“I will politely decline.”
“Oh. Well, suit yourself. You will still go to Pemberley, I suppose? It would do you good to get out of town for a while.”
Darcy opened his mouth to redirect the conversation back to this peculiar invitation. Bingley was a blind fool just to accept it when he could not even remember the name of the host. But his friend’s mind was made up—that much was evident in the brightness of his eyes and the set of his chin. Bingley could be indecisive at times, but when he did make his mind up, he could be remarkably mulish about it.
“I will speak to Fitzwilliam on the matter,” was all Darcy would commit to saying. “And I still urge caution for you. You know nothing of this man.”
“All the more reason for you to consider coming with me!” Bingley shot back with a grin.
Darcy scoffed and shook his head as he pushed out of his chair. “Some other time, perhaps.”
Elizabeth set out alongthe path to Lucas Lodge, savouring the crisp morning air. The sky was a bright blue, and the sun cast a golden glow over the dew-kissed fields, making the world seem fresh and full of promise. She hummed a little tune, her spirits lifted by the thought of the upcoming Assembly ball—music, dancing, and the lively hum of conversation. Ordinarily, she looked forward to the public Assemblies for the chance to sparkle over the dance floor and laugh with her friends, but this time… this time, she had new cause for excitement.
Mr George Wickham, the intriguing new neighbour at Netherfield Park, had certainly stirred excitement in Meryton. His charming smile, the easy way he spoke, and his light-hearted manner were refreshing compared to the more solemn dispositions she was accustomed to. She laughed as she recalled how he had teased her about her muddy hem and confessed his own struggle with unruly dogs at Netherfield. Would he be as graceful on the dance floor as he was in conversation? The thought made her smile even wider.
Picturing Mr Wickham navigating his new home, dealing with the quirks of the estate with his affable demeanour, amused her. His graciousness, even with her silliest sisters, had not gone unnoticed. How would he react to her mother’s incessant matchmaking and Mary’s ponderousness at the ball? She winced as she pictured the scene, but that cringing sensation was replaced almost immediately by the surety that Mr Wickham would overlook such trifles. After all, he had been nothing but polite so far, and there was a growing awareness that his interest seemed particularly focused onher, not the foibles of her family.
As she walked, the weather began to change. The sun slipped behind a thickening bank of clouds, and the breeze turned sharp and chill. Elizabeth wrapped her shawl more tightly around her shoulders, quickening her pace as the first raindrops began to fall. She glanced back toward Longbourn, contemplating whether to turn back, but she dismissed the idea almost as soon as it came. She was too stubborn to abandon her visit for something as trivial as a little rain, and she would not consider riding a horse again after the last incident, even if it would have got her there sooner. At least, she reflected, her ankle was no longer sore.
The drizzle soon turned to a steady downpour, soaking through her shawl and dampening her skirts, but Elizabeth pressed on, determined to keep her mood bright. The weather might have soured, but she would not let it dampen her spirits. After all, she was on her way to see Charlotte, and she had a firm resolve to bring some cheer to her friend.
As she approached the house, a movement caught her eye near the edge of the property. Turning her head, she was surprised to see Charlotte outside, standing in the mud by the garden, cutting away at the turnip patch with a hoe. Elizabeth frowned; this was no work for the daughter of the house, and certainly not in such unpleasant weather.
“Charlotte?” Elizabeth called out, her voice tinged with concern. She quickened her pace, her shoes sinking slightly into the wet ground.
Charlotte barely looked up, her hands occupied with pulling weeds that had no business being dealt with in such a manner. Her hair, usually neat, was damp and clinging to her face, while her skirts were streaked with mud.
“Charlotte, what on earth are you doing out here?” Elizabeth asked, hurrying to her side. She gently took the half-filled basket from Charlotte’s hands. “This is not work you should be doing, and certainly not in this weather.”
Charlotte’s shoulders slumped, and she wiped her forehead with the back of her wrist, smudging her skin with dirt. “What does it matter, Lizzy?” she replied with a weary sigh. “No one else seems to notice or care what I do or do not do. I might as well be useful.”
Elizabeth’s heart clenched at the bitterness in her friend’s tone. “But this is not like you, Charlotte. You have always been practical, sensible. Why are you out here? Your mother will have a fit if she sees you like this, especially during calling hours.”
Charlotte shrugged, her gaze dropping to the muddy ground. “Mama shan’t even notice. I simply grew tired of pretending, Lizzy. Tired of smiling and acting as if everything is well when it is not.”
Elizabeth placed a hand on her friend’s arm, trying to draw her attention. “Pretending to whom, Charlotte? To your family? To yourself?”
Charlotte looked up at Elizabeth, her eyes reflecting a deep weariness. “To everyone. I have spent so long pretending that I am content with my lot, that I have no objections to being overlooked, but it wears on a person after a time. And then Maria gets new gowns when there is no money for me, and I… I just feel as though I am sinking, Lizzy.”
Elizabeth’s heart ached for Charlotte. “Oh, Charlotte, you are not overlooked. You have a family who cares for you—”
“They did, when they thought I might marry well,” Charlotte interrupted, her voice trembling. “But no one thinks that now, do they? I am the eldest daughter, and yet I am treated as though I am already past my prime and of no use to anyone. I do not know how to change it, and I… I just stopped trying.”
Elizabeth shook her head firmly. “This is not the Charlotte Lucas I know. You are strong, and you have always faced the world with grace and resilience. Do not let yourself be defeated by these feelings.”
Charlotte managed a weak smile, though it was tinged with sorrow. “Perhaps you are right, Lizzy. Perhaps I am not myself lately. But it is difficult when every day feels like a reminder of what I have not accomplished, of what I will never have.”
Elizabeth squeezed Charlotte’s arm. “You are too hard on yourself. You have so much to offer, and there are still opportunities for you. But this—” she gestured to the basket and the mud-splattered hem of Charlotte’s dress “—this is not the way to cope with your feelings.”
Charlotte glanced down at her gown as if only just realising how bedraggled she had become. “I suppose I look a sight,” she admitted, a small laugh escaping her.
“A sight, indeed,” Elizabeth agreed, her tone lightening in an effort to raise Charlotte’s spirits. “Come, let us go inside and get you cleaned up. We can have a proper talk and perhaps a cup of tea.”
Charlotte nodded, allowing Elizabeth to guide her back toward the house. “I am sorry, Lizzy. I did not mean to alarm you.”
“Do not apologise,” Elizabeth replied softly. “I am glad I found you when I did. Now, let us get you out of this cold.”
As they entered the house, Elizabeth could see that the warmth and comfort of Lucas Lodge had little effect on Charlotte’s mood. They were just reaching the hallway when Maria appeared, her eyes widening at the sight of her sister. “Lizzy, whatever happened? Charlotte, what did you do?”
