Chapter Twenty-Seven
In the foyer of Mary’s home, they removed their coats and gloves, handing them over to Pitt. Charlotte followed Mary into the drawing room, wondering idly what Miss Brodie was planning to make for dinner, and whether they had time to sneak off and make love beforehand. She closed the door behind her, and took her place on the couch next to Mary. Leaning in for a sweet kiss, Charlotte felt now-familiar sparks of desire crackling between them.
“My dear, I have—” Mary said, pulling away and smoothing her dress over her knees. “I want to ask you something.”
Her stomach dropped. “What is it?”
“You needn’t look so afraid, darling.” Mary gathered Charlotte into her arms and held her close. “I merely wanted to ask if you might consider staying here? With me?”
Relief bloomed low in her gut. “Yes, I could stay a bit longer, though I must return to Kent by the end of next week. Lady Catherine will expect me to be packed upon her return.”
“No, I do not mean an extension of your visit. I mean, would you like to move here for a while? Several months, perhaps? You could send your things here rather than home to Lucas Lodge. I’m sure your parents wouldn’t mind one whit, and of course they’d be welcome here too.”
“Oh, I…” Charlotte blinked. “I couldn’t trespass on your time in such a way. What would Cecily say?”
“I will write to her, but I cannot see that she would have a problem with it. I am in love with you, and she will be glad I am happy.”
Charlotte stared at her blankly. She could not have possibly heard correctly. “Pardon, I did not quite… You’re in love with me?”
“Yes. Why, what did you think I meant in the garden?” Mary arched an eyebrow, her expression quizzical. “I told you I would be yours, indefinitely. How else could one interpret such a thing? If you were a man, I would marry you in an instant.”
A strange sensation thrilled through Charlotte; something bubbly and joyful, undercut by a feeling of foreboding. “You would?”
“Of course.”
Mary had said it so lightly that perhaps it was only intended as a jest. “I would marry you too,” she said, and meant it. “If only things were different.”
Now it was Mary’s turn to pause, studying her. “Why do you say it like that?”
The atmosphere had thickened. Charlotte pulled back and stood, feeling suddenly graceless and awkward. “Well, it is the truth, is it not? We could never marry.”
“I hadn’t realised that was such a problem.”
Charlotte’s jaw dropped. “Do you not think it one?”
“Not really, no.” Mary looked hurt. “I believe we could keep house as well as any couple, married or not.”
“And what would I tell my family?” She turned and paced towards the window, not knowing what else to do.
“Tell them what you like.”
She turned back, biting her lip. “It would not be the truth.”
“That would be your choice.” Mary’s smile was grim. “Are you saying this changes nothing?”
“No, of course not. It changes everything, for me. But in the larger world, there are expectations of me that I cannot—”
“And do not you think there are expectations on me, too? Pressures to marry, snide comments, occasional suitors looking to inherit Cecily’s favourite niece’s fortune?”
“Money makes a lot of problems go away,” Charlotte pointed out.
“Hence why I am encouraging you to accept Mr Mellor’s offer. You would not need to worry about landing a husband, and you would have money and freedom to do as you pleased and go where you liked. It is a great opportunity to be independent, Charlotte. Please do think it over carefully.”
Surprised that Mary was genuinely suggesting she consider the offer, Charlotte continued to pace the room. For Mary, who had felt so chafed by the confines of polite society in En-gland, the opportunity no doubt seemed like a chance to become a pioneer of sorts. Yet it was neither Mary’s opportunity nor name at stake, and she could not expect to live her own desires vicariously through Charlotte. “You cannot be serious. Whatever would my family say?”
Mary shrugged, as if the answer were simple. “Do not tell them, then.”
She stared, astounded. “I cannot lie to them.”
“Cannot, or will not?”
“It is much the same thing.”
“Curse your insistence on absolute honesty.” Mary sighed. “Well, so what? If it provided you with a good living, then what would be the matter? Women of our station sometimes become governesses, do they not?”
“Under extreme pressure or after some terrible catastrophe, yes.”
“And do you not consider your current circumstances to fall under that category?”
“Well, I—”
“And here you would be earning far more than working as a governess.”
“But I would still be earning,” Charlotte insisted. The idea of taking a job at such an advanced age—a position which entailed real responsibility, never mind opening doors into the dreams she had considered impossible—was overwhelming. “I have never worked before, and it would be…you must surely see that it is out of the question.”
“I see nothing of the sort. Besides, it would also mean that we could be together in a slightly more public setting.”
Panic rose like a tide, turning Charlotte’s stomach into a mass of roiling green waves. It was quite one thing to love in secret, amongst people who had similar persuasions, and quite another to upend her life by confessing something unacceptable in her usual circles. What would I tell my parents? What would I tell Lizzie? The idea of everyone back home gossiping about her was a source of immense distress. “It is simply not conceivable.”
Mary threw up her hands. “And what is the alternative? Go back to Hertfordshire and live off your parents’ charity until they die, and then be at the mercy of other family? Or marry a husband you neither want nor love, and force yourself to endure a lifetime of unhappiness? You made that choice once already.”
Charlotte flinched, her steps slowing. “It was not as bad as you may think it.”
“You cannot expect me to believe that,” Mary scoffed. “You had no real control, no friends, and no dreams. What little spark had ever been in you, life in Kent had crushed out. He had crushed it out.”
This echoed Charlotte’s own thoughts far too closely for comfort. She felt a sudden urge to defend Mr Collins; one ought not to speak ill of the dead, after all. “That is unkind. He was neither a bad man nor a bad husband.”
“And for that I am glad,” Mary retorted, “but you were not happy.”
“Happiness isn’t everything.”
“Well, it ought to be.” She took a deep breath. “It would be the easiest thing in the world to call a lawyer. I could give you all the trappings of marriage in the legal sense, even if the church would not recognise it.”
Mary seemed to have a reasonable answer for everything. Charlotte cast about desperately for another line of argument, her hands clenching into fists before uncurling into flat planes of panic. “And what should happen if you grow tired of me?”
“I would never grow tired of you.”
“You cannot know that for certain.”
Mary frowned, apparently surprised by the question. Her cheeks flushed an angry red as she rose to face Charlotte. “You married Collins without knowing as much. Are you suggesting I am less loyal than he?”
“No, I—” She swallowed hard. “But he had limited options, and you are evidently much in demand.”
“So you think me inconstant?” Mary’s eyes were blazing now. “After all that we have been through? All that I have shared with you? All that I have confessed?”
Charlotte wanted desperately to make this argument stop, but every word seemed to throw more oil on the fire. “That is not what I meant. It is merely that—”
“Then whatever did you mean? You do not want to be reliant upon me, but you do not want to create your own fortune. What alternative is there? Look, I love you and I wish for your happiness but—”
“Love does not change the world.”
“It has changed my world,” Mary argued. “And I would contend that it has changed you too, these past weeks. You cannot deny it.”
“Of course it has, but—” Charlotte hesitated, her fingers running through her hair, smoothing that which she really wished to ruffle into a state reflecting the tumult inside her. “But however I myself may feel, I must do my duty to my family.” The excuse sounded weak even to her own ears, though it was the truth.
“Then what was all of this? Did our time together mean nothing?” Mary was only a few feet away, but the distance between them had never felt greater. “You have been offered a way out, Charlotte. An opportunity to leave your old life behind and remake it anew in a way that suits you. You do not have to hide any more, darling.”
“I will always be hiding, one way or another.”
Mary stared at her, jaw working furiously. “I cannot understand you.”
“You understand me perfectly. You just do not agree.”
“So what was this for you? Merely some sort of game? A fling?” she demanded, her eyes filling with tears. “We are talking of my heart, darling. I gave it to you fully.”
“It was never a game.” Charlotte crossed the chasm between them and tried to take Mary’s hands, but Mary shook her off angrily. “I simply cannot be so selfish as to let my feelings control my decisions. You said yourself that you would never do what Lydia did, that you would protect your family and keep them safe. I must do the same. You must see that!”
“I only meant not to flaunt a scandalous relationship in such a way as would draw suspicion and scandal. You knew perfectly well that I did not mean—” Mary stopped, her lips pressed into pale lines. “You led me to believe that… I thought… Do not you love me, Charlotte?” Her tone was desperate, her voice raw.
Charlotte opened her mouth, then closed it again. Mary had once said that the day Charlotte told a lie would be the day the world ended; she’d been right, in a way. The world they had created had to be destroyed for Mary to thrive. Charlotte was an overgrown tree cutting off the sunlight of a beautiful flower; if Mary would not chop her down, she must take the axe to her own trunk. Fear gripped Charlotte, wrapping icy fingers around her heart. She had no money and no prospects, and certainly could not accept a paid position of employment, which solved only one problem but created several more. Mary would find a better match in time, someone prepared to take risks, to fling caution to the wind in the grand pursuit of love.
“I cannot do what you ask of me,” she said, at last. “I had thought you understood that. And if that means that I cannot give you what you need, then so be it.”
She hadn’t meant to say it like that—she’d meant to say that she understood, that if Mary had a bar Charlotte could not clear then it was for the best that they end the affair, no matter how it pained her to do so—but the words impacted Mary as if she had struck a physical blow.
“If that is your decision, so be it. I am sorry to have misunderstood you so badly, and I apologize for any offense given.” Mary drew herself up straight, lip trembling, cheeks now pale as bone. “I shall have the servants pack your bags forthwith, Mrs Collins.”
And with that, she swept from the room, leaving Charlotte alone and aching.