Chapter V
Charlotte rose from her bed in a panic and in an illogical stupor, having overslept.
She rushed to the window, from where she could see anyone approaching the house.
There was no one yet, thank heavens. She opened her curtains more fully and realised from the sun that it was no more than ten o’clock in the morning.
The party would arrive no earlier than noon.
She had plenty of time to ready herself.
The night before had been something of a trial.
She had wanted a peaceful evening, in readiness for welcoming her father, Maria and Elizabeth the next day, but her husband – excited by the prospect of company and perhaps enlivened in a particular way by the thought of showing Elizabeth all that she had missed out on – had made it clear he wished to be intimate with his wife.
As those occasions had been so infrequent in their marriage so far, she had not felt justified in demurring.
Their wedding night back in January had been an odd one.
Charlotte had had taken a drop of brandy and steeled herself mentally for what was to come.
She’d even pinched her cheeks a little and arranged her bosom; while she might not have been attracted to Collins, she still wanted to be attractive to him.
He had come into the bedroom in his nightgown, carrying a cup of tea and a candle, looking for all the world like Wee Willy Winkie, and Charlotte could hardly countenance having carnal knowledge of a figure so comical.
He put down his tea on the mantelpiece, the candle on the table, and got under the covers with her. He took a moment and then, turning his face to hers, said, ‘My dearest one, I am honoured to be the first to unearth the pleasures of—’
‘My dear, if I may make a request, I am a little nervous—’
‘Oh, my dear, but of course you are, I—’
‘And as such, I ask that we might not speak during this time, so that our minds might be… filled with the joy of what we are doing.’
‘Ah.’ He put his finger to his lips, and did a small nod, and an understanding smile, acquiescing, as he so often did (she counted her blessings), to her request.
He leant in and kissed her tenderly, nervously.
His kisses, she found, were not overbearing – they were not too much.
They were, rather, too little. While she did not want to be swallowed whole, this level of diffidence rendered any persuasion towards passion impossible.
His hands hovered near her but did not yet touch.
Finally, he had put a hand on her waist, still over the top of her nightgown, and she heard him murmur.
His kisses became a little more fervent and his hand moved now up, to her breasts, still over her gown.
This tipped him over the edge. He gave a grunt, and his body was in torsion for a moment, and then he fell on his back, gasping. After a moment or two, he looked down, removed the bedcovers and, holding his gown rather carefully, left the room.
Charlotte did not know what to make of it.
She was utterly confused. She could not be relieved, because she knew enough to be sure that whatever had just happened could not have been it.
Her mother had not told her all, but she knew that bodies should actually touch and that it would last at least ten minutes and most likely be a little painful the first time.
This had been painful but not physically.
After a long while, Collins quietly re-entered the room, in a different gown.
He did not look Charlotte in the eye but lay next to her and, after a few minutes, said, ‘That is all my energy can muster for tonight, my dear, but I give you my assurances that in the future, my appetites will be great indeed. I thank you.’
No woman wishes to be thanked after relations of any kind, but Charlotte was grateful for his good manners. If a marriage lacks passion, it is to be hoped that it will make up for it in etiquette.
But the promise of his future great appetite proved to be overly optimistic.
While they had eventually succeeded in doing the deed, they had done so but twice in three months, which, so early in marriage, had been much less than Charlotte expected.
Both times he had been prodigiously proud, and Charlotte was relieved that they were at least able to function as a couple, in this regard.
But any other pleasure on her part was not forthcoming.
She suspected that Mr Collins, with a genuine wish to delight his wife, would have performed what was required with great alacrity, had he only known how. But he did not. And so, the nights they spent having any relations were very few, and those relations were very brief.
Last night had been the third time, and the memory of it was an irritant – a flat note to disturb her natural harmony.
She wanted to be poised and in control when Elizabeth arrived, so she hastily washed, dressed in a new gown and went downstairs to check the house was all arranged – and tried to block out the thought of her husband’s shockingly gentle embrace.
A couple of hours later, a carriage was heard on the drive. Charlotte, determined to be her usual self and ignore the reserve she felt towards Elizabeth, walked briskly out to greet the party. Her sister jumped out first, giddily excited, followed by Sir William, who then helped Elizabeth down.
Charlotte embraced her sister tightly and then her father. He went to pull away, but she delayed, clinging to his rounded, sturdy figure for another minute or so, to his surprise.
As she disengaged from him, she faced Elizabeth, and they both smiled tentatively.
Charlotte said, ‘Thank you for coming.’
She couldn’t quite read Elizabeth’s expression.
It might be the same hostility of their last encounter or something else – worry, regret?
Charlotte realised she had started to forget her friend – forget her behaviours and her ways.
She needed to relearn Elizabeth from this new place in her life – and soon, before she forgot entirely how to keep a friend.
Later that afternoon, after Charlotte and her husband had shown their guests the house and garden, Mr Collins took Maria and Sir William out for a walk, keen to show them the glories of Kent.
‘I believe the beauties of our part of the county are beyond anything Hertfordshire might have to offer. I have heard it described by some as “God’s Garden”, though on reflection, I might have named it thusly myself, in a sermon or some such. ’
Charlotte and Elizabeth stayed behind. If either party had hoped for an instant apology or appeal for reconciliation, they were disappointed. Between Charlotte’s ability for cold reserve and Elizabeth’s stubborn nature, their breach would not be quickly healed.
But some softening began in the sitting room that day as Charlotte described how she encouraged Mr Collins to work a good deal out of the house or in the garden, while she retained some solitude within her household.
In this, she seemed to be acknowledging to Elizabeth that there was some truth in her judgement: that his company was not to be desired.
Commentary on the house and its prospects was offered, and small talk about the health of their families took them across the hour’s threshold without too much discomfort.
But they did not yet feel like friends again.
In those first few days, which were occupied with country walks and gardening and trips to the village, Charlotte endeavoured to show Elizabeth the comfort of the house, the independence she had within it, and the real joy she took in her duties as the rector’s wife.
Elizabeth followed, taking in all activities with a keen eye and willingly applying herself to any diversion that was suggested.
Her actions, if not her countenance, showed eagerness.
On the third day of the visit, Elizabeth and Charlotte were gardening together, tending to the plants in the greenhouse. Both had a rosy sheen – flushed with the heat of the enclosure, with sweat on their faces – and being hot and bothered engendered an urge for frankness.
While staring intently at a tomato plant, Elizabeth said, ‘I am sorry for what I said and how I behaved.’
Charlotte said nothing. She was waiting for more.
‘You did nothing wrong,’ continued Elizabeth. ‘You did nothing but defend your own interests and in a way which did no harm to me, beyond taking my dearest friend away. I could not congratulate you, but I should not have admonished you for it. I should have understood. I am sorry.’
Oftentimes, when there is an apology between two people, there is a pause which feels pregnant with the expectation of a mirrored response.
But Charlotte would not allow even her most polite instincts to give in to this: she truly had done nothing wrong, acting only in the natural hopes for her happiness, which any woman would – or should – understand.
‘It is all well, Eliza.’ She turned to smile at her friend, but Elizabeth could not yet return it.
Elizabeth’s eyes were watering. ‘Please say you forgive me.’
Charlotte immediately went to her and hugged her, her watering can dangling over Elizabeth’s shoulder. ‘I forgive you, you goose.’
Charlotte was more naturally the comforter in their friendship, being a little older and more steady, and Elizabeth felt such gratitude to be brought in again, out from the cold.
After a fine dinner that evening, when the ladies retired to the drawing room, Elizabeth felt bolder in questioning her friend on a topic that had long been on her mind. Maria was playing the pianoforte, providing a convenient mask for the conversation.
‘Charlotte,’ Elizabeth whispered into her friend’s ear, ‘how are you finding – having relations? Is it… bearable?’
Charlotte was sensitive to the subject, not wishing to brook her friend’s judgement or concern, but she felt more secure in confessing the difficulties of her marriage now that they were growing closer again.
‘It is tolerable. And it has only happened a few times. In truth, I find the day-to-day affections harder, because they are expected so frequently and expected to flow naturally: a kiss on the cheek, a hold of the hand, a fond look. I have said it to you before, but I feel surer now than ever that I am not romantic. I feel like an actor, guessing at what a rush of love must look like or when a spontaneous embrace might happen. I do have kind feelings for my husband – he has many virtues which are only apparent on regular acquaintance, but I do not feel… that. No rush of feeling, no flutters. You know this: I am not drawn to him. I never have been drawn to anyone. I can act the part for now, but it is very tiring. And I am only two months in.’
Elizabeth paused before replying, keen to check herself these days.
‘You act it well, then, and your natural fondness for him helps – anyone can see that you are good with him, and more patient than most. Perhaps it will get easier, and perhaps affection will grow. They do say, do they not, that in marriage, sometimes love is wont to grow as time passes? Years give life to love.’
‘Sometimes,’ said Charlotte quietly, eyes fixed on the fire.
‘Sometimes,’ agreed her friend.
She would not say it, but Elizabeth felt quite worried by the crack shown in her friend’s resolve.
This situation – a loveless but comfortable match in a happily situated house – made sense as long as her sensible friend was sure that it did.
But this was the first moment she had seen worry, weariness, even regret in Charlotte, and for her to show it suggested that there was a good deal more below the surface.
They sat in silence, until Maria finished playing and demanded a game of whist, a welcome distraction to them all.