Against Every Expectation

Prologue

PROLOGUE

“ Y ou were cut at the assembly last night?” Lady Catherine asked, though it seemed a statement rather than a question to Charlotte Collins.

Unthinkingly, Charlotte bounced on the balls of her feet—which caused Lady Catherine to scowl at her with even greater fury—while her mind frantically chastised her body to keep its peace. It would not do to upset her husband or his patroness further. How was she to know what she had done to upset the woman? She had only lived in Kent for seven weeks and had not yet had the honour of making the acquaintance of the neighbourhood beyond their parish. While it was certainly a higher society than that around Meryton, she had believed being the wife of the parson would grant her some acceptance. But if the assembly was any indication, it seemed it did not.

Charlotte nodded in response to the grand woman, hoping that Lady Catherine would not force her to voice acceptance of the blame. She had no reply to satisfy the lady’s enquiries. She kept her eyes trained on her disobedient feet, praying that Lady Catherine would be satisfied with the scolding and not require her to articulate her contrition.

She knew well enough that the social assault of which she had been a victim had likely more to do with her husband or Lady Catherine herself. When could she have had time enough to fashion herself an enemy? She had never even been introduced to Mrs Sykes! Never before had she been the recipient of wagging tongues and whispers at a social event. She might not have had the charms and graces of her Bennet friends, but she had always been well liked.

Charlotte’s husband, the Mr William Collins, had been to the Sykes’s home many times in the previous month, sitting at the bedside of the lady’s mother-in-law as she nearly succumbed to an infection of the lungs. Should not Lady Catherine be addressing him? Charlotte glanced over at her husband, who nodded along and kept his obedient eyes trained on her ladyship’s feet. He would surely know far better than she what might have upset Mrs Sykes. Why would he not speak up?

“Mrs Collins!” Lady Catherine thundered, and Charlotte’s head snapped up.

“Pardon me, your ladyship; I was not attending,” she responded rather more meekly than was her wont, attempting to keep her own counsel. When had she become such a ninny? Wool-gathering and fidgeting? She was never so inattentive, nor had she been taken to task in this way since she was a young child. Her mother and father were lackadaisical when it came to parenting, but on the whole, she had required no correction. She always did what was expected of her, consistently making rational choices— including the marriage she found herself in. Though of late that has not seemed so very rational at all!

“As I was saying,” Lady Catherine’s voice cut through her thoughts once more. “I have given Mr Collins clear instructions about his role in this neighbourhood. As a clergyman and the recipient of the living in Hunsford, his actions—and by association yours, as his wife—reflect too on Rosings Park. It is not to be borne!”

Charlotte nodded once again.

“I advised Mr Collins to journey to Hertfordshire and bring home a wife—a gentlewoman—to set the example of marriage for the parish. Why he should bring home the daughter of a shopkeeper, I shall never know! But I shall endeavour to make the best of what he has procured.”

Charlotte winced. She lifted only her eyes—eager to see if her husband would at the very least defend her social position—only to see him continue to nod in agreement. She looked back to her feet. Her father, Sir William Lucas, had been knighted during her childhood. Their years of trade had faded into a memory after her family’s long acceptance into gentle society in Hertfordshire.

Lady Catherine was staring at her expectantly. Was she to nod again? Perhaps that was best. She should keep her mouth closed and accept the penance for whatever had brought her to this shameful moment in her life.

Nay, she knew what had brought her so low—her husband.

She was usually content to smile and nod while Mr Collins profusely thanked her ladyship for all her condescension, but she was approaching the limit of what she could tolerate. Before their marriage, she had assumed her husband would be quite malleable and easily guided by her, but Charlotte was not long in Kent before she recognised he was already ruled by one lady and would not be shifting his allegiance any time soon.

Her husband interrupted her thoughts to add in his own measure of reprimand. “Lady Catherine was quite clear, Mrs Collins. The wife of the Hunsford parson, even one of your humble standing, has an important and vital position in the parish. Our role is to set an example. Not only are we a connexion to our Heavenly Father, but I flatter myself, we can also help those in need of her ladyship’s guidance.”

Charlotte hoped he had finished, but he continued. “Just the other day I was able to provide a service to the Smith family in regard to their field that keeps taking water after each rain. It was brought to my attention that a dam had been built upriver to divert the water for a reflecting pool. It was Lady Catherine who took that information and identified that when the rain breaches the dam, it then comes pouring through other properties at unnatural speed. If it were not for my employment in service to our community and her infinite wisdom, I would not have been able to provide this important information to the Smith family, to explain to them why their property continues to flood.”

Charlotte almost stomped her booted foot down on the marble floor. A childlike tantrum was building inside her and was going to pour out of every inch of her being at any moment. Suddenly it all made more sense. This type of interference that Lady Catherine enjoyed—silencing people’s complaints and scolding them into harmony—surely engendered a vast amount of displeasure in the nearby villages and estates. This was likely why she had been cut at the assembly, for, having married Mr Collins, they all presumed to think her part of the problem. Charlotte was tired of being a sensible woman. She wanted to run down the lane back to the parsonage and rage about her home until everyone in her wake was as miserable as she.

Still, she held her tongue.

Lady Catherine sniffed and pressed on, “I take no pleasure in bringing my neighbours to task. But it is only right that I discovered what that Thomas Sykes was doing to my tenants. Why he should have need for a pretty pool of water in front of that dilapidated manor, I shall never know. Could he not have planted a rose garden for the enjoyment of his wife instead?”

In the end, Charlotte did not run all the way down the lane, but she did outpace her husband. She hoped dearly that he would give up the chase, but he huffed and puffed behind her, attempting to converse through his heavy breathing.

“My dear—” she heard between breaths. “Mrs Collins, please—”

His efforts only pushed her feet faster. She felt compelled to move quickly—the heat building in her cheeks was welcome on a blustery afternoon.

Charlotte threw open her front door and bypassed their startled maid as she flew up the stairs. She needed to think—merely a moment would do.

Charlotte walked with purpose into her room, eager to release the breath she was holding. As soon as the door was closed behind her, she fell back against it, panting. Hands on her hips, she bent at the waist and closed her eyes. Calm yourself.

The room seemed to tilt as she regained her composure. A few more deep breaths, and she was willing to part with the support of the door. As she stepped further into her chamber, her eyes went immediately to the lumpy fraying chair settled by the fireplace. What was it doing there? She had requested its removal weeks ago .

A deep breath did nothing to soothe her anger. She gritted her teeth and clenched her fists, preparing for a battle with her servants—or rather, Lady Catherine’s appointed servants. She had little time to calm herself after she rang for her lady’s maid, Hayes. The maid arrived moments later; she was attentive, Charlotte had to admit that.

“Hayes, can you please tell me where the settee and chair I selected for my chamber have gone?”

“Oh, yes ma’am. They were removed to the morning room just this afternoon at the master’s request.”

“And he asked you to move this chair back into my chamber as well?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She was careful not to show any emotion in response to that news, well aware that as agreeable as Hayes was, she no doubt reported directly to Lady Catherine. “That will be all. Thank you,” Charlotte mumbled.

Yes, it appeared that would be all. Lady Catherine and her edicts were weaved into each thread of her marriage. It was, after all, kind that she had condescended to help decorate and prepare the parsonage ahead of Charlotte’s arrival, but it did not follow that the lady of the house should not be allowed to make changes as she saw fit.

Lady Catherine beckoned Mr Collins to her estate nearly every day to provide a vast supply of recommendations varying from the way one should run their household, to reviewing each of his sermons, and even the ideal manner in which one might beget an heir— detestable woman!

The indignity of moving her furnishings about was nothing to when Lady Catherine had dismissed Charlotte’s maid. Charlotte had gone to some effort to persuade her mother to part with Sarah and arrange her position and her travel—after all, it was rather customary for a woman to bring some dear servant with her when she married.

Unfortunately for Charlotte (and Sarah), Lady Catherine took one look at the maid and promptly had her removed from the household. She went as far as instructing Mr Collins not to pay that week’s wage or to offer Sarah a sum to take the post coach back to Hertfordshire. Fortunately, Charlotte had enough in her reticule to provide the needed funds, for surely Sarah did not. Fury had made her hands shake as she handed her the money, and she could not meet Sarah’s eye as she stammered out an apology.

That moment had been the first time Charlotte had seen what unkindness was possible in Mr Collins. He was more concerned with his appearance than his obligation to humanity, as should be the priority of a parson, should it not?

Her husband’s patroness insinuated herself into their lives to a point where Charlotte felt she could not even breathe without Lady Catherine’s authority. She should not have been shocked when her husband began a routine of only visiting her bed on Tuesdays and Thursdays, at the direction of her ladyship. The true surprise was that Mr Collins saw nothing amiss in allowing his patroness to insert herself into his marriage bed.

But this indignity—rearranging her furnishings without her knowledge—she could not bear in complaisance. Surely she had some say in the running of her own household. Charlotte descended the stairs and approached her husband’s study. She paused to settle her breathing, then lifted her chin and ordered herself to behave with a modicum of dignity as she knocked on his door.

“Come,” she heard from within.

He was still red in the face from his efforts to catch her on their walk home and did not look pleased to see her .

“My dear.” He did not stand but instead nodded at the seat in front of his desk.

“I have come to speak to you about the recent changes to the furnishings in my chamber.”

“Oh yes, that.” He flicked his hand in the air, dismissing any cause for concern. “Lady Catherine believes those two pieces were shown to a greater advantage in the morning room. I do believe she is right. Should she deign to visit our humble abode, I am certain she will be pleased to see the room restored to her original scheme.”

“I see.”

“She did tell me before I left for Hertfordshire that if I brought home a wife to Kent, she would condescend to visit her, and I do flatter myself that she has visited weekly since your arrival.” He smiled contentedly. “You are most fortunate to receive her guidance.”

“Yes, she has visited with regularity. I do wonder, however,” she began carefully, “if you might allow me to select the furniture for my own bedchamber in the future.”

“Oh, my dear, of course. Should her ladyship consider it necessary to make additional changes to our home, I would be pleased for you to participate. I cannot boast a great aptitude for furnishings and frippery and all those accomplishments of a young lady, so I will leave it to you.”

But it did not sound as if anything would be left to her choosing, not while they were in Kent ruled over by the lady of Rosings Park in any case. Charlotte would have to wait until her husband inherited Longbourn. Once she returned to her childhood village, and was mistress of her own home, her life would no longer belong to the dragon down the lane. She thought longingly of such a day when she would be truly the mistress of a house .

“I have a letter here from my cousin,” her husband said, interrupting her thoughts.

“Mr Bennet has written to you?”

“No. ’Tis my cousin Elizabeth who writes to request a visit to Kent. Of course, I will want Lady Catherine’s guidance on hosting a guest so soon after our marriage. It is done, is it not, my dear? I wish I had seen to my correspondence before we were summoned to Rosings today. I should have liked to secure her opinion.”

“Elizabeth wrote to you?” Charlotte asked, her confusion increasing.

“Well, no. That would be rather improper, would it not? No, my dear, she wrote to you to request a visit. I have been reviewing the letter. It seems there is some trouble at home, something about her mother—but no matter.”

The indignity! Not only reading another of her letters without permission, but now acting upon its contents without consulting her. How was Charlotte to form a response? Of course, she did not want Elizabeth to visit them in Kent!

“I believe it was our intention to keep visitors at bay for some time, was it not?” she asked cautiously.

She had lately persuaded him to that opinion, stating that it was only right during the first bloom of marriage for a modicum of privacy, though the truth ran much deeper. Charlotte was certainly not eager for any of her family or friends to see what had become of her life. The shame surrounding her powerlessness was all too consuming. She had no desire for anyone to see her sunk so low, particularly when she had thought it such a triumph to have secured a husband at seven-and-twenty.

“You are correct, Wife. But I do think it would bode well for Miss Elizabeth to visit Kent. She could learn something from Lady Catherine should her ladyship condescend to honour us with an invitation during Miss Elizabeth’s visit. Our Sunday invitations have come with some consistency since your arrival in the county. And if I may be so bold, I could provide much-needed influence to my young cousin.”

Charlotte cringed. It was more likely he was interested in proving to her friend that she had made a great error in refusing his offer of marriage. How wrong he was. The visit would only solidify her confidence in her refusal.

Before leaving Hertfordshire, Charlotte had relentlessly begged Elizabeth to visit Kent at her earliest convenience, but that was before. Since her marriage, it had become clear this was not to her advantage, and she had called off any effort to secure her visit—or anyone’s for that matter.

Her marriage was still young—not yet two months—but she had seen enough to foreshadow the many years of surrender and compliance required to keep the peace. And Elizabeth would never understand her choices.

“I am eager to hear what her ladyship advises regarding your cousin’s visit,” she finally muttered.

She had no more to say, so she rose and nodded to her husband, who had already begun to open another letter—likely another addressed to her. He had taken to not only dictating her replies to her own family and friends but had also been intercepting her post and only reading aloud to her the parts he deemed necessary. But knowing Elizabeth’s correspondence was included made her stomach churn with bitterness and embarrassment.

It should be Elizabeth in this home, not she. By refusing Mr Collins’s offer of marriage, Elizabeth had secured a vulnerable future for her mother and sisters. Charlotte would never shirk duty of that kind. Marrying Mr Collins had been an easy choice for her dutiful nature. And his position as Hunsford parson was completely respectable—and even more so his future as master of Longbourn. To marry a landed gentleman—indeed, to marry at all!—was more than she had ever anticipated for herself, and so she had taken the chance with very little consideration. Death and marriage were the only sure methods for the gentry to secure a stable future. And for Charlotte, it was only to be obtained through marriage.

While she regretted losing her dear friend’s esteem when she initially accepted Mr Collins, her current state of mind was that of anger, not regret. If Elizabeth had not been so self-interested, so painfully self-centred, as to refuse an offer of marriage that would have secured a certain future for her family, Charlotte would not now be living with this loathsome man. The isolation and submission which would often subdue her spirits were instead creating a raging ferocity.

Her visit is entirely unwelcome. She was too ashamed for Elizabeth to arrive and see how right her own refusal had been. Selfish girl !

If long discussions about the number of chimneys at Rosings Park had been her wont in life, she would have withstood it. Alas, the long list of things she was required to give up for the sake of her marriage had only compounded as the weeks went on: her dignity, her pride, and her patience, to name a few.