Page 99 of Introducing Mrs. Collins
Dear Lady Catherine,
I thank you for your kind invitation, and I would be very glad to accept, for some part of it. I am to stay with the Darcys in London for two weeks towards the end of the season, but I could come to stay at your pleasure, after that. I send on a message from—
‘I see Mr Thacker approaching, madam!’ said Brooke, poking her head through the door.
‘Thank you.’ Charlotte put her pen down and glanced through the study window as Brooke returned to her work. Yes, she could just make him out, far down the bottom of the drive.
Fetching her bonnet and her green spencer from the hook in the hall, she stood, pushed her shoes on and then stepped over the threshold. She had determined to close the distance between themto save some time. She had her eyes fixed on him now. He was on foot, leading his horse, which seemed strange; he should be in a hurry so as not to delay them further.
But then, a few steps from her front door, she slowed her pace, for she could perceive that it was not Thacker after all. The man making his way towards her had a tanned, worn face like her steward, but he was younger, with brown hair instead of grey. He walked with a slightly odd gait, heavy steps, but his eyes were looking squarely ahead. He led beside him a brown horse with white feet, and he carried his jacket slung over one shoulder.
He did not alter his pace or his course but kept on marching, marching, steadily towards her, in a straight line. As he got closer, and he could see her, he began to smile, broadly, but with tears in his eyes. The joy she saw in his face as he looked at her answered any question she had. He was her colonel. And he was here.
Charlotte made a choice. She started to walk towards him. She dropped her bonnet, dropped her spencer, and walked faster, and then she was running down the drive, almost tripping because she would not look away for a second from the man in front of her, for fear he would disappear.
He stopped a few yards short of her, readying himself to catch her because she was not going to stop. She would never stop again. She ran, and she ran, and she leapt.
1822
LONGBOURN
Longbourn was full. Mrs Brooke and all the staff were busier than ever, for every bedroom was in use and the nursery bursting at the seams. But in truth, the housekeeper was rather enjoying having a full house to serve, and the guests were almost as well known to her as her master and mistress.
It was a languid summer’s day, and the hazy yellow afternoon light shone through the windows of the drawing room. Mrs Brooke served tea to the assembled party, bending to pour for Mrs Thacker and Lady Lucas, who were settled on the chaise-longue, each with an embroidery in their hand, relaxed in each other’s quiet company. Mrs Thacker looked through the window to check on her son, who had fallen rather under the power of Sofia Darcy – who, at three years his junior, was quite the one in charge. They were both climbing what looked, to Brooke, like a dangerously tall tree, though their parents seemed unperturbed. Mr Thacker, looking older these days, sat heavily on a settee, deep in conversation with Mr Denny about some financial interest that sounded tedious to her ears.
Lady Catherine was positioned on the grandest chair available to her and was enjoying the attentions of Sir William Lucas. Of all the assembled party, he was the one most uniquely qualified to deal with her, being both an endlessly patient man and genuinely delighted by acquaintance with the aristocracy. Mrs Brooke was very fond of him.
Meanwhile, her mistress sat with Elizabeth, the two of them rolling with laughter as usual, while Charlotte’s sister Maria was out on the terrace with the two littlest children, James and Harriet,both four years old and both fond of trouble. Brooke allowed herself a moment to regard them affectionately.
The little boy came running in and threw himself at his mother, with the abandon only an infant can muster, unsettling her tea. ‘Mama, Harrie pushed me over.’
Charlotte picked him up, a groan escaping her at the effort, setting him on her knee. ‘Are you hurt?’
His bottom lip protruded, and he nodded, nestling his face into her bosom.
She kissed the top of his head. ‘Oh dear. Where does it hurt?’
He pointed at his knee.
Charlotte examined it – it was untouched. She kissed it. ‘Is that better?’
He nodded.
‘Do you want to go back and play with your cousin or stay here with me?’
He deliberated for some time. ‘Go back.’
‘Very well.’
She kissed him again and set him down, then watched as he bounded back outside, very nearly knocking over Harriet in the process.
Charlotte looked across the room to where Richard stood at the mantelpiece, talking to Darcy – his eyes were already on her, and he had clearly observed the little drama with their son.
Charlotte raised her eyebrows at him, and they smiled warmly at each other, Richard shaking his head and chuckling, before turning back to his cousin. Charlotte let her eyes rest on him a moment, as he stood at the mantelpiece, in their sage-green drawing room, surrounded by a family whom he never thought he would have.
Elizabeth saw her looking and poked her gently. ‘Stop fixing eyes on your own husband – it is unseemly.’
Charlotte laughed. ‘How do you know I was not looking at yours?’
