Pride and Premeditation (Jane Austen Murder Mystery #1)(26)

Lizzie’s eyes darted to the letter in question, and she felt a surge of anger rise in her. She did not need to be praised for her work by the client, but it vexed her that Collins would wave about that letter as if it excused his laziness and utter lack of finesse with even the most basic of contracts. “How very nice,” she said sourly. “I do hope that other letter is an offer of employment far from here.”

“No,” he said, missing Lizzie’s sarcasm. “It’s a letter from my benefactress! She bids that I keep her updated on my progress in the law, and the general goings-on in town. She doesn’t leave Kent, and wishes to hear news.”

“My apologies, Mr. Collins.” Lizzie was eager to cut him off before he waxed poetic about this benefactress, some elderly widow Lizzie secretly suspected funded Collins’s education in London so she wouldn’t have to endure his company. “I misread the situation. I thought you were attempting to flatter Miss Lucas when she was in no way interested in your attention.”

Collins turned pink, his face resembling an angry badger. It was a rather low blow, but Lizzie knew it would suffice—he hated any implication that he was unwelcome in society. “Thank you, Miss Lucas, for seeing to my mail. I must see to my cases,” he sputtered before storming off.

Lizzie’s smile slid straight off her face when she saw Charlotte’s disapproving look. “Was that really necessary?”

“Reminding him of how insufferable he is? Yes, I believe it was,” Lizzie replied.

Charlotte sighed as she straightened the writing tools on her desk, putting quill, ink, and penknife back in place. It was a small, disappointed sound that annoyed Lizzie. “Charlotte. Don’t tell me you were enjoying his company. It’s wholly unfair of him to expect you to break open his correspondence and repair his quill.”

Charlotte didn’t look up right away. “What if I said that I was having a perfectly pleasant conversation?”

Lizzie laughed at Charlotte’s joke. “Then I’d ask if you were feeling well.”

She realized a beat too late that her friend hadn’t been joking. Charlotte’s expression went blank, flattened into a cool mask of indifference. “You can be very judgmental, Lizzie.”

Lizzie bristled. Where was this coming from? Charlotte entertained Lizzie’s private jokes about Collins and endured long evenings of her complaints that a man so socially and professionally inept should one day inherit her family’s firm. Charlotte had never criticized Lizzie for her sharp humor or for pointing out Collins’s foibles. He was simply so absurd! What caused this change in attitude? It wasn’t as if Charlotte actually enjoyed his company. . . .

“Charlotte? But . . . Mr. Collins? No!”

“Not all of us have the good fortune of having a choice of suitors,” Charlotte said stiffly.

Lizzie stepped behind Charlotte’s desk and knelt so that she was eye level with her friend. “What on earth are you saying? You are smart and pretty and kind, and you have impeccable manners. You could have your choice of suitors any day.”

Charlotte gave her a withering look. “I cannot. You do me no favors by pretending otherwise.”

“But of course—”

“Lizzie, you are so naive!”

Charlotte’s raised voice drew the attention of a few of the nearby clerks and solicitors until Lizzie’s stern glare made them all look away. “Explain it to me, then. Please.”

“You’re a young lady, even if you don’t wish to be,” Charlotte explained in a harsh whisper. “I’m poor, and I must work for a living. I have a good name and education and upbringing, but there are some things about myself that I can never change. My complexion, for one.”

Lizzie felt terrible for not seeing it sooner. “Your parents? But—”

“No, listen to me, Lizzie,” Charlotte said, and Lizzie, unused to Charlotte speaking forcefully, closed her mouth. “There are many good people in the world who are perfectly kind and respectful to my face, but I see them judge me. And I cannot ignore it like you do. There are even fewer people who can look at someone like me and think that I have any prospects.”

Lizzie was momentarily speechless. “Charlotte, no one—”

“Lizzie, please do not finish that sentence. You are a wonderful friend to me, and I am forever grateful to your father for giving me a position here. But I am tired of being unmarried and judged, and of working so hard with so little to show for it. I want a home, a husband, and a family. I want a place of my own. Can you understand that?”

Lizzie nodded slowly. She understood all of it—except the part where Charlotte didn’t mind receiving attention from Collins. “But surely there is some other young man—”

“Lizzie, I don’t wish to speak of this anymore.”

“But—”

“I have work to do,” Charlotte said, and stood abruptly, gathering files into her arms.

Lizzie watched her friend retreat to the records room, the sick feeling of having failed Charlotte sinking in her belly. She knew that there were those who thought Charlotte unworthy of respect because of the darker shade of her skin, just as too many shopkeepers assumed Fred was a thief for his own complexion. These were injustices that Lizzie argued against, but she hadn’t realized that her sweet-tempered and caring friend was so discouraged about her prospects that she’d settle for Collins.