Introducing Mrs. Collins

Chapter I

Charlotte Lucas made a choice.

Am I doing the right thing? she wondered briefly.

But Charlotte had lived for twenty-seven years doing the right thing.

She had been, at varying times, dutiful, obedient, prudent and polite – at least in public.

Whether or not this was the right thing was yet to be determined, but it was her choice, and hers alone, and that in itself gave it merit.

‘Yes,’ she answered. ‘I accept.’

She and Mr Collins stood in the lane, soggy leaves and wet gravel beneath their feet.

She shivered; she had not had time to find a shawl.

Mere minutes earlier, she had seen him approaching her house, walking with some purpose and, keen for a private moment without her family listening, she had run outside into the cold to greet him.

In truth, she had guessed in the last few days that the prospect of his asking her was a possibility, and she had prepared herself for it.

Knowing that today was his last day in the neighbourhood, she had stayed near a window, ready, waiting, thinking about her answer, wearing a pretty but modest dress.

No shawl though; it really was just the cold that she hadn’t planned for.

Now, Mr Collins was approaching her too quickly, closing the few feet of space between them, gravel crunching underfoot with a wide smile on his face. ‘Miss Lucas, your answer delights me more than you can know!’

He reached out to grab her hands, and she instinctively withdrew them, then realised her mistake and offered them out for him to hold. His clammy fingers found hers, and she trained her eyes on his face.

His face. A placid smile was fixed on her own but, as she studied his, she thought what an odd face it was: not ugly, but somehow almost without feature. If she were asked to describe him to a stranger, she would not know what to say. For some reason, she was briefly fixated on this obstacle.

His eyes are blue, she could safely observe, but beyond that she would be at a loss.

He has cheeks and a mouth she might continue.

Neither sharp not rounded, neither merry nor serious.

His nose was a nose such as a man might feasibly have; his eyebrows were where they should be, more or less. She thought she might be having a turn.

Tall, she thought. He’s tall; that much I can be sure of. She was relieved.

He was still holding her hands and seemed quite content. She had never looked another human in the face for this long before. It was almost meditative. And he has dark hair! There! thought Charlotte. Not featureless after all – he is tall, dark and… pious.

He was still holding her hands, and she believed even he didn’t know what to do with them. His grip was gentle. She would try to put that down as a positive.

After an awkward two minutes of clasping, he placed one of her hands on the other and patted the top one before finally releasing her.

‘I should not keep you out in this weather, Miss Lucas. I shall talk with your excellent parents, and then I shall take my leave. We shall start making arrangements immediately, I think?’

‘Yes,’ said Charlotte, rather dazed, and then, rallying herself, ‘Yes, we should indeed!’

And with such assurances, Mr Collins walked towards the house and found the front door opened for him before he could knock.

So much for privacy, thought Charlotte; someone had certainly been watching.

He looked round at her and waved continually as he took small backward steps into the house, as if Charlotte were the Prince Regent.

Once he seemed safely inside, presumably in the library with her father, Charlotte crept into the house through a side door, found her way to the parlour and leant against a wall.

At that moment Charlotte found herself alone, with leisure to really consider the step she had just taken.

She looked about the room; it had a cold light in the mornings, being north-facing, and the effect was enhanced by its pale-blue walls.

And yet it felt warm, inviting, because it was filled with items she knew so well: the mahogany cabinet bursting with books; the old, worn globe that sat in the corner, moved there because it had kept getting scorched by the fire; the figurines on the mantelpiece, always treated with such care by her mother; the portrait of her grandparents, gold-framed, above the fireplace.

She looked closely at that picture. Even in a formal stance, her grandparents succeeded in looking happy with one another.

Charlotte pondered whether she would find such happiness in years to come, for she did not feel it yet.

She had not expected to feel a rush of love or a giddy excitement following her engagement – and she didn’t, so her expectations were met.

Good. Such feelings were reserved for younger or more romantic people – people like her sister Maria or her friend Elizabeth.

She also did not expect to feel those things because this was, after all, Mr Collins, not a commanding naval captain or a rakish duke, nor even a particularly burly farmer.

This was a financially stable clergyman with a large vocabulary, an even temper and the prospect of a generous inheritance.

She sat down. She drank the remains of her tea, which had long gone cold.

She could tolerate cold tea. She could tolerate a great deal.

Mr Collins had taken six full minutes to propose, during which time he had not required any response from her.

He had listed every reason he had for marriage and for marrying her.

If there were one word to describe the proposal, it was thorough.

But in fact, this had given her ample time to compose herself, and once he had finished, she was able to greet him with a firm answer.

His style of proposal suited her rather well.

And now, having given him the answer, she half-wondered whether she might panic; she put down the cup just in case.

This had been, after all, quite a morning.

Her life would now change completely; she would marry, move away, leave her friends and family.

She had just attached herself, forever, to someone she did not know and who, judging from this short acquaintance, seemed to have half her intellect and a great many opinions about chimneys.

She had reason to panic. But such a response would have been a first for her – and it did not come.

Her mother entered the room, shutting the door behind her, and looked at her daughter quizzically.

‘I said yes,’ said Charlotte, as if in answer.

‘I know, darling. Your father has given his permission.’ Lady Lucas searched Charlotte’s eyes and did not see what she had hoped to.

She wanted nothing more than to see Charlotte settled, but she was also a sensible woman and knew the compromise this was for her clever, cherished daughter.

Charlotte’s acceptance had surprised her greatly. ‘Charlotte, are you absolutely sure?’

Charlotte was irritated by this. She knew she would likely have to endure disapprobation from other quarters, but she resented having to defend her decision to her own mother, who, of all people, should understand her circumstances.

‘I am not given to rashness, Mother, as you know. Yes, I am sure. In truth, as soon as he arrived in the neighbourhood, I saw what a strong prospect Mr Collins was for marriage.’

‘Materially.’

‘Not just materially,’ snapped Charlotte. ‘He seems calm, well-educated, and with good connections.’

‘He proposed to Elizabeth only days ago! You must understand my misgivings?’

‘I do not relish that history either, Mother!’ replied Charlotte hotly.

‘I’m not delighted that he was interested in my friend before he noticed me; I do realise it is not the romantic ideal.

Nobody will be writing about this union in novels or committing it to poetry.

I shall not recount these details to my grandchildren as a touching story.

But I will not allow my pride at being second choice to stop me from taking up what I believe to be a good opportunity. ’

Her mother nodded rather sadly.

This irritated Charlotte more. ‘Mother – I am engaged! This is happy news.’ Charlotte didn’t look happy; she looked livid.

‘I do not wish to console you on my choice of husband. You should be congratulating me. It is a good offer—’ Charlotte started to say, then added more bitterly, ‘It is an offer.’

Her mother did not answer immediately. She occasionally regretted the extent to which her daughter had inherited her practicality.

She sometimes wished she had raised Charlotte to have more whimsy, more naivety.

Lady Lucas herself had married for love and, while not regretting it, had known enough financial constraint to want security for her daughter.

But she also wanted love for her. And she knew this was not it – she didn’t even need to ask.

Charlotte now had tears in her eyes and a reddened cheek.

Mothers can have this effect on daughters, at any age and in any situation.

No matter the fierce and independent women they grow into, daughters still long for their mother’s approval, and Charlotte was still waiting for hers, frustrated and a little hurt.

Lady Lucas looked closely at her eldest daughter, her first-born – her favourite, in truth. She moved closer to her, holding out her hands, and Charlotte instinctively reached out and took them. They stood together, eye to eye, as her mother tenderly moved a stray hair off her face.

Lady Lucas sighed. ‘You deserve the world, Charlotte. But we do not always get what we deserve. Our task in this life to is to find happiness in what we are afforded and to improve what we find.’

Charlotte’s mother had a great many idioms and proverbs at hand for every occasion, many of which she had rendered in embroidery and hung over the mantelpiece. They were mostly lessons in stoicism and had certainly had an impact on Charlotte’s outlook, even if they made for rather drab decoration.

Charlotte nodded. ‘I know. That is why I—’

‘I know, I know. It is a good offer,’ said Lady Lucas more encouragingly.

‘I understand. You will have your own household, your own society and, God willing, children. The gift of children is worth putting up with a great deal. I will only ask you once more, and then will never repeat it, I promise: are you sure?’

Charlotte’s eyes were dry now, and her heart had calmed. She came back to herself, rather harder and more resolved. ‘It is a good match. I knew my mind when I accepted, and I shall remain firm on it. I shall have a home of my own. I shall start a life of my own. I have made my choice.’