Chapter 11
Elizabeth had been flattered by the attention she had received at dinner from Mr Darcy, acknowledging this both to herself and to her aunt with the honesty that was so characteristic of her. Though she did not imagine it would continue.
But with each passing day, that gentleman became ever more present in her life, seemingly seeking any excuse or opportunity to be near her.
They met in the morning or in the afternoon, walking through the shady paths of Rosings Park or along the quiet road to Hunsford.
Nearly every evening they were invited to Rosings for dinner, and their days began to follow a strange, steady pattern.
But it was when Mr Darcy began visiting the Parsonage more often—sometimes alone, sometimes with Colonel Fitzwilliam—that Elizabeth could no longer overlook the feeling that something unusual was happening.
And Mr Darcy’s behaviour was not the only oddity in the Parsonage.
A few days after expressing her displeasure with Elizabeth, Charlotte changed abruptly.
Perhaps Maria had influenced the matter, but to Elizabeth’s genuine pleasure, one morning Charlotte knocked on her door before breakfast and, entering, seated herself upon the bed, watching in silence as Elizabeth completed her preparations.
“Have you come so that we may sit in silence together?” Elizabeth asked at last, her tone light, and Charlotte smiled, though somewhat faintly.
“It is not easy to tell you—”
“Charlotte,” Elizabeth interrupted gently. “I expect nothing from you. I am glad you are well. That is enough for me.”
“Is it truly?”
At that, Elizabeth sat beside her and took her hand, gazing at it silently, uncertain what Charlotte wished to say.
“I have changed because one cannot remain a young girl without cares once one becomes a wife.” Charlotte’s words echoed the profound transformation in her that was not lost on Elizabeth.
“I understand, Charlotte. Believe me, I do. I have accepted that your life has altered fundamentally, and you have had to keep pace with those changes.”
“I never wished for our friendship to change. It happened without my realising it. But I want you to know that I am still Charlotte, your friend. Only…I am also now a wife.”
The confession left Elizabeth somewhat disconcerted. Since her arrival, she had not once glimpsed in Mrs Collins the friend with whom she had once laughed, sometimes wept, but above all, shared the same vision of the world.
“From my perspective, nothing has changed between us,” Elizabeth murmured, and Charlotte embraced her—a gesture that might have signified regret or apologies.
“From my perspective, so much has changed—because it had to. When my husband is present, I cannot be Charlotte Lucas.”
“But are you still Charlotte Lucas when he is not?” Elizabeth asked, astonished by this admission, their first candid talk since her arrival. Charlotte’s response was not immediate, her uncertainty palpable in the air.
“No, I am not, even when he is not present. The only place where that Charlotte still exists is when I am with you.”
“Oh!” Elizabeth exclaimed, uncertain whether she ought to be pleased, angry, or concerned. Yet she betrayed none of these sentiments, for she loved her friend too dearly not to listen to all she had to say.
“I see that you are surprised.”
“I am,” Elizabeth answered with the same honesty that had always governed their friendship. “Yet, I wonder whether a person can be divided into multiple selves.”
“Of course one can. My love for you has not diminished.”
“Only you cannot show it plainly any longer.”
“No, it is not that. It is a matter of behaviour. I cannot be the way I was…the way you are. Not that there is anything wrong with you. God forbids it! I must be more like our mothers—at least on the outside. It means being a wife, and Mr Collins expects this from me.”
Elizabeth merely nodded, for she could not but grant her friend the benefit of the doubt even though she was not entirely sure Charlotte still wanted to be someone different inside from the mistress of Mr Collins’s house.
“What will that mean for us?” she asked nevertheless, striving to maintain a tone of detachment.
Charlotte did not answer at once; hesitation was evident in her demeanour. Yet, at length, she said, “To speak as we are today when we are alone.”
Then she departed, leaving Elizabeth to wonder whether this was indeed what she desired and whether the friendship that had once bound them could now exist only in fragments— stolen minutes in the morning or evening, snatched between the duties of Charlotte’s married life.
Charlotte considered their conversation concluded in perfect understanding, while Elizabeth felt, once again, that Charlotte had irremediably changed into Mr Collins’s wife, a lady she knew and liked only by virtue of their old friendship.