The Clergyman's Wife by Molly Greeley

Author:Molly Greeley
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2019-09-30T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Nineteen

Maria must have been waiting at the parlor window, for the coach has not even rolled to a stop when she comes bursting through the front door to stand, body drawn tight with impatience, upon the drive. William alights first, then helps me down; I scarcely set both feet upon the ground before my sister has enveloped both me and Louisa in a crushing embrace.

“It is so good to see you!” she says. “And oh, sweet niece, you are so big!”

I find that I am blinking against sudden tears. It has been so long since I have seen her—more than ten months since her last visit to Kent. She smells just as I remember from years of sharing a bed.

William clears his throat, and Maria and I pull apart. She looks at him guiltily. “Sister,” he says, and holds out his hand. She places hers in it and he bows with exaggerated gallantry. “Though she does not entirely approve of your choice of husband,” he says as he rises, “Lady Catherine sent us from Rosings Park with her felicitations.” He presses her hand and releases it.

I close my eyes, but not in time to miss the way Maria’s face turns scarlet. “I—” she says, and then my parents and youngest brothers are hurrying through the doorway, saving her from the necessity of an appropriate response to so inappropriate a statement.

“Mr. Collins!” my mother says. She kisses his cheek, and William flushes rosier than Maria. And then my mother turns to me; her gaze darts between my face and Louisa’s, and she laughs and says, “I hardly know whom I missed most!” and wraps us both in her arms. A moment later and she is stepping back, but she reaches for Louisa. “Let me see you, my big girl,” she says, but Louisa leans back in her arms.

“Ma!” she says. “Ma! Ma!” She holds out her hands to me.

“Oh, hush now,” my mother says, and begins walking toward the house. “I have taken out all of your mamma and auntie’s old toys, they have been waiting impatiently for you to arrive and play with them.”

My chest feels full and warm as I watch them go. And now my father is standing before me. His hair has turned fully gray, but his smile is exactly the same. “Charlotte,” he says, and leans down to kiss my cheek. He smells the same, too, the crisp lemon scent of the cologne he always applies a little too strongly.

“Father.” It is silly, perhaps, to be so utterly consumed by gladness, but I am home, and my brothers Samuel and Frederick are waiting their turns to greet me, having already shaken William’s hand with great solemnity. “You have grown so!” I say—Frederick, who is still so young in my mind, sports a few wisps of hair above his upper lip—and they both shuffle their feet and grin.

DINNER IS TO be a far noisier affair than I’d have chosen, for my mother invited the Bennets and the Longs to dine with us.

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