Her ears hummed with the quiet after the noise of the journey, and she heard an owl hoot, a familiar sound that for an instant transported her back home to the bedchamber she shared with Maria. But no, this was now her home, and she would be sharing sleeping quarters with a husband. A countrywoman to the bone, she knew what this entailed. She felt neither anticipation – beyond a mild curiosity – nor repugnance. During their brief courtship, Mr Collins’s amorous gestures had been restricted to squeezing her hand from time to time and occasionally, very daringly, brushing her fingertips with his lips, but she had felt no desire to draw away from his supporting arm in the walks they had taken. What would be, would be. And in time – the thought made Charlotte glow – there would be children.

She stood at the foot of the stairs, longing for nothing more than sleep. She hoped the mattress and bedding that awaited them had been properly aired. Then she straightened her spine, drew her shoulder-blades together, and began to mount the steps.

The next morning brought a renewal of anticipation for Charlotte. The fatigue of the journey behind her, it offered the first daylight views of her new home, and now it was her turn to be eager to explore all that the house and grounds offered, and Mr Collins who demurred. He was expected to present his new bride at Rosings as soon as breakfast was over, and there could be no delay. His urgings on the subject of Charlotte’s dress, which had to be the best she could manage while also being sufficiently plain to mark the distinction in rank, and repeated strictures on how she might avoid being overwhelmed by all she would see and experience, revealed an almost pitiable state of nerves on his part.

As the weather remained clear, they walked across the park to the main dwelling, an imposing building of red and blue brick set on rising ground. The parkland, with deer cropping the frosted grass in the distance, offered glimpses of leafless copses that promised verdant vistas in the summer, and the wilderness area through which they passed on their way to the house was eerily wreathed in old man’s beard.

On their approach, Mr Collins, by now scarcely pausing for breath, pointed out the many features of the house that inspired his awe, not least the cost of glazing its forty-five windows. Charlotte tried to be patient: she knew he was minutes away from being judged on his choice of bride, which meant that she, the new Mrs Collins, would be on trial. It was daunting indeed; not so much because Charlotte feared Lady Catherine’s disapproval, but because so much of their daily happiness depended on that lady’s goodwill. She had the power to make their lives very uncomfortable if she so wished.