P&P The Untold Stories: Charlotte Waits at Lucas Lodge

Can a heartbroken Charlotte find a way out?

Author Note: This is part of a mini-series of scenes telling the story of Charlotte Lucas’ other romance. Here are the previous parts: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

November 29, 1811

Charlotte wrapped herself in a second shawl and returned to the window seat in the upstairs sitting room.  The windowpanes were still edged with early morning frost. It was too cold for sitting so far from the fire, but it served the purpose of keeping her family at a distance. Her younger sisters were sitting as close to the hearth as possible, and it was too much trouble for them to call over to her every time they wanted to include her in the conversation.

After spending three days listening to Mr. Collins’s excess verbiage, she was not in a mood to converse with anyone. She prayed that all her attentiveness had not been for naught.  After dinner last night, she had thought him on the verge of making her an offer when he rambled on about his hopes for the companion of his life. At the last moment he had changed the subject, despite all the encouragement she had given him, telling him how fortunate he was in his position, how anyone would envy his proximity to Rosings Park, and even expressing a desire to hear one of his sermons some day.  She could understand how the set-downs Lizzy had given him would give him pause, but he was due to leave Hertfordshire the following day, which meant she had only one more chance to bring him to the point of proposing. As soon as the hour was late enough, she would pay a visit to Longbourn for a final effort.

She did not know what she would do if she failed, despite all the sleepless hours she had spent trying to resolve the issue.  Her courses should have begun last week, and while it was not unusual for the time to differ for her from month to month, she feared the worst.  Mr. Collins’s arrival in search of a wife was providential. She could not like or respect him, but she could tolerate him, and he would take her away from Meryton and Willoughby’s mocking eyes. He did not seem to care much that she was plain-featured as long as she flattered him. And he was safe—he was not clever enough to pull the wool over her eyes the way Mr. Robinson had.  He was also dull enough that she could most likely fool him into believing her a virgin if she was careful to make sure he drank a few glasses of wedding brandy first. She could cry out as if in pain at the appropriate moment, and a pin secreted in the bed would serve to help her produce a few drops of blood for the sheets.  But first he had to be brought to propose.

Just then she spotted a dim figure coming down the lane.  A moment of blowing on the windowpane to clear the frost revealed it to be Mr. Collins himself, despite the early hour. An overwhelming wave of relief surged through her. She would not be disgraced; her family would not cast her off, leaving her to a life on the streets. Instead, she would be respectably married to a man of good prospects, and when she returned to Meryton someday, her position as mistress of Longbourn would put her above worries about what Willoughby might say or do.  It was the perfect solution to her dilemma.

She would make it as easy for him as possible. Snatching up her bonnet, she hurried out the door, and set out to meet him accidentally in the lane.

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