Lord Salisbury glared at the board, only sparing a moment to gleam speculatively across the table at his adversary. His reputation was that of a rake, being too rich and too handsome to bother himself with a marriage shackle. He preferred easy, temporary romances. Any appreciative glance or chuckle was felt immediately by any female in the room, and he made it his mission to captivate as many as possible, even going so far in his younger days as to take wagers upon winning the wallflowers and their aspiring mothers. Charlotte countered his look with a bored sigh, drearily inquiring the time of Mr. Kelly, but she was not precisely bored. What she felt was closer to tedium.
"I must see how your game has progressed since last we played," Mr. Kelly had said several nights prior as he had uncovered the chessboard that lay hidden beneath a cloth on a table in the parlor.
Charlotte had been taken aback. "Why," she began in surprised accents, "I have only attempted to play, but my adversaries always lacked the interest to pursue the game to its end."
"As a matter of fact," Mr. Kelly had smirked, "you were beating the boys."
"As a matter of fact, I am of the opinion that many women are capable of such feats," Charlotte began shrewdly, "if they would only risk the outcome."
"By 'outcome,' you imply not the joy of success but rather the ultimate rejection of the greater intelligence being found in the weaker sex."
"Those in power rarely engage in an enterprise likely to show their weaknesses."
"I begin to form an opinion of your late husband," Mr. Kelly had begun, partly in jest, but not without a sense of foreboding.
Charlotte twinkled back gaily. "Oh, I doubt that very much, sir. Not even the most proficient of authors could represent poor Mr. Collins."
Charlotte recalled how Mr. Kelly's brows had furrowed at her sally, though he had attempted to focus his glower at the game board. She suffered a small sigh, leading most of the room to assume she had bungled the game with Lord Salisbury, but the gentleman himself was not so comforted. One could see on his face that a plan with no real hope formed itself in his mind, wanting to be sure of the lady's aptitude. Had she really just beaten him in twenty moves? He chuckled and made his next move.
Each call of Mr. Kelly's brought one more guest to the table, all desirous of witnessing the spectacle. Lord Salisbury surrendered before the thirtieth move, bowing graciously over Charlotte's hand.
"Brilliant," he admitted, instinctively desiring to draw a maidenly blush from the widow, thus restoring his equilibrium, but she paid him little heed.
"I must apologize, my lord," she said absently, "I am unused to these late hours." She turned away from Lord Salisbury as she spoke, hoping to find an ally. Mr. Darcy appeared at her elbow to bolster her through the process of receiving congratulations, speculative questions, and pronouncements concerning the game. Fortunately for Charlotte, the gentlemen's questions were more rhetorical than not as they assumed her repeated victories had been a mere run of luck - a much more comfortable perspective for them than the idea of her masterful stratagem.
As they approached, Charlotte did not hear their words so much as she heard Mrs. Darcy's descriptions of them on the eve before they arrived.
Lord Darincourt, naturally given precedence due to his rank, was received first. Lizzy had described him as a clever enough gentleman, married to his lady who preferred to reside in London, long-time family friend to the Darcy family, and somewhat frequent visitor to Pemberley as his travels often led him near enough the estate to render a few nights' repose there agreeable. Lord Darincourt was a man with an appreciation for his own voice and would have lapsed into tales of his own experiences at the chess table had not Mr. Darcy gently curbed his dialogue to its premature end.
Mr. Preston, Lizzy had conveyed, had every appearance of a man of sorrows and had been a widower for five years. His late wife reportedly took much pleasure from the Season, doting enthusiastically over the new debutantes and casting what priceless advice she was able into the ears of their doting mamas, so, even now, Mr. Preston ventured to Town for the early Season, in honor of her memory. Here, Lizzy had paused to smile indulgently, her eyes alight with their mischievous glow. Though Mr. Preston's air was conciliatory and affable, he was the most likely to cause disruption to the household with his meek requests and observations that were tinged with the expectation of immediate correction.
Mr. and Mrs. Astley were the last to wait upon Charlotte, the lady being in no hurry to quit her comfortable repose. Charlotte suspected that the damsel had, in fact, been napping, for her feathers were askew. Lizzy had been reluctant to summarize her dealings with this couple, leading Charlotte to infer that her experiences with them had not been consistent.
Mr. Astley and Mr. Darcy had forged a friendship at Cambridge, both being of a studious yet sporting nature. As it happened, the Astleys had a son, their second, who was of an age with the eldest Darcy, John Alexander. Their daughter, Catherine, was also of an age to the Darcy's Emma Jane, and so, with much in common, annual visits had been deemed essential to the happiness of all. Mr. William Astley, the eldest son, had been delivered to Cambridge and Mr. George Astley to Westminster, where Mr. John Alexander Darcy had been impatiently awaiting. Mr. and Mrs. Astley, along with Miss Catherine Astley, had descended upon Pemberley as a matter of course, for their estates lay even further north nearer to Leeds.
"You see," Mrs. Darcy had attempted to explain to Mrs. Collins, "I have been in a state of expectation or was recently delivered at every visit, and she has borne only the three children. It is an uncomfortable sensation."
"But, Lizzy," Charlotte had argued sensibly, "I have borne no children, yet, I hope, I do not fill you with misgiving."
"No!" Lizzy had assured her friend immediately, then, feeling further explanation was now imperative, Mrs. Darcy continued, "but then, you do not attempt to make me regret my good fortune."
Charlotte focused now on the present as Mrs. Astley stood before her, congratulating her on a victory she did not attempt to understand. It was unlikely a mother of three and wife to a living husband would show her hackles to a childless widow, so Charlotte again closed her mind and glanced over her shoulder to Mr. Kelly. Lord Darincourt had found a more likely recipient of his loquacious reviews, much to Mr. Kelly's good-natured dismay, and Charlotte could not help but smile at their predicaments. It had all begun with them, and now they were leagues apart. It was just as well, she thought, as she managed to squelch the sigh that threatened to escape her lips.
At long last, Charlotte made good her escape, her mind suddenly alert with plans for solitude.
Those plans were seemingly foiled the following morning, only a few hours later, when her maid entered her bedchambers.
"Morgan made it a point to tell me that your presence would be expected at the breakfast board this morning, should you be awake," Molly began as she pushed back the curtains to Charlotte's bed, "though I doubt Mrs. Darcy worded it in such an imperious manner." Molly sniffed in scorn at the older maid's tactics. "Mrs. Darcy was never so full of herself as to expect her guests to do anything they did not like," Molly explained, "least of all her particular friends," the maid added with pride.
"Nevertheless," Charlotte replied with a false show of alacrity, "if Mrs. Darcy should take pleasure in my company, I am pleased to forego breaking my fast in bed. In fact," Mrs. Collins began conspiratorially, "it will give you time to make the preparations."
The maid was given a series of orders, some of which made her eyes widen in shock and others which brightened her eyes with inspiration. She would never let Mrs. Collins down.