Charlotte contemplates the white lace on the sleeve of her wedding dress. It is an entirely sensible amount of lace for a woman in her station. She wears the dress under her new fur collared shawl as she makes the drive from Lucas Lodge to her new home as the parson's wife.

She sits in the carriage alone. Her husband, Mr. Collins, having chosen to ride outside in order to greet his ladyship as soon as they arrive. Charlotte finds herself quite content with the arrangement as it gives her time alone with her thoughts.

She pulls out an embroidered handkerchief and smells the perfumed stitches remembering the soft hand of the one who gave it to her. Lovely Lizzy of the bright eyes who practiced kissing with her on the swing beneath the old oak tree. Those eyes so filled with shock when she had told her that she soon would marry her cousin.

For the life of a spinster is hard, and society must be thought of, especially with a father going on old age and a younger sister yet to find a husband. And none could deny that this was still the prudent choice. 'Cause Charlotte now was heir to Lizzy's house, and some would say she stole her good friend's lot. But in truth, her only thought was to stay close to the place where she first felt the touch of love upon her lips, and the sweet caress of soft brown hair upon her chest. Of wildflowers and promises to always be the closest of friends.

For she knows that happiness in marriage is entirely a matter of chance, but love, true love, that is fate, and now she will never be denied access to the place where she first felt the touch of another woman's hands upon her skin, the first kiss upon her lips, the first fire within her soul. And when Lizzy finds that a man's love is not the youthful dream that she hopes it will be, Charlotte will be there, ready and waiting for her to come home.