But Seen In A Prudential Light...

By Marsha

Author's Note: Bear with me, this is my first attempt at FanFic. I just thought that poor Charlotte deserved something better than Mr. Collins.

harlotte looked around her parlour. A nice comfortable place, it was equipped with comfortable furniture and attractive wall-paper. In fact it, just like the house, it had everything a woman could wish to be comfortable. Everything, that is, but a tolerable husband.

But Charlotte was not a woman to despair, or indeed worry herself over what could not be mended. She just couldn't help it, if she occasionally thought of what life could have been, if she were pretty and rich. Of what life could have been, if she were not 28, married to Mr. Collins and a mother of a two month child, which already, in her prejudiced eyes, looked and acted too much like her father. Of all that life could have been for her, and was for Mrs. Darcy. She did not begrudge Lizzy her happiness, she rejoiced in it. And she never envied her...well, almost never. Initially she was satisfied with her house, her poultry, her parish. How nice it was to realize she would not have to hang upon her brother's sleeve, when her parents died. She had spoken truly, when she told Lizzy she was not romantic. But even an unromantic person, could not help, but think of life could have been.

"Oh, well," she thought impatiently, starting from her reverie. "Crying over spilt milk never did anybody any good; and besides, I think I hear Baby crying..."

And with that thought she put all her disappointments in the back of her mind to sleep...for the time being.

9 MONTHS LATER:

Mr. Collins was munching his breakfast. Gulping noisily, as usual, and between large mouthfuls, he told Charlotte:

"Charlotte, my dear, we have been invited to dine at ROSINGS PARK (every time he pronounced the word in capitals), at ROSINGS PARK again, this week. It is especially condescending of Lady Catherine since her nephew, Colonel Fitzwilliam, just came to visit her this morning. Her ladyship seems to think he will be staying a month. But despite his excellent company, my dear, Lady Catherine invited us also. What generosity! What condescension! Her affability is beyond belief!"

Saying all of which, he took another big gulp and was again busy chewing.

"Yes, dear," responded Charlotte absent-mindedly, but with a patient smile, thinking of a small problem in her housekeeping, "I daresay Jenks will be happy to stay with the Baby."

"Ah, the little Catherine! Yes, she grows more responsible every day...And she certainly looks like me," added he after a pause with a good deal of satisfaction.

That evening, while Mr. Collins was abjectly listening to Lady Catherine's strictures, Colonel Fitzwilliam, as a pleasant, gentlemanly man, was engaging his wife in a conversation.

"He is nice enough," she thought, "but then, compared with Mr. Collins, everyone would seem a paragon. However, I wish he would transfer his attention to Anne. Mr. Collins would tell me about it at length, and I am really in no mood to put up with his strictures tonight."

While, Colonel Fitzwilliam, observing her, drew his own conclusions. It was the first time he saw her without Elizabeth around. Elizabeth Bennet. Now there was a pleasing and animated young lady! Pretty too. It was a wonder he did not lose his heart to her. She seemed to posses all the qualities that he thought necessary in a woman: a sense of humar, charm, and a sportive liveliness. One thing she lacked was money. And he could not afford to marry a poor woman. But quite suddenly he thought, while Charlotte was politely replying to his inquiries "I could not afford to marry a poor woman, but I don't think I ever wanted to try. True, I thought I would have liked Miss Bennet if she were rich, but I think my even thinking about her material possessions meant I never seriously cared for her. It must be strange to feel as strongly as Darcy. strongly enough to marry someone your reason and relatives..." here he slanted a glance at the still prophesying Lady Catherine, "tell you not to. Strange... and fascinating"

But here he was obliged to bring his thoughts to a close, since it was his turn to utter a civility. He commented upon the state of the roads, thinking that Mrs. Collins was not as plain as he first thought, when he compared her to Elizabeth. If only she would chose a different hair-style. And some more animation would not hurt. She seemed very composed, too much so. But definitely worth a better fate than marriage to that pompous, irritating pest of a clergyman.

He heard Lady Catherine finish her instructions:

"And don't forget, Mr. Collins, there is only one proper way of arranging chairs in a sitting room..."

He could not refrain from smiling, and then he noticed that Charlotte was smiling too, apparently enjoying a private joke with herself. All of a sudden he wondered what she would look like, with her wifely cap off.

Part II

The next morning Mr. Collins turned the whole house upside down, trying to comply with Lady Catherine's instructions. The sitting room chairs were taken out for examination and pronounced almost worthy of Lady Catherine's condescension in noticing them.

Phillips, a young housemaid, was driven almost to tears, by the contradictory orders she kept receiving from the master of the house on the placement of these objects of Lady Catherine's attention, so Charlotte, entering, beheld a scene more approaching Bedlam, than a sitting room of a clergyman.

"To the right, Phillips...no, not there!!!"

Poor Phillips moved (again) one of the little ornate chairs closer to the fire-place.

"No, no, no, no! Lady Catherine expressly stated that the chairs should never be too close to the fire, or it will be most inconvenient to the person occupying them. And what if it should be Lady Catherine of ROSINGS PARK (capitals again)? Or even (here Mr. Collins' voice sunk into an awed half-whisper) Lady Anne? Did you think of that, Phillips?"

"But, Sir," protested the poor bewildered housemaid, "you just said to move it as far away from the door as possible..."

"Yes, because Lady Catherine wisely pointed out that to do so would be to expose an occupant to drafts. Her condescension! Her affability!" added he, momentarily getting off-topic.

"Sir, the farthest away from the door is near the fireplace..."

Here Charlotte intruded on the scene that was getting out of hand, by pacifying Mr. Collins by agreeing on Lady Catherine's beneficence, wisdom and general infallibility, soothing Phillips, by stating that she understood her objections, and ordering the chair to be put near a small sofa.

"One done, at all events" thought she. The drawback to that was that there were twelve of them, and to follow Lady Catherine's instructions seemed impossible. She knew better than to interfere: usually most tractable of men, Mr. Collins became adamant where Lady Catherine was concerned. Nothing would move him from following her Ladyship's instructions. Knowing that, Charlotte quietly walked out of the room, hearing Mr. Collins ask: "Phillips, were two chairs to be a foot or a foot and a half apart?"

Maybe this was the proverbial straw that broke the camel's back. Maybe she was just tired and irritated. Maybe all the rebelliousness her nature was capable of suddenly came to the fore. Who knows? But suddenly she thought she couldn't stand it anymore. She walked out of the house muttering an irritated question. I was not asking for a handsome or charming husband, but surely, God could have arranged for me to have one with some common sense!

To work off this unusual mood of slight depression, she decided to take a walk. Her mood lightened as she walked a beautiful path, full of wild flowers and long, brightly green grass. She had indeed grown most fond of these woods and hills. The warm sunshine, the bright colors, the sweet smells made her lose the last vestiges of ill humor and she was soon her usual self.

She was so deep in thought that she did not hear steps approaching from opposite direction. The first indication that she was not alone came when she heard a pleasant voice greeting her:

"Good morning, Mrs. Collins"

She lifted her eyes and saw Colonel Fitzwilliam, regarding her with an attractive smile. Instinctively she smiled back.

"Are you as fond of walking hereabouts as I am?" he enquired.

When she answered in the affirmative, he offered his arm.

"Why don't we walk together. It is always more agreeable to have a companion on such a beautiful day. You don't have to worry that I'll chatter and distract you. If you do not want to talk, just tell me so."

"Indeed, Sir, you are too kind," replied Charlotte, accepting his arm. "I would be very pleased to talk to you." This was the first time in a long while anybody took her wishes into account. After Mr. Collins' infliction of his conversation, she could not help but be touched by Colonel Fitzwilliam's contrasting consideration.

"She really looks most agreeable when she smiles" thought Colonel Fitzwilliam. "It's a pity she doesn't do so more often. But then if I were forced to live with a prig of a clergyman, I might not either. I wonder no one else offered for her..." Here Charlotte said something, and noticing the frank friendly look in her eyes he thought that non-offering man was definitely a fool.

The conversation was light and pleasing but unexciting. Both were mainly occupied with observing the beauties of nature.

After a curve in the road they came to a curious pile of stones, a ruins, almost like a remnant of a structure of some antiquity.

Colonel Fitzwilliam impulsively exclaimed: "It reminds me of a curious structure I once saw in Spain. It was near Badajoz, and a group of us went there before the battle. We had to post some sentries there, so Major Stratton and I..." he stopped suddenly. "I am sorry to carry on so. War is not a subject interesting to ladies."

But Charlotte interrupted his apology. "Please do not apologise, Colonel Fitzwilliam. I am extremely interested in the Peninsular war. But," she continued ruefully, "I do not know anybody who could give me any information. Were you in the army during the war?"

"Yes, but I had to sell out after Badajoz. Father wanted me home, since there were business matters to attend to, and a shoulder wound was troubling me exceedingly, so I had to have a prolonged rest. But I miss military life. One meets and makes lifelong friends there, since feelings are much more real when there is danger all about."

"Would you tell me about the campaign" asked Charlotte. "I would be most grateful."

"Another female admirer of glory," thought the Colonel. But who could have thought that the reserved Mrs. Collins could have looked so animated. The sparkle in her eyes added to a smile made her look entirely different than the too-composed woman he thought her on first acquaintance. "If she had a different dress... and that hair..., she would be quite attractive..."

He heard himself saying that it would be a great pleasure to talk to her on the topic, and prepared himself for the all too usual reaction of quick boredom.

After half-hour he was considerably surprised. Surprised... and pleased. She was not another gushing female. She really knew what she was talking about, and could bear an equal share in conversation.

"I never knew I could enjoy discussing such a subject with anyone as I did with you," exclaimed he impulsively.

The Peninsular war led to conversation on other topics, as divergent as landscape gardening and the poetry of John Donne. Each discovered that his companion was extremely easy to talk with, to share ideas and thoughts. Not only for Charlotte, but for the Colonel also, it was a new experience.

An agreeable, cheerful man, he had many friends, but had never met one with whom he could discuss many things, many interests and be so sure of a shared outlook, a comparable view, a complete understanding.

Both were so engrossed, neither thought of the time. When Colonel Fitzwilliam looked at his watch, it was 2pm, and they have been talking for more than 2 hours.

Charlotte was appalled.

"I must get back," she exclaimed. "Mr. Collins would wonder what became of me." Her tone changed slightly, he could not tell how, but all vibrancy was gone from it, leaving it flat and detached. "But I thank you for a wonderful time, Colonel," she continued, her tone seeming to change yet again, a certain quality, an unconscious hint of something which made the Colonel wish she'd repeat the phrase.

When she was about to go in into the parsonage, he stopped her. With unaccustomed shyness he asked her: "Would you consider taking a walk with me tomorrow? I could meet you in the grove. We haven't finished our discussion of the Holy Sonnets, and I would be most happy... that is I would enjoy very much..." To his infinite surprise he found himself stammering, at a loss for words, not sure even to himself what he meant. Her answer became vitally important and he held his breath.

Charlotte did not know what to say. She was very pleased that such a sensible man wanted to talk to her. She liked having her opinion valued. Surely that was why she was breathing so fast, and her heart began beating so, when he asked her.

"I would enjoy that very much, Colonel," she replied.

Part III

Over the next few weeks, Charlotte and the Colonel kept meeting for long, rambling walks during which much was discussed and yet something was always left unsaid, so that there was an absolute necessity of meet the next day, to finish the discussion or elaborate an interesting point.

For the first time in her life, Charlotte felt that she mattered, really mattered, and that she was liked for herself, not for what she was perceived to be. She was no longer dutiful daughter, the parish parson's wife, or Mrs. Collins "made for me, my dear," as Mr. Collins would pompously assert. She was finally Charlotte Lucas (she still could not bring herself to think of herself as "Collins), a woman liked for her calm good sense, her candid opinions, her vivid descriptions of what she saw.

After their first walks, she rejoiced that she was a married woman. "How lucky" thought she. No one needs chaperon me, or suppose anything unusual. If I were an unmarried female, I would not be able to walk and...talk (here she smiled recalling one of their shared jokes) with the Colonel. However, she soon stopped thinking about that. She stopped thinking that it was lucky that she was married. In fact, when she was out walking, she forgot that Mr. Collins existed at all.

The Colonel soon stopped thinking about how improved Mrs. Collins would be if she did this to her hair, or that to her clothes. He only remembered that her smile was the most attractive he'd ever seen and that her eyes were... beautiful. Purely beautiful. There was no other word.

"What are you thinking about, Fitzwilliam?" demanded Lady Catherine one evening as he was indulging in a fit of abstraction, the subject of which was a certain minister's wife, and the little story she told him today, that still made him chuckle. He was definitely enjoying this visit more that he ever thought possible,... and the cause of it was Mrs. Collins, he realised with amazement. "Oh my God" thought he. "Oh my God"

"Fitzwilliam, don't you think Anne is looking as well as her health will permit" continued Lady Catherine, heedless of his silence. "I always admire delicate females, don't you?" She was now pushing Anne at Fitzwilliam, being balked of a bigger catch. One thing that gave her consolation in the whole Darcy fiasco, was her plan of her Anne's (of whom she was fond in her overbearing way) marriage to the Colonel. "At least there is no Miss Elizabeth Bennet around" thought she with satisfaction. Nothing could go wrong this time. Nothing.

At half past nine, the Colonel pleaded exhaustion, and stated his desire to go to bed. "You shouldn't take so many walks" said Lady Catherine, but graciously allowed him to depart with no more than six or seven sentences more, all full of excellent advice.

That night, sleep was far from the Colonel. He could only think of his discovery. His amazing, his astonishing discovery. He had often thought himself cold-hearted, since while he flirted with many, none had touched his heart, and he had often wondered what it is to love someone like Darcy did. Well, he no longer wondered, he knew. "That doesn't make sense, said one part of his mind. She is not beautiful, elegant, accomplished. Why?" But another and stronger voice reminded him of her smiles, her deep eyes, her sense and understanding, her merry sense of humor, which though rarely shown, was all the more precious for that, and her unblinking, courageous view of the world. Here was indeed a woman for him, one he could cherish and respect as well as love, one with whom he wanted to spend his days. Here the thoughts came to an abrupt stop as the Colonel put his head in his arms. It was absolutely quiet and after a few minutes he did raise his face, but his fists slowly clenched until the knuckles gleamed white and his eyes held an expression they never did before. It was utter hopelessness, utter despair, complete defeat.

She was Mrs. Collins, married, married irrevocably, to a man who did not deserve her, was not worthy to be her companion in any sense, worthy of even ten minutes of her time. It was a joke of God, he thought. A crazy, inexplicable, incomprehensible joke. He finally loved, adored a woman and he could not spend his days with her. He could not cherish or love her. He could not look forward to years of happiness with her at his side. He could do nothing, nothing. He could not tell her of his feelings and remain an honorable man, and yet he could not keep silent. He should even stop seeing her. He should leave and never see her again. Yes. Leave, leave and never come back. "I can't" he whispered. "Please, I can't"

After thinking, tortured thinking for the rest of the night, he realised, he decided what he should do. There was only one thing that he in honor could do.

Part IV

The next morning, by the time Charlotte woke up, Mr. Collins was gone. The house felt unaccountably quiet and peaceful. By all rights, Charlotte should have felt happy: her husband was away for the first time in their married life! Yes, she should have been happy, but wasn't. There was a persistent dull ache inside her head, that reflected the pain in her being, somewhere inside her body, that wouldn't go away. "Well, at least I won't have to worry about working quickly to have time for a walk. No more walks." She tried to smile but her smile went awry.

However, the morning passed, even though she felt the time crept and crawled. She arranged for embroidering and only interrupted herself to collect the mail. There were letters for Mr. Collins...and one to herself. It was from Meryton, in her father's writing. Surprised, for her father was no writer, she opened it and read the following:

Dear Daughter,

It grieves me to relay to you that your mother had a stroke on the 17th. The doctors say she is unlikely to recover. How will we do without her? Please come as soon as you may and bring...

But Charlotte read no further. She was sobbing, sobbing so hard as if her heart would break. Mother! It couldn't be true. It simply couldn't! Not mother. She had always loved her mother, just as she did her father and siblings. She saw their weaknesses, but that did not diminish her love. She simply couldn't lose mother!

She had to get out of the house. She had to. She would start screaming if she stayed a minute longer. Not bothering even to take her shawl, she fairly ran out of the house.

A quarter of an hour later she was fairly lost. She had ran, crying silently all the while, and now she was in a part of Rosings Park she had never been in before. Wearily she sat down on a convenient tree stump, her sobs louder now.

Colonel Fitzwilliam had been walking since dawn. He was leaving tomorrow evening and he wanted to reacquaint himself with the park before leaving. "Stop lying to yourself" thought he. "You just wanted to be occupied. Anything to forget!"

He was sure he would not run into Mrs. Collins, since in one of their discussions she stated she had never been in the west end of the park, and did not know how to get there.

He was so absorbed in his thoughts, that he did not hear sobs at first. But gradually they penetrated his reverie. "Sounds as if whoever it is, is in trouble." He directed his steps to where the sound was coming from. There was a clump of bushes that obscured his view. He walked through them, and stopped dead. A second later, he took a rapid step forward, and then another, and another. In a few strides he was at her side.

"Mrs. Collins" he exclaimed. She raised her face and saw Colonel Fitzwilliam. All the power of speech was gone from her. She just looked at him. Just looked at him with a glow in her eyes and tears on her cheeks

"Oh, God" he exclaimed. "Are you all right? What has happened. Tell me." She just continued looking at him. "I'll do anything to set it right" exclaimed he impetuously. He would do anything, absolutely anything to wipe those tears off her cheeks, to make her stop sobbing. Anything.

All suddenly, Charlotte's voice, suspended for no understandable reason, at her first sight of him seemed to come back. "It's my mother. She is..." But she could not continue. One small sob escaped her, and then she gained control over her feelings again. The Colonel found himself whispering foolishly, tenderly "Shh, shhh. It's going to be all right. I promise." Foolish words, he realised, but they seemed miraculously to quiet her. She was standing now, standing close to him. He could see her hair without her cap, which had fallen during her mad flight through the woods. Her face was tilted upwards looking at him, watching him with that mysterious glow in her eyes. And because he was caught with his defenses down, because he couldn't help it, he leaned down and kissed her.

The world seemed to stop and then to start spinning around madly. He did not know how long they stood there, a second or a century.

"What am I doing? I am kissing him...I must be mad," thought Charlotte...and put her arms around his neck.

The Colonel was the first one to come to his senses. He broke away and tried to apologise. It proved very difficult since his head was in a whirl, but he managed to stammer: "Mrs. Collins...I...f-f-forgive me..." He looked at her and said more collectedly, but very quietly: "It was unforgivable of me. I had no excuse."

However, Charlotte was not dismayed by his words. They said one thing, but his eyes betrayed him: they said exactly the opposite. She felt so happy. Happy to know she was loved, greatly loved, by a man whom, she realised, she loved.

"Stop, Richard" murmured she. "I know you love me."

He finally found enough courage to look at her and found she was smiling with such tenderness, it took his breath away.

"Yes, as much as I love you," continued she.

They were looking into each other's eyes, and the Colonel could not believe that this was happening. It seemed like a wonderful dream he would wake from any instant. And still, foolishly, he found himself saying: "But I cannot do this. It is wrong, despicable to you. I tried to prevent it. I tried making you hate me."

"Is that why you wrote me that horrible note? To make me hate you? It didn't succeed." replied Charlotte. "Nothing will."

The Colonel could not protest any more. He could not fight so long against his heart. Or hers. "Charlotte" whispered he, and took her again in his arms. And it was sweet. Oh, so sweet.

And then... a twig broke nearby and a young female voice was calling: "Mrs. Collins! Mrs. Collins. Mrs. Co-o-olins!" But Colonel Fitzwilliam and Charlotte did not hear it-they were too engrossed in a silent conversation of their own. Suddenly, the noise of parting bushes penetrated their absorption in each other, and unexpectedly, they saw Betsy...and Betsy saw them.

Luckily The Colonel and Charlotte separated in time, and Betsy was so relieved to find the person she was looking for, that she was not very observant. She was vaguely aware of a gentleman with Mrs. Collins, but since she did not seem in any way in danger or inconvenience, Betsy dismissed the fact. After one cursory, incurious glance at the Colonel, she addressed herself to Charlotte:

"Ma'am, Phillips was worried about you. You ran out without telling where you were going. There is an express letter come for you, and Lady Catherine sent a servant to tell you that you are invited for dinner tonight." After a pause, she added "Are you all right, ma'am"

"Thank you, Betsy, I am fine" replied Charlotte, as calmly as she could. There was nothing for it, but to follow Betsy home. The girl did not seem to notice anything awkward, but maybe it was just as well to be sure. "I received some dreadful news..." her voice quivered but she continued "and went out to collect my thoughts. I got lost and luckily Colonel Fitzwilliam found me and was about to show me my way out."

"Yes, ma'am" replied Betsy. "It sure is far from Hunsford."

Charlotte turned to the Colonel, who had been standing politely all this time, with only a tell-tale glance at her now and then, and extended her hand.

"I am very grateful, Colonel" she said "It was very kind of you to come to my assistance. Good-bye. I will see you at Rosings tonight."

He took her hand in his and if he held it an instant longer than propriety demanded, neither of them noticed it.

Charlotte turned to follow Betsy, who was starting to walk away, and seeing that Betsy was a little way off, whispered "Good-bye...Richard" and then she was off, leaving Richard Fitzwilliam to stand in the glade, feeling almost delirious with happiness.

Part VI

When she got back, and opened the express letter, she found, to her immeasurable relief, that Lady Lucas was "on the mend." The doctors were proven wrong and her father, worried because of Charlotte's probable despair, sent an express letter to Hunsford. With that load off her mind, Charlotte felt as if she could sing with joy. However, parson's wives do not sing, not unless they want to shock the servants, so Charlotte just kept smiling into the mirror as she dressed for Lady Catherine's dinner with unusual care. She could not be sorry for her anguish of hours past. If it wasn't for that anguish, what happened this morning might never have happened, and Charlotte would not have given it up for the world.

She was humming after all, she realized with amazement. "I am so absurdly, so idiotically happy just to be alive for the first time in my life, realised she. Feeling so happy, she gave the servants the day off tomorrow.

At Rosings, Lady Catherine was controlling the conversation as usual. Besides Charlotte, there was Anne de Bourgh, Mrs. Jenkinson, and Colonel Fitzwilliam. Charlotte's mind lingered over the last name. She did not expect to converse with him, since Lady Catherine would not be occupied with Mr. Collins this time, and it was good for her she did not, since she was not disappointed.

"My nephew" declared her ladyship, "has found out that he can stay for some time. I and Anne (looking at her daughter significantly) persuaded him to stay."

The next morning was very quiet. Phillips, Jenks and Betsy, their three servants, were all away, overjoyed by their holiday, and Charlotte was alone. She was in the garden, collecting flowers for a bouquet and smiling to herself, as she did all morning, when she heard someone approach. She looked up and saw Colonel Fitzwilliam.

Rising up, dusting off her dress, and foolishly wishing she had something more elegant on, she looked at him with a smile of welcome in her frank grey eyes. His held an answering smile.

They walked into the house, feeling suddenly awkward, but it vanished as suddenly as it came when Charlotte tripped over a small box she had left on the floor and the Colonel helped her regain her balance. "I thought..." started Charlotte. "This is..." started colonel at the same time. They laughed and all constraint vanished. What they said in the next half hour, I leave unsaid. Surely, some things are too sweet and to fragile to repeat. Their circumstances slipped from their mind, for they were enchanted. But at the end of that half-hour, they thought that no more than a minute had passed, and were rather surprised to see the clock. "Darling, I must go" said the Colonel "Lady Catherine will be waiting for me to discuss some business." He leaned over to kiss her, and that kiss was different from their first. It went on and on, and finally Charlotte was breathless. Then he was kissing her ears, her neck...then he stopped. "I must leave" he whispered raggedly. "I...this shouldn't have happened. I can't..."

"Stay" softly interrupted Charlotte.

And then there was nothing but themselves, nothing but themselves in the whole world. The two of them were alone on this Earth, and yet is was sufficient and more than sufficient. And Charlotte knew at last what her mother meant, when she said that rarely, but sometimes, "physical love is not something a woman has to bear, but something that is an important part of her love and her marriage."

They passed a wonderful week, a magical week. They went for walks in the morning, talked and laughed. The servants came back after one day off, but it was so easy for Charlotte to walk out for a long, distant walk, and it was so easy for the Colonel to leave his aunt's house to meet her.

A wonderful week.

But eight days after Mr. Collins' leaving, Charlotte woke up to find someone leaning over her bed. She sat up with a start, and then flinched, for she saw Mr. Collins.

Part VII

Still a little bit groggy from sleep, Charlotte rapidly blinked her eyes. Maybe it was a nightmare. Maybe he will go away. But no. When she cautiously opened her eyes again, her ingratiating spouse was still there.

"My dearest Charlotte!" Exclaimed he with that grimace he called a grin. "You are surprised to see me, I am sure. Ahh. I knew you would be. But I couldn't wait to rush to tell you the good news..." He smirked again and charlotte was reminded of another smile, so different from this, and a laughing expression in a pair of grey eyes, so different from Mr. Collins.

"I returned earlier because I couldn't wait!" continued he after he regained his breath. "I have such news! My dear, I am to have another living. This was the business I went on (with Lady Catherine's approval, of course)" he added quickly.

"Another living?" echoed Charlotte. Oh my God! That would mean going away with no chance of ever seeing Richard...I can't bear it! She cried silently. Why?

But her spouse was still talking. She caught snatches of his monologue: "Lady Catherine, expressly wishes, I could be a beneficial influence, condescension..." And then one word leapt out at her: Pemberley

"P-p-pemberley?" Stammered Charlotte, feeling as if she suddenly been reprieved.

"But yes my dear!" exclaimed Mr. Collins. "I am to have a living at Pemberley by the good graces of my NOBLE PATRONESS LADY CATHERINE DE BOURGH, whose bounty and beneficence..." He was interrupted by Charlotte.

"But why would Mr. Darcy do that? Surely he is not so attached to Lady Catherine?" Here she was met with a heavy reproof from her husband who asserted that no one could not be indebted to her ladyship with commendable fervor. "And besides, they couldn't find anyone at such short notice, and they needed a clergyman."

"But now, my dear" he made as if to extinguish the light "surely you have a warm welcome for your husband." And to her horror he started to undress. Charlotte felt numb and paralyzed. Surely, she couldn't...he wouldn't... Her mind screamed an agonised "no!!" But he was her husband, she could not say anything, do anything. I can't bear it, she thought wildly. Anything. But I can't bear that!

Suddenly, every nerve acquiver, she heard a cool, controlled voice and realised it was her own:

"My dear, I am really sorry, but I have a terrible headache..." She was interrupted by the amorous Mr. Collins. "Nonsense, my dear!" he exclaimed heartily, divesting himself of his shirt.

"Yes, I wouldn't even mention it, but you see, I was in the village yesterday, and Dame Mary's youngest, you remember, little Susan, the freckled one, is thought to have smallpox. But you are right, it's probably nothing..." She listened with astonishment to her own lies. Headache? Do you have that during small pox? I don't know she thought...

But Mr. Collins was unskilled in medicine and skilled in the art of self-preservation. Turning pale, he hastily cleared something in his throat, muttered a "good-night" and left hurriedly.

So Charlotte was left in peace. But looking at the ceiling, her face was very bleak. This was only one night, and there were many to come. She could not invent something for every one of them. And even if she did, they would still be empty.

Next morning Mr. Collins met his wife during breakfast and solicitously enquired after her health. "I think I am a little bit better" was a cautious reply.

Spreading jam on toast, he asked her, with his mouth full: "How have you been spending your time, my dear, while I was gone?"

Her mind on her golden short days with Colonel Fitzwilliam, she replied:

"Oh, I took care of the house, I walked, I even collected flowers. Richard was so helpful. He..." And stopped aghast. Mr. Collins wa staring at her, something in his eyes that made her pause.

"Who?" asked he again

"Richard Bl... oh, what's-his-name" collected herself Charlotte. Lady Catherine's new undergardener"

Seeing him calm down a bit she asked in turn: "I think you stopped in London, did you not? See anyone you know?"

"No" mumbled Mr. Collins, and Charlotte thought, with amazement, she saw uneasiness in his eyes.

That was not the only surprise, since before the dinner was over, Mr. Collins disclosed to Charlotte that she was invited to Pemberley, to look the parsonage over, before they moved in. He, himself couldn't go, because of all the business entailed in moving parishes, but he would send a manservant with her and she would be safe. In fact, she learned with astonishment, a carriage was ordered for the evening! Charlotte was amazed at this unprecedented show of authoritativeness by her husband. And was she hallucinating, but was there again that elusive gleam of relief in his eyes?

However, she abruptly ceased her speculation, because the clock chimed twelve, the time for her appointed meeting with Colonel Fitzwilliam. "Oh my God" thought she "Richard doesn't even know that Mr. Collins is back!"

With a few apologies and a plea of urgent errand she went out down their favorite path, never dreaming eyes were watching her. A pair of extraordinarily green, extraordinarily sharp female eyes.

When she reached their meeting-place, Colonel Fitzwilliam was already there. She saw in his face that he knew her news. "Richard!" whispered Charlotte.

"Oh my darling, What have I gotten you into!" he exclaimed. "But I promise I will come to Pemberley" And then their words ceased because simply speaking, their lips were otherwise engaged. After many, for who counted them, kisses later, many promises and tender words, they parted and Charlotte went back to the house. She was ready by seven and was even able to smile at Mr. Collins as she got into the carriage. Then she saw a strange woman, about thirty-thirty-five, dressed in something that once was a dress, a tall woman, with fair, unwashed hair, staring at her from behind the hedge. "I never saw her before" thought she. "I wonder who it is?" But in the bustle of departure her fleeting curiosity was forgotten. She relaxed, leaning back against the cushion. And never dreamed that those green eyes were following her carriage, following her, again.

Part VIII

As the carriage approached Pemberley, Charlotte looked out of the window in delight. The sight before her was enough to delight even the most critical of observers: there was a glittering, rippling pond, and behind it, coming out of the shadows, one of the most beautiful houses she's ever seen: Pemberley.

A few minutes after that, after ambling through a pleasant little drive, the carriage came to a stop at the central driveway, and Elizabeth Darcy ran down the steps to greet her friend.

Her new station became her admirably: her cheeks were flushed, her eyes sparkling, her air one of vivacity and contentment.

"Charlotte, I am so glad to see you" exclaimed she, stretching out her hands. "Walk into the house with me."

Charlotte readily agreed.

"Mr. Darcy, the provoking man, is away this morning, on business in the village, so it will be only two of us for a while. Dear Charlotte! I see you are looking well. Has life been treating you well?"

"Yes indeed, Lizzy" replied Charlotte. "I am most content."

And indeed she looked it. She was still as calm and unruffled as ever, and she never lacked her customary good health, but now there was something more, thought Lizzy. Something intangible, in her air, in her expression, shining from her eyes. "Something must have happened" thought Lizzy. "But what?" Life with Mr. Collins could have hardly grown more pleasant.

There was air of suppressed excitement about Charlotte as well, noted Lizzy with amazement. There was definitely something going on!

She waited until a footman conducted them to a small salon and discreetly withdrew, before asking all the questions on the tip of her tongue.

"Charlotte, is everything well? Has something happened? You look different. Can you tell me?"

Charlotte was amazed that her happiness and worry were so tangible. "Nothing, Lizzy," she managed to reply, as calmly as she could.

But Lizzy would not be put off. She persisted, and Charlotte was beginning to feel trapped, when they were interrupted by a sound of an arrival. Lizzy glanced out of the window, and in a minute her curiousity and worry were forgotten.

She cried, "Darcy" and ran downstairs.

Part IX

As Lizzy ran downstairs, she threw herself into her husband's arms. His eyes danced but her murmured solemnly: "You should behave yourself properly in front of the servants, Mrs. Darcy".

"I am behaving myself properly," retorted she. "It is the only proper behavior of a wife greeting her returning husband." Then, for a while they forgot the servants, but after a few blissful moments Darcy regretfully came back to earth.

"I am sorry, darling, that I wasn't here to receive Mrs. Collins. Had she a safe journey?"

Lizzy's puzzled frown returned, and she nodded a shade absent-mindedly. "I am worried. She seems to be in trouble, and yet she has more radiance than I have ever seen in a woman. Something's the matter."

Darcy smiled: "You are worrying without cause. I have never known a more self-reliant woman that Mrs. Collins."

"Wait and see" replied Lizzy, and they opened the door to greet Charlotte together.

After a few days, Darcy was forced to admit that his wife was right. Not that he thought anything wrong with Mrs. Collins, but she did have an unusual, sparkling look about her, which no man in his right mind could associate with Mr. Collins. "Maybe it's his absence" thought Darcy wryly, looking at some business papers on his desk. Interrupting him, a footman opened the door and announced: "Colonel Fitzwilliam."

At the same time, at Hunsford, Mr. Collins was nervously peering around the house. It was dusk, and the servants were sent on a holiday in honor of Mr. Collins' birthday. Seeing that no one was lurking he went inside into his study. A few moments later he opened the window and motioned a figure standing outside. A tall, green-eyed woman stepped in and shut the window with some care.

"Now, 'ere Collins" began she in a growling voice. "Where's that money you promised me for keepin' still?"

Mr. Collins tried to bluff her out, nervously rubbing his hands together. "My good woman, I don't know what you are talking about. I gave you some money and invited you in out of charity. If you choose to misconstrue it, it's your fault."

"Charity, is it?" replied the female, grinning. "And was in charity in London, m'pretty reverend? You wouldn't want that known, would you? You with that fine wife of yours?"

"Quiet, please" sputtered Mr. Collins. "I'll pay. Now."

"Well, as long as you keep old Moll happy, your snooty patroness and your high and mighty wife won't hear anything from me ." She laid the emphasis on that last word.

Mr. Collins took some money out of his pocket and gave it to her, looking immeasurably relieved.

Part X-A

Colonel Fitzwilliam walked into the room, as Darcy rose, an expression of pleasure on his countenance. "Darcy," he greeted his cousin, as they shook hands.

"Richard, what a delightful surprise" exclaimed Darcy. "We did not know you were coming," continued he, incredulously aware of the embarrassed, almost hunted look that greeted that remark. "We haven't seen you this age," proceeded he smoothly, pretending not to notice any awkwardness on his friend's part. "It's a pity Georgiana is in town, but she'll be coming back shortly and Elizabeth will be delighted.

"She is out now," he continued after offering Fitzwilliam a comfortable leather chair and proceeding to pour the Colonel a glass of brandy. "She also has a friend staying with her, Mrs. Collins. They are walking in the garden. You'll probably remember Mrs. Collins from our visit to Hertfordshire. Though as I remember, you were more occupied by my wife at the time," he chuckled reminiscently.

He looked up and offered the glass to the Colonel, and again was surprised by the sudden pallor of Fitzwilliam's countenance. The poor fellow looks worn to a shade he mused. Maybe his shoulder wound pains him Being a reserved and solitary man, Darcy had early come to a habit of introspection and observation, quickly noticing nuances of others' moods, unless he was blinded by a preconceived notion. The look of strain and worry in the Colonel's eyes bothered him. It will do him good to quietly stay with us awhile. My love will be delighted to see him, and Mrs. Collins is a sensible woman who will not bother him unduly, thought Darcy, sipping from his own glass.

Surprisingly, Fitzwilliam, a lively and sometimes determined conversationalist, made no attempt to break his reverie, but Darcy came to himself with a start, realizing that staring at his desk in silence within a few minutes of his visitor's arrival was not the height of good manners. To compensate, he at once warmly and heartily pressed the Colonel to stay with them for at least a month. The Colonel agreed with alacrity, and Darcy, having rung for his valet, bundled him off to rest from his journey, "For, Richard, " he confessed, "you do look devilish tired, and I am sure you want to charm the ladies."

As the Colonel was walking away, Darcy called after him: "Don't worry that you'll be surrounded only by women and me for tedious company. An old friend of yours, Major Darville, is also to stop with us. He is still on active duty, but had a prolonged rest in London when the doctors were mauling him about. He's escorting Georgiana back." And the last, teasing words that Fitzwilliam heard as he opened the door into his room, were: "Dress smartly for dinner, Richard. After all, we want Mrs. Collins to have some regard for the military."

Part X-B

When Lizzy and Charlotte returned from their walk, it was already rather late. The weather was so fine and the prospect so beautiful that the lingered much longer than they expected. There was also much to be told on both sides, but Lizzy noticed that while as contained as ever, Charlotte seemed to be holding something back. She had much improved in looks, noticed Lizzy, for there was something new, something warm and vibrant in her manner and tone of voice, that was previously unknown to Lizzy. She had lost none of her common sense and self-possession, but had also gained something much more vital, intangible. The more they talked, the more Lizzy wondered. There was nothing in Charlotte's life which could account for such a change! Her concern (and curiosity) grew by the minute, but she restrained herself, not wishing to pry into Charlotte's concerns as soon as she arrived here.

On their return, the young women noticed a carriage in the yard, indicating a visitor, but did not stop to enquire who it could possibly be, for they realized that they were late as it is and would have to hurry to have time to change into their dinner dress.

Lizzy sent Charlotte up ahead, and was following her, when Mrs. Reynolds breathlessly hurried toward her. It proved only to be a minor problem with the cook and didn't take long, but because of it, when the dinner bell sounded and Charlotte came into Lizzy's room, the latter was still not fully dressed. "Oh, Charlotte," laughed Lizzy, "you'll have to go on first, without me. My only solace is that Mr. Darcy is going to be as unpunctual as myself, for Mrs. Reynolds was seeking him directly after talking to me."

She had to pause and tilt her head, as Betty the maid was arranging her hair.

"Do go on without me, Charlotte" insisted Lizzy, and Charlotte, smiling, complied.

As she went down the great staircase and into the salon, she was smiling still, thinking of Lizzy and her good humor. Than, the powdered footman opened the door, and Lizzy was forgotten. Her smile vanished, because there was simply no room in her being for anything but an odd kind of breathlessness, a feeling of mingled shock and exhilaration. The gentleman staring into the fire turned at the opening of the door, and Charlotte looked into Richard Fitzwilliam's eyes.

Part X-B Continued

The footman softly closed the door behind her, but neither Charlotte nor the Colonel noticed his departure. For a moment, neither of them moved. They just looked at each other, silently, almost unbelievingly. Then, Fitzwilliam breathed "Charlotte," and a second later she was in his arms, her wet face kissed: her eyes, her cheeks, the tip of her nose, her mouth. His eyes were on her, drinking her in, unwilling to leave her for a second. When they broke apart, their hands were still holding each other, as if of their own volition, and Charlotte, stunned, happy, incredulous, felt as if she never wanted to break their hold.

However, they recovered some sense of their surroundings presently.

"I did not expect you, Richard," murmured Charlotte. "Oh, even though I hoped you would come, I tried to talk myself out of that hope.

"I do not believe in too much happiness, you see," she replied to his quick upward glance of inquiry. "After all, I am not yet used to it."

"Well, I cannot even claim an excuse of surprise," replied Fitzwilliam. "For my sole reason for coming was to see you, to talk to you..." He broke off

Looking at her, seeing her stand there, so strong, and yet so vulnerable, the Colonel realized once more how precious she was to him. He was going to do anything to keep her, to protect her. He had been thinking lately, and he voiced his thought now:

"Charlotte, I have been thinking a lot lately. About us. I think I might have found a way for us to marry."

Startled, she looked at him questioningly.

"What do you mean, Richard? It-it wouldn't be possible!" Her tone held both skepticism and hope, but before they could continue, Mr. and Mrs. Fitzwilliam Darcy walked into the room.

The dinner was a lively affair, Lizzy sparkled and Charlotte was her usual good company. Darcy was pleased to see that Fitzwilliam had regained his normal looks. The strain seemed to be gone and he appeared to be in a much livelier humor. I was right, he needed rest. thought Darcy musingly. And since Georgiana and the Major are coming next week, it will be a wonderful little party!

After the dinner was over, the gentlemen and ladies retired to bed, for all seemed rather tired.

In her room, Charlotte's maid was preparing her for bed, when there was a knock on the door. The maid opened the door and returned with a folded note. Charlotte took it and saw Colonel Fitzwilliam's handwriting

Part XI

Wondering what was the matter, Charlotte opened the note and read this very brief message:

Darling Lotte,

I have just received the most startling communication which necessitates my leaving immediately. There's no time to lose and therefore I cannot wait till morning. I would give you the details, but I am pledged to secrecy and cannot break my word, however much it grieves me to be unable to confide in you. I hope that the affair I am about to be engaged in might help us both, that much I can say to you.

All my love,
Richard

Charlotte was so perplexed by this most startling communication, she had to reread it four times, before the gist of it finally penetrated her mind. The note was written in a sprawling, hurried hand, and was splattered with ink from a careless pen. The mystery, and Charlotte's perturbation were equally great, and it was with a great reluctance that she finally climbed into the soft bed and closed her eyes.

When she got up the next morning, she felt much better. It was so bright and beautiful outside, that her spirits couldn't help rising. She remembered that Lizzy promised her a walk, much beloved by her and Mr. Darcy, as that was the walk they first took when Lizzy visited Derbyshire with the Gardiners. The maid helped her dress and she was down much earlier than her hosts, who, she was informed by the respectful footman, were still abed.

The mystery of Colonel's sudden disappearance was still plaguing her mind, but her habitual calm and the beautiful day combined to help her put it to the back of her mind. She smiled dreamily looking at the patches of yellow, blue and red flowers, covering the garden like a bright quilt.

Upstairs, in the big and sunny bedchamber of the Master and Mistress of Pemberley, Elizabeth Bennet Darcy woke up and looked into the eyes of the Master of Pemberley, smiling at her.

It was promising to be a beautiful spring day.

Penultimate

Yes, the day dawned fair at Pemberley, but over at Hunsford, Mr. Collins woke up with a groan.

Stretching his rather beetle-like limbs, he groaned again for good measure and sat up in bed. Scratching a particularly itchy place on his scalp, he grumpily contemplated the bright sunshine outside. Life was not at its best for him. The servants, accustomed to the able rule of Charlotte, were running wild in her absence, and yesterday the toast was actually burnt! He had choked on the second slurp. And he composed only 17 compliments to Lady Catherine and her daughter. Decidedly, life was not good. However, all this would have been as nothing, if there were no old Moll on the horizon. Her threat of revealing his secret hung over Mr. Collins' greasy head like the sword of Damocles.

That is what happens when you go to London without the approbation of the beneficence of Lady Catherine, thought the unfortunate Reverend.

Lady Catherine! what would she think, moaned he. And Lady Anne, this was not to be even thought of.

Mr. Collins genuinely admired Anne. She was frail and fragile, just as a woman ought to be. Not that his Charlotte wasn't a treasure, but Anne had that well-bred, sensitive air which made a pompous man like Collins feel vaguely masculine and capable.

A couple of hours later, Mr. Collins, done with his meditations was on the way to the Hillows, the family of the last curate, for Lady Catherine decided to donate to them her own copy of Fordyce's sermons.

Passing the local pub, he blanched. He could hear the drunken voice of Moll holding up in a song. Despite his bribe, Moll refused to leave and spent her time at the Lion, putting away as much liquor as she could hold.

He hurried his step, but unexpectedly there was a screech, and his sleeve was grabbed. Moll was leering at him. "Five pounds, Reverend," she demanded drunkenly.

Collins would have been glad to give them to her, but there were quite a few people out, fascinated by the scene in front of them, and it would be suspicious to give Moll money.

"My good woman, get along, get along," murmured he with ill-advised condescension.

Moll's face contorted.

"My good woman!" shrilled she. "Do ye hear that!

"No, my pretty Reverend! You won't get off that easily." She turned and addressed the crowd of curiosity-seekers that had collected by that time.

"Let me tell you something about your curate..." she began

Chapter The Last, Part 1

"Let me tell you something about your Reverend!" shrilled Moll. For Mr. Collins, time seemed to stop.

It is always well to pause before describing a scene of utmost distress and better to cushion the shock with good news. So while Mr. Collins' blood seemed to freeze in his pudgy veins, at Pemberley Mr. Darcy was perusing an urgent communication with interest.

"Lizzy," he called out excitedly, hurrying to find his wife and her friend in the shrubbery. "You'll never believe that. Old Banbury, the nabob of the family had just died, and you'll never guess to whom he's left his entire fortune."

"To whom, Fitzwilliam? Why are you grinning like that?" demanded Lizzy while Charlotte tried to fade into the shrubbery, so as not to intrude.

"He left it all to the Colonel. And the reason, he said, is that he was the only member of the family who didn't come plaguing him with visits, hoping to get something after he died. According to the old boy, "Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam deserves compensation for showing good sense and leaving me in peace." Here Darcy couldn't help but allow his grin to break out, and Lizzy burst out laughing.

"Of all the oddest...But how much was he worth?"

"Oh, I don't know. But Richard is fixed for life. Five thousand a year at least."

He sobered up and continued more seriously. "I'm glad for him. Now that he has an independent income, he can be more his own man."

Charlotte could not help overhearing that, and her thoughts led her into the avenues of what might have been for the rest of the walk.

But back at village, Mr. Collins stood helplessly goggling, as Moll heaped abuses on him, verbal and non-verbal, before a crowd that was growing every minute.

After making her spectacular threat, she continued to denounce Mr. Collins vaguely, with insults whose sophistication and complexity warmed the hearts of the villagers. Mr. Collins was not the most popular man of God the villagers ever had.

But finally, after a fresh outburst, seemingly exhausted, Moll launched again:

"So, you think you've got yourself a soul of purity to run the church, bless his mincing feet! Him and his high-and-mighty wife of his, both looking down their noses. Well, I'll tell you something that Mrs. High-and-Mighty doesn't know! She thinks herself married to that beetle over here. Well, I could wife the smile off her face, she isn't! Not by a long chalk. Unless a man can marry two women at once!"

All then was pandemonium.

Mr. Collins tried to shrink through the crowd, but the villagers barred his way and he was forced to listen to the drunken ravings.

Luckily, the constable came at the moment and Moll was put in custody.

Charlotte received two letters express the next morning. One was in Richard's familiar scrawl, another in an unfamiliar official hand.

She (of course) opened Richard's first. Besides professions of regard and tenderness, which occupied fully two pages, he told her about his inheritance. "Now I can marry you, if your husband will divorce you for criminal correspondence. But we needn't take such a drastic step, for I may have found a way. I'm coming back tomorrow."

Charlotte opened the next letter and sat down. It was brief and to the point.

Madam, Sorry for the inconvenience, but we are conducting an investigation concerning your husband. An investigation in which you are closely concerned. Allow us to bring him to Pemberley, for your presence during questioning.

Constable Bates

Charlotte felt very, very cold.

The arrival of the Colonel the next morning was shadowed by Charlotte's bewilderment. The Darcys agreed to have the constable and whoever he brought with him.

Author's Note: Mr. Collins is not Mr. Rochester and not a bigamist. It might be misleading in the earlier paragraph. I'll explain what went on in Last #2

Chapter Last, Part 2

On the morning of the constable's arrival, Charlotte was so jumpy and nervous that both Lizzy and Darcy, after exchanging worried looks, offered to recieve the Constable instead and deal with him.

"No" exclaimed Charlotte. "It concerns me, and I should be there"

In half an hour, a footman with a studiously imapssive face announced Constable Dodson, Mr Collins and Mrs Moll Malves.

Taking a deep breath, Charlotte walked into the small study.

Mr Collins' face was bathed in prespiration and his hair was even stickier then usual. Most alarmingly, for once he was bereft of words.

But Moll made up for any possible silences. She started talking almost before the footman closed the door.

"Oh, hear you are, Mrs Collins. But I shouldn't be calling you Mrs Collins, should I? Not when you aren't realy married."

The constable tried to shush her, but Moll swept on.

Charlotte found it necessary to sit down, while Moll continued:

"I is a respectable woman. Used to run an inn once. 'T was 5 yeras ago. And this 'ere (she pointed her finger at the covering Collins) used to board with me. More than board..." she chuckled: "he really was keen on my niece, Mistress Amy Stokin' So keen she talked that excuse for a parson into marryin'. But he never did proclaim it, for fear of his Pa, the miserable worm!" Moll's voice rose and she spat in Mr Collins' direction.

"I admits he did pay Amy handsome and set her up nicely when he went away to Oxford. But she got the typhoid, the poor thing, the following spring. I nursed her with me own two hands but it weren't no use. The doc told she'd die before the day was over, so I wrote to the Worm (that seemd to be her designation for Mr Collins). He came next day, when they said she had a couple of hours to live, left some money, and dissapeared. Never even left his address, he didn't. But Amy recovered. She was plenty weak, but she recovered. A miracle, says I, but where to find 'er true husband? Never did I find him! And then I bumped into him in Lunnon, and learned he was a full parson now, with a great benefice. But when I approaches him, what does he do but shrink as if I 'ad the plague. And when I tell 'im about Amy, what does he do but try to slink off. But I followed 'im!" she chuckled grimly. "And what do I learn, 'e's married. And 'im with a wife living at the time!"

"But I thought she was dead," gibbered Mr Collins. During the entire recital, he looked anywhere but at Charlotte.

Charlotte found her voice at last: "But what happened to the unfortunate Mrs Amy?" she forced out.

"Deid" replied Moll laconically. "She's been in some bad comp'ny and caught somethin'. But she's only been deid for a year, and he married you before."

"And I'm sure" continued she craftily, lowering her voice. "You'll thank me 'ansome. You and that gooslookin' officer of yours." Luckily for Charlotte, neither the Constable not Mr Collins heard the last remark, the Constable mersmerized by Mr Collins writhings and contortions.

After a grueling hour in the study, when the strange trio had left, Charlotte emerged from the room as if in a daze.

Darcy and Lizzy, informed by the constable, rushed to her side, scanning her face worriedly.

"Lizzy, I'm so tired" murmured Charlotte. "I feel..." Lizzy's worried forwn was the last thing she remembered as she collapsed on the floor.

Charlotte was very weak. She lay in her guest bedchamber as the doctor examined her. er head felt light and dizzy, and she wasn't sure all of her body was still there.

Both Lizzy and Darcy faces, while the doctor assured them of her recovery, reflected their anxiety when they greeted the returning Colonel Fitzwilliam.

"Why all the gloom?" laughed the Colonel. Whatever he had found in London must have cheered him up not inconciderably. "Where's Mrs Collins?"

He saw the grave expression in Lizzy's eyes and faltered.

"We had the most extraordinary news. She has found out she's not married to Mr Collins, he having had a wife previously when he married her, and the shock has been too much for her. She's rather ill and in bed. The doctor says...Richard!" He broke off as his cousin almost ran for the stairs. "Richard!"

But Col. Fitzwilliam, scaling the staircase three steps at a time did not pay any attention to him, or to the suddenly arrested expression that came into Lizzy's face. In a few bounds, he was inside Charlotte's room.

Charlotte heard a noise and wearily opened her eyes. She was so tired. She just wanted to be left alone...

And then she felt her hand being taken in a strong, warm clasp, and lifting her face saw the Colonel.

Weariness forgotten, she returned his clasp, gazing deep into his eyes.

"It's going to be all right, darling. My darling!" said Richard.

The End

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