She had already arranged the table settings so that Lizzy and Mr Collins were seated as far apart as possible, but it was almost as necessary to keep him away from Mrs Bennet, who kept gazing at him dolefully and dabbing her eyes. So she had placed him by her own side and, as the fish followed the soup, she made an effort to engage him in conversation, finding him unusually subdued. Occasionally, he burst out into feverish commentary on topics such as the weather and the state of the roads, but would then lapse into silence mid-sentence as he remembered that there was no longer any need to praise his environs.

She studied him more closely. He was not unpleasing to look at – in repose, and unmarred by his habitual expression of fawning, his face was unobjectionable. He was one of the few men she had met who was taller than herself. Even Mr Bingley and Mr Wickham, the newly commissioned officer with whom the younger Bennet girls were infatuated, had to raise their eyes to greet her.

His dress was neat, and there was no suggestion of slovenliness. In circumstances in which he might have been tempted to dull his senses with wine, he was drinking temperately. His was a respectable profession, and he already held a living. Everyone in Meryton knew that he had the backing of a powerful and wealthy benefactor in the form of Lady Catherine de Bourgh.

A bubble of possibility rose in Charlotte’s brain. Up until now, on their previous encounters, she had drawn his attentions away from Lizzy out of habitual good-naturedness and a gift for managing the more turbulent eddies of social intercourse. The man had come to their neighbourhood openly in search of a wife. His pride was wounded and in need of a salve. Perhaps. Just perhaps …

But she was no flirt, having had neither the opportunity nor the inclination to practise her wiles on the opposite sex, or to develop habits of playful chatter. She listened a little more closely to Mr Collins’s habitual babble, the recitation of the wonders of Rosings, the graciousness of Lady Catherine, the superiority of the pigeon pie now being served: ‘I erred on my first evening at Longbourn, when I asked which of my fair cousins had prepared the dinner I ate there. I believe Mrs Bennet was very offended at my blunder, although I had only the best of intentions. Miss Lucas, will I give offence if I ask if your hand played any part in the making of this most excellent dish?’