Charlotte Collins: A Continuation of Jane Austen's Pride and Prejudice (20 page)

Thankfully, Mr. Card secured the license, the church, and the minister to perform the ceremony. Because the couple had not planned a wedding trip, etiquette dictated that Mrs. Card should hold a celebratory breakfast at her home, and Charlotte was certain that she went about her duties with as much joy as a cat in a tub of water.

The day of the wedding dawned bright and clear, but Charlotte still felt rather depressed, and when the Cards' servants arrived to transport their belongings to their new home, Charlotte felt even more disheartened.

She watched as two finely attired servants removed and placed her belongings--all contained in a surprisingly small number of trunks--on a wagon. When her personal possessions had been removed, they covered the furniture, which was to remain in the cottage, with dust cloths.

Charlotte was losing her home. She was losing her independence and would now be essentially in the care of her younger sister and her husband. Any pride that she might have harbored over her independent situation was now completely gone.

Maria entered the sitting room and found Charlotte perched on the edge of the cloth-covered settee.

"Are you well, Charlotte?"

"I am attempting to be well."

"The carriage will be here soon. What are you doing sitting in here?"

"I was simply saying goodbye to my dear old cottage."

"I know you will miss it, but Crumbleigh will soon become home. And it is ever so much bigger."

"Are you ready to be married?"

Maria gestured at her dress and said, "Yes, as long as you approve of my appearance."

Charlotte studied her for the first time since she entered the room. The dress they had chosen to serve as her wedding gown accentuated her slim form, and her hair curled elaborately around her face. She looked very beautiful indeed, and Charlotte told her as much.

Then, although she knew it was far too late to take corrective action, she made one last foray. "Maria, I am not trying to insult you. You are my sister, and I care a great deal about your happiness. Are you certain about this course of action?"

Rather than becoming angry, Maria softened. "I know you care about me, but you must stop worrying. I am at peace with my marriage, and so should you be."

Charlotte did not speak for long moments, considering. She would be no better than Mr. Westfield if she suggested that Maria abandon her betrothed on their wedding day. She must wed Mr. Card. "I shall be at peace. I shall."

"Good. Now, let us stop talking, for I hear Mr. Card's carriage approaching."

With that, Maria practically ran out of the room, leaving Charlotte alone again. She would have to get used to thinking of Crumbleigh as her home, but there had been something special about these stone walls. They had represented her safety and independence, and they had given her a life that she was sad to leave.

But leave she must.

Taking a deep breath, she followed Maria to the carriage and into her uncertain future.

Twenty

Maria and Mr. Card's wedding was a small, quiet assembly. The speed with which the wedding was organized prevented many people, including Maria and Charlotte's parents, from attending. Numerous members of the Card family were in attendance, however, as well as several of Maria's other friends. Mrs. Eff and Edward attended at Charlotte's insistence and sat unobtrusively behind the rest of the guests. Miss Farmington--the new Mrs. Westfield, actually--Mr. Westfield, and Mr. Basford, of course, had not been invited, and their absence was not mentioned, but it was felt by all. Only the first few rows of pews were occupied, but Maria and Mr. Card did not seem troubled that their wedding was not the society event of the season.

Charlotte sat in the front pew and watched as the couple exchanged their vows. Mr. Card cut a dashing figure in his dark morning coat, and Maria clutched a nosegay of flowers while light filtered through the church windows and turned her blond hair into spun gold. Charlotte was surprised to see tenderness in her sister's bright blue eyes. Perhaps it was true. Perhaps it was thankfulness. Or perhaps she would one day fall in love with Mr. Card. If that were the case, it would be good fortune indeed.

After the ceremony, the party was bound to return to the Card home for the wedding breakfast. On her way out of the church, Charlotte was arrested by Mrs. Eff.

"It was a lovely ceremony."

"Yes, Maria seemed happy, did she not? I do so want her to be happy."

"Of course you do, my dear," Mrs. Eff gave her hand a pat. "I do believe that she is very happy."

"She says that one day she will grow to love him, but will she?"

"One never knows about love."

"One never knows," Charlotte repeated.

They had reached the church door and were standing half in sun and half in the shade of the building. "I have news, and I thought it best you heard it from a friend." Here she paused and looked around. Finding no one within hearing distance, she continued, "I had it from a servant of Colonel Armitage that Mr. Westfield and Miss Farmington were already married when Mr. Basford discovered them. There was quite a stir, naturally, when he threw over your sister, but all is well now that Maria is married."

Charlotte nodded. This she had already known, thanks to Mr. Basford himself.

Mrs. Eff continued to speak. "They returned home briefly, but, they have left town again. Apparently, Mr. Basford has now arranged matters for them."

"I know of the occurrence at Gretna Green, but what other matters did Mr. Basford arrange?" Charlotte hoped she had kept her desperate curiosity from her voice.

"He booked them all passage to America, I understand."

"Oh? All of them?" He had said nothing about departing with the newlyweds.

"Yes, I believe so."

Mr. Basford was leaving. Although she had been quite certain that he was lost to her, it was a different matter entirely to have the truth so finally laid out. Mr. Basford was returning to Savannah. So far away. Across the ocean. And between them was only the lingering tension of the broken engagement between his nephew and her sister. She wished it were not so. She wished they could have parted in friendship. Or not have parted at all.

"I believe that neither Mr. Westfield nor the new Mrs. Westfield truly desired to undertake such a trip, but Mr. Basford insisted. And Colonel Armitage agreed, so it was settled."

"And have they set sail yet?" Charlotte's question was meant to be neutral, but she could hear the emotion in her voice. She concentrated on the scene before her. The carriages were filling and pulling away from the church one at a time. Dirt kicked up by the horses' hooves rose in the air, and Charlotte wondered vaguely if Maria was minding her dress in all that dust.

"I cannot say. But I do know that they are to visit Mr. Westfield's mother for quite some time before returning home to Westerham. If you ask me, we may not see them again. Savannah is said to be quite a beautiful place, and the trip, I understand, is rather a difficult one. Mrs. Westfield may not wish to undertake it again, despite the draw of family and country."

Only one carriage remained, waiting for Charlotte to embark. "I do wish them the best," she said, trying to feel as genuine as her tone of voice sounded.

Mrs. Eff gestured to Edward, who had been waiting in the vestibule. "We must be off, my dear. I do hope you enjoy the breakfast. I promised Edward a little something from the bakery."

Charlotte hardly heard her, but nodded just the same and watched them depart, walking together down the stone steps and rounding the corner of the church. Charlotte went to the waiting carriage, allowed herself to be handed in, and sat down as a wave of sorrow washed over her. It was odd how the prospect of losing something--or someone--could cause it to become so important to her.

• • •

When Charlotte joined the wedding breakfast, the group, which had sounded animated when she was in the hall, seemed to become rather subdued, and she was quite conscious that it had mostly to do with her newfound reputation as a fallen woman. She attempted to remain on the fringes of the party, but Mr. Card and Maria continued to insist that she sit near them or converse with their group. It was rather kind of them to consider her feelings in that way, but it was also awkward and tiring.

Soon exhausted, Charlotte slipped away to a quiet part of the house. She opened the door to the library and peered inside. Vacant. Charlotte smiled. A few moments of peace at last. She chose a chair beside the window and did not even bother with the pretense of selecting a book. She knew she would not be able to concentrate on dramatic fiction, for her very life was a drama, and it was not fiction.

She was weary of being looked upon with suspicion. What must people say about her in the privacy of their drawing rooms? She longed for the presence of someone who looked upon her with kindness. Who did not contemplate her alleged lewd behavior with his peers. Who believed her when she said she was innocent. She longed for Mr. Basford.

Charlotte shifted in her chair and held back tears at the thought of him. This ought to be the happiest of occasions. Her sister had wed a kind gentleman who could support both her and Charlotte. She should not be contemplating a gentleman whom she was unlikely to lay eyes on again. They would never again share a chamber or sit together on a settee. But perhaps, late at night, she would see him often in her eye's mind. She would recall their conversations, their walk in the wood, and their dances. She would remember his dress, his scent. She would remember him.

She closed her eyes and indulged herself in her memories.

She had been alone in the library for quite a little while when the door opened and Mr. Card's mother invaded the room like a cold draft.

"Mrs. Card." Charlotte straightened on the upholstered chair. She felt like a child who had been caught in mischief. She did not know precisely what to say, so she blurted, "I am glad you are here. Will you sit with me? I wanted to thank you for allowing me to move into your home."

Mrs. Card puffed up her chest haughtily and did not take a seat. Her wiry gray hair moved stiffly as she shook her head, and her nose wrinkled. "I do not sit with women such as you."

Charlotte opened her mouth and then shut it. There was nothing to be said.

Mrs. Card walked to a bookcase, and with her back to the room, she said, "Mrs. Collins, you know in the past I regarded you in high esteem."

Charlotte steeled herself. She had known that Mrs. Card would not be a bastion of support in her time of need, but she had hoped the lady would have been civil at the very least. "I appreciate that."

Mrs. Card turned, her skirts brushing the books on the bottom shelf, threatening to upend them. "But recent events have caused me to question my original estimation."

"I assure you those events have been grossly exaggerated."

Mrs. Card's chin rose slightly and her eyes narrowed. "As I understand it, Mrs. Collins, there is tangible proof."

It was useless to argue the merits of her case. Her character had already been decided. "It is not as it seems to be, Mrs. Card."

The older woman sighed. "I do want to believe you, but until further proof is laid at my door, I must protect myself and my family. I cautioned Jonas against this marriage, but he loves Maria. And Maria loves you. Therefore, you will live here."

"Again, I thank you."

Her eyes turned to flint. "Do not thank me. It is none of my doing, I assure you. Jonas had defended you quite convincingly, and I almost believe him. I just worry so about my son's reputation."

"I understand. Reputations are quite fragile things." Charlotte ought to know.

Mrs. Card sniffed, as though scenting the air for truth or the origin of an ill odor. "I find it best to retire to my house in London. I leave tomorrow."

She was leaving. It should have been a relief to have such a caustic presence out of her life, but grief rocked Charlotte. Not only had the slander caused her to lose her own home, but now it drove Mrs. Card out of hers.

She stood in protest. "Mrs. Card, I--"

"Do not speak. I am simply too old to bother with this type of nonsense." She sniffed again. Perhaps she had a cold. "Jonas reminds me that this is his and Maria's home now. She is the lady of the house. They must choose their houseguests themselves. It is no longer my place, no matter how heartily I disapprove."

The last words hung heavily in the air, and again Charlotte could think of no suitable reply.

Obviously expecting no response, Mrs. Card left the room, leaving Charlotte alone again. It seemed that being alone was to become her lot in life.

• • •

Charlotte's accommodations at Crumbleigh were more than adequate. Her cottage had boasted of a small bed chamber with moderately comfortable furnishings, but the Cards' home was luxury itself. Her bed was large and covered in soft, inviting linens, and she found that her clothing, which had been unpacked by the servants, did not even fill one of the wardrobes that decorated her bed chamber. Her toiletries had been arranged on her dressing table, but her books remained in their trunk. Charlotte decided to put them in the remaining wardrobe space, even though it was not the proper use for the furniture. She wanted to have them in her chamber, and moreover, she was glad to have a task to occupy her first morning there.

When at last she descended below stairs, she felt rather lost, disoriented in her new surroundings. A servant informed her that Maria and Mr. Card had not yet risen. Charlotte had expected as much, so she entered the breakfast room alone to find an elaborate buffet awaiting her. Perhaps living under the protection of her sister and her husband would not be so very dreadful, she thought as she filled her plate.

After finishing a large meal of sausages, eggs, and muffins and jam, Charlotte pushed away from the table and wondered what to do with herself. There was no menu to plan or shopping lists to make. She had no garden in which to toil, and she did not want to leave the property without wishing the newlyweds every happiness. Besides, she had no calls to pay.

So she decided to take a tour of the house. She had seen most of the public rooms in her visits in years past, but now that this was her home, she viewed things with new eyes.

Crumbleigh was certainly sumptuous, and the rooms were large and lushly furnished, but Charlotte was drawn to the smaller morning room. It was quite a bit larger than her sitting room in the cottage, but it had the same simple air about it that the other rooms home seemed to lack. The fabrics at the windows and on the furniture were light and cheerful, and the walls were a pleasing shade of pale yellow. A small fire in the hearth chased away the morning chill. She wondered who had chosen the decor, for Mrs. Card certainly did not seem the type to choose such joyful accessories. Perhaps there was some goodness in her yet.

Charlotte remained in the morning room and settled herself at the escritoire, a much more elaborate version of the writing desk that had been in the cottage to write a letter to her parents and to her cousins the Emersons. She spent a great deal of time describing Maria's wedding and then found herself without much else to relate, so she closed the letters, sealed them with a wafer, and called a servant to see to their delivery.

Charlotte took several turns about the room and then selected a book of very poor poetry from a shelf and attempted to entertain herself with snide thoughts about the verse.

Maria and Mr. Card did not arrive downstairs until quite late that afternoon, and when they appeared, Charlotte found herself inordinately pleased to see them. She dropped the book, stood, and greeted them warmly.

The newlyweds sat together on the settee, and Charlotte found that she could not quite decipher Maria' mood. She wondered if her sister regretted her decision after only one night as a married woman. Mr. Card, however, was quite talkative, although Charlotte did not find the subject altogether pleasing. "I suppose you are aware by now that Mama left this morning for her house in town."

"Yes," Charlotte hung her head slightly. "I spoke with her yesterday at your wedding breakfast. I am afraid it is my fault that she has left her home."

"No indeed," Maria said. "She is just a closed-minded shrew who would not know the truth if it stepped on her foot!"