Mr Bentley, who had recovered his missing papers, excused himself and returned to his work in the parlour, and the travellers went upstairs.
When they returned later to take tea in the sitting room, Isabella had changed her dark travelling dress for a soft lavender and grey striped gown, whose style so reminded Caroline of Emma; it was clear she had chosen it for her niece.
Mr Bentley meanwhile had composed himself sufficiently to make a more successful attempt at communication, and Isabella seemed very interested in what he had to say, though as they were seated at some distance from the others, Caroline could not hear what it was about. She assumed it would be about his travels and his work in France.
By the time the rest of the party had arrived and they were ready to start the meeting, it seemed as though they were old friends, which of course they were, although both Isabella and Mr Bentley were surprised at the ease with which they had slipped into casual conversation.
At dinner that evening, Caroline waited to see if Mr Bentley would move towards Isabella as they entered the dining room, but he did not, choosing rather to sit across the table from her, from which vantage point he could both hear and observe her without drawing attention to himself. Very astute indeed, thought Caroline.
When they were joined in the drawing room by the gentlemen, however, amidst all the bustle of taking tea, coffee, and sweets, it seemed to Caroline that the pair had secured the only position in the room, to the right and a little behind the pianoforte, where they could not be overheard.
As a small procession of performers, adults, and children entertained the party, Isabella and Mr Bentley listened attentively, applauded politely, and then became engaged in an absorbing discussion; one must suppose it was to do with the merits of each performance, but one could not be certain. Afterwards, when the guests had gone home, Isabella embraced both her parents and asked to be excused. She was a little weary from travelling, she said, and wished to go to bed.
Isabella was too tired and Harry too excited by their return home to allow her much time for contemplation. But, after she had put him to bed, she did sit down at the desk in her room and make a note in her diary, recording there both her surprise at seeing Mr Bentley in her father's house and her pleasure that he had remembered her so well. It read:
I had not thought ever to see him again, when having left for France all those years ago, he never returned to Derbyshire nor wrote ever again. When I did see him, the shock of it was no greater than the pleasure of knowing that he had not forgotten me; indeed, as we spoke later, it seemed he recalled very vividly our friendship, as I did. How very strange that he should be back in England working for my grandfather's business.
Such a happy coincidence.
Not surprisingly, he appears much older than I remember him, as I no doubt must seem to him. It is a long time since we last met, though it did not feel so when we spoke together. He is still a very agreeable gentleman.
Though I doubt we shall meet often, it is good to know he is here in England, even if Manchester is many miles from Matlock.
When Caroline wrote, some days later, to thank Emma Wilson for the transformation she had wrought upon her daughter, she could not resist relating the story of the meeting between Isabella and Mr Bentley.
Forgive me, dear Emma, she wrote:
…if I sound too much like our dear departed Aunt Bennet, whose chief hobby in life is said to have been matchmaking, but it was a revelation to see them as they stood in the hall looking at one another, each as if the other were a phantom they had never expected to see again.
While I am not suggesting it was a case of love rekindled, for indeed these two are mature persons and not of an age or disposition to be overtaken by such romantic raptures, had you been there, Emma, you would understand what I mean when I say there was something very remarkable about that meeting.
Now, pray do not berate me for sounding like some silly, romantic woman with her head buried in the pages of a novella from a circulating library, but, Emma, I would give ten years of my life to see my Bella happy again.
Mr Bentley did love her dearly—he told me so himself—and they were such good friends, and of course, he has never married! I live in hope…
Emma smiled and tucked her letter into the pocket of her gown.
“Ah Caroline, ever the romantic, who knows, you may yet be right. For Isabella's sake, I hope Mr Bentley is as deeply affected as you think he is,” she thought, as she went downstairs.
She was glad to have contributed to the reclamation of her niece. Recalling how dreary and unhappy Isabella had been when she came to Standish Park with her tearful little boy hanging about his mother's skirts, she admitted it had been quite an achievement to draw her out from the depths of her self-rebuking gloom. If it had helped set her on the road to a new life, Emma would be quite content.
The following week brought heavy rains and the possibility of floods in the valley. Happily, Isabella had allowed herself to be persuaded to stay on at her parents' home rather than risk returning to the cottage with Harry. Word had come that the lower meadows were inundated from the overflowing creek, and both Caroline and Colonel Fitzwilliam had urged her to stay.
“There will be work that needs doing before you can return, having been away so long,” said her mother, and Isabella agreed.
When the weather cleared and the roads were dry again, Caroline and Isabella set out to walk to the village. They had both felt the need of some sunshine and exercise, as well as the chance to talk privately together. There were matters Caroline wished to discuss and something Isabella wanted very much to ask her mother.
They had not gone far when she asked, quite casually, why she had not been told of Mr Bentley's appointment to the position at the Manchester office.
“Did you not think I would wish to know?” she asked, gazing at her mother, with wide, clear eyes. “Or perhaps, did you fear I would be upset at knowing he was in the area?”
Caroline replied quite truthfully that it had not seemed important at the time because of everything else that was happening around them.
“I knew there was very little chance of your meeting him. We had not heard from him in years, nor had you ever spoken of him with any degree of interest. Besides, preparations were afoot for you to travel to Wales with Henry.”
Isabella looked quickly away, her eyes suddenly filling with tears at the memory.
“Yes, yes of course. I understand, but even so, Mr Bentley had been a friend; no doubt he had reasons for his silence as I had. But I should have liked to have known he was back in England, that he was working for the company and he was well and happy,” she said in a very soft voice that was barely audible.
Caroline smiled. “He certainly looks well, despite the passage of years, but as for being happy, of that I am not so certain,” she said, causing her daughter to ask, “Why do you say that, Mama?”
“Well, for a start, he has never married and…” she began.
“Ah, but a man need not marry to be happy,” said Isabella. “It is only women who believe that we must be married and have children to ensure our happiness. Men are able to find pleasure and satisfaction in many other pursuits and have no compulsion to marry at all unless it pleases them to do so.”
Her mother expressed some surprise at this remark but was unwilling to argue the point. Instead, she said, “Well, my dear, I do think Mr Bentley was very disappointed when you refused his offer of marriage, and I believe that his unmarried state is a consequence of that disappointment.”
Isabella seemed sceptical. “How do you know this, Mama? Has he spoken of it to you since his return?”
“Certainly not,” she replied, but she did proceed to relate the gist of their conversation when Mr Bentley had come to see her before leaving for France those many years ago.
Her mother's revelation of Mr Bentley's strong expressions of affection for her astonished Isabella. While she had believed him to be partial to her, perhaps even a little in love w
ith her, she had not fully appreciated the strength and depth of his feelings. It had undoubtedly been a factor in her decision to refuse his proposal.
“Why did you not tell me at the time, Mama? Did you think I would change my mind?”
Caroline's denial was emphatic. “No, my dear Bella, I did not, but I feared it would place a burden upon you, of remorse, even guilt. I know you are tenderhearted and kind, and I thought you would regret your refusal and feel it was your fault if you knew how he loved you and how deeply he felt your rejection.”
Isabella smiled. “Did you not trust me to cope with the knowledge that he loved me? I had turned down the only man for whom I felt I could have had any strong feelings; did you fear that if I discovered how he felt, I may not be able or willing to resist?” she asked.
Caroline was at a loss for words. She had not thought that after so many years, Isabella would still recall with such clarity her feelings for Mr Bentley. But it was clear that she did. When she admitted that despite her refusal, she had genuinely admired and liked Philip Bentley and had been willing to consider marriage if he had asked her until it had been revealed to her that his family had made their money from the abhorrent and illegal slave trade, there were tears in her eyes.
“We were such good friends, Mama. I have never enjoyed such companionship, nor felt such warmth of feeling with any other person, before or since.”
Caroline could not now deny that she had herself noticed their close association and had hoped for their engagement before the revelation of Mr Henderson's infamous past. Yet, she had to ask, “But what about Henry, Isabella? Did you not love him?”
“Of course I did. How could one not love Henry for his goodness and kindness? We did a great deal of wonderful work together,” she replied. “But though there was love between us, there was none of the adventure, the fun of discovery, and the sense of delight I had known during that year when Mr Bentley and I had been friends.
“I was so young, so foolish as to believe that we could go on being friends, even after I had turned him down, giving him no explanation. How could I have been so blind, so self-centred, so insensitive to his feelings? I know now how utterly foolish I must have seemed to him when I made such a suggestion. I feel ashamed.”
So forlorn did she seem, Caroline had to stop and urge her to rest awhile; she put her arms around her as though she were still the young girl who had been so easily persuaded that to accept a proposal of marriage from Mr Bentley would not be in her interest or that of her family.
“Bella, my love, please do not blame yourself; there is no need. Mr Bentley feels no bitterness towards you or your family; it was a long time ago, you were very young, and he understood and accepted what was done without question. Now, you have met under completely different circumstances and may well be good friends again.”
Isabella shook her head. “Friends? Surely not. With Mr Bentley in Manchester and me in Matlock, I doubt we shall meet again.”
“Isabella, tell me, do you wish that you could?” Caroline asked gently and the expression on her daughter's face left her in no doubt of the answer. No words were necessary.
As they resumed their walk, both women were acutely aware of the feelings that had been openly acknowledged that day, though neither returned to the subject. A meeting with Emily Courtney and her daughter Jessica in the village ended the possibility that it may be reopened on the way home. Neither Isabella nor Emily had forgotten her aunt's part in Isabella's decision to refuse Mr Bentley's proposal.
Caroline spent many hours thinking over the events of the day. She was not sure she had understood everything Isabella had said, nor did her daughter subsequently return to the subject to elucidate.
But of one thing Caroline was certain: Isabella had neither forgotten nor forsaken her feelings for Mr Bentley; feelings doubtless suppressed over the years of her marriage to Henry Forrester, which had surfaced after their chance meeting. Caroline was unsure whether to be pleased or concerned by her discovery. She was in a quandary of her own making.
She wanted, with all her heart, for her daughter to be a happy and contented woman again. She worried that she ought to do something about it but knew not what. She reflected upon it for some days before deciding that she would consult her cousin Lizzie, even before speaking of the matter to her husband.
On a bright morning, when Isabella had gone with Rachel and Harry into the village to purchase a new pair boots for her son, Caroline sent for the curricle and set off for Pemberley.
Elizabeth was alone. It being a particularly fine Summer's day, Mr Darcy had taken his two grandsons, James and Anthony, down to the river for a spot of fishing. The sun was almost too warm to tempt her into the garden, which was why she was seated on the west lawn, within the cool shadow of the house, when Caroline arrived to see her.
Delighted to have such an unexpected and totally welcome visitor, she ordered refreshments and invited Caroline to sit beside her on the low wicker divan.
“Caroline, it is such a delight to have you call. I was preparing to be very bored all morning until Darcy and the boys returned. It is far too warm to walk in the garden, though the roses are beautiful again this year and this soporific weather does not allow one to read for very long. As I said to Jane, I am very spoilt because dear Jessica reads to me every evening before dinner, unless we have company. We are, just this week, reading Mrs Gaskell's 'Cranford'—are you familiar with it?”
Caroline had to confess that she was not. Mrs Gaskell was not a favourite of hers. When she had the leisure and the inclination to read, she preferred the tales of Mr Dickens, she said.
By the time the servants had brought them trays of fruit and cool, refreshing drinks, which were placed upon a low table beside the divan, both women had agreed that Mr Dickens was the superior writer, though Elizabeth complained that there were so many interesting characters in David Copperfield she could never remember all of them.
“That is a common complaint,” Caroline acknowledged, “but it has not deterred me from enjoying it.”
When the servants had left them, Caroline decided the time had come to declare the real reason for her visit. “Cousin Lizzie,” she began, a little tentatively, taking advantage of the first break in the conversation, “I have come to you for advice about Bella,” and immediately, Elizabeth turned with a concerned look to regard her cousin.
“Why, Caroline dear, what has happened?”
She was very aware of the plethora of problems that had beset her cousin since the death of her father but had hoped matters were settling down well.
Caroline plunged in, reminding Elizabeth of Isabella's friendship with Mr Bentley, she related in some detail the meeting that had taken place between herself and Mr Bentley, when Isabella had, upon the advice of her family, refused his proposal of marriage. She then described the recent meeting between Isabella and Mr Bentley, concluding with a careful recital of her subsequent conversation with her daughter.
Elizabeth listened attentively. She had always been particularly fond of Caroline, and despite a tendency among some members of their family to dismiss her romantic disposition, Elizabeth had recognised the value of her cousin's strength of character and affectionate nature.
As Caroline told it, it became clear to her that Mr Bentley's feelings for Isabella were unchanged despite their long separation, and it now appeared that Isabella was, at the very least, pleased to recognise this and may even welcome it.
When Caroline had concluded her tale, Elizabeth asked, “Do you believe, Caroline, that Isabella loves him?”
Caroline's answer was unambiguous. “If she does not, then she very soon will, for I have not heard her speak with such warmth and fondness of anyone before. She believes they are still good friends, but Mr Bentley cared deeply for her once, and should they have the opportunity, I am convinced they will both discover that they are much more than friends.”
“And you believe this would be good for Isabella?” asked Elizabeth.
“I do, but it is not for me to answer for her, Lizzie. I wish, I should very much like, this time, to give Isabella the opportunity to decide for herself, free of my influence or that of any other member of our family.
“If this is a chance for her to find happiness, I would wish with all my heart that she would take it.”
Elizabeth was thoughtful for a while, then sitting up very straight, asked, “And what are Mr Bentley's present circumstances?”
Caroline answered directly, “To the best of my knowledge, he is now a gentleman of independent means, with a substantial house and property outside London where his mother and stepsister live. He has the position in the company, of course, with an income sufficient to keep a wife and family in comfort. Needless to say, Isabella will have her own income too; Papa and Henry Forrester both saw to that.”
My Cousin Caroline: The acclaimed Pride and Prejudice sequel series The Pemberley Chronicles Book 6 Page 36