A Chance at Happiness

by Meg Osborne

  Charlotte sniffed, as if she did not share Lizzy’s belief, but, after a moment’s hesitation, she reached out for both book and note, and glanced over the letter with feigned disinterest. Lizzy watched her friend carefully and was gratified to see Charlotte’s brows climb, first in confusion, then in disbelief, and at last, matched with the ghost of a smile and a faint pink tinge to her cheeks, with delight.

  “Well, might we forgive him?” Lizzy asked, affecting to examine the cuffs of her dress as if testing a loose thread. Every one of her senses was, in reality, attuned to Charlotte, and she was gratified to hear her friend’s voice catch a little as she responded.

  “He has - he has written me a charming note, Lizzy. Quite - quite the nicest note he has ever written to me, in fact.” She shook her head, in disbelief. “He must be quite sorry indeed.”

  Smiling mischievously, Lizzy leaned a little closer to her friend.

  “I am sure you would have run, tearful, from Lady Catherine many weeks previously if you had known it would elicit such a response in your husband!”

  This was quite scandalous and both girls laughed uproariously.

  “Now, I shall not ask to see it for you know I believe such correspondence should remain between husband and wife. But I am glad to see you on happier terms. Perhaps we will invite Mr Collins to join us on our walk later on, for I do not doubt he is in need of a little fresh air and exercise to rid him of his ill-feeling.”

  “Oh, I hope he does not suffer too badly,” Charlotte said, her sympathy returning with all haste. “Perhaps I ought to go and see if he requires any assistance.”

  “Would that you might!” Elizabeth said. “I am afraid he ran away as soon as he noticed my approach.” She winked. “I believe he was attempting to find the courage to present this letter to you himself. Or perhaps to recite it!” She clasped her hands to her chest in a mimed passion. “Who knew that in the body of sensible Curate Mr Collins lay the heart of a romantic!”

  The notion of Mr Collins as anything even close to sentimental would ordinarily have been a source of great amusement to Lizzy, but the effect this letter had wrought on her friend made her almost wish it were true. Perhaps, now that her meddling had had so great an impact she would tackle Mr Collins next. A few choice suggestions here, a sprinkling of You know, Lady Catherine thinks it a fine thing, there, and she might transform Mr Collins into something like the husband Charlotte deserved.

  Delighted in her plan, Lizzy allowed Charlotte to chatter happily about her books and her sewing, little hearing a word but noticing only that her friend seemed, for the first time in a long time, truly happy.

  Chapter Ten

  The Hunsford property belonging to Mr Collins and his wife was a pretty one indeed, and Darcy imagined it made Charlotte very happy to be mistress of such a home, even with the man she had to contend with for a husband.

  “This must be it, do not you think, Darcy?”

  “I do not see another like it,” Darcy responded, his contentment sinking even as Richard’s seemed to soar. Darcy had not been able to rid from his mind the suspicion of Richard’s affections. And it was merely suspicion, no more, for he had not dared to attempt to draw his cousin further on his opinion of Elizabeth Bennet, despite his eagerness to know it.

  The two gentlemen strode towards the door, but the window they passed when doing so alerted the two ladies within to their presence, so it was with a pantomime of greetings that the two parties first met that day. Charlotte opened the window, and bid them come to the door, she herself would let them in. This ease and forthrightness were a little unnerving to Darcy, lacking the formality of either Rosings or even Pemberley, but he could not own that he disliked it.

  “Colonel Fitzwilliam!” Charlotte beamed, hurrying out of her small parlour to the hall and ushering the gentlemen back into another, larger room at the back of the house. “Mr Darcy! What a surprise to see you here.”

  “We hope not an unwelcome one?” Richard said, with a rakish grin. Darcy resisted the urge to roll his eyes skywards.

  “No, indeed! As if you could ever be unwelcome. Come in, do, and be seated. Lizzy was just saying we ought to order a tea tray, were not you, Lizzy?”

  Both gentlemen turned to regard Elizabeth, and she laughed at this sudden interest.

  “I shall see to it, Charlotte. And perhaps I ought to knock on Mr Collins’ door, for surely he will wish to join us, knowing we have guests.”

  A moment of silence passed over the group, or perhaps Darcy merely imagined it did, for with a flourish Elizabeth departed to see to her tasks, and the two gentlemen found themselves welcomed into the wide, sunny parlour at the back of the house.

  “What was the pretty room you and Miss Bennet were occupying when we trundled past and disturbed you?” Richard asked, sinking into a comfortable seat, and stretching out his long legs, crossing them lightly at the ankle. “It was not this, I wager, unless we have taken a circuitous route to reach it.”

  “No.” Charlotte smiled, a pretty pink colour seeping into her cheeks. “No, that is my own small room. Comfortable enough for myself and a friend, but far too small for gentlemen. I do not doubt, Colonel Fitzwilliam, one such as yourself would find it offensively feminine.” Her eyes sparkled with fun and in that instant, Darcy fancied he could trace a likeness between her and Elizabeth and saw at a glance how the two must have become such firm friends. “There are ribbons everywhere! Yes, and books too -”

  “Now, Mrs Collins! I hope you are not suggesting that I am so uncultured that I am not even able to read!”

  “Of course not!” Charlotte laughed, and turned to Mr Darcy, who realised too late that there was a joke and struggled to summon a smile. He had just managed it when the door opened again, and Elizabeth came back into the room so that she was first and only witness to the broadest smile he had conjured in what felt like an age. Instead of returning it, though, she frowned, perhaps caught off guard by the inexplicable picture of Mr Darcy smiling, and he hurried to wipe the expression from his face.

  “Good morning Miss, ah, Elizabeth,” he muttered, dropping his gaze to his feet, for he could surely not be trusted to interact with people at present.

  “Tea on the way?” Colonel Fitzwilliam asked, glancing up at Elizabeth, as she walked, circumspectly, to her own chair and sat down. “Are you intent on blocking a draft, Darcy? Come, sit down and stop cluttering up the place!” Richard’s laugh was echoed by the two ladies and Darcy again felt an unfamiliar urge to kick him.

  “Where is Mr Collins?” he asked, at last, shooting his cousin a pointed glare that went, as with most things at present, right over Richard’s head.

  “He is in his study,” Elizabeth said, quickly. “But I am sure he will join us shortly.”

  Some glance was exchanged between the two ladies, a hint at a conversation that had occurred before Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam’s arrival.

  “Miss Bennet, have you heard much from Hertfordshire?” Darcy asked, after a moment’s quiet had descended on the group. He felt a rush of pleasure at this idea for a topic of conversation, for here he possessed the key to a past he and Elizabeth had shared, albeit briefly, and which must silence Richard or at least relegate him to the background.

  “A little,” Elizabeth replied, with a caged smile. “And yet I am surprised to hear you inquire of it, Mr Darcy, for to my memory you could not wait to leave the place!”

  Her comment was delivered with a smile, but there was a clipped energy to her tone that indicated she nursed bitterness, still, at how their association had ended. Or rather, how Mr Bingley’s and Jane’s had done, for here, he wagered, was the truth of the matter. His friend and Elizabeth’s sister had been parted, and she placed the blame squarely upon his shoulders.

  He recalled Anne’s words to him just one day before. A misunderstanding might easily be mended, with just a few words. Well, here was his opportunity, he must seize it or allow the matter to worsen through lack of speaking.

  “It wa
s an unfortunate parting,” he said, speaking softly in hopes that his words would not carry far beyond Elizabeth’s ears. He had noticed, though he strove not to, that conversation between Colonel Fitzwilliam and Mrs Collins had faded to silence, suggesting that they, too, were as poised for his response as Elizabeth Bennet was, her dark eyes fixed unflinchingly on his. “Alas, it could not be helped,” he said. “Mr Bingley had a sudden call to London and it was decided that we should all leave at once.”

  “Oh dear.” Charlotte’s sympathy was sincere. “I hope nothing untoward?”

  “I believe not.” Darcy risked a grim smile at Elizabeth. “In fact, I wager he is eager to return to Hertfordshire at his earliest opportunity, provided Miss Bingley can be persuaded to give up her easy access to the shops and society of the ton.”

  Elizabeth mad a noise that was little more than a snort and Darcy felt his own smile growing, for in that one derisive little sound she had encapsulated his entire feeling about Caroline Bingley. He strove to meet her gaze, then, in hopes that she might recognise this shared opinion and be softened towards him.

  “Well, I hope they do not hurry home too quickly,” Charlotte interposed, with a sly glance at her friend. “For however will Mr Bingley stumble over poor dear Jane while she is in London if he has left it again?”

  THERE WAS A RIOT OF laughter from the parlour, disturbing Mr Collins, at last, from his work. He laid down his pen, feeling certain he had earned some respite, for he had not joined the group immediately Elizabeth informed him of the arrival of Mr Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam, feeling, instead, he ought really to attend to his studies and in this way make further amends for his poor show of behaviour the previous evening. Despite his headache, he had been fully absorbed into his work, so that time had ticked by without his notice. He must hurry, then, for surely the visit would be drawing to its conclusion.

  As if thinking this made it so, he heard one of the gentlemen’s voices grow louder, accompanied by the sound of footsteps, and he realised he had missed his opportunity. No matter, he would see his friends another time. He cocked his ear towards the door, striving to discern his wife’s voice from the crowd. Yes, there was Charlotte, speaking in the happy little chatter that he had so often taken for granted. And she did sound happy. Mr Collins sighed, a deep feeling of contentment seeping into his bones. His note had done as he intended, then, in restoring his wife’s good-nature and, he hoped, softening her feelings towards him in light of his faux-pas at Rosings. They were still getting to know one another, after all, and could hardly expect their marriage to perfect immediately, or without a single disagreement. This was not a fairy-tale.

  He listened as the floorboards creaked outside his study, and the group made their way towards the door. He might catch them enough to at least pass the time of day with Mr Darcy, or wave at Colonel Fitzwilliam. Heat raised in his cheeks at the memory of how bitter a grudge he had nursed against Lady Catherine’s military nephew the previous evening, and he longed somehow to make amends, although he was sure the Colonel would not have deduced the depths of his foolishness and he was not about to admit to it in public, or at all.

  He delayed, then, so that when he opened the door, at last, the corridor was empty. He let out a breath he had not been aware of holding, and stepped lightly down the hallway, wondering where the group might be found. As he passed the room that belonged to Charlotte, he noticed the door stood a little ajar, and for the first time since her arrival at Hunsford, curiosity overtook him. Ordinarily, he did not mind that Charlotte kept to her own room and he to his. Certainly, he had no desire to impose upon her privacy, for he championed the notion that young ladies preferred to have space entirely to themselves, where they might attend to their handicrafts or music or discuss whatever fuss and feathers filed their brains at any particular moment. Indeed, before meeting the young woman who had now become his wife, and the five young ladies that were his cousin’s daughters, Mr Collins’ opinion of women had not been a very lofty one. Oh, there were one or two indomitable figures in his life or in his memory, such as Lady Catherine de Bourgh, who would always command his respect and good opinion, but the majority of women, he thought, lacked the intelligence or strength of their male counterparts. It was an idea that had rarely been challenged, and so he had never given it much thought. It had surprised him, then, to realise many women possessed intelligence to rival his own, and more besides They were skilled in the niceties of social engagement that always seemed to William like the playing of some game, to which he had only been permitted to know half the rules.

  The door stood ajar and he risked to take hold of the knob. Here, he might be permitted to see it took place in this room of his wife’s. Here, he might feel, for an instant, as if he understood her a little better. His curiosity got the better of him and he pushed the door open, stepping quickly inside. He breathed in, surprised to find even the air a little different in this four walls than it had been in his own study. There was a scent of lavender and rose, with the faint chill of fresh air from the window that had not been so closely latched as his, to keep out the distractions of outside. The faint sounds that reached his ears, the wind through the trees, the wisps of conversations from his guests, who were, he could see them now, standing at the edge of the Hunsford property and bidding one another friendly good afternoon, were not unwelcome and he wondered if he ought to make more of a habit of leaving his own window open, if this should be the result. He drew in another breath, enjoying the scent, and feeling that this was a very pleasant little room indeed, and how happy Charlotte must be to call it her own. He turned, then, unwilling to impose nor be seen trespassing, and as he crossed the threshold something caught his attention on the floor, and he bent to retrieve it. It was a small, folded sheet of paper, a note that had been dropped by accident by either his wife or his cousin. Not intending to read its contents, but merely to determine its owner, he slipped the note open, scanning its contents quickly to discern a name he might recognise. His grasp tightened on the note, as the contents within made his blood boil, and every ounce of frustration and anger the previous night rushed back upon him, growing in ferocity even without the inflaming influence of intoxication.

  My dearest Charlotte, he read, followed by a few lines of poetry he assumed lifted from some page of a book, for surely they were too perfect to be thought up out of a fellow’s own brain. His heart sank into his boots as he realised that it must have been this note, and not his own, that had made Charlotte so happy. This note that had caused her musical voice to lift so often, and laugh, as it rarely had cause to do when they were alone.

  He dropped his eyes to its signature, and found nought but an X, as if the scoundrel were too cowardly to sign his own name. And well he ought to be, for this is shameful! To address one’s attentions to a married woman, and to the wife of a clergyman no less! Had the man no moral compass?

  He wished to tear the letter into fragments, or to ball it up in his fist, somehow to transfer his rage to this small token and thus obliterate it from existence. But even if he did, he could not stop it from having existed.

  He heard Colonel Fitzwilliam’s voice, then, rising in a call of farewell, as he and Mr Darcy made their way back towards Rosings. It was as if, even in his ignorance of William’s presence, the Colonel succeeded in mocking him. Well, I may have been foolish when last in your company, sir, but the next time you see me you shall rue your actions and come to regret them. He had never been a hot-tempered fellow, and it was not in William’s nature to repay violence with violence, yet this action pierced him to the very core of his being. He knew he was no model husband, yet was he not to be permitted the opportunity to try to learn to become one? And his wife? Poor, sweet Charlotte probably had no intention of being led astray, but here she was, in a new county and far from her family and friends. She was vulnerable to the attentions of this Colonel who clearly thought only to trifle with her. He would be here a few weeks at the most and then vanish, the worst of his work
done, and leaving Charlotte Collins all the worse for it.

  William’s eyes narrowed. He knew of one solution and one solution only for such a flagrant dishonour, and now that the idea had occurred to him he would not shy away from it. Pocketing the note, the evidence he required to back up his accusation, he retreated to his own study, slamming the door with such ferocity its very frame whimpered in response.

  Chapter Eleven

  The weather was so mild that day that, once the figures of Colonel Fitzwilliam and Mr Darcy had disappeared into the distance, it was but a small effort for Elizabeth to persuade Charlotte that they ought to take a turn of the gardens together before returning to the house.

  “How pleasant it was to have guests!” Charlotte said, beaming with happiness at the success of the gentlemen’s visit. “Not that it was not already pleasant having you here, Lizzy.” She slid her arm through her friend’s and the two girls walked together in companionable silence.

  “Colonel Fitzwilliam is an interesting gentleman,” Charlotte continued, when a few moments had passed without either lady speaking. Elizabeth glanced at her and was surprised to find herself already subject to her friend’s scrutiny.

  “He is,” she allowed. “And so unlike his cousin!”

  “Oh, I do not think them so very unlike,” Charlotte countered. “The Colonel is rather more outgoing, I’ll grant you, but Mr Darcy seemed better able to hold his own in the conversation this morning.” Her eyes sparkled. “I wonder if it is the air in Kent that makes Mr Darcy more agreeable, or perhaps it is his choice of company.”