Chapter IX #2
Mr Smithson nodded. ‘I kept your husband company in your absence, Mrs Collins, and helped with any tasks that might otherwise have gone unattended while you were away, lest you should be concerned.’
Charlotte stared at him, aware that he now seemed to be turning his sharp claws to her. ‘I was not worried. I know my husband to be both capable and understanding.’
‘He is very understanding,’ said Mr Smithson boldly.
Mr Collins was studiously looking into his glass of punch.
‘I thought it a little odd that a wife would go so far away, without her husband,’ continued Mr Smithson, ‘but he has explained to me that you are rather… independently minded.’
Charlotte looked at her husband.
He knew he must say something. ‘I said…’ Mr Collins faltered. ‘I said that you enjoyed your solitude, my dear, and were very adept at taking care of yourself, which I admire.’ He smiled at her, seeking assurance.
‘A very understanding husband. How lucky you are,’ said Smithson to Charlotte. He was relentless.
She regarded him with a cool and measured gaze. ‘I am blessed, sir.’
Miss de Bourgh, who had been rather distracted during the interchange, looking across the room at one of the other gentlemen she had danced with, now re-entered the conversation, saying blithely, ‘Oh, a cotillion is starting! Look, they need a final couple to begin. You must retain your record Mr Smithson – you cannot miss this one!’
‘Gladly, Miss de Bourgh, if you would honour me,’ he said, bowing low.
‘Oh, I had not intended…’ Miss de Bourgh was reluctant – not merely from fatigue but from possessing just enough of her mother’s snobbery to baulk, ever so slightly, at the prospect of dancing with the local curate.
‘I am not well enough to participate at this moment, sir, but I thank you. You danced so well with Mrs Collins earlier; perhaps she will agree?’ She shifted her question from Smithson to Charlotte, expectantly. All eyes were on her.
Charlotte, not wishing to cause a scene after what had already been a needlessly tense conversation, acquiesced. She passed Anne her fan and shawl and began to walk towards the other dancers, bracing herself for further interrogation from her partner.
When she was just a few steps away from the formation, Mr Smithson, who had not moved from his spot, quietly uttered, ‘I will forego this dance. I hope you will forgive me.’
He backed away towards the other end of the room, but Charlotte, not having heard him over the general hubbub of the dancers, was surprised when she looked back and found he had not followed her.
She was all confusion and so did not immediately retreat back to her circle.
Instead, she looked around the room frantically, eventually spotting him at a distance next to Lady Catherine.
Charlotte became suddenly aware that she was now standing up alone, without a partner, and the sensation of exposure was swift and mortifying.
Her cheeks flushed with colour; she saw the other dancers looking at her awkwardly, wondering what she planned to do.
Mr Collins was slow to react and, if anything, embarrassed by Charlotte, and he beckoned her back to him like a dog.
Instead, it was Colonel Fitzwilliam who walked forward boldly and took his place proudly next to her, readying himself for the first step.
They turned to face one another, and as she curtsied in answer to his bow, she tried to convey gratitude in her eyes.
But he either did not see it or did not require it; this was not a favour but, rather, the opportunity he had hoped for all night.
As the music began, she took his hand, and they moved together seamlessly.
They did not speak during the dance. It was difficult to feign small talk when they enjoyed rich conversation in private.
And they dared not speak freely in case they betrayed a detail or a level of intimacy that could be overheard.
And so they danced quietly, glad just to be near each other.
Their steps aligned with natural ease, and they fell into rhythm with one another and with the other dancers.
Charlotte had never felt elegant during a dance; her height often made her feel ungainly, and her steps always seemed heavy.
But now, she felt… graceful. She knew that she and Fitzwilliam were dancing particularly well together; she felt eyes on them, onlookers watching and smiling.
She knew what they were doing was dangerous, foolish, and this attention should be unwanted.
But her only thought was: Let them look.
If she enjoyed how firmly he held her right hand behind her back, while they promenaded smoothly, she hoped it was not apparent.
If he gazed at the fall of her shoulders as she skipped away from him, he trusted it was not noticed.
But it was. Not by everyone assembled, but by someone with a keen eye, who observed from the other side of the hall. At this very moment, that gentleman’s eyes were narrowed in speculation, though he turned his face back politely as he resumed his conversation with Lady Catherine de Bourgh.