Epilogue 1 #2
Charlotte was admittedly quite curious about the heiress of Rosings.
She had been assured many times that it was her great misfortune that Miss de Bourgh had departed Kent a few days before Charlotte’s own arrival to the county.
Though at first Charlotte had privately disagreed, hiding her skepticism behind her smile, long correspondence with Elizabeth had begun to change her mind.
Elizabeth was faithful in writing letters, which were lengthy and detailed and regular, and her descriptions of Anne de Bourgh were intriguing.
The young lady was apparently quite charming, blossoming now that she was out from under her mother’s direct oversight and control and gaining health by the day.
Charlotte glanced over at her husband. She well understood why Elizabeth had refused him with such repulsion as there was little about the person of William Collins to recommend him as a husband to any choosy young woman.
He was not handsome, his figure was not good, and his conversation neither enlightened nor entertained.
Yet being married to him was not a hardship.
He was, above all things, kind. He never raised his voice to her, never spoke to her harshly, made sure to praise her when he was pleased, and he was a man who was willing to be pleased, but above all, he would, very quietly, defy his revered patroness for the benefit of his wife.
Lady Catherine was still outraged by Darcy’s marriage to Elizabeth and was prone to animadvert bitterly upon it whenever she remembered it.
Mr. Collins knew his duty and would nod solemnly along, looking grave and sorrowful by turns.
Yet letters addressed to Elizabeth Darcy regularly left the Hunsford parsonage, and not one word of remonstrance ever passed his lips at this indication of his wife’s continuing friendship with one who was held in such devoted animosity by Lady Catherine.
Charlotte had feared for a time that he might discourage, if not outright forbid, the friendship, but such fears had been assuaged by time, and she was grateful to him for his forbearance.
No sweeping romance was hers, but she was rather fond of William, and she recognized his good qualities, obscured as they sometimes were.
She liked him well enough, and she knew that he genuinely cared for her.
“Exactly, Mr. Collins,” Lady Catherine said with a regal nod. “Exactly. Now, what will your sermon be about this Sunday?”
“Oh, I will be preaching from the fourth chapter of the Gospel of Luke…”
Charlotte allowed her mind to wander again.
This, too, was a weekly ritual, with Mr. Collins describing his intended sermon and Lady Catherine finding fault with it, and ordering changes, and Mr. Collins agreeing.
It was quite tedious, and she turned her thoughts to her poultry.
Soon, the longer nights would bring an end to egg laying, and she needed to think about how best to keep the hens safe through the cold months…
“Lady Catherine! Lady Catherine!”
Charlotte jerked to attention and turned in surprise, which gave way to alarm. Lady Catherine was slumped in her chair, her eyes half open, with a stunned look on her face.
Mr. Collins was on his feet now, and his own eyes were wide with horror. “Lady Catherine, are you well? What is wrong?”
***
Drawing Room
Carnelian House
Emerald Island
Saturday, 29th August, 1812
The duet came to a rousing end, and Elizabeth clapped her hands in approval as Georgiana blushed and Lydia smiled.
“That was marvelous,” Darcy said, rising from his position next to his wife, and Georgiana said, “Thank you, Brother. Lydia is an excellent player, and the pianoforte is wonderful.”
“Indeed it is,” Lydia declared. “I have enjoyed my last few weeks here on the island, but I do miss having a pianoforte at my disposal. How kind of you to arrange for one at Carnelian House!”
“It was my pleasure,” Darcy said, “and if your father would be willing for there to be an instrument at Osea House…”
He trailed off as his wife and her sister shook their heads simultaneously.
“Sir Thomas and Mary sleep during much of the day so that they can stay up all night,” Lydia explained. “We have to be very quiet, and no matter how quiet or pleasant, a pianoforte would not be tolerated.”
Elizabeth frowned at her sister in concern. She had spent many hours with Lydia since arriving on the island and had thought her youngest sister to be happy enough, but to be trapped in a house with two companions who slept most of the day seemed thoroughly dreary for an energetic young woman.
“It has been entirely all right,” Lydia said, observing her sister’s concerned gaze.
“I have been reading a great deal, and practicing my sketching, and making plans for possible gowns. It has been very relaxing. Now, of course, you are here, and I can look forward to spending most of my days with you, which is great fun.”
“I am glad,” Elizabeth said with relief, just as the door opened to reveal Anne de Bourgh.
She turned a smiling look on her guest, which gave way instantly to alarm. Anne was as pale as a ghost and was shaking so much that Elizabeth was terrified she would fall.
Darcy was at his cousin’s side in a moment and placed a reassuring hand on her arm as he guided her to a chair.
“What is it, Anne?” he asked softly, but Elizabeth’s eyes were fixed on the letter clasped rigidly in Miss de Bourgh’s right hand. It was edged with black.
“Anne?” she asked.
The lady gulped, shook her head, and said, “My mother … Lady Catherine is dead from an apoplexy!”
Elizabeth stared at her guest with horror. She did not like Lady Catherine, not at all, but to have her dead with such suddenness was definitely shocking.
She was also very fond of Anne de Bourgh, and whatever problems the young woman had had with her mother, it was still a shock to suddenly be an orphan.
The child in her womb suddenly kicked enthusiastically, and she placed a loving hand where the tiny foot was.
In the midst of death, there was new life.