We all found it odd when my father's cousin's son came for a week-long visit in November; we had never even met the man, and here he was commandeering a bedroom and a place at the dinner table, asking to borrow my mother's car to see the area, and begging for a tour guide in the form of one of his "fair cousins." It became evident to me sometime in the second day that he had some sort of matrimonial goal, and I feared that I had become his object; by day four of his visit it was not fear, but certainty. I never encouraged him, I promise, but I sensed he thought that I should naturally return his "affections."

And so I spent as little time alone with him as humanly possible. I was permanently linked at the elbow to either Jane or Charlotte. Even when I had to dance with him, I made certain Jane and Charles were nearby and kept a watchful eye on us. I made my lack of intentions perfectly clear to him and left the house for the rest of the day, returning very late and going straight to bed. The next morning I departed without even eating breakfast, and when I returned home I found that we were all to go to the Lucas's for dinner. Charlotte mercifully spoke with Bill Collins all evening, not even permitting him to look in my direction, much less talk to me. Never was there a truer friend.

Charlotte Lucas and I have been friends since childhood. She knew all the best hiding spots in the neighborhood and mercifully let me hide beside her. During neighborhood games of "Mother, May I" she let me take more big steps than anyone else when she was Mother, and she was the most indefatigable jump rope turner I've ever known. I realized very young that she was not particularly pretty, but that didn't matter. She kept every secret I ever told her, she listened to my verbal outpourings no matter what my mood, and she supported me in every endeavor. I felt closer to her than I did my younger sisters.

Felt. All of that changed when she got herself engaged to Bill. Bill Collins, of all people! I had an inkling that she was losing hope that she would ever find a good man to marry, but did she despair so completely that she thought she had to accept his proposal? I wondered if I had ever really known her? Had I ever listened to her as thoroughly as she listened to me? Had she ever poured out her heart the same way I had?

Instantly, with the acceptance of his proposal of marriage, the intimacy that had existed between us was gone. Her feelings and thoughts she kept mainly to herself, and though she might still have listened to me, I could hardly tell her everything I was pondering. Despite the material change in our relationship though, I felt compelled to visit her in her new home during spring break. Though they were newlyweds, Charlotte and Bill acted like they'd lived together forever. Their daily routines twisted and turned, bringing them together for brief periods during the day and shunting them to their separate duties. Their life was a well-oiled machine, and I suspected that Charlotte had engineered it so that they spent as little time together as possible. I could hardly blame her.

They lived in an apartment that had been recommended to them by Bill's employer. I'd heard plenty about Catherine DeBourgh during his visit in November, enough to know that he probably hadn't been able to sign the rental contract fast enough after Mrs. DeBourgh suggested it. The apartment building was a very short five-minute drive from Rosings, Inc., and just two blocks away from Mrs. DeBourgh's own residence. She lived in a stately, grand old home, restored to all the glory (and then some) of its original situation. It was evident that the grounds surrounding the home had been extensive; but as the city spread further and further outward it had been divided, parceled, and sold. Still, Mrs. DeBourgh's land was an impressive two acres in the middle of quarter- and fifth-acre lots. The homes around her (though of much more recent construction) were large and expensive, but Mrs. DeBourgh's estate outshined them all. The stately trees, the sweeping drive with a gated entrance, and the forbidding pillared front entry all distinguished her home as the residence of the most wealthy and tasteful person in the neighborhood. (Or so she thought.)

I arrived at Charlotte's apartment late Saturday evening. Sunday morning we went to church where Bill insisted we sit behind Mrs. DeBourgh, in case she should make any important additions to the sermon. Monday morning I saw Bill and Charlotte off to work and then set off for a jog through the neighborhood, mildly wondering what I was going to do all day in this unfamiliar neighborhood. An hour later I returned to their apartment to find Charlotte in the kitchen, dressed in casual clothes. "I decided to take the day off to be with you," she said, shrugging. We spent the day exploring, shopping, and talking; though there were still some subjects that were off-limits, I began to feel comfortable with Charlotte again, and sense that she had not really changed.

Tuesday morning was much the same. Bill and Charlotte each sat at the breakfast table in business attire, told me to have a nice day, and gave me recommendations for places I might visit while they were at work. When I returned from my jog Charlotte was home and dressed informally, having impulsively decided to take another day off. It didn't take me long to come up with the theory that she had officially taken vacation time to spend time with her guest, but that she didn't want to risk Bill doing the same. I surmised she hadn't told him she would be home every day, and had to keep up appearances. I never got a full confession from her, though. We had brunch in her favorite restaurant and then went to see a matinee. But Tuesday afternoon brought a very unexpected surprise.

Near 3:00 the doorbell rang. Charlotte and I had just sat down to watch Oprah with a box of Girl Scout cookies. "I'm never here during the day. It must be a salesman or something. I'll get rid of whoever it is," she said, jogging down the hall with a thin mint in each hand. I was surprised a minute later, then, when I heard voices in the hall. Charlotte burst back into the living room with none other than William Darcy and another man.

"My friend Elizabeth Bennet is visiting right now, too. Liz, I'm sure you remember William Darcy; this is his cousin Colin Williams." She opened her eyes wide, as if to say, I have no better idea than you do why they're here. "They're spending a few days with their aunt, Mrs. DeBourgh, and just wanted to drop by to say hello." She gave a small shrug with her eyebrows and one shoulder.

"Oh," I said, totally at a loss for words. William Darcy is just about the last person I wanted to see here, I couldn't help thinking. "Oh. Well, it is...nice of you to drop by."

Charlotte and I stood silently, eyeing our box of Thin Mints and the muted television, wondering what to say next to the unexpected visitors. I thought of the many conversations William and I had participated in during his brief visit to my hometown. I don't believe we ever argued the same side; it was obvious to me that our opinions differed on virtually everything, and I could tell by the expressions on his face when we talked that he didn't like me. His countenance at that moment, standing in Charlotte's apartment living room, was the same I'd always seen: his eyebrows wrinkling together, his eyes wide as though in disbelief, his lips pressed tightly together in a straight line with no hint of curve upward. I feel the same way, William, I thought.

"When Aunt Catherine mentioned that you were visiting, Elizabeth, William here almost choked on his own tongue. He's told me how much he enjoyed meeting you – both of you – when he stayed with Charles, and I have to say we'd like to get together while we're here. Aunt Catherine's home can be a little...uh, boring." Colin looked over at his dumb cousin and nudged him with his elbow. "Wouldn’t you say, Will? This has the potential to be more fun than the usual?"

Colin had an open, ready smile. He was eager to talk and never let us sit in uncomfortable silence. He sensibly refused the offer of Thin Mints, saying he wouldn't take our hard-to-replace Girl Scout cookies.

William ate three.

And he never said a word, except in response to Colin. By the end of fifteen minutes I was so exasperated with him I was almost ready to kick him out. Thankfully Colin rose, extended his hand, and said it was time they were leaving to do other things. William screwed up his eyes and looked at his cousin, who happened to be shaking my hand, but he could only muster a nod. No farewells, no expressions of pleasure.

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