be delighted. What of your mother and companion?"

"Mother is making her weekly call on Mrs. Metcalf. Mrs. Jenkinson accompanies her and attends to business in the village. Will you join me in the yellow parlour? It is my favourite."

Charlotte smiled and followed her through the extensive house and into a cosy morning room.

"This is lovely!" Charlotte surveyed the yellow patterned wallpaper above white wainscoting. Its tasteful, simple decoration was in stark contrast to the opulent, gilded pomp of the main drawing room.

"Mother does not care for the room and allowed me to choose its colour and furnishings. I quite delighted in its planning. With the morning sun, it is cheerful and warm. Please sit down."

Charlotte lowered herself beside Anne on the comfortable floral settee.

"I am delighted to have you here, Mrs. Collins. Having visitors of my own is rare. Will you tell me of your family?" she asked as she poured tea.

Charlotte told of her father and his knighthood, his jovial, kind nature, and that her mama was loving and doting as a mother should be. Her brother, John, two years younger, was making a name for himself as a barrister in Bath, working for her Uncle Lucas. Edward, seven years her junior, had recently received another promotion under General Nolan. He had quite the aptitude for procuring and managing supplies for the Army, though his mother lamented that her garden had suffered since his departure. Edward loved growing things and could coax the best vegetables from the most unwilling soil. As his temper often put him at odds with his superiors, the family feared it would ruin his career. And finally she told of her sister, Maria, who, having recently come out, would be visiting within a month.

As Charlotte sipped her tea and nibbled the scones, she so appreciated the attentive ear and pleasant remarks of her hostess that she hardly noticed the woman took nary a sip of tea nor sampled the delicacies on her plate.

Hearing her ladyship return, they rose to conclude their visit.

"I am grateful for your company, Mrs. Collins. Might we visit again next Tuesday after your practising while my mother is out?"

"Thank you. I quite enjoyed myself, although I fear I left little opportunity for you to speak."

"We shall have plenty of time to become better acquainted, I am sure."

Returning the next week, and then the next, Charlotte found that although they had little in common other than their ages, they delighted in the other's company. Anne, less taciturn when out of the presence of her mother, was warm and friendly. Thus began a precious friendship.

As Easter approached, Charlotte found herself apprehensive at the thought of seeing Richard. Why was she so uneasy? She hurried to the estate's stables to sort through her feelings on horseback.

March breezes whipped her dress and bonnet as she galloped over the fresh, green meadow. Slowing after some minutes, her mind unwound her tangled emotions. It should make no difference to her that he would be visiting nearby. She reminded herself that it had been nearly three years since their last meeting, and she was now married. Chances were favourable that he was as well. She lamented that she could not feel proud of her husband, but he had provided her with security and a home. Hopefully Richard would not disparage her choice. Perhaps he had married one of those haughty women of the Ton he had vowed to scorn. Charlotte giggled at the thought.

Spying a plant needed in her treatment basket, she dismounted at a picturesque bend in the stream. As she mulled over Richard's upcoming visit, suddenly she froze. Not only Richard, but Mr. Darcy also made the annual pilgrimage to Rosings. When Lizzy had been invited to visit, Charlotte had not considered them being there together at the same time. There was clearly something between the wealthy but proud man from Derbyshire and her spirited friend, but she was not sure if it was attraction or abhorrence.

Richard cut into an apple with his pocketknife as their carriage neared Rosings. "I admire you, Darcy, willing to travel about the country pouring over estate ledgers not your own. Every Easter you labour for Aunt Catherine, and last autumn, for Charles Bingley as well."

Darcy grunted, but his gaze remained fixed out the window.

He dislodged a chunk of apple. "So you think it not imprudent of me to offer for Anne? I have decided to ask for her during the course of our visit."

Darcy's eyes darted to his cousin's. "Are you quite certain? We have spoken of this before; there is no rush. Waiting until next Easter would allow additional time to learn the ropes of the estate and be certain of your decision. Is it not your mother who is fond of saying 'who can know what a year can bring?'"

"True," Richard spoke around his apple, "but now is as good a time as any. I do not believe I shall be any more prepared to marry her then than now. Besides," he cut another slice, "as you are aware, I had no interest in joining the army. I only did it to please my father. A marriage with Anne will appease him and allow me a comfortable estate in the country, which I have long desired. I am ready to settle down and be done with it. Apple?" He held out a slice.

Darcy shook his head.

Richard took another bite. "Anne and I get on well enough, and she is a sensible girl. She won't have me running to Town for every social occasion or troubling me over womanly trifles." He circled the knife in the air.

Richard continued chewing. "So after I have secured Anne, you will tell Aunt Catherine once and for all that you have no intention of marrying our cousin?"

Darcy shifted and sighed. "I should have told her last year. I have been avoiding this conversation far too long. Delivering unwelcome news to Aunt Catherine is always unpleasant for the messenger. Perhaps her mood will be more tempered with your happy announcement. Certainly she can have no objection to relinquishing her daughter and holdings to her second favourite nephew."

Richard laughed. The men fell silent contemplating the forthcoming visit.

Darcy was the first to speak. "Am I to assume then that you desire to continue with instruction on estate management?"

"Absolutely. Last year you covered books and ledgers. Perhaps this year should include land and tenant management."

The carriage rolled past the laurel hedge of the familiar parsonage where Mr. Collins stood waving.

Darcy folded his book and gathered his coat. "You are aware Aunt Catherine has a new rector?"

"I am." Richard glanced back at the queer man still waving. "Do you suppose he is as fawning and asinine as the others?"

"I know he is."

"You know he is? You have met him?"

"I have. In Hertfordshire. Although he may be nonsensical, his recent wife is not."

"His wife?" Richard threw the last bite into his mouth.

"Yes. I believe you might be acquainted with her. A Miss Lucas. Is that not the name of your childhood companion?"

Richard's chewing ceased; heat raced through him. He turned to the window to avoid Darcy's gaze and regained himself with a deep breath. "That was many years ago." He made to reach for the familiar stone always in his pocket but stopped short and instead dismissed the comment with a nonchalant wave of his hand.

"Encountering her at several local gatherings, I found her amiable, even if not particularly handsome. I was surprised to hear from Anne that she had agreed to marry a man as ridiculous as Collins. However, being well past a marriageable age, perhaps she felt him her only opportunity for security."

Richard kept his gaze fixed out of the window. He swallowed hard and forced himself to take even breaths.

"Perhaps you will enjoy her company again. Aunt Catherine generally invites her rector to dine during our stay."

Richard was relieved when the footman opened the carriage door, negating the need for a reply.

The men entered the enormous house whose familiar furnishings impressed but offered little comfort. After greeting his aunt and cousin, Richard escaped to the privacy of his usual green room to mull over news of Charlotte's presence not more than a half mile away.

So she had married a fool. A pain stabbed his chest. Loosening his cravat, he braced on the window frame and stared. How would he respond to her? How would she respond to him? Was this some cruel joke? He had foregone the annual balls, picnics, and even the opera to avoid her. And now he would be forced into her presence again.

As his valet silently assisted him in donning his dinner attire, he mulled over the matter and settled on two resolutions: he would put himself in her company only when necessary and would mask any affection he felt for her--for his sake and hers.

Less than twenty-four hours later, he had broken them both.

Chapter Three

Posted on 2013-09-09

The next morning at an hour barely civil for calling, Richard and Darcy were summoned to the drawing room by Lady Catherine, who introduced them to her new rector.

"Mr. Darcy, it is indeed a pleasure to be in your company again." Bowing low, Mr. Collins turned to Richard and continued with hardly a pause, "And Colonel Fitzwilliam, such an honour it is to now have made the acquaintance of both her ladyship's fine nephews. I am sure you must be curious how I, a humble rector from Kent, became acquainted with Mr. Darcy, a man of such consequence from Derbyshire. Well, it so happened that I was in Meryton visiting my cousins and attended a ball. And whom should I overhear speaking but Mr. Darcy himself mentioning to our hostess his association with my esteemed patroness and her distinguished daughter. Collins, I said to myself, being a member of the clergy, it is your duty to assure him of her ladyship's good health, and thus I took it upon myself to seek him out and..."

The absurd man had hardly taken a breath! Richard caught Darcy's sideways glance and detected a slight upturn at the corner of his lips. Richard had to pinch his own lips to keep from chuckling aloud. The impertinence of this man was appalling, and yet he saw himself as noble! Mr. Collins' babbling continued, all about everything, yet all about nothing. As he blindly humiliated himself in one statement after another, Richard's amusement turned to sorrow in sympathy for Charlotte.

When the man's rambling turned to his new wife, Richard attended his words.

"...Lady Catherine charged me to bring back a wife. Let me see, how did she put it?" He shifted from one foot to the other. "'Choose properly,' said she, 'choose a gentlewoman for my sake; let her be an active, useful sort of person, not brought up high but able to make a small income go a good way. Find such a woman as soon as you can.' Such wise counsel. And so I did find such a woman. My Charlotte is useful and frugal. And proud I was to have secured her consent in but a sennight."

A sennight? The woman who had ignited his soul for five years was courted and secured, like a piece of property, in a sennight! --by this man? And his only commendation for her was her usefulness and frugality? He felt his face reddening. It was all he could do not to pummel the prig!

"...we are hosting visitors from Hertfordshire, Charlotte's sister Maria, as well as my cousin, a Miss Bennet..."

He sensed Darcy stiffen beside him.

The farcical man was still speaking. "We are most anxious for you to call. I insist you come. You shall be returned in time to breakfast with your aunt."

Richard was surprised to hear his reserved cousin's willing reply, "I have no objection. Coming, Richard?"

This time Richard stiffened. Go now? Was his company deemed necessary? --so close upon his arrival? A fearful excitement flared inside him at the thought of seeing Charlotte. After a momentary hesitation, he steeled himself and followed the two men.

His mind whirred as Mr. Collins prattled on during their short walk to the parsonage. What would he say when he saw her? Would Maria acknowledge their families' prior acquaintance? That was it! He would greet Charlotte civilly, and then engage the others in conversation.

As they walked along the gravelled path, the decrease in the distance to the parsonage only increased the thumping of his heart.

Charlotte, replacing some items in her husband's chamber, heard his voice on the lane below. Peering out the window, her breath caught, and she felt a tingle wash over her.

Richard! She closed her eyes, willing her heart to still. Now she was sure she had been foolish in marrying Mr. Collins. She twisted her fingers. What would she say? What should she do? What would he think?

Tossing aside her apron and smoothing her hair, she grasped for a plan. She heard Lizzy's voice below and sighed with relief. Yes! Lizzy was engaging. Charlotte could play the hostess to greet Richard, and then situate him near her friend. They were both excellent conversationalists. She would simply avoid him.

She skipped down the stairs. "Maria? Lizzy? We have visitors." The group assembled in her parlour and stood expectantly. She heard Richard's voice just before his presence filled the room, drawing her like a magnet. When their eyes met, though she tried to suppress an exuberant smile, she was sure it did not escape his notice, as his did not escape hers. She forced her gaze away, but his very being dominated her senses.

Everyone spoke at once, exchanging greetings all around. She noted Mr. Darcy's mien was as reserved as it had been in Hertfordshire. Whatever his feelings were towards her friend, his appearance remained composed. Lizzy merely curtseyed to him without saying a word.

Once seated, Richard conversed pleasantly on trivialities with everyone but her.

Mr. Darcy, after remarking kindly on the house and garden, sat for some time without speaking to anybody. However, when her husband monopolized Richard and Maria in conversation, she detected an odd silence between Mr. Darcy and Lizzy. At length his civility was awakened as to inquire after the health of her family, and soon afterward, the gentlemen took their leave.

On their walk back to Rosings, Richard glanced at his cousin and furrowed his brow, curious as to Darcy's odd grin. But he was nevertheless thankful to be relieved of words. The last thing he wanted was to speak, especially while his emotions were raw.

Though not necessary, Richard frequently found reasons over the next week to call upon the ladies of Hunsford. As soon as the hour was appropriate, he would make his way to the parsonage while Darcy remained behind, attending to the business of Lady Catherine's estate.

The party chatted and laughed as they took tea in the parlour or beautiful spring gardens. With his scheme, his words to Charlotte were few, but he was content to be in her company. Was she happy? She sought to project an air of contentment, but he knew her well. The more he observed her, the more he was convinced that she was merely burying her own shame and sadness. He could see that she burned with a painful mortification when her husband exposed his folly by speaking, and he wished he could alleviate it for her.

On Easter Sunday, at last the parsonage party was invited for dinner and tea at Rosings.

At the proper hour, Charlotte and her guests assembled in Lady Catherine's drawing room. Her ladyship received them with civility, and yet her manner was such that they were not apt to forget their inferior rank. Throughout the evening she was engrossed by her nephews, especially Mr. Darcy, much more than any other person in the room.

Although Richard seemed glad to see Charlotte, it appeared to her that Lizzy had caught his fancy. He seated himself by her and charmed her with talk of Kent and Hertfordshire, of travelling and staying at home, and of new books and music. They conversed with such vivacity as to draw the attention of Lady Catherine as well as Mr. Darcy.

Though he spoke not a word to her, Charlotte often felt Richard's gaze upon her. And Mr. Darcy's eyes were repeatedly turned towards Richard and Lizzy with a look of curiosity. Her ladyship, curious as well, called out, "What is that you are saying, Fitzwilliam? What are you telling Miss Bennet? Let me hear what it is."

"We are speaking of music, madam."

Charlotte cut her eyes between her ladyship and Richard. Did she detect annoyance in his reply? She smiled to herself.

The imperious lady then waxed eloquently about her enjoyment of music, how Anne would have been a great proficient had her health allowed her to learn, and finally lapsed into a lecture on the expediency of continual practise.

Charlotte glanced at Anne. She seemed lost in the room's chatter and opulence. Her petite, thin frame was dwarfed by the oversized, ornate furniture, and she spoke hardly a word. When dinner concluded and she took her leave, only Charlotte noticed her absence.

After coffee, Richard reminded Miss Bennet of having promised to play for him, and she sat down directly to the instrument.

And so a pleasant evening passed with hardly a word spoken between Charlotte and Richard, although there was certainly no lack of communication.

Charlotte's house guests had now been in residence nearly a month. Between calls from Richard and Mr. Darcy, tending her herbs, and attending to her guests, she had hardly found a moment to herself. But one morning Lizzy was on her daily ramble in the grove, and Maria had gone for a ride around the estate. Feeling somewhat peaked, Charlotte had remained behind and saw an opportunity to examine the contents of a trunk delivered by her father, who had departed after a week's stay. When she and Mr. Collins had married, there had been no room on the coach for this trunk containing her childhood mementos.

Raising the lid revealed her beloved rag doll, a tiny tea set, assorted sundries of days gone by, and her journals. She chose one and thumbed through its pages, pausing now and again to recall its contents. Mr. Brantley. His name appeared on page after page. She looked up, recalling the first day she had met him. She had been to Netherfield to accompany her friend, Victoria, and her mother on tenant rounds. Charlotte stared out into the room as old memories flooded her thoughts from some eight years ago.

"Mama, Mrs. Brantley and Victoria are visiting several of their tenants today. She has asked me to accompany them with my remedies."

"Certainly, dear. Be sure you mind your manners. We wouldn't want Mrs. Brantley to think us indecorous. Young Mr. Brantley is home now. He would make an excellent match for you. At nearly twenty, it is high time you get serious about settling down. Don't want to be an old maid, you know..."

Charlotte heard no more of the familiar speech. Instead, she retrieved her treatment basket and headed for the stable.

"Lottie!" her mother called after her, "Mrs. Bennet heard Samuel Moore's leg was troubling him again. Might you stop by with a salve for him?"

"Yes, Mama."

Charlotte stepped out into the sunshine. It was such a shame. Samuel had never been the same since the day he had taken a shot in his leg. He had been so lively, and such a wonderful dancer. Enlisting had changed everything, and he was so young! He had lost his spirit and was hardly able to help his papa tend the farm. Fury boiled within her. It was such a waste! So many men had been killed or maimed. Wives and families were left with nothing but sorrow. Those who survived were often like Samuel, changed men whose battle scars were merely outward manifestations of their inner turmoil.

As Ami ambled towards Netherfield, content to be with her favourite rider, Charlotte's thoughts wandered. Even her aunt Lady Heath, and her cousins Ella and Marianne had suffered from blasted war! Her uncle Lord Heath, had been an officer and second son. When his older brother had died, he inherited Cragmount and the baronetcy.

He walked with a cane and a pronounced limp from a wound inflicted many years ago. As a young man, he had apparently loved to hunt and ride, but his injury had precluded that. She remembered little else as he kept to his study and died when she was but sixteen. That was the last year the Cragmount picnics had been held. By then Ella and Marianne had married well, and her aunt had moved to Town. She sighed. It mattered not. After her uncle's death, she had not missed the family picnics. With Richard gone and the children growing up, proper behaviour was expected. The gatherings had lost their excitement and sense of adventure.

An hour later, Mrs. Brantley halted the curricle before the Andrews' tidy cottage. After a pleasant visit, Charlotte drew a small cloth bag from her basket and gave Mrs. Andrews instructions on how to brew the soothing tea for her ailing son.

"Where are we going next, Mama?" Victoria tucked a blonde curl into her fashionable bonnet as they trotted away.

"I think we shall stop by widow Allen's. You know her daughter, Sarah, has moved home since her husband was killed on the continent, the poor dear."

Is there no end to those whose lives have been so unfortunately altered by some dreadful war? Has it always been so?

"....and then we shall see Mr. Miller, who is getting on in years you know, and finally the Robertsons."

"Might we stop by Samuel Moore's place, Mrs. Brantley? Mama says his leg has been paining him."

"Oh, yes, we must stop by there as well. What a pity. Such a vivacious man he used to be. How trying it has been on his poor mother seeing him so downhearted."

After they finished their calls, the ladies returned to Netherfield.

Mrs. Brantley patted Charlotte's arm. "It was a pleasure having you with us today, dear. You do near magic with those remedies of yours. Shall you wait in the parlour while your horse is brought around?"

"Thank you, ma'am. I shall wait under the oak tree. It is a lovely day."

Seated on a stone bench, Charlotte gazed up into the tree's massive canopy, surmising its age. There was a protective comfort about its towering but gentle grandeur. A commotion at the pond beside the house drew her attention. A squawking mother duck scolded her charges as they slid into the water. With a giggle she turned back to take in the impressive home. With its circular drive separating a garden and babbling fountain from the home's handsome stone façade, she thought Netherfield the loveliest home in Hertfordshire. Even as a little girl she had dreamed of living in the elegant but serene home.

The marked gait of boots on the gravel interrupted her thoughts. "Miss Lucas." The gentleman bowed politely.

"Mr. Brantley." She rose and bobbed a curtsey.

"Is your family well?"

"Yes, thank you." Her pulse quickened in the presence of her friend's older brother, who, tall and dignified, looked handsome in his blue coat.

"How was your outing with my mother and sister this morning?"

"Quite well, thank you. I believe the tenants are grateful for your family's genuine care. Your cook's scones are always appreciated as well." She smiled, her mother's words ringing in her ears, reminding her of his eligibility.

He broke the uncomfortable silence. "I see you have your basket there. Herbal remedies, I believe?"

"Yes. Yes, they are. I left some tea for the Andrews' boys and a salve for Samuel Morris' leg." Her brown eyes met his blue ones.

"Ah, yes." He nodded his blond curls. "We are indebted to you for your care of our tenants."

"You are most welcome, sir." She twisted her hands as a groom approached, ending the awkward encounter.

"I see your horse is here. Good day, Miss Lucas." He bowed.

Charlotte closed the journal and smoothed the cover. Releasing a long sigh, she shook her head. Yes, that was the day she had vowed never to marry a soldier. She had forgotten about Samuel Moore until just now. The change she had seen wrought in the life of a man wounded by a single bullet and its effect on his family had been too high of a price to pay.

The recollections of Mr. Brantley caused her to wince, and she shut her eyes to deflect the stab of remorse. She would not think more on him or consider that loss now, not with Richard here.

"Charlotte? Charlotte." Her husband's hurried voice from below startled her back to herself. "Make haste! Lady Catherine has come to call with her nephews."

She replaced the book and slid the trunk under her bed.

Lying in her bed that night when all was quiet, visions of Richard's animated speech and laughter directed at Lizzy burned in her mind. Tears slid down her cheeks. At all those birthday balls and picnics, she had been the object of his attention. Why did Richard keep coming to call? He came nearly every day! Must he be so blatant in his flirtation? With Lizzy--her dearest friend! Was he mocking her for marrying such a silly man? He had pushed her away and said she must settle down. What did he think her prospects would be as a dowerless old maid? Did he think she could secure the affections of a rich man who would pledge his undying love with no regard for her station? Charlotte blinked and wiped her eyes.

If her husband would only hold his tongue and spare her such mortification! The weight of feigning a contented mien, as if she were perfectly happy with him and did not notice when he made humiliating statements, was crushing. But she couldn't bear to hear Lizzy say I told you so. She had been desperate to marry. It was Mr. Collins or spinsterhood. Now, looking back, perhaps spinsterhood would have been preferable to the humiliation of being married to such a man.

Between calls to the parsonage, Richard and Darcy had managed to look over Rosings' books, visit tenants, and generally appraise the estate's condition. Mr. Murray, the steward, had done a commendable job of keeping things in good order while placating Lady Catherine. He proposed some large projects which the nephews agreed were wise.

Rosings' library was silent except for the gentle tick of the mantle clock. Sprawled in one of the few comfortable chairs in the house, Richard lowered the book Darcy had appointed for his instruction. The minutia of food quantities for various horse breeds was hardly engaging, though a certain lady nearby was. He sighed. He would have to wait until tomorrow to call again.

Lifting his gaze, he observed Darcy pouring over the estate's ledgers at the desk across the room. Why did his cousin so often accompany him on the calls? His taciturn behaviour while there was somewhat awkward and embarrassing. He rarely spoke and often merely stared out the window or at Miss Bennet. Certainly she was below him, but had Darcy chosen to do so, he, too, could have enjoyed her wit and engaged her in verbal sword-play as he did. Due to his own precarious predicament, he dared not probe the subject.

Suddenly a thought struck him. Could his shy cousin be harbouring an affectionate regard for the lively Miss Bennet? He nearly laughed aloud at the mere thought of Darcy's forming an attachment for one so decidedly beneath him in status and rank. Certainly it was unlikely that a sharp-tongued country girl could succeed where so many others had failed. Attachment. Hmm... He had come to Rosings planning an attachment of his own--a proposal to Anne. His amusement disappeared. That decision had been settled upon prior to his discovering Charlotte's presence.

He moved to the window to contemplate his options. Should he go through with it? If he married Anne, Charlotte would be his nearest neighbour. But they would both be married, and as he had no intention of violating his marriage vows, perhaps it would be harmless. In fact, they might provide a sort of solace for the other, their both being married to less than ideal mates.

He shifted his stance. Should he not wed Anne, he would be stuck with the army and the disapproval of his father until he found some other less than ideal woman of means. And he would still be in Charlotte's company at Easter.

At least Anne would be easy to live with, and he could manage his aunt. Wasn't there a dowager's cottage on the estate? Yes, he would go through with his plan.

Five minutes later he saw his opportunity.

Chapter Four

Posted on 2013-09-12

Richard stood contemplating his future just outside the drawing room. On the other side of the door, Anne sat alone. Her mother had just joined Darcy in the library to look over the ledgers, and Mrs. Jenkinson had retired to her room earlier with a headache. In a few days, he and Darcy would be leaving. If he was going to offer for her, now was his chance. He closed his eyes, steeling himself. Can I commit myself to her? There is no love between us... This will offer protection to her and an estate to me... It will please my father... But there can be no other for me if Anne agrees... Each argument had been previously considered numerous times. All that remained was to step into the room and speak the words.

With his hand on the knob, he drew in a deep breath. At that moment, memories of Charlotte at the last picnic, so neatly packaged, unwrapped themselves. The heart-felt sentiments spoken between them, the sensation of her cheek in his palm, and the ecstasy of her kisses sprung to his consciousness. He painfully expelled the air now caught in his chest and stepped back, stunned by the force of the recollections. She was now married... and soon he would be too....

He startled as the door opened, and a footman exited. Anne's gaze fell on him. Exposed, he could only gather himself and enter the room.

"I was hoping to find a moment alone with you." He brushed sweaty palms across his breeches and perched beside her on the settee. The words tumbled out, "Cousin--Anne, our interactions over the years have been amiable, have they not?"

"Yes... I... I suppose they have."

"It is no secret that you are--Anne, would you do me the honour of becoming my wife? I am sure--"

"Cousin," her smile was warm as she laid her small hand on his arm, "please do not feel obligated to offer for me. It is true that we get on well. But you do not love me, nor I you. At least not in the way that a husband and wife should." Her smiled remained.

He closed his eyes and dipped his head in relief. "But your mother--Aunt Catherine--I know it is difficult to live under her rule. Were we to marry, you would finally be able to claim your inheritance. She could no longer hold you back from becoming the mistress of Rosings. I would protect you."

Anne looked at him tenderly. "Your offer is kind, but I have learned to accept my mother and even to forgive her."

"But what of your age, your health?"

"A few years ago, when I forgave Mother, I resigned myself to the fact that, due to my ill health and... situation, I shall likely never marry. I have accepted that."

"Forgive her? How can you forgive what she has done to you? She has kept you caged like a bird, hovering over you, and nearly dictating your every breath!"

"Two years ago I came to realize that forgiveness is choosing to set free a prisoner--and found that I was the prisoner. By forgiving her, I have in fact, freed myself. I cannot be responsible for my mother and her actions, but only for my own responses. There is much peace in that."

Richard sighed and shook his head. "You have my admiration. I have neither your forbearance nor your goodness. You are truly remarkable."

She released a small laugh with her words. "It is not easy. And I cannot say that I always succeed, but rather, it is a choice I make each day. I have learned to be thankful, to find pleasure in simple things--the song of birds, freedom to rest when I am unwell, the beauty and metre of poetry, and untold more delights. When I choose to focus on my blessings, I find I can bear my life quite cheerfully."

Her gentle countenance and peace amidst adversity were touching. He wondered what gave her the inner fortitude to bloom among thorns.

The next morning Richard awoke early and absently headed for the grove beside the parsonage as he had often known Darcy to do. As the birds twittered and the morning sun broke through the trees ahead, his mind sorted through the events since their arrival more than a fortnight ago. Certainly this visit to Rosings had been unlike any in their past. The most notable difference had been the presence of Charlotte. He closed his eyes, recalling the moment in the carriage when he had learned that she had married his aunt's rector. It had been all he could do to maintain an even mien. Perhaps Anne's refusal was for the best.

He rubbed his brow. Then Darcy... so temperamental. He had certainly not been himself these past few weeks. Worried over his sister Georgiana perhaps... Could there be something between him and Miss Bennet? He looked up and saw her walking just ahead.

"Miss Bennet!"

"Colonel Fitzwilliam. I have not known you ever to walk this way before."

"I have been making a tour of the park--as I do every year," he lied. "Are you going much farther?"

"No, I should have turned in a moment."

"May I escort you back to the parsonage?" Perhaps he could determine if there was any attachment on her part.

"Yes, thank you."

They walked on several steps before she broke the awkward silence. "Are you acquainted with Mr. Bingley and his sisters?"

Excellent. She was giving him an open opportunity to discuss Darcy. "I am. Darcy was in his company recently regarding an estate. He apparently saved Bingley from an imprudent marriage as well."

He went on to explain the details of the noble separation. But rather than looking pleased, an uneasy shadow fell over her face, and she mentioned feeling unwell as he bid her farewell at the laurel hedge. The parsonage party was to dine at Rosings that night for the last time before his scheduled departure with Darcy. He would closely observe his cousin with her then.

Returning for breakfast after a pleasant morning, he sought Darcy for the day's instruction. Learning his cousin was out, he headed to the stables.

The beauty of the day was surpassed only by his jovial mood. He had been out for nigh on an hour, not riding hard but enjoying the splendour of the day. The sun shone brilliantly, illuminating the field's lush new grass, and was accompanied by an occasional swirling, whipping wind as was apt for spring. As he cantered along, he became aware of a tune playing in his mind. Bringing it to the forefront of his thoughts, he slowed his mount and began humming the melody, relishing the moment.

He absently directed his horse towards a familiar spot by a stream where he and Darcy had often played as children. Still humming, he recalled carefree days of fishing, catching frogs, and general boyhood antics. Dismounting, the lively tune made its way to his lips as a whistle while he led his horse to drink. The tune pleased him more and more, and he began moving his head and hands as if he were a conductor rehearsing the melody.

His whistling ceased long enough for him to kneel and dip his hands into the cool water, splashing it onto his face. While the droplets ran down his shirt, he rose as the tune found its way to his mouth in a series of la-la-la's. He unbuttoned his waistcoat and loosened his cravat to make himself more comfortable amid his solitary oasis and merry mood. Still 'singing,' he took a few steps and reclined on a sparse patch of grass, leaning back on his elbows. With the warm sun and April wind on his face, he was lost in the moment. He continued his vocalization, alternating with humming, still moving his head in rhythm with the tune. After several minutes he belted out an off-key final la-la-la as if to punctuate his song and bring it to a rousing close.

A snapping stick and muffled giggling snagged his attention. He sat up to determine his intruder's identity and spied Charlotte peeking around a clump of bushes across the stream. "Cha--Mrs. Collins! What brings you out among the bushes this fine morning? I was unaware I had an audience for my unintentional concert--and a poor solo at that."

"Oh, Colonel, I am sorry." Her last traces of laughter faded. "I did not mean to eavesdrop. I was merely digging a medicinal root. But I must say, I was enjoying your lighthearted mood and the concert, even if it wasn't so fine as those we attended together several years ago." She stepped towards the bank ready to cross over.

With a renewed wave of inspiration, he bellowed his la-la-la's again, louder than before. He pressed one hand to his chest and held the other to the side like an opera singer, extending it towards her to help her manoeuvre across the few stones peeking above the water. She held her basket in the crook of one elbow and placed her free hand in his, steadying herself as she stepped. He continued his aria with dramatic gusto, performing for her alone.

A sudden gale swept at her dress and pulled at her bonnet. As she reached to steady it, she lost her balance. Continuing his serenade without alarm or hesitation, he easily swung her to the bank's safety. She was giggling as he continued his merry song. He gallantly took her hand and led her in an improvised dance, circling, twirling, bowing and the like.

A rustling in the barren branches of a dead tree overhead drew their gaze upward. Two scolding crows ascended into flight. The mood shattered with the recollection of a similar scene under a weeping willow three years prior. The reality of the situation hit him and fury rose. How ridiculous of me to think I could live half a mile from her and treat her with indifference.

"My apologies, Mrs. Collins." Incensed at his own behaviour, his words were curt but polite. "Our life-long acquaintance and familiarity quite caused me to forget our... present standing." He snatched at his waistcoat buttons and jerked his cravat to restore his appearance. "Treating you with the same casual frivolity to which we were accustomed many years ago was inappropriate. Good day." Snapping his heels, he bowed, then strode towards his mount.

He was nearly to his horse when her voice cut the air. "Richard!"

He turned. Her anguished expression assaulted him as her words poured forth in accusation. "Why are you tormenting me? One moment you sing and dance with me, the next you treat me with cold civility as if we were rivals. Is the memory of our friendship so abhorrent that you would rather pretend it never happened?"

"I could never forget it, but you are a married woman now." He could feel his ire rising. He turned slightly away and pressed his lips to contain the question that had nagged at him for a fortnight. But it did no good. With his next breath, the words tumbled out. "You knew Mr. Collins was my aunt's rector before you married him, didn't you?"

Her downcast eyes and coloured cheeks told him what she would not admit.

"This is my family's estate. You knew I would come here, and yet you still agreed to marry him. I cannot forgo Rosings as I did the balls and opera. Now we shall have to live with it." He spat out the next words. "You must have loved him very much."

Her eyes grew wide as she drew herself up and bit back, "Is that why you have called on the parsonage nearly every day? To mock me for the fool I married?"

With a sneer he snapped, "I assure you, the only person I was punishing was myself."

"Oh, it must have been torment indeed to laugh and flirt with Elizabeth Bennet--my dearest friend! How could you, Richard? You might as well have stabbed me a thousand times." Tears pooled in her eyes. "You once told me you loved me!"

He drew back at the impact of her words, his fury spent. "Charlotte, forgive me. It was thoughtless of me." He moved towards her, but she turned away. "Miss Bennet means nothing to me. She makes such easy conversation... It was a poor excuse to be near you, but no less a torment every time I encountered that ludicrous man you married. Why him, Charlotte? Why not someone worth an ounce of respect?"

"I had no choice." She was sobbing now. "He was the only one who would have me. I was twenty and seven--on the shelf." She turned her tear-stained face towards him, her voice as broken as her spirit, "...because I loved you."

Her words forced out his breath like a blow to his gut. "Forgive me. I had no intent to hurt you." Fumbling, he drew out his handkerchief and pressed it into her palm. Knowing he could not hold her, he rested a hesitant hand on her shoulder. "Your party is to dine at Rosings tonight. Though I do not deserve your good opinion, might we be civil? I will spare you calls to the parsonage unless I must."

She nodded but would not meet his eyes.

"I will leave you now."

He saw nothing of the landscape as he galloped away, his mind so absorbed in their encounter. Their playful manner had been so reminiscent of their happiness of long ago until the crows scolded their ugly reminder. He was overcome with a crushing shame. How could he have been so selfish? Certainly it had been convenient for him, indulging himself in Charlotte's company while conversing with the charming Miss Bennet. Had he been honest, he would have admitted that he knew Charlotte still loved him--as he did her. Of course it appeared to her that he was flirting with her dearest friend. How cruel! He had only succeeded in rubbing salt into her wounded heart. He had vowed at the last birthday picnic that he could and would remove his presence from her. Now, at his first opportunity, for his own gratification, he had repeatedly tormented her with it. He hung his head but gasped at another realization. Am I tormenting Darcy as well? A fresh wave of guilt washed over him.

If Darcy had an attachment to Miss Bennet, Richard's easy conversation and spirited banter with her would have been torturous to his taciturn cousin. He closed his eyes, feeling the pain of remorse. In less than three weeks with his thoughtless actions, he had managed to simultaneously injure the two people he held most dear. He shook his head. What a damn fool I am.

As the dinner hour approached, he alternated between pacing his room and adjusting his cravat. Charlotte and her guests would be dining at Rosings for the last time before his intended departure. After their earlier encounter today and his suspicions about Darcy, he dreaded the occasion. How would he pass the evening? Darcy and Anne were near mute at these affairs, he could not speak with Charlotte or Miss Bennet, and Maria Lucas was too frightened to utter a word. That left only Aunt Catherine, Mrs. Jenkinson, and Mr. Collins. Perhaps he could feign illness and excuse himself early.

Joining his aunt and cousins in the garish drawing room, Darcy appeared anxious as well. Had his cousin also had an earlier unpleasant encounter? At last the company arrived. Though he avoided Charlotte's eyes, he felt her presence. Miss Bennet was not among the guests, remaining unwell. Only Mr. Collins was oblivious to the room's tense atmosphere as he frothed over Lady Catherine. Richard attempted to make conversation with Mrs. Jenkinson about her daughter in Northamptonshire. The remaining ladies conversed while Darcy stared out the window.

Then, seemingly without provocation, Darcy strode from the room.

"Nephew? Nephew!" Lady Catherine's annoying demands followed him. "Where are you going?"

Could there be some connection between Miss Bennet's absence and Darcy's departure?

The smack of the entrance hall door was the only reply. Mr. Collins soon resumed his fawning, and Mrs. Jenkinson turned to fuss over Anne while Richard took a chair and tried to feign interest in Mr. Collins' droning.

After dinner, Anne and Mrs. Jenkinson excused themselves as usual, leaving only the Collinses, Lady Catherine, Maria, and himself. He was never so thankful for a round of Loo to fill the remainder of the evening.

The listless gathering broke up early, and Richard was relieved to retreat to his room. Pouring a drink, he loosened his cravat and sunk into the chair. Between wondering as to Darcy's withdrawal and the simultaneous fusion and friction between him and Charlotte, he had been on edge all evening. At least he had managed to maintain his equanimity. What a disastrous trip this had been! He stared at the deep red liquid in his glass as a knock sounded at his chamber door.

"Darcy! What called you away for the evening?"

"An urgent matter." His cousin's reply was void of emotion. "We must leave in the morning."

"So soon?"

"I have important business in Town. We will depart as soon as the carriage is readied." He gave a curt nod, signalling the end of their conversation before turning to quit the room.

Richard shut the door, shook his head, and rang for his valet. Something, or someone, had shaken his normally composed cousin. But Richard had his own concerns with Charlotte to sort out without speculating about Darcy.

Moving to the mirror, he removed his cravat and recalled the events of the day. Having momentarily put aside his cares, he had arrived at the stream with a light heart but left with a heavy one. Absently, he removed his pocket watch and dropped it into the inlaid mahogany box. Perhaps their hasty departure was for the best--for the both of them.

He drew the familiar rubbing stone from his pocket, intending to land it in the box, but paused. He stroked the stone and met his own eyes in the mirror. It was time to leave it behind too. He walked to the window, raised the sash, and cocked his wrist to toss it out but stopped short. Instead, he flipped it in the air in consideration, then returned to the box, placed the stone in the back corner, and shut the lid.

The next morning, a weary Darcy again appeared at the door. "I believe it would be apropos to bid the company at the parsonage farewell. You will join me?"

Richard was confused. Darcy's dour expression told him his cousin's mood was unimproved overnight. Yet, if he had an attachment to Miss Bennet, why would he be inviting Richard to accompany him for a call?

"Ah... I am not yet prepared for our departure. Please pay the call without me." Richard turned back to his trunk.

"Surely you do not wish to disregard our social obligation and vacate Hunsford without taking leave of the parsonage?"

Still facing the trunk, Richard grunted under his breath. Now Darcy was practically begging him to come. But what about his vow to remove himself from Charlotte? Yet, if he did not make an appearance, he would be scorning convention. He dropped his shoulders in acquiescence. "Very well. I shall be along shortly."

The men arrived at the parsonage in silence. Richard prepared himself for the sweet torture of seeing Charlotte for the last time and purposed to be affable.

The Collins' maid responded to their knock.

"Nan!" Richard feigned cheerfulness with the exaggerated bow that had become his customary way of addressing her. "We have come to bid the ladies adieu."

They were shown into the familiar parlour and discovered only Charlotte and Maria. Panic rose in Richard, though Darcy appeared to relax. Without Miss Bennet, their visit would be prolonged, awaiting her return. The luxury of easy conversation with Miss Bennet as diversion was denied as well. At least the added presence of Maria would dilute the awkwardness of the gathering.

Darcy's taciturnity was exacerbated by their first attempts at conversation, lending the exchanges stiff and strained. Fortunately Maria asked a question about their families' Derbyshire picnics of years past.

Richard seized on the topic. "Well, Miss Lucas, did you ever hear of the time when your sister..."

Thus the strain was eased, and Richard easily regaled them with tale after tale of those happy childhood days. It was good to see Charlotte smiling again. He had almost forgotten his cousin's presence when Darcy bade them an abrupt farewell and strode away.

Maria had been a small child on the Derbyshire holidays and was thus delighted at the stories he and Charlotte related about their childhood antics. The once uncomfortable gathering evolved into a happy trio. Glancing at the mantle clock, he realized that more than an hour had passed, and yet Miss Bennet still had not returned.

The clattering of the carriage brought the reminiscing to an end. While he bade the sisters goodbye, his eyes lingered upon Charlotte's long enough for silent communication to pass between them confirming their mutual affinity.

Upon entering the carriage, the joy of the morning vanished. It was clear the cord that bound them remained firmly rooted. Now it was merely ripping at his heart as the horses put distance between them.

Chapter Five

Posted on 2013-09-16

"Mrs. Cradduck, Mrs. Crowter." Charlotte rose from planting her echinacea seeds and smiled to the busybody matrons as she wiped her hands on her apron. "What brings you ladies out today?"

"We heard the good news and simply could not wait for the details." Mrs. Cradduck's dark eyebrows rose, anticipating juicy gossip.

"Oh? What news?"

"Oh, come now, Mrs. Collins, do not tease us. Tell us when it is to be."

"When what is to be?"

Leaning closer, the woman spoke the words with exaggerated enunciation. "Why the wedding, of course."

"The wedding?"

"The mistress' wedding--Miss de Bourgh! We were certain you would know when 'tis to be as surely the reverend will be performing the ceremony. Ah! Such a happy occasion." She raised her palms in praise. "Miss de Bourgh, saved from the plight of becoming an old maid."

"I have not heard of a wedding. Mr. Darcy was here this morning and made no mention of it. I am sure--"

"Mr. Darcy? It is not Mr. Darcy. It is his cousin, the colonel, who proposed."

"Colonel Fitzwilliam?" Her knees became weak.

"Oh, Yes. Mrs. Ward's son is a footman at Rosings. She said just a few days ago he saw the colonel enter the drawing room where Miss de Bourgh was alone, and he heard the gentleman propose with his own ears."

"Why has there been no formal announcement then?"

"I am sure Lady Catherine is planning a large dinner party in Town to make a fashionable surprise announcement. It is all the rage now, you know, for the better families of society."

Mrs. Crowter squeezed Charlotte's arm with a look of disappointment. "Oh, we were so hoping you would know. Perhaps they are waiting to consult his family before making an announcement."

"You are sure it is the colonel and not Mr. Darcy?"

"Yes. Quite sure, my dear." Mrs. Cradduck leaned closer. "No one would mistake the colonel for the handsome Mr. Darcy." The ladies laughed.

Charlotte was haunted by the news. Richard to wed Anne? She had felt such contradictory emotions over past few weeks that she could not imagine him in permanent residence at Rosings.

She reviewed their every encounter. At their meeting by the stream he had said Rosings was his family's estate, and that they would have to live with that. Undoubtedly, he had been referring to his marriage with Anne. She felt sick.

A week later Nan stepped into her mistress' parlour. "Miss de Bourgh come to call, ma'am."

Shocked, Charlotte quickly regained her composure as Anne followed just behind the maid.

"Anne, it is so good to see you!" She smiled in spite of her embarrassment. She had managed to make excuses to remove herself from the dinner engagements at Rosings and had not resumed her practising on the pianoforte. It was rare for Anne to call on the parsonage, and Charlotte feared her friend had been offended by her absence.

Anne's blue eyes smiled. "Charlotte, are you well?"

"I am, thank you."

"I have been worried." She pressed her hand to her chest. "Since I was feeling better than usual today, I came to call. I have missed your company and your music. Have you decided against taking up the instrument?"

Charlotte could not meet her friend's eyes. "Well, no, but I--"

Anne touched her arm. "What is it? Why are you troubled?"

The two ladies lowered themselves onto the settee.

"Oh Anne, I am so ashamed for not wishing you joy. Will you forgive me?"

"Wishing me joy?"

"Yes, on your engagement." Charlotte dropped her gaze.

Anne smiled and squeezed her arm. "I am not engaged."

"I thought--" Charlotte's eyes opened wide. "You refused him then?"

Anne paused before answering. "Not so much refused him as convinced him it was not in our best interest--for either of us."

"But he is your cousin--so kind--and the son of an earl!"

"He is. And though we get on well enough, there is no love between us. Besides, he has always desired a family." Her smile was replaced with a faraway look. "With my poor health, I could not give him that. I would not want him robbed of an heir."

Charlotte furrowed her brow, baffled by her friend's answer.

"I know he was perhaps my only opportunity for a husband, but I have resigned myself to remain as I am." Her smile returned. "I am content."

"You do not fear being an--?"

"An old maid? No. Four years ago, I could not have spoken to you as I do now. Had my cousin asked me then, I would surely have accepted out of fear and uncertainty. But I no longer feel that burden. Sally, my maid, has shared things with me that have changed me."

"Changed you?"

"Yes. Changed my perspective. Sally was orphaned as a young child and spent many years in a squalid orphanage. When she was fourteen, a kind vicar and his wife took her in. They showed her that she could trust the Lord in everything, that He loves us and has a plan for us. It is a whole different way of living. When I trust and focus on Him rather than on my circumstances or trying to please others, much of life's fear and uncertainty is removed."

Charlotte contemplated the new idea for a moment. "I thought Polly was your maid?"

"She is. Sally now works in an orphanage herself, giving the children the best of care. She understands their plight, having grown up there. I am much inspired by her letters. She now sees purpose in the pain from her younger years. Let me see; how did she put it?" She pinched her brow in thought. "Oh, that we cannot always see His plans and purposes. It is much like an embroidery sampler or tapestry. Like this." She held up an embroidery piece from Charlotte's work basket and turned it over to reveal the wrong side. "We only see the back which is often tangled and ugly. But He is creating something beautiful. Often its beauty is not revealed until the work is complete." She turned it over and smoothed the embroidered flowers with her hand.

Charlotte sought to grasp all that she was hearing.

"But, Charlotte," Anne drew back her attention, "what of your reticence to wish me felicity were I betrothed?"

She looked away.

"When one is unwell and limited in activity, one does much observing and thinking. That I am taciturn in company does not reflect a lack of awareness or feeling. I have seen my cousin in your presence. Am I correct that his heart is already given--and has been for some time?

"Well..." Charlotte swallowed hard and could not meet her friend's eyes.

Anne waited patiently.

At last she burst forth, "Oh Anne, is it so discernible? I am so ashamed--a married woman--to a rector no less!"

"That you are. You have committed yourself before God. You must honour your commitment. Will you not ask Him to help you?"

She did not reply.

Anne patted her arm. "Please come back and visit with me. I have missed our times together."

"I have missed them as well. Thank you."

When Charlotte resumed her visits to Rosings, she was surprised to discover that her friend had a fondness for phaeton outings in the warmer weather. As Mrs. Jenkinson cared not for riding in open carriages, Charlotte volunteered to accompany Anne. Enjoying the out of doors and prancing along in the stylish conveyance, the ladies shared laughter and their lives.

Through the summer and autumn, Charlotte continued her efforts at the pianoforte and proudly played two pieces at an evening gathering. Now well acquainted, the two friends looked forward to the twice weekly dinners, especially as the days were now chilly and they no longer ventured out for a drive.

During the course of a dinner conversation, little did the party know that a comment made by Mr. Collins to Lady Catherine would change the life of her nephew.

The gathering had nearly finished their meal at the long mahogany table in the ostentatious dining room. As her husband blathered on about his next sermon, Charlotte sat quietly, observing a tiny spider weave a web on the candelabra. When he finally exhausted his comments, Lady Catherine turned to her and asked, "Is there any news from Hertfordshire?"

As she refocused her attention and opened her mouth to reply, Mr. Collins stepped in, "Miss Elizabeth Bennet's elder sister has recently become engaged to a Mr. Bingley, a close friend of your esteemed nephew, Mr. Darcy."

"A friend of Darcy's, engaged to the likes of a Bennet? After the scandalous behaviour of their youngest sister?"

"Well, your ladyship..." He dipped his head sheepishly. "I feel it my duty to inform you it was hinted as well that perhaps Miss Elizabeth Bennet will not long bear the name Bennet, but Darcy."

Charlotte cringed. She wished her mother had refrained from sharing idle gossip with her loose-tongued husband.

"What? That is impossible! Darcy knows his duty and responsibility to family. He is bound to marry Anne. Mr. Collins, what is this insolent machination of your vulgar relations in circulating such outrageous rumours of the most grievous kind? I knew Miss Bennet to be an obstinate, headstrong girl the moment I met her."

Her husband cowered under the barrage of heated words.

Lady Catherine then rose from her chair and called to the butler. "Parker! See that my things are packed and the carriage readied. I leave for Hertfordshire in the morning. That selfish girl will not trifle with me. I will insist she contradict such a falsehood! Where is Darcy? Is he not in London?" The woman stormed out, leaving her company behind.

"Come along, Charlotte; we shall take our leave." Mr. Collins beckoned her.

Retrieving their outerwear at the door, he was down the steps before she had tied her bonnet. She quickened her steps to keep up with him. What had he hoped to gain from sharing such a thing? Now he had only succeeded in causing a rift for them all.

"I shall write to Mr. Bennet this very night and express Lady Catherine's grave displeasure. Surely he will be sympathetic to this unfortunate mistake."

Charlotte tried desperately to recall her previous correspondence with Lizzy, but the only news of significance over the past few months was that she had gone on holiday with her aunt and uncle, and that Lydia had married amidst questionable circumstances. Lizzy had made no mention of Mr. Darcy and would never circulate such a rumour. Surely as soon as Lady Catherine discovered the truth, the incident would blow over. Charlotte winced, imagining the matron unleashing her fury upon her innocent and unwitting friend.

A week later there still had been no renewal of the dinner invitations to Rosings. Her husband was short of temper, and Charlotte dare not venture to the estate's stables or pianoforte. She wondered what could have happened. The tension was unbearable.

At last a post from Maria arrived, bringing great surprise.

Charlotte laughed, then cried tears of joy as she read the letter's first three sentences again. "I have news! Lizzy is betrothed to Mr. Darcy! She and Jane are to have a double wedding before Christmas."

So Lizzy would now be Mistress of Pemberley and Jane of Netherfield. How ironic. Like Mr. Bingley, the Brantleys had also come into money through trade. At one time, long ago, Charlotte had thought, hoped, and dreamed that she would be the mistress of that grand home.

That night as she placed her hairbrush on her dressing table, she silently spoke to her reflection in the mirror. How was it that Lizzy, with her sharp tongue, showed no fondness for the most eligible man in England and secured him, when Charlotte had tried so hard for Mr. Brantley and lost him? She shook her head in wonder.

With a sigh she began braiding her hair. Mr. Brantley. Their acquaintance seemed like a lifetime ago. And though her father had been knighted but a few years, the Brantleys had welcomed them in their improved status. She liked to think her remedies had played a part. Her thoughts went back to Victoria's illness when Netherfield's young master had asked for her aid. Perhaps she could meet those memories now. With the braid tied, she rose.

Sliding the trunk from under her bed, she brought out the diary whose memories of Stephen Brantley had teased her while Richard had been at Rosings. She settled herself in bed and thumbed through the diary's pages. Yes. Here it is.

March 15, 1805

Stephen Brantley appeared at our door just before sundown two days ago. He said Victoria's cold had worsened and his mother asked if I would come. Of course, Mother was all aflutter with the thought of my riding alone with the gentleman and then spending the night at Netherfield.

As I fetched my herbs, she lapsed into her familiar lecture which I could recite in my sleep: "Mind your manners. At twenty, it is high time you became serious about settling down. You don't want to be an old maid, you know."

Riding with Mr. Brantley alone in his gig felt somewhat uncomfortable at first, though he really is quite handsome and well-mannered. He asked if my father and brothers enjoyed hunting. I told him the story when Edward, on his first occasion shooting, found himself tangled in an immense spider web and nearly shot John while flailing to rid himself of the spider. Mr. Brantley found it quite humorous, and thus the remainder of our ride to Netherfield passed in a pleasant manner.

I tended Victoria with echinacea, a ginger root poultice, and black elderberry before joining the family for dinner. I was flattered that young Mr. Brantley had his eye on me throughout the meal. Afterwards, we retired to the drawing room where his father asked if I played the pianoforte. Of course, I had to speak the truth that Father had terminated my lessons after I made such a fuss of practising. Had I only understood as a child the importance of accomplishments for a young lady!

The young man inquired if I liked poetry. I was able to restrain my giggling. What is it about poetry that the gentry finds so engaging? I have always believed that if one has something important to say, one should merely say it--state it as clearly as possible. With poetry, I quite find myself unable to understand the meaning of much of it. He thought it as part of its beauty--discovering the ever deeper truths hidden within. Perhaps I should have fibbed so as not to have appeared so unrefined.

Lying in bed in that grand home, I thought I might have a chance with him. Perhaps I should encourage him as mother suggests. Would it not be wonderful to be Mistress of Netherfield!

Charlotte looked up from the journal and shook her head. Encourage him? She thought she had. Surely her behaviour at the Meryton assembly had been encouraging.

She thumbed the pages of the book until she came to the account of that night.

October 15, 1805

Tonight was the last of the assemblies for the year. As he has done all summer, Mr. Brantley asked me to dance--twice!

The last dance was a reel. I abandoned all reticence. Surely my behaviour was near shameful, laughing and carrying on so. Yet he seemed to enjoy it as much as I.

He will be Master of Netherfield one day. Truly he is an excellent catch.

Resting the book in her lap, she stared absently, recalling the demise of his courtship.

It had happened the following spring when she often encountered him during her daily horseback rides. She had sufficient attraction and enjoyed his company, but perhaps in seeking to be decorous and genteel, he had mistaken her guarded behaviour for disinterest. It was not until the summer's first assembly that she realized her folly. She overheard Mrs. Long gossiping about how Stephen had wanted to ask for her, but thought her indifferent!

Charlotte knew the woman to be correct when he no longer met her riding nor asked for a single dance, but instead turned his affection to the lovely fifteen year old Jane Bennet. And though the Brantleys moved to Town that summer, she often heard Mrs. Bennet tell how he had penned her daughter a sonnet after he called on her in London--that same summer she met Richard at the first ball. Charlotte suspected that Jane's reserved nature had also given Mr. Brantley insufficient encouragement.

She looked up and sighed. Both she and Jane had lost him for failing to show sufficient affection. Instead, the striking young beauty whose stylish pink gown enhanced her glowing cheeks and honey blonde hair had shown no reticence. For Mr. Brantley married that belle whose coquettish manner and fluttering eyelashes had rewarded his every word.

Charlotte had learned from her mistake. When Mr. Bingley arrived, she had warned Lizzy that Jane ought to help him on. And she had been right. In nine cases out of ten, a woman had better show more affection than she feels. Only Lizzy had the good fortune of being that tenth case.

With a sigh, she closed the journal and blew out the candle.