Chapter Thirty-Two
Charlotte Chooses
Charlotte thrived in London.
Her letters surprised Elizabeth, though perhaps they should not have.
Charlotte had always been capable. In Hunsford she had managed Mr. Collins, Lady Catherine, household accounts, servants, visitors, and eventually several children with the precision of a military commander disguised as a sensible woman in a cap.
Lady Matlock appreciated competence.
Charlotte appreciated being appreciated.
The first letters concerned practical matters: the size of her room, the lady she accompanied, the cost of London coal, and the shocking inefficiency of a household in which three servants appeared to do the work of one.
Then a name began appearing.
Mr. Edmund Avery.
Lady Matlock's widowed estate solicitor.
Thirty-four. Serious. A daughter of six. No great fortune, but enough to support a family without anxiety.
Charlotte mentioned him first because he had discovered an error in a tenant account.
Then because he lent her a book.
Then because his daughter, Lucy, had taken a liking to her.
Finally came a letter Elizabeth read twice.
I do not pretend to romance, Lizzy. You know me better. But I find I am pleased when Mr. Avery enters a room, and I think that may be a beginning.
Elizabeth cried.
Darcy found her at breakfast with the letter open beside her tea. "Bad news?"
She handed it across the table.
He read.
A slow smile appeared. "Good."
"Do you remember Hunsford?"
"Too well."
"She was never entirely miserable."
"No."
"But she spent years arranging rooms to avoid her husband."
Darcy's expression softened. "I know."
Elizabeth folded the letter. "We changed this."
Darcy shook his head. "We opened a door."
"Pedant."
"She walked through it."
Elizabeth smiled. "Yes."
Charlotte did not rush.
That pleased Elizabeth most.
Mr. Avery courted her for nearly a year. He asked practical questions about whether she wished to remain connected to Lady Matlock after marriage. Charlotte asked practical questions about his daughter's schooling, household income, and whether he intended more children.
Elizabeth laughed for a full minute when Charlotte recounted the last conversation.
Darcy looked over his newspaper. "What?"
"Charlotte asked a man whether he wanted more children before agreeing to a second dinner."
Darcy considered. "Sensible."
"Of course you think so."
"Would you prefer she discover afterward?"
"No. I merely enjoy imagining the man's face."
Charlotte married Edmund the following autumn.
Elizabeth stood with her in a modest London church. There was no grandeur, no Lady Catherine directing the flowers, no Mr. Collins speaking too loudly about condescension.
Lucy Avery held Charlotte's hand throughout the breakfast afterward.
At one point Charlotte looked across the room at Elizabeth.
There was no dramatic declaration.
Only a smile.
Elizabeth understood.
That evening Darcy found her quiet.
"Happy?"
"Very."
"Then why do you look sad?"
Elizabeth leaned against his shoulder. "Because I remember the other Charlotte too."
Darcy kissed her hair. "Both lives matter to you."
"Yes."
"Then remember both."
She did.
Pemberley itself demanded that Elizabeth learn when not to use knowledge. During the first winter a steward presented accounts she remembered would become problematic years later under a different tenant. Her instinct was to correct the issue immediately.
Darcy stopped her.
"Why?" she asked after the steward left.
"Because Mr. Hayes has not made that mistake."
"He will."
"He did."
Elizabeth went still.
Darcy continued, "In another life, under different pressures, with different weather and different prices. If we punish him now for something he has not done, what are we becoming?"
Elizabeth sank into a chair.
"I hate when you are right."
"No, you do not."
"I have spent two lives hating it."
Darcy smiled.
They chose instead to review the system rather than the man. New checks were added to the accounts. The future problem never appeared.
Elizabeth learned the same lesson with servants. She knew which maid had once eloped, which footman would eventually drink too much, which groom would become invaluable after a stable fire. She could not treat them according to memories of choices they had not made.
So she watched who they were now.
Some became the same people.
Some did not.
That, more than anything, convinced Elizabeth that time had not sent them back to repair a fixed story.
It had given them another story entirely.