Charlotte Collins: A Continuation of Jane Austen's Pride and Prejudice

by Jennifer Becton

  He turned to Charlotte and smiled. “Would you dance with me? We arranged it at the winter ball, if you’ll remember.”

  Charlotte had forgotten his offer. She had not accepted it, had she? There was no obvious way of refusing him this time, so she accepted. As he led her to the floor, he subtly leaned closer to her ear. “Thank you for not embarrassing me with another rejection.”

  Surprised, she smiled. Standing at such close proximity, she could smell him. He smelled like the woods they had walked in several weeks ago. Without thinking, she inhaled deeply.

  He continued as he led her into the dance, “I know you do not like public displays, so I’ll be a proper gentleman, I assure you.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I saw you dancing with Mr. Edgington.”

  “Did you?” She still hoped she had imagined the attention they had attracted.

  “He was very intense.”

  “I suppose he was.”

  He gave her a look of disbelief and said, “You are too kind to tell the truth.”

  “But I am not kind enough to think well of inappropriate behavior.”

  They walked forward with the other dancers, and conversation paused.

  “You have reminded me of the importance of appropriate behavior several times.”

  Her back prickled, but there was no reprimand in his eyes.

  She attempted a joke. “Perhaps you needed reminding.”

  He was silent for a moment, and she feared she had offended him, but then she looked into his face. His grin was somehow a mix of honesty and humor, and Charlotte smiled back. “Perhaps I ought to pass your reminder on to Mr. Edgington.”

  Charlotte could not repress her laughter, but she sobered at the intensely kind expression that suddenly lit Mr. Basford’s eyes.

  They finished the dance in companionable silence. Charlotte contemplated Mr. Basford. She had chastised his behavior almost from the moment she made his acquaintance, but it was now evident that he was a true gentleman. And more disconcertingly, it appeared that her own good judgment, which she prized, was flawed.

  It did not matter now. She knew the truth. She would be kind to Mr. Basford, and she would never again hold two minutes’ discourse with Mr. Edgington. It was as simple as that.

  Thirteen

  Mr. Basford proved to be an excellent partner, and it felt natural to move with him around the floor. Charlotte found herself forgetting about the steps and the onlookers—including Mr. Edgington and Mrs. Holloway—and simply enjoyed being on the dance floor.

  When the dance ended, he led her from the floor, and she was reluctant to go. When he returned her to her place near the balcony door, he gave her hand a squeeze before releasing it. “Thank you, my friend.”

  She suddenly felt flushed and rather weak. A warm rush moved through her body at the sincerity in his voice.

  Charlotte watched as Mr. Basford disappeared into the crowd. She realized that she was holding her hands in front of her as if to retain the feel of his hand on hers. Abruptly she relaxed her arms, letting them come to her sides and skim her skirt. She should not feel anything for him, of course, but there was warmth that still radiated through her body, and she did not know how to explain it. Thinking the fresh air might cool the heat that Mr. Basford had caused, she stepped onto the moonlit balcony.

  The breeze did little to cool her cheeks, but there was no one else on the balcony and Charlotte was glad for the solitude. Mr. Basford persisted in her mind, however, and as she reviewed her interaction with him, she indulged in a bit of girlish fancy.

  Mentally shaking herself, she pulled off her gloves and clutched them in her left hand. She should not be thinking of any man, not Mr. Collins, Mr. Edgington—the swine—or even Mr. Basford. She should be thinking of Maria and chaperoning her, as was her duty.

  Charlotte turned to go back inside the ballroom and find her sister, but she stopped abruptly at the sight of Mr. Edgington behind her. His face was in shadow, and a shaft of light coming through the ballroom windows illuminated his fine dress clothes.

  She glanced quickly around her. The far edges of the balcony were in deep shadow, but it appeared that they were alone.

  “Mr. Edgington, I did not hear you arrive.” Charlotte attempted to sound stern. Instead, she sounded as squeaky as a mouse cornered by a hungry cat.

  “I did not mean to startle you, Mrs. Collins. My apologies.”

  Charlotte was on the verge of following her original intention of never again speaking to Mr. Edgington and returning to the ballroom, but he moved toward the railing, blocking her way. His face came into the light. He was smiling. He took his place near her and leaned his hands casually against the railing. “It is a pleasant evening, is it not?”

  “For some, I suppose it is. But it is a very welcome relief from the rain.”

  “Yes, travel was quite difficult on the muddy roads.”

  “I imagine it was.”

  Charlotte leaned against the corner of the railing and looked at him sidelong. She must find a way to return to the ballroom. It would not do to be alone with this ogre.

  Mr. Edgington moved slightly closer, his eyes intent on her profile. “I am pleased that I chose to return to Westerham when I did, despite the poor traveling conditions.”

  He was facing her squarely now, his hip leaning against the railing.

  “Are you?” She kept her gaze resolutely forward and attempted to keep the malice from her voice.

  “Very glad,” he whispered.

  Mr. Edgington appeared to be reaching for her hand, which was resting on the rail, but then he reconsidered, and he was left standing very close to her, leaving her no means of escape. She could feel his breath on her nape, causing wisps of hair to stir along the neckline of her dress. She wanted to gag at his overbearing presence, and all she could think of was fleeing him.

  “I must return inside.”

  She expected him to move away, to allow her to pass, but instead, he said, “You are always leaving, Mrs. Collins.”

  “I fear I must.”

  Again, he did not move. “I missed you when you departed London.”

  “I do not think it is possible to miss someone with whom you barely associated.”

  “On the contrary, we saw quite a bit of each other, although not as much as I would have liked.”

  “It is polite of you to say, sir, but—”

  “It is the truth, Mrs. Collins. I find myself thinking of you often.”

  Charlotte shrank back at his words. He only came forward to fill the vacated inches between them.

  She looked up at him firmly. “That is very flattering, sir, but it is probably best that you do not think of me at all.”

  “I do not see how I can stop myself.”

  “I am certain that it will be an easier task than you anticipate. I am not a particularly memorable or exciting woman.”

  “On the contrary, Mrs. Collins, to me you are both memorable and exciting.”

  She glanced around. Still no one had appeared on the balcony. “Pray, do not say such things.”

  He leaned even closer. “I cannot help myself. I must say these things.”

  “One always has the capability of helping oneself when one so chooses.”

  He smiled and laughed at Charlotte as though she were a child who just said something very foolish. She looked sideways, searching again for an escape route, but Mr. Edgington had effectively blocked her in the corner with his large body. She began to fidget with the gloves in her hands. She wished she had not worn them. Perhaps they were unduly encouraging him. She would burn them as soon as she returned home. If she could ever get off this wretched balcony.

  He glanced at the gloves, too, and reached down and took the fingertips of one glove in his and stroked them, but he did not touch her directly.

  “Mrs. Collins, I would like to court you,” he said with his head bowed over her hands.

  “I…I…”

  “I have admired you from
the first, and I would like to know you better. Much better.”

  “Mr. Edgington…”

  “Please, call me Lewis.”

  “No,” she said sharply.

  Her eyes met his, and he gave her a wry grin. “My proper Mrs. Collins.”

  Charlotte recoiled at the sarcastic tone of his voice. “I am not your Mrs. Collins.”

  His eyes turned hard, and she immediately dropped the glove that he held in his hand, releasing it to his custody. The other glove remained clutched in her fingers.

  He moved back half a step, giving Charlotte a modicum of personal space. She could not see his eyes clearly now that his face had gone into the shadow. But he seemed intent on the glove that now dangled from his fingers. He transferred it to his other hand and began to follow its contours with his index finger. Charlotte watched as his fingertip reached the top of the glove that had so recently rested in the crook of her elbow. He began to trace the monogram he found there.

  “I am glad you wore the gloves I gave you.” His voice sounded cold.

  Charlotte could not respond, but only watched him continue to examine her glove.

  “They mark you as mine.”

  “Yours?”

  “Mine.”

  He raised his eyes to her. “Did you not know that accepting gifts from men is often a sign of a deeper relationship?”

  “That is certainly not the case here,” she said in a desperate whisper.

  “Is it not?” He slapped the glove gently against his opposite hand and then let it slide slowly across his palm.

  Charlotte’s eyes flew to his. His face was very close again, and for a moment she feared he would breech propriety and kiss her, but he did not. He simply continued to look at her with the same hard intensity.

  “We have no relationship.” She spoke with as much dignity as she could muster. She turned with the intention of sweeping back into the ballroom, but he shifted, effectively blocking her movement.

  Acting as if he had not purposefully and rudely blocked her, he said nonchalantly, “Yes, but we could have.”

  Charlotte stiffened her resolve in preparation to reply in the most negative manner possible when he interrupted her.

  “Before you refuse, consider, imagine, the possibilities. We have both experienced the world. We know that love is an illusion, and marriage is good for nothing other than securing a fortune or creating children.”

  “I certainly would not marry you,” Charlotte spat.

  He looked angry, but when he spoke again, his tone was even and quiet. “I will not be offended by your unkind words because I did not propose, nor do I intend to do so. My proposition, Mrs. Collins, is completely different.”

  He spoke her name now as though it were a slight.

  “Unless your proposition is that we return to the ballroom and join the others before someone gets the wrong impression, you may be assured that I will say no.”

  “Dear Mrs. Collins, always so concerned about the opinions of others. My proposition is very simple. As two mature adults, we are ideally suited to take care of each other’s physical needs, are we not? Widows often have arrangements with men such as myself.”

  Charlotte recoiled as he reached to stroke her cheek.

  He smiled at her evasion. “We who are unfettered by the bonds of marriage can truly enjoy each other.”

  “No! Indeed we shall not, and it is indelicate and offensive of you to make such a suggestion.” The pitch of Charlotte’s voice was high with panic, but she tried to maintain a whisper.

  He leaned closer, and Charlotte could feel the heat from his body. “What is it the poets say, ‘Gather ye rosebuds while ye may’?”

  “I do not trust poets, and I certainly will not let pretty words change my decision.”

  “All the same, you might want to reconsider.” He tucked her glove into the pocket of his coat with careful deliberation. “After all, it may appear to some people that we are already so engaged. We have been alone here for quite a long while, and I have a memento of our time together. A memento that, I believe, was also a rather intimate gift.”

  Charlotte was stunned into utter silence.

  “You may cling to your high moral principles, but you will have to content yourself with them. Your morality may be questioned by society when they see such damning evidence of your behavior.”

  The realization that he was threatening Charlotte, blackmailing her into an indecent relationship, registered despite her shock. Was this how he had begun with Mrs. Holloway? Was she not so much his lover but his victim?

  Regardless of how he had engaged the services of Mrs. Holloway, Charlotte was ruined no matter what decision she made. She would either be a woman defiled or she would appear to be one to the rest of the world. She would devastate her family and lose her friends, or she would lose her self-respect. How could she—a woman who prided herself on common sense and propriety—have been so foolish?

  “Return my glove this instant,” she demanded with more confidence than she felt.

  He smirked. “Indeed, I will not.”

  She stared, still unable to believe the baseness of his character.

  “It would behoove you to reconsider my offer, Mrs. Collins.”

  Though her reputation was already as good as ruined, Charlotte still could not consider his proposition. “Mr. Edgington, do you find joy in blackmailing women in this manner?”

  He glared. Moments crawled by. “You misunderstand, my dear Mrs. Collins. For a gentleman such as myself, it has nothing to do with the joy of mere words. I desire an entirely different sort of joy. Perhaps I ought to use the word euphoria. With this token,” he said as he patted the pocket where her glove was concealed, “I have the opportunity to experience the sort of joy I desire.”

  Charlotte struggled to breathe. He was a monster. “Why are you so intent on torturing me? I have done nothing to merit it.”

  “Done nothing?” His voice became thick with barely restrained anger, “You reject me. No other man in England would have you, a cold, joyless woman, and still you reject me. I would have you.”

  Charlotte suddenly had the urge to throttle him, and instead of launching herself at him bodily, she struck him across the face with her other glove. Then, shocked at her physical outburst, she stared as his hand went to his cheek.

  “You old fool!” he said between clenched teeth. “Do you realize what I may do to your reputation? Do you not comprehend? My connections in Westerham society, to Lady Catherine, will assure your ruin. One well-placed word from me about how you offered this glove as an inducement to an affair, and the dear old bat will see that you lose everything. Including your very home!”

  Charlotte stepped backward. She knew that Lady Catherine would not hesitate to remove her from the cottage if she merely suspected her to be a part of the demimonde. Her cottage. It was her only real security. She could not lose it. But what could she do?

  Her eyes darted around the balcony as if the answer would be written on the wall. But no such response appeared. After a long hesitation, Charlotte resigned herself to her fate. “Do what you will, but my conscience is clean and the truth will set me free.”

  He sneered. “I thought you many things, my dear Mrs. Collins, but never naïve. Truth is found in perception, and we have already been perceived,” he said, gesturing to a movement on the opposite side of the balcony.

  Charlotte squinted into the shadows. She could see a hint of motion, but she could not discern who had joined them.

  Mr. Edgington took her hand in his rough grip and kissed her knuckles. Charlotte pulled her hand away, wiping it on her gown to remove the sensation he had imparted on her skin. Her fingers and her spirit felt bruised by his roughness. Mr. Edgington walked back into the ballroom, leaving her at the mercy of whomever had come onto the balcony.

  Fourteen

  Charlotte’s mind whirled, yet her thoughts were disconnected, and she could not latch on to one before another overtook it. She felt hot
and cold at the same time, and she began to fear that she might faint. She had never fainted in her life, and she refused to begin now. Not over that swine Mr. Edgington. She grasped the hard wood of the railing until her knuckles turned white, and her eyes ached with barely restrained tears.

  What should she do? What could be done? She had blundered far worse than Maria ever had.

  She was ruined. Irrevocably ruined.

  Suddenly, she heard a voice behind her. “Charlotte?” She jumped and spun quickly to find that Mr. Basford looked concerned. “Are you well?”

  She responded without thinking. She could not think. At least not rationally. “I am quite well.” It was, of course, a lie. A polite lie, but a lie nonetheless.

  He studied her in the dim light. “I can see, despite your words to the contrary, that something is amiss.”

  Charlotte bit back a sob. “No, I assure you…”

  He took her hands in his, a soft, reassuring touch, but the contact of his gloved hand on her naked skin only served to remind her of her missing glove.

  “What has happened?”

  Aghast, she pulled her hands away and stepped back two full steps. “I cannot say.”

  When Mr. Edgington’s slander became public, the last thing she needed was for anyone to have seen her alone in the company of Mr. Basford as well. She would be labeled as an irrevocably fallen woman and the results would do no favors for herself or her future happiness. She stared at the ground while attempting to compose herself.

  “Please, I may be able to help.”

  She looked up at him sharply. “I am afraid no one can help. I am quite beyond it.”

  Mr. Basford answered her with a skeptical look and stepped back to lean his hip against the railing. His posture was much like that of Mr. Edgington, but his bearing was completely opposite. He made the position seem more amicable than antagonistic He studied her silently for several moments while she tried to gather her wits about her.

  He did not move, but the concern in his eyes conveyed as much as any physical comfort he could have offered. “I saw you here with Mr. Edgington. Has he done something to upset you?”