Chapter Eighteen
I had not visited Rosings Park in quite some time, but I still remembered the grounds fondly. While the house was austere and often unfriendly, the gardens held happier memories of long walks and peaceful escape. Beyond the manicured pathways and orchard, I sought out the woodland.
Lady Catherine had imposed no limits on the length of my walk, neither in duration nor distance, and it was a lapse of judgement I was happy to exploit.
I didn’t doubt that my excursion would soon be called to an end, but if I was beyond the landscaped boundaries of the gardens, I was going to be much harder to find and bring back.
In my haste to gain a little freedom, I had neglected to seek out proper footwear for traipsing through the woods, but my time spent with Kitty had me used to unfamiliar terrain underfoot.
Be it the gardens of Pemberley, the forest at Longbourn, or the paths of Rosings, I was starting to find myself rather enjoying being able to feel pebbles and branches through thin soles.
The commonality of woodland eased my unhappiness.
As I put Rosings behind me and allowed myself to get lost amongst the trees, I could have been anywhere.
It was easy to pretend I was only minutes from my home of books and musical instruments in Pemberley, or that Kitty was just behind a tree, waiting to jump out and surprise me with a kiss.
I let nature guide me through the fantasy, taking the paths that the trees seemed to gesture to with the bend of a limb or dip of a branch.
Despite the innate musicality of the woods as distant birds chirped to one another and the breeze rustled branches high above my head, there was a kind of natural stillness that made it quite possible to believe yourself alone.
It was only when I pushed my way through a denser collection of branches that I realised I wasn’t the only person there.
A woman in a dark grey day dress and apron was kneeling on the ground, picking a few fallen chestnuts to add to a basket already half full with glossy brown shells.
When she looked up and saw me, she rose to her feet and revealed the noticeable sign of late pregnancy under the fabric of her dress.
“Oh!” I couldn’t help my surprise. It was rare to see a woman so far along in her condition out and about, but she seemed happy to be on her feet.
“Miss Darcy,” she greeted me, nodding her head politely.
I blinked at her, confused by her immediate use of my name. In my surprise, I had forgone the polite greeting and apology for my intrusion that I should have voiced. She seemed to know me, yet I could not place her amongst those I had previously met on visits to my aunt.
“I’m sorry, I don’t… Have we met?” I asked, hoping I was causing her no offence.
“I’m afraid I have not had that pleasure, but you look just like your brother, and I heard this morning that you had come to stay,” she said with a smile. “My name is Charlotte.”
I dipped into a curtsey to greet her properly.
It was rare for a woman of standing to introduce herself with only her given name, but it would be impolite to correct her on her own introduction, and I had already been rude enough.
Some days I was tempted to omit my surname, too, when I didn’t want the weight of its gravitas.
“Please, allow me to carry that,” I insisted, gesturing to the basket.
Women in a delicate way were encouraged to rest often.
They certainly were not supposed to be collecting chestnuts from the forest floor.
“Forgive me, but ought you not to be in bed? If you are acquainted with my aunt, she would no doubt be happy to lend you some assistance until you are delivered, if you need it.”
Charlotte laughed fondly and simply bent down to add another handful of nuts to the basket, seemingly completely unimpeded.
“Thank you, but I am relieved to still find myself able to take the air. This will not be my first child, and I am quite capable of staying on my feet,” she assured me, with an easy confidence I found myself entirely unable to argue with.
“But I would happily welcome the company for my walk home, if you wished to extend your walk as far as the parsonage.”
“Mrs. Collins!” I said almost gleefully, once I realised exactly who I was speaking to—for only Mr. Collins’s wife could be before me. “Elizabeth speaks of you fondly.”
Charlotte’s smile fell a little at the use of her married name but was much revived at the mention of Elizabeth.
“Please,” she said, “you must call me Charlotte. Any friend of Elizabeth’s is a friend of mine, thus her sister-in-law must be as dear as a sister to me. She writes equally fondly of you in her letters.”
Charlotte Collins was at the heart of many of the stories Elizabeth told about Longbourn and her childhood.
Although Charlotte had married a man who had once first proposed to, and been rejected by, Elizabeth, her letters were some of Elizabeth’s favourite to receive.
Only letters from Charlotte and from any of her four sisters would Elizabeth drop everything to read immediately.
Charlotte was, by all reports, a kind and hardworking woman who was willing to fight for what the world would not easily grant her.
Meeting her after hearing so much prior felt a little like meeting a character from a much-loved book.
I was delighted to walk alongside Charlotte as she led the way back to her home.
She did not ask about my sudden appearance at Rosings, instead focusing on how she planned to roast the chestnuts she’d collected, and how roasted sweet chestnuts used to be a favourite of Elizabeth’s.
Charlotte seemed pleased when I informed her that they still were, and that I had since acquired the taste for them, too.
The parsonage was entirely new to me, but it was clear it was Charlotte’s domain. She led me around to a door at the back of the cottage and showed me through to a small kitchen. A maid stirred a pot on the stove, turning quickly and hurrying forwards to take the basket from Charlotte.
“Mr. Collins has been looking for you, ma’am,” she said.
Charlotte’s mask slipped for only a moment, an almost imperceptible frown. It was quickly covered by a serene smile and a nod.
“Please inform him I am entertaining a guest for a little while, and will find him when I am free to do so,” she said, and I realised I was a tool she was using to delay that meeting. If she needed distance that much, I was happy to help her provide it.
Charlotte left me in the front parlour for a few minutes before reappearing with a baby girl who sat happily on her knee, burbling a little as if she wanted to join in with the conversation but had not yet mastered the fine art of speech.
“This is Catherine,” Charlotte said, introducing me to the little girl. “Named after your aunt, of course. My husband wouldn’t have it any other way.”
I laughed. “There seem to be an awful lot of Catherines in my life at the moment; what is one more?”
“Beyond this little one and your aunt?”
There was clearly a question behind Charlotte’s words, fuelled by genuine, innocent curiosity. If she was good friends with Elizabeth, I could only assume that she was at least passably acquainted with the rest of the Bennet family.
“Catherine Bennet?” I offered.
With any luck, my cheeks appeared less red to her than they felt to me. Simply saying Kitty’s name brought to mind her smile and her curls, and it was enough to remind me how completely in love with her I was.
Charlotte lit up at the name, recognising it instantly.
When she realised I knew more of the Bennets than just Elizabeth and that I had, until recently, been staying with them, she was keen to hear updates on how they were all doing.
She spoke so fondly of Meryton that it was clear at least part of her heart was still there.
I was as forthcoming with the information she wanted as I could be, until she asked why it was that I’d left the Bennets to stay with my aunt.
I didn’t want to dwell on thoughts of Wickham, instead opting to cite the overcrowding of the Bennet house as the reason for my departure.
It was either an underwhelming topic for Charlotte, or she could sense my reticence to talk about it, because she swiftly moved the conversation back to happier subjects. I could talk about Kitty endlessly.
“You are fond of Miss Bennet?” she asked when I paused to take a breath.
I bit my tongue in my haste to shut my mouth. I had said too much, been too indiscreet. The opportunity to speak freely about Kitty had simply been overwhelming, but I barely knew Charlotte.
“They are a kind family,” I said, keeping my words measured and careful. “I have enjoyed getting to know them all, Kitty included, since my brother married Elizabeth. I… I enjoy her company.”
“I used to be able to talk as much about Elizabeth as you do about Kitty,” Charlotte said wistfully. “It seems a lifetime ago, before all this.” She gestured to the parsonage around her.
“You married rather late, did you not?” I asked, before I realised how dreadfully rude it sounded, my eyes widening with horror. “Forgive me; I did not mean to offend.”
“I take no offence,” Charlotte assured me. “It is hardly a secret.”
“Some of the girls I knew in London spoke of waiting to marry like it was the most shameful thing, but it only seems sensible to take time to find someone you truly want to marry, rather than rushing into things,” I said.
It was a line I’d been testing out in my mind. I did believe it, but I was also hoping it would buy me time when people started to ask too many questions about my own unwedded state.
Charlotte’s smile didn’t quite meet her eyes.