“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 fr
om 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.”
“Yes, Maria speaks about Mr. Westfield with only the kindest terms.”
“I am pleased to hear that.”
“I am certain that he will miss her company when we travel abroad,” Mr. Basford said.
“You go abroad?” Charlotte asked, both pleased and disappointed at the prospect.
“Yes, we depart in a fortnight. James’s mother believes that a visit to the continent is essential for every young gentleman’s education.”
“How nice for one so young to see so much of the world.”
“We tour Paris and then return to England to finish with a stay in London,” Mr. Basford said.
“London is very agreeable, with many occupations for a young man such as Mr. Westfield. It is also a place of rich history.” Charlotte had been into town on occasion and had always taken pleasure in the exhibits of the British Museum.
“I am afraid James may be more interested in theater and fine dining than he is interested in history.” Charlotte imagined she heard a touch of regret in his voice.
“Those are also admirable pursuits.”
“I am glad that you approve.”
She paused. “I find that difficult to believe.”
He turned his head to look at her more directly. “I thought you wanted people to concern themselves with the opinions of others. That is all I am doing now.”
“I do not desire falsity, Mr. Basford. I simply desire that you present yourself honestly.”
“Then, at your request, I’ll do so, and in turn, you must not complain about my casual attitude.”
“And you must not chide me for my polite behavior.”
“Then are we friends?”
He seemed quite sincere and Charlotte smiled. He would soon be gone—first abroad, then to London, and eventually back to America. She could see nothing wrong with developing a friendship, especially since her sister seemed to enjoy Mr. Westfield’s company so much. “Yes, I suppose.”
His smile widened and almost drew a blush to Charlotte’s face, but before she could consider the repercussions of the ruddiness of her cheeks, she found Maria before her. “Charlotte, may I speak to you a moment?”
“I pray you will excuse us, Mr. Basford.”
He nodded and then moved away to give them privacy.
“I see you are enjoying Mr. Basford’s company,” Maria settled herself down in the spot he had vacated and arranging her skirts.
Charlotte’s first instinct was to deny her enjoyment of their discussion, but then she softened and said truthfully, “Surprisingly, I do enjoy conversations with him. He is…different.”
Oblivious to the profundity of her sister’s revelation, Maria was focused solely on herself. “I too enjoy Mr. Westfield. May we invite them to dine with us?”
“I am afraid not—”
“But we make such a charming party.” Maria’s eyes pleaded with her sister. Her tone was whiny, and Charlotte was sorely tempted to roll her eyes.
“That may be true, Maria, but Mr. Basford has just told me that they are bound for France in a fortnight.”
“Oh, what a disappointment! Why has not Mr. Westfield mentioned that to me?” Maria slumped over, and Charlotte was tempted to correct her posture, but she kept quiet while her sister considered her situation.
After several minutes, Maria straightened. “I had hoped…”
“I know what you had hoped, but there is no sense in wasting this evening in mourning for a future evening. Leave me and enjoy your friends.”
Maria seemed to deliberate, her brows knitted together. She looked very serious. “For once your unstoppable practicality actually makes sense.”
Charlotte laughed.
For the remainder of the evening, Maria did enjoy her friends, and Charlotte joined a game of whist and indulged in more than a few confections. She did not speak with Mr. Basford until the end of the evening when he accompanied their party to the door.
He escorted Maria on his left arm, Charlotte—somewhat unwillingly—rested her hand on his right arm. Mr. Card walked ahead with Miss Farmington and her grandmother, whom he handed into their carriage while the others spoke in the entryway.
“Thank your uncle for his generous invitation,” Charlotte said to Mr. Basford.
“I will, and in turn we thank you for coming.”
“It was a grand time, Mr. Basford,” Maria paused a moment to push a curl from her face. “Perhaps when you and Mr. Westfield return from your tour of France, we shall all meet again at a ball.”
Maria’s addendum elicited a firm look from Charlotte.
Behind them, Mr. Westfield said, “I do hope so. Do you not agree, Uncle?”
Mr. Westfield stepped forward, took Maria’s arm from his uncle, and led her to the Farmington’s chaise to bid them farewell, leaving Charlotte alone with Mr. Basford, who turned to her. “I do agree. Will you be so kind as to save me a dance at the next ball, Mrs. Collins?”
Imagine having a gentleman reserve a dance at her advanced age. In fact, it had been years since anyone other than Mr. Collins had asked her to dance, and ev
en then, dancing had not been a pleasure. Her husband had been awkward of foot, and eventually, Charlotte had begun to decline to stand up with him, pointing him instead to other suitable partners.
Charlotte was quite certain that Mr. Basford would prove to be a pleasanter partner. He at least had managed to escort her to the door without crushing her slippers.
“We shall see, Mr. Basford.”
The Cards’ barouche arrived before them, and Mr. Basford aided her inside. Charlotte could feel the warmth of his hand through their gloves.
“Good evening,” he said with a slight bow, glancing at her earnestly.
“Good evening,” Charlotte replied. His gaze really was too earnest. It caused her stomach to flutter. Odd.
Mr. Card joined them in the carriage, and it rumbled away, leaving Charlotte to watch as Mr. Westfield and Mr. Basford returned to the house. Just before the carriage rounded the first bend, Charlotte saw Mr. Basford turn and look toward the horizon. Was he looking at the carriage? She sucked back into the seat as if he had caught her spying and then chastised herself for her foolishness. He could not possibly have seen her. It was far too dark.
Mr. Card was seated across from Maria, and the two talked quietly about the evening. As the carriage wound its way closer to Charlotte’s cottage, a pleasant quietness fell. The conveyance rocked gently while the rhythm of the horses’ hoof beats sounded on the road.
When they arrived at the cottage, it felt warm and inviting, and Charlotte knew Mrs. Eff had awaited their return. She appeared in the entrance hall forthwith looking quite done in. Mrs. Eff had once been a soft, genteel lady, but now the palms of her hands were as rough as the course material of the apron she wore, and the hair that had once been fashioned in ringlets was now pulled into a bun at the nape of her neck. But her voice was always cheery no matter the time or circumstance. “Had you a pleasant party?”
“It was a lovely evening.”
“For the most part,” Maria added.
Mrs. Eff raised an inquisitive eyebrow as she helped to remove their cloaks. Although Mrs. Eff was her servant, she was a gentleman’s daughter, a well-educated woman who had the misfortune to lose her husband without the benefit of jointure or relations to sustain her, and as such she had no means of support.
Charlotte Collins: A Continuation of Jane Austen's Pride and Prejudice Page 5