Charlotte Lucas learns that not everything is as it seems
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, Part 4, Part 5
December 11, 1811
Charlotte had managed to avoid making any appearance in public since her ill-fated dance with Mr. Willoughby at the Netherfield Ball. No one doubted her when she made the excuse that she was too busy preparing for her wedding to attend this party or that dinner. After all, why should they doubt practical, dependable Charlotte? She would never let them know the truth – that she stayed at home to avoid a possible encounter with Willoughby. Her sole excursion each week was church services. Willoughby belonged to a different parish, so it was a safe haven for her.
She counted down each week as it went by. This would be the penultimate Sunday service she would attend in Meryton – just one more Sunday, then a few days until she was free. That it would be her wedding as well did not signify much to her compared to that it would be the day she would leave Hertfordshire behind, along with her terror of discovery and the possibility of any contact with Willoughby. Twelve days and she would no longer need to fear the consequences of her rash actions.
After the service, she stepped outside for some fresh air, knowing that her gregarious father would spend the next half hour or more chatting with his friends and neighbors. Afterwards he would exclaim, as he did every week, that he had no idea where the time had gone. Next week would be the last time she would hear that as well.
She jumped when a voice that had haunted her dreams came from behind her. She turned to see the face she had done her utmost to avoid remembering, but it had done no good. “Charlotte, I must speak to you,” Mr. Robinson said urgently.
If only she could run from him – but no, she was practical, dependable Charlotte. Instead, she inclined her head and said coolly, “It is indeed a surprise to see you here once again. Beyond that, I have nothing whatsoever to say to you.” Clutching her shawl tightly around her, she started to walk away.
Her effort to escape was stymied as his hand firmly grasped her elbow. “Please, Charlotte. I just want a few minutes of your time.”
Her lips tightened. There were too many people nearby. She could ill afford to draw their attention – it could ruin everything. “You have precisely three minutes, then. What is it you are so eager to say, then?”
He had the audacity to look injured. “Who is he?”
“Who are you talking about?” She saw no reason to make this easy for him.
“That man – the one you plan to marry.” His face twisted as if the words tasted sour in his mouth.
“I can’t see that it is any of your business.”
“Of course it is my business! I thought we had an understanding.”
She laughed incredulously. “The only understanding was the one you had with your friend Willoughby. Tell me, was it worth it?”
“Was what worth it?”
“All that distasteful effort of suffering through my company. Was it worth two hundred pounds, or do you think you deserve more?”
He paled. “What are you saying?”
“Did he not tell you? Mr. Willoughby was kind enough to explain your wager to me when you did not return as you promised. You played your little game, you won your money fairly, and I am the one who paid for it all – and am likely to keep paying for it if I were to stay within Mr. Willoughby’s reach. Now leave me alone and find some other poor woman who has never done you any harm to torment.”
“That is not what happened! You must believe me. That may have been how it started, but I cared for you, Charlotte, or I would not be here.”
She snorted. “You said you would return within a fortnight. You are over a month late, and I am not a fool.”
He made a helpless gesture. “When I went home, I discovered my father was gravely ill. I could not leave until he was out of danger, and then it was almost Christmas. It never occurred to me that you would not wait for me. How could you agree to marry someone else so quickly?”
“How could I? How could I do anything else, under the circumstances?”
His eyes widened. He was a fine actor, she would have to give him credit for that. “Charlotte…”
Suddenly her father stood between them, for once lacking his jovial smile. “Mr. Robinson, did I not make myself clear in my letter?”
Mr. Robinson bowed. “Sir William.”
Her father tucked her hand in his arm and escorted her away. “I hope he was not annoying you too much, my dear. I told him in no uncertain terms that he was not to trouble you again.”
Charlotte’s chest felt tight. Did her father know what had happened? Had Willoughby told him? “How did you come to be corresponding with him?” she asked suspiciously.
Sir William patted her hand. “Oh, he sent me a letter asking my permission to make you an offer. I took care of it.”
Her free hand stole to her neck. “How did you take care of it?”
“I told him you were already engaged to a fine gentleman. I thought that would be the end of it. But he wrote again, saying there must have been some kind of mistake because you and he had an understanding, so then I had to be firm. You have certainly had your share of admirers lately, my dear!”
“When did he write you?”
“Oh, I do not recall precisely. A few days after you wisely accepted Mr. Collins’ offer, I believe. You made the right choice there, my dear; he has a fine living now and will inherit Longbourn someday, whereas Mr. Robinson’s prospects are more limited. All’s well that ends well, as they say!”
They had reached the carriage where the rest of the family waited for them. There could be no further conversation on the topic, but Charlotte could not stop her thoughts so easily. She no longer knew what to believe. Had Mr. Robinson been serious after all? Had Willoughby been lying to her? But no, Mr. Robinson had not denied the wager, and that should be enough of an answer. But why then would he write to her father?
It did not matter. In the end, she would be married to Mr. Collins in less than a fortnight, and she would never know the truth of the matter.
3 comments
Typical! I’m your father so I know best and don’t need to consult your feelings on the matter! Poor Charlotte yet again. Loving Mr Robinson yet marrying Mr Collins 😢
Oh poor Charlotte. For the sake of propriety she has lost the man she could have loved and is stuck with boring old Mr C instead. My heart aches for her.
Oh, what a twist! Charlotte is always at the mercy of others’ actions and opinions. For such a strong, practical woman, that must be a form of torture. It’s certainly painful (in a good way) to read!