Disclaimer: I…don't know where this came from.

Charlotte did not marry for love. She had said as much to Elizabeth, and she admitted it openly to herself. She did not marry for love. That much was obvious the minute anyone met her husband. Socially awkward, ever wittering on about Lady Catherine and her house, Mr. William Collins' wealth was truly the only thing he had that recommended him. She knew this going into the marriage, and was content with it.

"Sometimes, we can go almost the whole day without seeing each other," she had said to Elizabeth, and she had taken quiet satisfaction in it. Her husband could be quite the most tiresome man in the world when experienced for extended periods of time, especially in public, and she enjoyed her solitude. But perhaps… it was not so odious to be married to him as she made it out. He was an easy man to be cruel to, for subtle jabs tended to go right over his head, making it all the more entertaining to send them flying and watch them sail by, with Mr. Collins never the wiser.

At the same time, though… the little, delicate compliments he had paid her during their brief courtship, which had been all the more ridiculous when he openly admitted that he spent time coming up with them for just such occasions as this, as ladies seemed to be appreciative of them, did not stop upon their marriage, as she had supposed they would. They grew no less awkward, but he continued to pay them to her with an odd determination, as if he would be failing in his husbandly duties if he did not.

And the wedding… it had not been the grandest affair, and was announced in the papers with minimal fanfare. She had worn her mother's wedding dress, made over slightly, but her mother had been a far more elegant woman than she, and Charlotte knew it suited her ill. Nevertheless, as she had walked up the aisle, Mr. Collins had turned to look at her and had seemed… almost surprised. Surprised, but very pleased. And it had been a pleasant thing, she realised, to know that it was she who had put that look upon his plain features.

He was easily lost in his own thoughts and excitements, moving about like a soap bubble tossed on the breeze. But sometimes he paid attention. And sometimes he surprised her with his nattering. A month into their marriage, he had returned from a visit to Lady Catherine, all a-twitter about some new curtains her ladyship had purchased.

"Silk brocade, you know, very expensive, very elegant," he chattered as they ate their evening meal, "Her ladyship has such excellent taste. And the colour – why, my dear, it was the exact shade of brown as your eyes. The exact shade! Really, it was the most remarkable thing!"

From there he had gone on to speak of Lady Catherine's plans for her daughter, and Charlotte had made appropriately encouraging noises, all the while hiding her surprise. She had not realised that her husband noticed she had brown eyes, let alone the specific shade.

A few months after that, they had been taking a turn about the garden – she didn't remember why, probably something to do with something Lady Catherine had said. But he had turned to her out of the blue and announced, "I was right, you know."

"About what, dear?" she had asked, internally bracing herself for another spiel about his generous patroness.

"Marriage." He replied, looking quite pleased with himself, "I had thought I should quite enjoy it, and I most certainly am!"

Again, it had been a surprise to hear it. Charlotte knew her husband had been attracted to her friend Elizabeth Bennett for her passion, a quality Charlotte readily admitted that she was rather lacking. But she was beginning to learn that, for all that he tended to work them out ahead of time, Mr. Collins never paid a compliment that was insincere, for the man was simply too silly to lie, and often said thoughts the moment they came into his head. So when he frowned a moment later and asked whether she was enjoying herself as well, she had smiled at him and admitted to being most content with her situation.

OoOoOoO

Several months later, she had quietly come to him while he was striding about his study, rehearsing a sermon for the following Sunday, and informed him that he was to be a father.

He had dropped the cup of tea he had been sipping at her announcement, and it had fallen to the floor and shattered into a thousand pieces. Charlotte had been quite worried at that, having recognised it as part of a set Lady Catherine had recommended and which, as such, was a particular favorite of his. Mr. Collins had had no eyes for the shattered cup or the stained carpet, however, looking rather torn between staring at Charlotte's face and her stomach, his mouth a perfect 'o' from which, for once, no sound uttered. Once he had unfrozen, he fluttered about her, not quite touching her, as though she had suddenly become one of Lady Catherine's own prized china figurines, and he feared a touch might break her, bubbling nonsense such as 'you're sure?' and 'you're quite sure?' and 'I, a father?' his expression a mixture of genuine shock and delight that she thought suited him rather well.

He had been kind to her since their marriage, and considerate, in his own way. Now he made quite a nuisance of himself with his affections, testing even the great Lady Catherine's patience asking for advice on the matters at hand. He spared no expense on the nursery, of course, and asked Charlotte a thousand times a day if she was comfortable, was she warm enough, oh goodness, she just sneezed, he hoped she wasn't coming down with something! It was as annoying as it was endearing.

For the most part she gave him his head, but on one thing she put her foot down. One of the few things she brought with her to her new life from her old one was the cradle she used as a baby. It had been in her family for several generations, and she had had her heart set on her child falling asleep to its gentle rocking, just as she did as a babe. Mr. Collins, who had been telling her of his plans to get a new one made, just for their child, blinked owlishly at her when she made her preferences on the matter clear, and for a moment she feared she had angered him, something she had avoided quite well thus far. Then he had given a knowing little smile, the one that he wore when he thought he'd figured something out, and said that of course the mother must be allowed some say in the proceedings. He did get the cradle cleaned and polished, and fitted with new linens, but it was still her cradle placed in the nursery, where it matched none of the other furnishings, dark and heavy where the rest was light and delicate.

Lady Catherine gave it a very disapproving look indeed during one of her visits, and said it should be replaced with something more in fitting with the vogue of the rest of the room, and Charlotte sighed to herself, knowing she had lost this battle. She was most surprised, therefore, when Mr. Collins paused in his wittering to say that it was as a special favour to his wife that the cradle is as it is, and he does hope Lady Catherine will forgive him only he knows how important it is to honor one's promises to one's wife, as she Lady Catherine had so kindly instructed him upon numerous occasions while he was in the process of finding one and what a wonderful idea of hers it had been for him to do so-

He smiled at Charlotte when Lady Catherine, still disapproving but mollified somewhat in this display that Mr. Collins was still directly under her thumb, turned her attention to the wardrobe, and Charlotte could not help smiling back at him. For a brief moment, he looked pleased. Then he returned to doting on Lady Catherine. Shortly afterwards, Charlotte begged leave to retire, as her current state was one in which extended visits were often quite tiring. It was a request Lady Catherine grandly acquiesced to.

Hiding her relief, Charlotte retired to her private sitting room, where she sat and took a moment to feel the growing swell of her belly, something Mr. Collins had only done a few times since she began to truly show, each time with a reverence usually reserved for things regarding Lady Catherine, and she found herself hoping he would grow a little more bold as time passed and he grew more used to the idea that this was their child she was carrying. Boy or girl, she hoped the child took after her, as she doubted any household could survive more than one Mr. Collins. But… perhaps, it would not be so bad if the child took after him in some small ways. His kindness, his sincerity, perhaps a touch of his humility – goodness knows he had enough to spare a little. It would not be so bad, she thought, to see these in their child…

OoOoOoO

Her husband could be a very tiresome man, and Charlotte preferred to keep their interactions brief. But, for all that he often came off as more of a joke than the serious clergyman he styled himself to be, he was also a good man, who, beneath his layers of obsequiousness and silliness, seemed to hold no regrets whatsoever for marrying her. When they attended the joint wedding of Darcy and Elizabeth and Bingley and Jane, there was no remorse in his countenance. Indeed, in a rare show of daring, he reached over and squeezed her hand when the vows were exchanged.

Charlotte did not marry for love. She was not like her friend Elizabeth. She was twenty-seven years old and plain and scared of dying an old maid, so when the opportunity to escape that fate offered itself, she seized it, hoping only that there might grow to be a fondness between herself and her husband as time went on. She was not a romantic. She did not marry for love.

But she thinks, as her Mr. Collins holds their son for the first time and looks as though he's just experienced the second coming (or possibly been invited to one of Lady Catherine's galas) that she might have found it anyway.

OoOoOoO

Okay, I do know where this came from – I was watching a modern day rendition of Pride and Prejudice and the Charlotte in that version, while talking to Elizabeth about her marriage to Mr. Collins, said something along the lines of 'I know you think he's ridiculous, but he adores me, and I'm very happy here.' And, well, this happened.

…I don't even like Mr. Collins. And now I want to hug him. o_O