At this, all began to speak at once, but Adeline raised a thin, white hand for silence.
“No, it must not be. Such a marriage would end in unhappiness and bitter recriminations. You have always been an elder brother to me, Alfred, ever since I was a little girl. I hope you shall continue to be so. I hope we will still see you as often as when...”
Adeline's voice had begun to falter during this brave speech, and now it broke altogether, and, repressing a sob, she fled from the room. Lydia and Catherine instantly flew after her, to comfort their unhappy sister. In her flight, she had dropped the ring, and this Alfred now silently picked up, and placed slowly on Adeline's work-table, before turning to Mr Trent, who was looking on with a grave expression.
“Aye, perhaps it is better so, young man. Many people have made such a mistake in their feelings, it is fortunate perhaps that you found it out before the knot was irrevocably tied.”
Alfred merely bowed, not trusting himself to speak lest he betray the tears that stood in his eyes, and made his departure in silence.
And so the months passed, more or less uneventful, until almost a year had elapsed since Malcolm Wade's death. Adeline's health steadily declined still further during this time – she endeavoured to present as bright and carefree a face as possible to the world, even to her uncle and sisters, but long nights spent in bitter recollection and hopeless tears soon took their toll.
The doctor having recommended change of air, the girls spent a month at the seaside, being joined from Friday evening til early Monday morning by their uncle, who genuinely missed them. Alfred ran down a couple of times, to take a walk with the girls, but he never stayed long, or was alone with any of them. Adeline's health, with the help of sea-bathing, long breezy walks, and comfortable, quiet evenings in her sisters' society, had improved a little by the time they returned home, and the experiment was deemed a success.
It was with this in mind that Catherine one day, shortly after their return, approached Mr Trent.
“Sir, I wish you might give me some advice.”
Mr Trent indicated that he was all ears, and would give any advice in his power, and so Catherine continued.
“Now that my sister is on the road to health, I have been giving some serious thought to my future. I am well provided for, and no blood relation to you, so I feel I should no longer trespass on your generous hospitality.
“I wish you might assist me in finding a small, genteel house where I might, with propriety, live alone.”
“But my dear, I had been looking forward to you making your home here for ever so long.”
“Sir, you are very kind, but it seems improper that, not being your relation, I should live in your home.”
“Then -” began Mr Trent, then with sudden, impulsive resolution, “become my relation. Become my nearest relation. Catherine, I had not realised until you mentioned leaving, how much I admire and love you. Be my wife, and make your home here with me.”
Catherine was too much astonished to make any reply.
“I know that I am fifty two and you are but seven and twenty. I know that your previous marriage cannot have given you much relish for the matrimonial state, but believe me, Catherine, I love you as I have never loved before. I had thought myself an eternal bachelor, that I would never see a woman who could make me completely happy, until I came to know you. Might I at least try to win your love? Or at the least, your affection? Will you give me that right?”
“Mr Trent, my affection you already have – but before you say too much, I have to tell you the missing portion of my history.” and she proceeded to outline her eight year's experience in the Navy, as Captain Woods.
“Now, sir, let us both reflect. Perhaps now you have heard all, sober reflection will show you that I am not fit to be a gentleman's wife.”
“I still believe you more than fit to be anyone's wife, even an emperor. However, take all the time you wish. That you are even willing to consider my proposal gives me hope.”
It was true, John Trent, confirmed bachelor, had fallen as violently in love as any young hobbledehoy. How 'the pleasing plague had stolen upon him' he knew not, only that as time passed he liked more and more to look on her face, to hear her voice, to think of her and for her. Watching her, as they sat by the fire, had brought a new and unfamiliar longing to his bachelor heart, a thought that to see that face by his fireside in perpetuity would be a very fine thing.
He did not press the young lady, however, being a thorough gentleman – indeed he never returned to the subject until several weeks later.
They had all been to a party – the first since Adeline and Catherine had come out of mourning for their father. During the course of the evening, a middle aged lady, with whom Mr Trent was slightly acquainted, stopped Catherine to ask if she was any relation to Captain Woods, as she bore a striking resemblance to that gentleman. Catherine blushed, and mumbled that she had a passing acquaintance with him, before excusing herself in confusion. Mr Trent, however, remained talking – or rather, listening – to the lady for quite some time.
When they arrived home, he asked Catherine if he might speak to her a moment. She acquiesced, and so they remained together in the drawing room after Lydia and Adeline had retired. Mr Trent's eyes were sparkling with emotion, and the door had barely closed behind Lydia before he began to speak.
“My dear Catherine, when I spoke to you last, alone, you told me you did not think yourself fit to be my wife. After this evening, I agree – you are far far too good for me.
“Do you know what I have been hearing this evening from Mrs Dalrymple? I heard all about the Captain of the ship on which her son, a lad of sixteen, served. The lady spoke of a brave man, who was the first into action and the last out of danger. She spoke of a just and noble man, who listened to all opinions before making decisions, who was fair and impartial, and clever as well as brave in battle and in navigation. She spoke of a kind man, who not only defended her lad from a party of boarders who were close to killing him, but tenderly nursed him with his own hands. Who comforted those who were afraid or sad, and did not punish unjustly. And so this was your guilty secret, that was to make you unfit to marry? Eight years of resourcefulness, intelligence, courage and kindness. I say again, you are too good for me.”
“Sir, I am not too good for you – I have lived a rough kind of life. It is you who are too good for me, but...” all in a rush, “but if you choose to think me a fitting wife, then I cannot gainsay you. Yes, Mr Trent, I will marry you.”
Mr Trent made no reply, except, with tears of joy in his eyes, to take Catherine in his arms. She resisted half a moment, but it seemed as if his touch revealed the gentleness and truth of his heart, and with a soft little sigh, like a lost and troubled bird coming at last to it's nesting place, she buried her head in his shoulder.
Epilogue
Five years have now passed since our story ended, and we take a last sight of our characters, in a quiet churchyard, on a soft summer evening.
The little group stands by a grave – the headstone bears the name 'Adeline Wade', and is dated a year since. Poor girl, she never did recover from the pangs and distresses of those two years - she simply faded away, until claimed a year ago by a low fever. One of her last earthly acts was to unite the hands of her one-time lover and her stepsister, extracting a promise from them that they would marry for her sake.
Now Lydia and Alfred stand arm-in-arm by the grave, having fulfilled their promise but a few weeks ago, in a quiet, sober ceremony, for they both are still in mourning for their dear sister. Their love, though suppressed, has endured their long separation, and though it will always be somewhat tinged with melancholy, looks well to endure the rest of their lives. Though Lydia is now extremely wealthy, having inherited all of Adeline's fortune in addition to that of her father, Alfred has refused to touch a penny, instead settling it all on Lydia and her future children, and, having been touched by both joy and tragedy, his writing prospers finely.
The four speak quietly, sharing loving remembrances of the young girl, once so bright and lovely, who now slumbers beneath the sod. Let us not disturb their bittersweet recollections, but steal softly away into the gathering dusk.
Table of Contents
About the Author
Acknowledgements
Chapter the 1
Chapter the 2
Chapter the 3
Chapter the 4
Chapter the 5
Chapter the 6
Chapter the 7
Chapter the 8
Chapter the 9
Chapter the 10
Chapter the 11
Chapter the 12
Chapter the 13
Chapter the 14
Chapter the 15
Chapter the 16
Chapter the 17
Chapter the 18
Chapter the 19
Chapter the 20
Chapter the 21
Chapter the 22
Chapter the 23
Chapter the 24
Chapter the 25
Chapter the 26
Chapter the 27
Epilogue
Lydia Trent Page 16