Charlotte Collins: A Continuation of Jane Austen's Pride and Prejudice (5 page)

Charlotte stared at the airborne chair legs and imagined that she could hear the wood creak in protest, causing her to question not only the integrity of the chair's structure but also of Mr. Basford's character, for only a questionable gentleman would show such disrespect for the furniture of a lady.

No one had responded to Mrs. Card's inquiry, so she repeated herself. "I demand to know what has happened to my son."

Mr. Basford concealed a smirk, Charlotte was certain of it.

"You will never believe it, Charlotte," Maria said, "but poor Mr. Card's carriage broke down on the way out of town. Fortunately, we were soon discovered by Mr. Westfield and Mr. Basford, who summoned help and then offered us a ride home in their carriage, for it is threatening rain."

Concern crossed Mrs. Card's features. "Oh dear. Rain! Where is Jonas? He shall be quite soaked through if he does not hurry!"

Mr. Westfield replied, "The repair has been made to the carriage, and he should be not fifteen minutes behind us. He was fortunate to be so near town when the break occurred."

"I do hope he beats the rain, for I cannot bear a wet ride home." Mrs. Card arose and walked to the window, her hands clasped in front of her. The gentlemen arose as well, Mr. Basford slower than his nephew.

"Do not worry, Mrs. Card, he will be along soon," said Mr. Westfield.

"What has become of Miss Farmington?" Charlotte asked Mr. Westfield.

Mr. Basford answered. "We deposited her at her home on the way here."

Charlotte nodded and was just about to suggest another cup of tea to her new guests, and hoping her supply would stretch to accommodate so many, when Edward entered the sitting room to announce Mr. Card, who stood beside him looking somewhat embarrassed.

The gentlemen bowed, and Mrs. Card appeared to be restraining herself from going to him. "Jonas, are you well?"

"Yes, Mama, I am quite well, only a little ashamed at putting out Miss Lucas and her friend especially in such threatening weather."

"Does it threaten still?" Mrs. Card turned again to the window. "It is quite dark. Jonas, we must return home immediately."

Mr. Card smiled apologetically at Maria. "As you wish, Mama. Pray excuse us, and Miss Lucas, please accept my sincerest regrets over our ruined ride."

Maria barely tore her eyes from Mr. Westfield when she said, "The incident is already forgotten."

And Charlotte could well believe it. When Mr. Westfield was near, it appeared, her sister forgot nearly everything, good manners included.

After the Cards departed, the gentlemen were once again able to take their seats, and the party became quiet.

"Shall we have tea? Maria, ring the bell and inform Mrs. Eff that we require another pot."

Maria went obediently.

"Why do the English have such an obsession with tea?" asked Mr. Basford, still leaning precariously on the back legs of the chair. "It is nothing but a few dried leaves after all."

Charlotte studied him. "Indeed, your censure is unwarranted, for I have heard that Americans are quite mad for the stuff as well. Particularly in Boston, I believe."

Charlotte was pleased with her retort, and so was Mr. Basford, who leaned his head back, causing the chair to tilt even further, and laughed heartily.

"She has you there, Uncle."

"Yes, indeed, she does."

"Mr. Basford seems to believe that the customs of our country are quite stilted and unnecessary," Charlotte said to Mr. Westfield.

"I confess that I do," Mr. Basford replied, letting the front legs of the chair return to the ground. "Take for instance the custom of calling people by their family names. I've seen close friends referring to each other as Mr. or Mrs. Whatnot. It's ridiculous."

"In your opinion, perhaps, Mr. Basford. I have never called social acquaintances by their first names unless I have known them since childhood. It is too familiar and uncomfortable."

"That is only because you have not practiced. Call me Ben, and you'll soon see how nice familiarity is."

Charlotte looked at him with horror. "Indeed, I will not! That sort of familiarity is only permitted in private moments between married couples, and perhaps not even then!"

He spoke as if she had not. "And I'll call you Charlotte."

"Indeed you shall not!" she objected, leaning forward as though to apprehend his words.

Mr. Westfield came to her rescue. "Uncle, do stop tormenting Mrs. Collins." He turned to Charlotte. "He is still reacting to your tea comment. He does not like to be bested in a battle of wits."

Regaining her composure somewhat, Charlotte asked Mr. Westfield, "Are all people in America this informal?"

"No. In truth, the rules of propriety are somewhat relaxed in our country, but many of us are almost as formal as you. However, Uncle believes strongly in informality and fancies himself ahead of his time."

"Someone ought to tell him that it will do him no good to be ahead of his time if he is rejected by society in the present. He will have no acquaintances to speak of and even fewer friends."

"You are probably correct," Mr. Basford said conversationally. "I care nothing for mere acquaintances, but a true friend will accept my eccentricities, Mrs. Collins."

He emphasized her name, causing Charlotte to flush. "With such appalling manners, it is unlikely that you will ever develop true friends, Mr. Basford." She emphasized his last name in the same manner.

Edward entered just then with the tray, and he deposited it on a side table. He looked very pleased at having accomplished his task successfully. Charlotte smiled, while Maria began to serve the tea, beginning with Mr. Westfield. She did not concentrate on pouring, but smiled at the American, and Charlotte hoped she would not overfill his cup and spill on the rug. It was such a bother to clean rugs. The room would be in upheaval for days.

She was about to admonish her to take care, when Maria righted the teapot and spoke. "Have you heard, Charlotte? We are all invited to Colonel Armitage's house for an evening of cards."

No longer concerned that her rug would be destroyed, Charlotte considered the invitation. Maria knew that she did not enjoy cards and would not blame her for turning down the invitation. She was on the verge of doing just that when she saw the look Maria gave Mr. Westfield and the look he returned.

"We will go, of course, will we not, Charlotte?" Maria asked, still looking at Mr. Westfield.

"I do not see how I could refuse."

Four

"I should have refused," Charlotte said as the team of large-bodied gray horses pulled Mr. Card's lovely barouche--though not half so fine as any of Lady Catherine's elegant conveyances--along the well-rutted roads. "This rain has all but destroyed the lanes, and it is a dreadful evening for being out."

Maria scowled. "Do not be so sour, Charlotte."

Mr. Card looked quite discomfited and shifted in his seat. "We will soon be in a pleasant room with pleasanter company."

"That is a subject worthy of debate," Charlotte murmured to Maria. It was unlikely that the weather, or Charlotte's temper, would turn for the better before the night was out. She had passed a very taxing week. She had been obliged to call upon Mrs. Card, and after a dull quarter hour in her company, she had spent the rest of the week going over her finances, which always dampened her mood.

Maria leaned forward and asked in a hushed tone, "Why are you in such poor spirits this evening?"

In truth, Charlotte did not relish being in the company of Mr. Basford, but she did not want to confide in her sister, who could keep nothing secret. "I do not intend to be. I am certain the weather has depressed my spirits. I will be less gloomy, I am sure, when we are in company."

"Then it is quite fortunate that we arrive at Colonel Armitage's home soon, for Mr. Card and I will not have to bear your mood very much longer."

Charlotte stared out into the gathering darkness and remained silent. The sun was hanging low, and its light filtered through the cloudy, rainy sky, casting the world in a gloomy haze.

Beside her, Maria fidgeted with her dress, adjusting the dove-colored fabric across her lap so that there were no wrinkles. Charlotte observed her preening gestures, and then she looked at her own dress. She had worn mourning attire for so long that she felt odd wearing this gown of pale colored cotton with a subtle dusky blue floral motif. The decision to relinquish her mourning garb entirely had been difficult, but Maria, for once, had made good sense.

"Charlotte," she had said, "You have served your time and done your duty to Mr. Collins. No matter how much you wish to deny it, you are still alive, and as such, you need to retake your position in society."

"You speak as if I am some great lady. I am just Charlotte Collins."

"And while Charlotte Collins may not be of a noble family, she is the daughter of a gentleman who was appointed to the knighthood and is a great lady of a different, more meaningful, sort."

Tears had come to Charlotte's eyes. "How kind."

"It is not kind; it is the truth. Tear the black lace off your gowns and rejoin the world."

Charlotte toyed with the thought. "Perhaps I should."

"Indeed you should, and perchance you will find a new beau of your own."

Charlotte had laughed at the ridiculousness of that comment, for she could not hope in that direction, but she did remove the black lace and pack away her black dresses. She was going to live, and she would begin tonight, this dreary, damp, and dingy night.

At least, that had been her intention, but she could not shake off the darkness of her spirit as easily as she had dispatched with her dark clothing.

Mr. Card, who had been absorbed in watching Maria arrange her skirts, ventured a compliment. "I hope you do not mind my saying so, but you ladies look lovely tonight. You quite outshine the sun."

"I should hope we outshine the sun at such a gloomy time of day."

Mr. Card looked abashed and quickly attempted to correct himself, but Maria laughed off his words. "I comprehend your meaning, Mr. Card, and I appreciate the kind sentiment. I am afraid my sister has let the weather affect her spirits too much today."

"It is true. You should not mark a word I say this evening, Mr. Card. I hope that the fresh air will soon improve my mood."

"Good society, also, must be of some help. Pleasant conversation can certainly do no harm," added Maria.

Charlotte wondered if she would find pleasant conversation at a card party, for the most she had ever heard over a game of whist was "Aha!" or a disappointed, "How cruel you were to take that trick, Mr. Whatnot!" If her preconception held true, she was in for a dull evening indeed.

"We will pass a merry evening with our friends. I have heard such wonderful tales over a hand of cards," Mr. Card returned, and Charlotte had to smile at their very different opinions on the matter.

"Yes, Miss Farmington has promised to attend, and of course, Colonel Armitage's relations will be there."

Mr. Card leaned forward, gesturing broadly as the two continued to speak about the evening's society while the carriage finished its journey. Orange light shone out the windows of the Armitages' house, promising warmth and comfort, and Charlotte found herself eager to be inside and out of the gathering gloom.

Mr. Card alighted from the carriage, his boots making a splatting sound as they hit the damp ground.

He assisted them from the carriage. "Take care, ladies. It is moist, but we will be inside soon enough."

Charlotte picked her way to the front door, and she turned in time to witness his careful aid of her sister. She remembered the words of Mrs. Card. He did love Maria.

And this fact was certainly lost on her sister, for in her excitement to be among the others, she barely touched his arm as he escorted her to the door.

Their party had arrived slightly late owing to the poor condition of the roads, and when they were shown to the drawing room, they discovered that many games were already in progress. Maria went directly to the table where Miss Farmington and Mr. Westfield played at whist with Colonel Armitage and Mrs. Holloway, a woman with whom Charlotte did not share a particular acquaintance. She and Mr. Card overlooked their game and chatted with the players.

Charlotte received a cup of tea and took it to the window seat, where she could observe the whole room. It seemed a pleasant party even if it were an evening of cards. Wreathed in flickering yellow candlelight, the group took on an ethereal glow. Yes, the room looked quite pretty, but still, Charlotte would have rather remained at home. Leaning back into the cool darkness of the window alcove, Charlotte sipped her tea and reminded herself that she was here for Maria. She must focus on her sister's happiness. Soon enough, Charlotte could be back at her little cottage enjoying her solitude.

She heard Maria laugh loudly and glanced up at her. Her sister absolutely shone under the attention of Mr. Card and Mr. Westfield. Her blond hair was like a halo around her delicate face, and Charlotte wondered how long she would remain unmarried now that she was out in society on a regular basis. Mr. Westfield looked quite enchanted, and Mr. Card was just as enamored as ever. Would her sister ever recognize the love of a man whom she counted as merely a friend? Most likely not. Maria was a careless young woman, and Mr. Westfield distracted her completely. Poor Mr. Card was in for a hearty disappointment now that Mr. Westfield was in Westerham.

The side door to the salon opened, admitting Mr. Basford. He made quite a striking figure in his simple attire. His neck cloth was done in a simple knot compared to the more complex creations of the other men in the room, and he appeared to be dressed for a comfortable evening at home instead of entertaining a party of guests.

Not wanting to invite his attention, Charlotte looked away before he noticed her appraisal and turned again to the card game, in which Miss Farmington apparently made a decisive play and clenched the win, causing a roar of mixed happiness and disappointment to erupt from the table.

Mrs. Holloway and Colonel Armitage excused themselves, graciously allowing Mr. Card and Maria to take their places. Colonel Armitage noticed Charlotte's position at the window, paused briefly by the biscuit tray, and then, encouraged by her welcoming smile, joined her. "Mrs. Collins, how do you do this evening?"

"Very well, thank you, Colonel."

"I hope you find it a very pleasant party. I only regret that my guests were required to venture out in such wet weather."

"My sister and I are thankful for your invitation, and I can assure you that the journey was quite worth it, sir."

"Well, I am glad to hear it."

"Please have a seat." Charlotte made room for him beside her on the ample window seat.

"Thank you." He lowered himself beside her.

"It was very kind of you to give your places to Maria and Mr. Card."

"It is good for young people to gather together, do you not agree?"

Charlotte nodded.

"And we older people, having virtually no vitality left in us, must be content to bask in their youthful vigor."

On such a night when Charlotte felt the gloom so personally, she was forced to agree with the Colonel. "At a certain point in life, we all must endeavor to entertain ourselves."

Colonel Armitage sighed. "Is that not the truth? I find it a surprisingly difficult task, this business of entertaining of oneself. I fear that if left completely to my own devices I might bore myself into oblivion. That is why I host evenings such as this. By surrounding myself with youth, I fancy that I become more interesting by default."

Charlotte laughed.

"What nonsense is my uncle telling you?" Charlotte and the colonel looked up to find Mr. Basford leaning against the wall.

Appalling manners! "On the contrary, he speaks common sense."

"We were discussing the behavior of people of a certain age in society," the colonel explained.

"Just as I suspected. Utter nonsense."

Charlotte was surprised at the derogatory tone he used with his uncle, but Colonel Armitage, apparently used to such loving disrespect, laughed. "How very much like your mother you are."

"Many have said as much, Uncle."

"What is your opinion on the subject?" Colonel Armitage asked him.

"As you may well believe, it is quite different from yours. And Mrs. Collins's as well, I imagine." He looked at her for assent.

"I have no doubt that our opinions diverge, for they have not been on the same continent since we have been introduced."

"Quite so," he said. "I believe that we who have attained some maturity of years have an advantage in society. We shouldn't cut ourselves off from it. Rather, we should use the benefit of our experience to enjoy it, for we are no longer desperately seeking our mates or worried about impressing our companions. We've already done these youthful things, and now we may simply enjoy ourselves without these distractions."

Charlotte contemplated the matter for a moment. "Perhaps this is a wise way to view life, but I am afraid this will prove to be an unpopular opinion."

The colonel snorted. "My nephew cares nothing for popularity."

Mr. Basford waved his hand dismissively. "It's not a matter of popularity. I simply do not allow the opinions of others to guide my behavior."

"Perhaps circumstances are different across the Atlantic, but here in England, we have great respect for others and show it through appropriate, acceptable behavior."

"We behave very charmingly in America. We simply do not allow etiquette to rule us."

Colonel Armitage was then summoned by Mr. Westfield, and he stood to make his excuses and take his leave. "I see I must go play host for a moment. Ben, take my place at the window and you may continue your debate."

Charlotte suddenly wanted to issue some excuses of her own and escape before Mr. Basford could accept or reject the colonel's offer. She searched her mind franticly for a plausible excuse. Did she hear Maria calling? She glanced at her sister, who sat on the far side of the room and was clearly much engrossed in her conversation with Mr. Westfield to be sufficient pretext for departure. Mr. Basford would never believe it. Did she leave the kettle on the stove at home? That would not suffice either. He would probably simply tease her about England's love of tea. Perhaps she could use an old excuse--the need for refreshment. Yes, refreshment. Not even Mr. Basford would prevent her from a beverage and a biscuit.

Too late! Mr. Basford was sitting beside her.

Even though Mr. Basford's girth was half that of his uncle, the widow seat seemed to shrink and the walls closed in, and Charlotte scooted as far to the side as possible. He only leaned toward her--the cretin--and grinned. "Hello, Charlotte."

"I have asked you not to call me that, and there is no need for another greeting, for we have been conversing for several minutes."

"The proper response would be 'Hello, Ben. How nice to see you tonight.'"

Charlotte scowled. He infuriated her by smiling back.

His voice softened. "I do not mean to make you uncomfortable, Mrs. Collins. Let's speak of a friendly subject."

"I did not think there was a subject we could discuss in a friendly manner."

"Then I'll choose the topic and prove to you that I can behave properly."

"Amaze me."

"Well, now that was very rude."

Embarrassed, she apologized, and they remained in silence a moment. At length, Mr. Basford cleared his throat. "My nephew seems to be enjoying the company of your sister."