It could even be considered that the beginning of her story, and the root of her troubles, lay in the fact that she, Charlotte, had been born a woman – a gentlewoman of impecunious means. This had never been a productive route for contemplation, and yet, if she was honest, perhaps her current situation stemmed from that one significant day back in Meryton, that moment she had stood in the lane between Netherfield Park and Lucas Lodge, experiencing all the helplessness of her situation as a single woman with no prospects. Perhaps the spark of her present history had been set at that moment of frustration.

She looked over at her sleeping daughter, her hair the colour of ripe barley in the light streaming through the window, then glanced at Herr Rosenstein, trying to discern any trace of mockery in his face. But his expression remained open and sincere. She could not of course tell him all – but perhaps she could tell him some of her story.

She took a deep breath and cast her mind back seven years. It was as good a place as any to begin.

1811

CHAPTER XIII

CHARLOTTE WAS TIRED TO THE bone. Tired of the universally acknowledged truism: that a single woman of no great fortune must be in want of a life, at the beck and call of all who might find her momentarily useful, a blank template waiting for the impress of others. Standing in a lane she had walked since childhood, a shuttlecock batted between the lives of others, she struggled to master sensations of both entrapment and aimlessness.

And the day had started out so promisingly. Mrs Bennet and her younger daughters were to visit Netherfield Park, where Miss Bennet and Lizzy were in residence until such time as the former had recovered from a cold caught after riding over in inclement weather, and the latter was satisfied that her nursing was no longer necessary. Charlotte had been invited to join their party, and her father and brothers, who were keen to see the horses and dogs of the Netherfield gentlemen, had walked over with her to Longbourn shortly after breakfast. Charlotte and her father, Sir William, had squeezed into the Bennets’ carriage along with Mrs Bennet and her two youngest daughters, Kitty and Lydia, while the Lucas boys set off down the lane on foot with whoops of encouragement, and were soon left behind.