Charlotte’s thoughts drifted to her own spouse, and how little a few years at Oxford had been able to do for a young man raised by a father who had revelled in his own ignorance and rigidity. Habits of diffidence had made it impossible for Mr Collins to furnish an inferior mind with new ideas and principles, much less bold ones, and her heart squeezed for her husband, so eternally dependent on the approval of those he considered his superiors.

How very different was this young musician. Herr Rosenstein’s standing, in English society at least, might be close to that of a servant or a tradesman, but his education, in life, as well as at the hands of tutors and universities, outstripped that of most gentlemen Charlotte had met. He spoke with an ease and verve that reflected confidence in his own abilities to form impressions and rely on his opinions, while retaining the ability to communicate these impressions and opinions to listeners without appearing to lecture.

The fire had almost gone out, the wine and tea had all been drunk, and the three of them were yawning luxuriantly by the time they retired to their respective quarters. But not before Mrs Darcy, pressing his success with the children, asked their new companion to join them for meals in the future, an invitation Charlotte found herself hoping would be productive of more such pleasant encounters.

CHAPTER XI

CHARLOTTE SLEPT DEEPLY AND DREAMLESSLY, but woke early and restless long before the rest of the household was stirring. She threw open the shutters of her room to a morning of thin gold sunshine, with mist rising like smoke from the lake and river. The early light made the wet grasses sparkle brilliantly, and she found she could not bear to be indoors. She dressed without summoning the maid allotted her, then snatched up a Kashmir shawl Lizzy had passed on to her: soft and sumptuous, it was altogether too fine a garment for a clergyman’s wife, but the colour – a light sky-blue – had sat uneasily with Mrs Darcy’s dark eyes, whereas it suited Charlotte’s to perfection, bringing out a hint of pink in her complexion.

She wrapped it around her shoulders and pattered down the grand staircase, helping herself to a piece of fruit from one of the elaborate dishes that ornamented the imposing entrance hall. The front doors were still forbiddingly closed, and she did not want to summon someone to unlock them, so she headed towards the more utilitarian quarters of the house, finding an escape via the simple expedient of unlatching a tradesmen’s entrance close to the vast sculleries.