Chapter II
Charlotte Lucas had not been offered many choices in her life.
As the eldest of seven siblings, living still in her parent’s busy home – which had more good standing than it did income – she had been shaped into a woman who was above all rational.
And like many rational women, she was somewhat undervalued.
Her family’s circumstances appeared rather elevated, but while her father was now a knight, his background had been in trade.
He had risen first to mayor, from the influence accorded to him through his success in business, and from there, he had managed to propel himself to his current status.
He was very gracious in his new position, displaying the confidence and merriness that had helped get him there, and even his appearance suited it: red-faced, rotund and tall, he was the picture of a beneficent gentleman.
But once knighted, he had found a disgust for the business that made his fortune, and he had turned his back on it altogether, thinking those days behind him and beneath him.
This had not been a wise or timely decision, as his wife had warned him, but his optimism trumped her caution, and Lady Lucas had not felt secure in their fortune since that time.
If her husband could be elevated, he could as easily fall again, and she had readied herself and her children for such an event.
Charlotte had been raised in this careful, watchful spirit.
She was diligent in her studies, not just to give off the air of being accomplished but because her future might yet require the ability to teach.
She was helpful in the kitchen, not only to have a well-rounded knowledge of food and flavours, but because extra help was necessary.
She was patient, not only with her siblings and with her friends but with her own prospects.
Love suffereth long…
Not only was this another of her mother’s embroidered moral decorations, but it was a phrase Charlotte had heard in church on countless occasions.
Love suffereth long and is kind. Love vaunteth not itself, is not puffed up. The passage from Corinthians made its way into almost every marriage service.
‘The bride looks like she suffereth long and is a little puffed up,’ Charlotte had once whispered to Elizabeth at a friend’s wedding. Elizabeth had snorted, attracting disapproving looks across the pews. Charlotte had kept a straight face – always the good girl to all appearances.
So, Charlotte knew that she, too, must suffer long.
Over many years, she had watched friends and cousins find their partner and marry and move away from her and make a life of their own.
Sometimes, they stayed within the neighbourhood; sometimes, they moved to another part of the country entirely or, in one case, to Woking, which was worse.
She had found herself looking upon these partnerships and departures with a detached air, enough that she had almost made a study of it: the art of securing a proposal.
She enjoyed espousing her theories of courtship to friends, in part to mask the fact that she’d had no experience of it herself.
She had many views on romantic love and yet had never felt it.
She was, in truth, sceptical that it existed, which made it much easier for her to be logical about it.
Charlotte had never been courted. She had read about love in literature (and even, occasionally, in the scandal sheets) and had wondered when it would come for her, but it never did.
Neither from her nor towards her. And so, she had decided she was an unromantic person, a woman for whom love held no interest.
But she was interested in marriage. Marriage had the potential to offer her more freedoms and more security – an attractive combination – and it was one of the few choices afforded to a young woman of her standing.
But Charlotte, at twenty-seven, having been out for ten years, had begun to realise that she was unlikely to receive even that choice.
No option had ever been presented to her.
Until today.
The next morning, Charlotte set off for Longbourn, wrapped up warm, steeling herself for the winter winds and for Elizabeth’s reaction, uncertain which would be colder.
She had been determined that the news of her engagement would not reach Elizabeth’s ears unless it was from herself.
The greatest threat to this was Mr Collins himself; he had been residing at Longbourn, Elizabeth’s family home, for the past fortnight, but Charlotte had entreated him to keep their engagement quiet until his departure, and he had set off this very morning.
Charlotte Lucas and Elizabeth Bennet had first met five years earlier and in spite of the seven years that separated them in age, had taken a liking to one another almost instantaneously.
While Jane, the eldest Bennet sister, was the more natural companion for Charlotte; closer to her in age, and in temperament, it was Elizabeth who proved to be the right match.
While it was obvious to all of Meryton society that the pair shared a sense of humour, their friendship had deeper roots.
In Charlotte, Elizabeth found a patience and steadiness that was a welcome contrast to the Bennet home, a house held hostage by the chaos and caprice of Elizabeth’s mother and her younger sisters.
As for Charlotte, she found in Elizabeth a boldness and spontaneity she often felt she herself lacked.
That said, she knew her friend well enough to know she was a romantic and somewhat judgemental. Of course she was: being judgemental together was one of their favourite pastimes. How unhappy a circumstance to now be the subject of that censure, when ordinarily they would share in it.
As Charlotte was a just a few steps from the doors of Longbourn, Elizabeth herself opened them and welcomed her with a wide smile. ‘Oh, Charlotte! Come in! Oh, I feel like I could sing!’
‘Please don’t!’ Charlotte replied teasingly, pleased to find her friend in high spirits. ‘What has brought on such drastic behaviour?’
‘Why, you will join us in it when you hear – we may all breathe a little easier. He has gone! At last! Farewell Mr Collins!’ cried Elizabeth.
Two of the other Bennet sisters stood behind Elizabeth in the hall: Jane, the eldest, and Lydia, the youngest. There was a giddy relief among them all – even Jane, who was usually tolerant to a fault.
Charlotte smiled awkwardly.
‘Although,’ continued Elizabeth, ‘he threatens us with another visit, so while he is gone for now, we must be ever ready for his unfortunate return.’
‘Like ringworm,’ added Lydia gleefully, earning a look of disgust from Jane and a chuckle from Elizabeth.
Charlotte spoke before more was said that pained her. ‘I have news, Eliza. Could we speak alone?’
Elizabeth’s face fell serious. She showed her friend into the parlour and ushered out yet another sister.
Charlotte sat and looked her friend in the eye.
Like a cold bath, it was better to just get into it directly without delay; Charlotte knew trepidation would only make things worse. ‘Mr Collins called on me yesterday, and he asked me to marry him.’
Elizabeth gasped, and her hands covered her mouth. She, again almost laughing, uttered, ‘Oh! Charlotte! I am shocked… so soon after he asked… but anyway, I am sorry for you! Was it very awkward? Did he take—’
‘And I accepted him. We are engaged.’
Elizabeth let out the remaining half-laugh she had been holding in. But seeing the seriousness on Charlotte’s face, she stopped. ‘Engaged to Mr Collins! My dear Charlotte, impossible!’
Charlotte had expected this indignation and kept her reserve.
She cooly defended her position, and Elizabeth, with some effort, held back her natural incredulity long enough to offer mealy-mouthed congratulations.
Both unable to speak further, they joined the Bennets in the next room, relieved for a while by alternative company.
But as Charlotte was preparing to take her leave, Elizabeth drew her back into the parlour.
Evidently her feelings had been bubbling away, and she now allowed them to burst forth, saying vehemently, ‘Why? Why did you say yes Charlotte? He is dreadful.’
‘He is not to your taste.’
‘He is not to your taste, Charlotte. We have laughed at him together. How can you make this decision? It makes no sense!’
‘It makes perfect sense, Eliza. I am unmarried and older than you, and unlike you, I am not inundated with interest from all quarters.’ Charlotte’s patience was now wearing thin.
‘Better to be alone than tied to a man like that.’
‘Is it? Are you so sure? What experience have you of being alone? And living on what? You would have me be a spinster into my dotage, while you are married with children and a home of you own, and I, a lonely friend you have to visit occasionally. Is that what you would wish?’
‘What is this fantasy you’ve concocted? Charlotte, I do not know from where these thoughts have come—’
‘I have thought about this for years, Eliza! Do you not imagine that every season, each as fruitless as the last, I have wondered what my future will look like, wondered how I will secure my happiness, a home, a family. Have you, as my dearest friend, never considered that question for me? Or have you thought only about your own prospects, which are so much happier? Did you not think, in turning down such a man as Mr Collins so easily, what a lucky position you were in – to feel so certain of what you have to offer, of your looks and your advantages, that you need not even consider it? What a luxury that is, to be so sure. I do not have that luxury.’
Elizabeth was quiet but not calm, and she could not look her friend in the eye. After a minute, she said, ‘I hear what you are telling me, and I do understand your fears… but I cannot believe you will find solace for them in that man.’
‘I had hoped for support from you…’ Charlotte’s voice was low and warning now.
Elizabeth crossed towards the fire and began furiously poking it.
Charlotte continued, ‘I knew you would not have done the same thing, but I am trying to do the right thing for myself—’
‘You are not doing the right thing!’ cried Elizabeth, rounding on her.
There had never before been a scene like this between them. For a moment, they each raged silently. Elizabeth was more openly agitated, whereas Charlotte, cursing the tears in her eyes, slowed her breath and found her stillness, which was a power of hers.
‘You have made your feelings clear. Perhaps I will see you before I leave. Good day.’
Her cool grey eyes could have chipped ice into Elizabeth’s, as she rose and exited the room.
Charlotte walked quickly out of the house, avoiding any other Bennet, and made her way towards home.
Once out of sight, she bent in two, stumbling and sobbing.
She thought the sorrow would overwhelm her.
She felt more let down by Elizabeth than her heart could endure; she felt tangible sharp pains in her chest. She had never been subjected to such an outpouring of disdain.
And from the person she esteemed most in the world!
She had read pity and disgust on her friend’s face and had been made to feel foolish and small.
Of the faults she knew others levelled at her, foolish had never been one.
Plain, certainly, a little stiff, but not foolish.
Foolish like Mr Collins… And now, she had to start a new life with him, without a friend.
All morning, she had stood firm, but now she felt the ground go from beneath her. She stumbled home unsteadily and ran upstairs. She pulled her shoes off and threw them in the corner, tore off her jacket, loosened her stays and got into bed. So much had changed in so short a time.
‘Was that you, Charlotte?’ she heard her mother call from downstairs. ‘Is all well?’
‘Yes, Mother,’ she called back in a reassuring tone, while pulling the covers up to her chin. ‘All is well.’