Charlotte knew that, objectively, he wasn’t particularly handsome, but there was something about the way he moved and his expressive face that was extremely attractive to her.
Towards the end of the evening, Charlotte finally had an opportunity to speak with the gentleman herself. “You seem to be a very popular guest,” she said. “You have been here for nearly five hours, and this is the first chance I have had to speak with you.”
One of his eyebrows quirked up. “Have you been hoping to speak with me?” he asked.
Charlotte internally cursed herself for being too forward, fearing that he might have been put off. For a brief moment, she thought to deny it, but that would be even more rude. “Of course,” she said. “It is only natural to wish to speak with those who are new to the neighborhood.”
“I suppose that is true,” he said. “Well, now that we are speaking, is there something you wish to know?”
“I am certain you have heard this question a dozen times this evening, but can you tell me of your interests? Do you read, ride, box, hunt? Or perhaps all your time is taken up by your responsibility to the army.”
Colonel Fitzwilliam chuckled, and Charlotte felt her attraction to the man grow. There was something intimate in a soft chuckle that was not conveyed in a louder laugh. “You have packed a great deal into a single question,” he said.
“Let me see,” he continued. “I don’t read much, but I am not opposed to picking up a novel when I am particularly bored. I do ride, since I am an officer in the cavalry, and it is my favorite outdoor activity. I am not much of a boxer,but I love a good fencing match. As for hunting, I don’t often have the opportunity. I live mostly in London, and I am afraid it is frowned upon to hunt the squirrels in Hyde Park. As for my responsibilities, they are mostly filled by two adjutants and a secretary, all of whom are still in London, taking care of everything far better than I could. I personally have little responsibility, which is why I am now gallivanting about the countryside with Darcy.”
“And you, Miss Lucas, what do you like to do?” he asked. “Are you fond of embroidery and sewing? Or perhaps you are more musical or more artistic. I know. You must be a devotee of sketching. You have that look about you that screams patient observation, which is a critical component of one who draws people.”
Charlotte felt her face freeze when he described her. She was, indeed, very much an observer, but it was not because she wished to draw people. Rather, it was because it was the only way someone as plain as she was could survive in society and in her large family. No one would automatically make room for her or seek her out. Rather, it was necessary for her to watch and notice where she could fit in.
Attempting to force herself to maintain a lighthearted tone, she said, “I don’t mind embroidery, though I hate plain sewing, and I will avoid it as much as possible. I am not in the least musical or artistic unless one counts cooking as an art form.” She glanced over at the desserts, delicately decorated and arrayed on the table. “I suppose it can be considered as such on occasion.”
“You cook?” he asked, surprised. “I thought…” He looked around at the elegant, large drawing room they were in, indicating that it was unexpected for a daughter of luxury to have such a mundane skill.
“I do,” she said. “We have a perfectly good cook, and my skills aren’t really needed in the kitchen. I simply find it to be fascinating.”
He looked over at the table of food, seeming to see it in a new light. “I suppose it is, indeed, an art form,” he said. “One which has the potential to give far more pleasure than any painting, at least when it is done well. Are any of these desserts your work?”
“The apricot tarts are mine,” she said.
With raised eyebrows, he asked, “Truly?” When she nodded, he said, “Among all the delicious things laid out this evening, they were my favorite, and I don’t even generally like sweet foods. The pastry was perfectly light and thin but still sturdy enough to hold together. I believe I even detected a hint of salt which helped to tone down the sharp sweetness of the apricot jam.”
Charlotte blushed at his excessive praise. “You are too kind, sir,” she said.
“I am only giving my honest appraisal,” he said.
“Then I am flattered,” she answered as she ducked her head, suddenly unable to bear looking at him. He was simply too attractive, and his compliments were overwhelming.
There was silence between them, and Charlotte could tell that he watched her, though she still could not look up at him.
“Tell me, Miss Lucas,” he said. “Where are the best places to ride and walk around here?”
“Near Netherfield, there are quite a few lanes that weave in and around the farming fields. They are well-kept since the farmers use them to transport their crops, making them a good place to ride. If you prefer a somewhat short walk, there is alovely little wood between Netherfield and Meryton which has a couple of walking paths within it.”
“And if I prefer a long walk?” he asked.
“Oakham Mount is a common destination for those who want a good hike. It is about two miles from Netherfield,” she answered.
“Do you visit Oakham Mount often?” he asked.
Charlotte shook her head. “Not really. While I do like to exercise some each day, I prefer flatter ground.”
“I suppose, then, that you stay closer to home while on your walks?”
She finally managed to look at him again, and she was shocked at what she found. He was watching her with an intensity she had never seen directed toward herself, though she had most definitely seen it in the way Mr. Darcy looked at Elizabeth.
For a brief moment, she forgot that he had asked a question, and she simply stared back at him. Eventually, she managed to pull herself together enough to say, “Yes, I do.”
“I see,” he said, continuing to gaze at her. Like her, he seemed almost to have forgotten what they were speaking of. Then he suddenly snapped out of his daze and looked around them. “I must compliment you on such a successful party this evening,” he said, his voice more businesslike than before. “It has been an absolute pleasure.”
