Chapter XIII #2
‘My brother and I are not on friendly terms.’ Charlotte frowned, inviting him to elaborate.
‘I blame him for what has happened to Tolbrooke, and he knows it. It may be his now, but I remember how cherished it was while my mother lived: the care she took of it, the pride she had for it. He has run roughshod over her legacy, gambling away much of what was needed to maintain the house, and it is now in a terrible state. His wife and children suffer for the earl’s itinerant habits. ’
His lips curled in disgust as he spoke of his brother, and Charlotte was shocked to hear him being so damning; this darkness in him was a revelation.
Seeing her reaction, he adopted a more cheerful tone. ‘Staying there would be a more humbling existence, certainly. On the other hand, it might urge me to hasten my recovery, simply to be able to leave.’ He tried to make a joke, but the bitterness beneath it was evident.
In other circumstances, Charlotte would have asked many more questions, but she could hear his desire to move on and acquiesced. ‘Then it is well that you are here,’ she said, smiling at him.
After a moment’s silence, as Fitzwilliam looked absorbed in his own thoughts, Charlotte dared press him a little further on the cause of his abstraction. ‘Do you want to tell me about your time in Spain?’
He shook his head. ‘I think I will not speak of it today. I am glad to see you, and if I begin to open my mind to that, we will not… I would be glad not to think of it for a while.’
‘Of course. But tell me this – is there anything I can bring you that will make you more comfortable? I can see Lady Catherine has the advantage of me in most things, but is there any way that I may help? That is why I am here after all – to be of service.’
‘Oh. Yes, of course. But I hope you come here as a friend also, not just to fulfil a duty?’
‘Yes. As a friend, of course.’
He considered her shrewdly. ‘You look very well, Mrs Collins. I mean, you look in good health.’
‘I thank you, sir,’ she replied guardedly.
If she were truly honest with herself, Charlotte did feel something for Colonel Fitzwilliam; that instinctive attraction she felt towards him, her interest in him, had not disappeared, in the wake of her pregnancy or his injury.
However, she felt less disquieted by it now, because she felt more sure of her own ability to ignore it, given her new circumstances.
She only hoped that he would do the same.
He looked down pensively and seemed to be considering what next to say. Charlotte was nervous of what his speech might contain. When he spoke, his words set off an alarm in her.
‘When last we met, I began to tell you—’
But she would not let him finish. ‘I have some news of my own,’ she blurted out, and found herself saying. ‘My family is soon to grow.’
A breath escaped him and for a moment, as he gazed at her, his eyes betrayed a thousand varying, complicated reactions.
And then he blinked, and his eyes looked only kind.
Certainly, he had been a little taken aback, not least because such things were not often spoken of between men and women, but then the two of them had always been more direct with one another than was quite proper.
The slight frown had disappeared, and he smiled warmly, if perhaps a little sadly. ‘Mrs Collins, that is wonderful news. You are happy?’
She read in his look a genuine enquiry, and trying to reassure him with her own expression, she answered with equal sincerity, ‘I am, Colonel. I am very happy in this.’ She said it firmly, deliberately.
He nodded and was quiet, as if accepting a truth he could not argue with. He had weathered the blow quickly, for her sake. ‘I am so glad for you. It already suits you. Mr Collins must be delighted?’
‘He is. In fact, I must take my leave, to be back for supper with him.’
‘Of course, of course. But my aunt has not returned yet.’
He looked anxiously at the door, unsure of the etiquette. Charlotte thought he seemed a little child-like, if truth be told. Here was this brave, injured officer, who had seen foreign lands and led men into battle, but who was now like a lost boy in his aunt’s care.
‘I’m sure she will forgive me. Would you please pass on my regards?’
‘I will. I am only sorry I cannot stand to see you out.’
‘You are much better where you are. Do not rush to recover, sir; take your time and be fully healed before you test it.’
‘I know not how I will ever be fully…’ He started to speak bitterly, but tailed off. ‘I will not hurry it, Mrs Collins. I thank you very much for visiting. I will be appreciative indeed of your company in the weeks to come, if you can spare it.’
‘I can, and I will. May I bring you anything to comfort you, or amuse you? A book? Or some other pastime?’
‘I can do little but read. I am struggling to name another pastime I could enjoy in this state.’
Charlotte thought. ‘You might sew.’
He guffawed and winced again. ‘Sew?!’
‘And why not? Because you think it so much a lady’s activity? You think it trivial perhaps? Or easy?’ She was provoking him, but in good humour.
‘No, it is only that I have done enough of that on campaign.’
‘Sewing?’ she asked incredulously.
‘Most soldiers know how to sew. I do not know how to embroider a pattern, but I take some pride in my skill with repairs and patches. My stitching is better than most.’
She looked at him curiously. ‘I should have thought, as a colonel, that would be done for you.’
‘Ordinarily, it is, but I have always done my own if there is time. When on campaign, I find it curative.’
She smiled and nodded. She added this to the little library of information she had of him.
‘But I have no uniform to patch at present.’
‘Well then, there is nothing for it. I will teach you the piano.’
‘Oh my!’ he exclaimed good-humouredly.
She laughed, curtsied and exited.
As she walked home, she felt very satisfied with the meeting.
She recognised a healthier accord between them, provided by their changed circumstances, though she could hardly rejoice in the reason for his change.
He was, understandably, very different from how he had been in the spring, less able to put on a mask of well-being, and even before she delivered her own news, he seemed ill-equipped to deal with anything other than companionship at present.
Although it was not planned, the revelation of her pregnancy had worked as intended: it had drawn a line between them.
She could be a friend to him now, a companion, a nurse at times, but all from a place of safety – she had seen from him that he would respect it.
She pulled her shawl close about her as the evening breeze grew harsher. Catching a thread on the button of her dress, she was reminded of his admission, which conjured in her mind the image of a weary soldier sitting in his quarters, patiently sewing a patch onto the sleeve of his torn shirt.