Chapter Fourteen
Charlotte Lucas
Elizabeth approached Charlotte carefully.
That was difficult because Charlotte had known her too long.
"You are meddling," Charlotte said before Elizabeth had managed to explain anything.
They were walking toward Lucas Lodge after a morning at Longbourn. Mr. Collins had arrived two days earlier and already managed to mention Lady Catherine forty-seven times, according to Lydia's count.
Elizabeth blinked. "I have said nothing."
"Exactly."
"What does that mean?"
Charlotte's mouth curved. "You usually say everything. You have spent half the walk looking as though you wish to ask me a question and the other half deciding you have no right. I am saving time."
Elizabeth laughed. "You always were inconveniently sensible."
"Were?"
Danger.
Elizabeth smiled quickly. "Are."
Charlotte gave her a suspicious glance but allowed it.
Elizabeth drew a breath. "Would you accept Mr. Collins if he proposed?"
Charlotte stopped walking.
"That is direct."
"I know."
"He has not asked."
"If he did?"
Charlotte resumed walking more slowly. "I am twenty-seven, Lizzy."
"I know."
"You are twenty."
"I also know that."
"My brothers cost money. Maria will marry eventually. My parents cannot maintain me forever, and I have no fortune sufficient to permit independence."
Elizabeth's heart hurt. She had been too romantic once, too dismissive of Charlotte's reality. She had believed that because she herself could not marry without affection, Charlotte's acceptance of security was a failure of imagination.
Age had cured her of that particular arrogance.
"I understand," Elizabeth said.
Charlotte looked surprised. "Do you?"
"Better than I did. Security matters. A home matters. Not being dependent forever matters."
Charlotte's eyes narrowed slightly. "That is a considerable change from the Lizzy who once declared she would rather live in a cottage and eat potatoes than marry a fool."
Elizabeth smiled. "I still object to fools. I am merely less certain that everyone must object to the same things I do."
"And yet you are asking about Mr. Collins."
"Because there may be another option."
Charlotte gave her full attention.
Elizabeth had spoken with Darcy. Lady Matlock required a companion for a younger widowed cousin who would spend much of the season in London and then retire to a small estate in Kent.
The position was respectable, paid, and suited to a woman who possessed sense, discretion, and no foolish expectation that a household should revolve around her.
Darcy had remarked that Charlotte therefore seemed almost offensively qualified.
Elizabeth had kicked his boot beneath the table.
Now she said, "Would you consider becoming a companion?"
Charlotte's steps slowed. "To whom?"
"A relation of Mr. Darcy's."
Charlotte looked sharply at her. "How convenient."
Elizabeth flushed. "He knows of a position."
"And you discussed my circumstances with him."
"I asked whether he knew respectable households seeking a sensible woman."
"Sensible?"
"Extremely."
Charlotte almost smiled. "I should be offended."
"You may be after you answer."
Charlotte walked several yards without speaking. "A companion. Paid?"
"Yes."
"In London?"
"For part of the year. The lady has a daughter of twelve and would value someone able to supervise lessons occasionally, though there is a governess."
"And what would Mr. Darcy's family expect in return for arranging it?"
Elizabeth stopped. "Nothing."
Charlotte studied her.
Elizabeth continued, "Truly. If you choose Mr. Collins instead, I will not condemn you. If you choose neither, I will not condemn you. I only wanted you to know there may be another door."
Charlotte's expression changed.
Possibility.
Not rescue.
Elizabeth touched her arm. "You need not decide now."
Charlotte looked toward Lucas Lodge. "I would like to hear more."
She did.
Lady Lucas initially objected to the idea of her eldest daughter becoming a paid companion.
Sir William found the connection to the Matlocks sufficiently grand to overcome his qualms. Charlotte herself asked practical questions about salary, duties, privacy, and whether she might return home if she disliked the position.
Darcy answered each through proper channels.
Mr. Collins proposed to Elizabeth three days later.
Elizabeth refused.
He considered Charlotte.
Charlotte was no longer waiting.
By Christmas she entered Lady Matlock's household in London.
Elizabeth received her first letter from town two weeks later.
I have a room with a door that closes, Lizzy. You cannot imagine what a luxury that is after seven younger siblings.
Elizabeth laughed until she cried.
Darcy found the letter amusing too.
"We changed this," Elizabeth murmured.
Darcy shook his head. "We opened a door."
She looked at him.
"Charlotte walked through it," he added.
Elizabeth smiled. "Pedant."
"Accurate."
She kissed his cheek when no one was looking.
Darcy decided pedantry had rewards.
Charlotte's departure for London gave Elizabeth an unexpected lesson in letting go.
She had opened the door, as Darcy insisted, but once Charlotte accepted the position Elizabeth found herself wanting reports of every conversation, every member of Lady Matlock's household, every possible gentleman who might prove suitable.
Darcy caught her composing a third letter in one week.
"No."
Elizabeth looked up. "No what?"
"You are meddling."
"I am corresponding with my friend."
"You have asked whether Lady Matlock's solicitor is married twice."
Elizabeth stared. "You read over my shoulder?"
"You left the page in front of me."
"And you read it."
"I have eyes."
"That defense again."
Darcy took the sheet from her before she could stop him and crossed out one sentence.
Elizabeth gasped. "William!"
"Write to Charlotte about Charlotte."
She glared.
Darcy handed the page back. "You said we would not arrange everyone like pieces on a board."
"I merely wish to know whether Mr. Avery is attractive."
"Why?"
"For Charlotte."
Darcy's expression said precisely what he thought of this explanation.
Elizabeth finally laughed. "Fine."
She tore up the page and began again.
Dear Charlotte, I miss you. Tell me whether London suits you.
Darcy nodded approvingly.
Elizabeth added beneath it: If there are any handsome solicitors, I require no information whatsoever.
Darcy groaned.
She laughed.
The discipline of not controlling outcomes became more difficult with every familiar event.
When Mr. Collins admired Jane, Elizabeth wanted to redirect him.
When he shifted toward her, she wanted to warn Mary not to be alone with him.
When Bingley looked uncertain after one of Jane's reserved replies, Darcy wanted to intervene.
They learned to ask each other a question.
Danger or discomfort?
If danger, they acted.
If discomfort, they waited.
Wickham was danger.
Bingley's uncertainty was discomfort.
Mr. Collins's proposal, however absurd, was discomfort.
Lydia's tendency to flirt with every red coat was often discomfort until it crossed into danger.
The distinction was imperfect.
So were they.
But it prevented their second chance from becoming a tyranny of good intentions.