Sanditon revisited

Chapter 21: The art of pretending

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In which Sidney's temper gets the better of him

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Charlotte sank back onto the chaise longue again. If someone came in she could simply claim she was feeling unwell and needed to rest, even if truth was that she had not felt so well and alert in a long time. Perhaps on fire was a more appropriate way to describe her present state.

Grazing over her own pleasantly bruised lips with her fingertips, she replayed the last hour in her mind. An hour of bliss which she never had expected to experience outside her own vivid imagination. This was probably the reason why she had allowed it to happen. How many times during the months in Willingden had she not regretted that she had been so righteous that day when they said goodbye? If Eliza Campion was to have Sidney for a lifetime, why hadn't she, Charlotte, allowed herself to indulge him for the briefest moment?

The autumn had been hard to endure. Coming home to Willingden, her immediate feeling had been one of relief because it was comforting to return to familiarity and a place where nobody except Alison knew that Sidney Parker existed. Not even Alison knew much since the only letter where Charlotte had described him in affectionate terms had been discarded after the news of his engagement and never sent.

That relief quickly gave way for something else. When she was not plain sad, she felt restless and listless. She gradually realised how much she had changed and still was changing. The metamorphosis which had begun in Sanditon continued as the past months' events truly sank in. In the stillness of the countryside, she could reflect upon everything more objectively and see things with a new clarity. She understood now, that her opinion of herself at the time when she departed to Sanditon had been skewed by her own lack of knowledge of the world outside this place. Just because she was the eldest among her siblings, aged twenty-two and had read extensively, she thought herself quite knowledgeable, wise and capable of judging characters and situations. The time in Sanditon and the acquaintances she had made there had proved her wrong. Persons and situations were so much more complex than books let on, no one and nothing so black and white as they seemed at first glance. Someone's actions could seem malicious but be based on good intent and experience, whilst another could have good intent yet cause misery in the wake of his actions and oblivious move on without noticing the harm done. Someone who appeared a friend could lead you astray and make you betray other's confidence just to serve her own purposes, and another who had been cool and distant suddenly open up and turn out to be a true friend. These and other insights made her see how little she had known. Despite that she now was wiser, she felt like she still only knew a fraction of what the world had to offer outside her father's estate and the village. For good and for bad, she couldn't help but craving more knowledge and experience. She had outgrown Willingden. It was no longer enough or perhaps it had never been, but only now her eyes were open to it. Her learnings had been painful, but she did not want to hide from them, did not want to return to square one. Even if she had wanted to she would not have been capable of it. Ignorance is bliss, but only as long as you are unaware that you are ignorant.

She had spent so much time analysing and reanalysing every single micro-event, that she eventually wondered if she was going insane. She already knew her own judgement to be questionable and had moved on to doubt her decisions and even feelings. Was this true love that she felt for Sidney? Could it be after such a brief acquaintance with a man whom she initially thought abominable? Could it be, when there was no future in sight because he wilfully had turned away from it? In the end the argument she had with herself always circled back to the same conclusion; yes, she undoubtedly loved him.

There were also the more painful moments when she had doubted his feelings. Thought it impossible that he grieved her like she him. Were his feeling not fickle if he could accept surrendering the fate of marrying another? She tortured herself by imagining that the marks he had left on her was much deeper those she had left on him. He was her first love, but she was not his. She was convinced she would never forget him. Perhaps he had never quite forgotten Mrs. Campion and would happily settle with her, Charlotte turning into a parenthesis in his life. Then again she had felt that no, it was not like that. They were forged for each other. She knew he had given her a silent vow in the church that day, just like she had him. His eyes had told her and they had never lied to her, even when his mouth denied the truth. It had only taken her time to learn to read them.