Catherine, whose life had been significantly altered by the return of Frank Burnett, understood exactly. "Of course I do, my dear Becky; never would I expect you to marry him without the certainty of love. I know it can change our lives as nothing else can. Of course, you must be certain, but how will you know? Do you intend to meet him?"
Becky nodded. "I do. I have sent him a brief reply; I have said I would be happy to see him at Edgewater, when he returns to England. I think, Cathy, that when we do meet, I will know," she replied.
Catherine rose and embraced her sister.
"Of course you will, and you will tell me, when you decide?"
"Most certainly, you shall be the first to know, apart from Mr Contini himself," she assured her.
As they parted, Becky knew she had been right.
There was no need to burden her sister with further information about matters from the past. She feared Catherine's exemplary goodness may be outraged without the benefit of all of the facts, and there were some things she was not prepared to reveal, even to a beloved sister.
After Catherine had left her, Becky had tried to sleep, but she could not; her mind was filled with thoughts and images she could not evade. She recalled vividly the day when, not long after Josie's death, Mr Tate had returned from Europe and announced soon afterwards that he would be travelling to the United States on business, leaving her at the house in London.
Grieving alone, unwilling to return to Derbyshire, where she had felt shunned by Julian's family, Becky had suffered many days and nights of anguish, with only Nelly for company. One afternoon, unable to find any consolation, afflicted with a headache, she had wandered out wearing only a light coat over her Summer gown, walking aimlessly until she had lost her way in the park. Drenched by a sudden Summer shower, she had sought shelter in an arcade across the road, where Mr Contini, coming out of a bookshop, had found her, clearly distressed and very wet.
Becky recalled the kindness and gentleness with which he had wrapped his overcoat around her, helped her into a hansom cab, and taken her home. There, he had urged Nelly to get her dry and warm and put her to bed while he went for a doctor. Becky had caught a chill, and the doctor had warned of the danger of pneumonia, but being both healthy and resilient, she had recovered more quickly than expected.
That week, Mr Contini had called at the house every day to ask after her progress, bringing books and flowers for her comfort. When she was well enough to come downstairs, he had sat with her, and when she was quite recovered, invited her to drive out with him in the park. The fresh air, he had said, would do her good, and Nelly had persuaded her he was right.
Thus had begun a brief interlude in the Summer of 1866, when Becky had found friendship and consolation that had pulled her back from the abyss of self-pity and remorse, which may well have destroyed her mind.
At his urging, she had let him take her out for drives in the countryside, at times spending all day out of doors in some little village or coastal town, and delaying their homeward journey until light had faded from the sky.
Always he had been careful not just of her comfort but of the need to maintain a degree of decorum, treating her with gentlemanly courtesy at all times and making allowance for her situation without ever referring to it.
Becky recalled how easily they had exchanged confidences as their friendship deepened. In him she had confided, as in no one else, her feelings of guilt over Josie's ill-fated marriage and subsequent death. She appreciated his understanding and his ability to share her feelings.
"I thought I was doing what was best for Josie, I was not just being ambitious for her; Julian Darcy loved her, and he was a fine young man as well as the heir to Pemberley. It never was my intention to push Josie into marrying him because of his heritage, and I did not. I did advise her, and she made her decision; yet when it all went so wrong and they were clearly miserable, I could not help feeling guilty. It was as if I had persuaded my own daughter into making an unsuitable marriage that finally destroyed her life. What was worse, everyone else seemed to blame me too."
Aldo Contini had said he had known of her loss but not the detail of the circumstances. He had begged her not to speak of it if it hurt her to do so, but when she had wept and told him some more, he had simply gathered her into his arms and held her, letting her weep until she had no more tears to shed. Thereafter, he had told her of his own loss—a young sister, Rosetta, taken by a dreaded disease at fourteen—his mother's last and most beloved child.
"So you see, Becky, I share your feelings because I too know what it is to lose someone much loved, someone young and beautiful. Nothing can compare with the sorrow of such a loss. For many years my mother could not look upon another little girl without weeping for Rosetta. She was jealous of every other mother she met who had a daughter, because she had lost hers. Which is why I understand exactly how you feel," he said.
That day, a special bond had been wrought between them, and Becky had known that, even if she never saw him again, she would not forget the kindness of Aldo Contini.
Thereafter, unhindered by family scrutiny, they had spent many delightful days together in an increasingly intimate mood, which had made it seem quite natural that they would fall in love. When it happened, nothing Becky had known before had prepared her for the emotions aroused by the discovery that, for the first time in her life, she was loved and desired by a man for whom her own feelings were as deeply and passionately engaged.
Like Summer sunshine, it had poured new warmth and energy into her cold life and illuminated every dreary corner of her existence. It had filled her days with such delight as she had never believed possible. If this was love, Becky had decided, she had never loved any man before.
But, at the moment of discovery, when after pretending to be just good friends, they had finally admitted their love to one another, the realisation of the impossibility of their situation had startled her as much as had the passion they felt for one another.
Despite her deepest feelings, despite longing for its continuance, she had pulled back from the relationship. Afraid of scandalising her family and friends, Becky had ended the association and retreated to her house in Derbyshire, while Mr Contini, bereft and despairing, unable to understand her flight, had returned to Italy.
Neither had denied their love, and both had taken with them exquisite memories of a time that had brought them great happiness but had ended in tears. Both had endured great anguish—Jonathan Bingley had vouched for his friend's distress—but Becky's had been the greater, for she had no close confidante to talk to, no sympathetic shoulder to cry on, indeed no one but Nelly, her loyal maid, who knew the truth but could offer little more than simple compassion.
For many months thereafter, Becky had agonised over her decision, and while there were days and nights when she had regretted having made it, never had she contemplated the possibility that there may come a day when life would present her with another chance to revive the relationship that had promised such felicity.
Now that such an opportunity was at hand, Becky knew she had to discover if that promise was as real today as it had been before. Only then would she know if she could marry Mr Contini. For his sake as much as for hers, Becky was determined to make the right decision.
Chapter Twenty-Two
The week following the dinner party provided few distractions for Becky Tate from her concentration upon the dilemma she faced. With the weather consistently bad, she could neither walk nor drive out anywhere during the day, nor could she sleep well at night, as the sounds of wind and incessant rain kept her awake.
To make matters worse, there had been not a word from either Mr Contini or Jonathan Bingley. She had no means of knowing even if he had received her letter, except she was certain that Jonathan was unlikely to have delayed the delivery of a message he knew his friend awaited with some impatience.
Occasionally, without any logical reason for doing so, she would take out her copy of the letter and brood
over the words she had written, concerned that they may have sounded too distant and given him no encouragement to come to her; then at other times, she would torment herself with worrying that she might have seemed too eager to see him and so compromised herself.
After a week of miserable weather, on the Sunday following, Becky awoke to a morning miraculously transformed, as the sun shone out of a sky that had cleared to an almost cloudless blue. It was warmer too, quite unlike the depressing chill of the past week.
Becky decided she would go to church and had Nelly prepare her clothes.
Feeling the need for some fresh air, she walked to church, taking the route across the grounds and along the lane that lay between Edgewater and the church at Hunsford.
The service was dull, including a tedious sermon on the value of good neighbourliness, and Mr Jamison's eagerness to greet and chat with his parishioners afterwards delayed her departure, further adding to her vexation. As she made her way out of the church, she saw, to her surprise, Nelly standing outside the gate, clearly waiting for her mistress. The girl looked anxious enough to cause Becky to worry, and when she reached the gate, she asked, "Nelly, what is it? Why are you here? What has happened? Has there been bad news at the house?"
Nelly behaved oddly, as though she had been struck dumb, and stammered, "Yes, ma'am, I mean, no, ma'am… it's not bad news, but yes, something has happened."
Becky, her anxiety rising by the minute, was so exasperated, she seized her arm.
"Nelly, tell me at once, has there been an accident? Is anyone injured?" she demanded.
Nelly's voice was deliberately low, conscious of the departing congregation around them.
"No, ma'am, it's not an accident."
"Then what is it?" asked Becky, even more confused.
"He's here, ma'am; he has come," said Nelly softly.
"Who has come?"
"The gentleman from Italy, ma'am, Mr Contini. He has arrived; he is waiting for you. I told him you were gone to church, and he said he would wait."
Becky almost reeled back in surprise. This she had not expected. "When did he arrive?"
"About half an hour ago, ma'am, in a hired vehicle; I thought I should come and tell you, so you would be prepared, ma'am…"
By this time Becky was walking rather briskly, and Nelly was trotting fast to keep up with her.
"You did right to come, Nelly, thank you," said Becky, and as they approached the gates of Edgewater, she stopped and asked, "Nelly, is my gown all right and my hat? How do I look?"
Nelly looked at her mistress; her face was slightly flushed with the exertion of a brisk walk and the cold air, but her eyes were bright, her skin glowed, and her blue silk gown had been Nelly's choice that morning.
"You look lovely, ma'am; that blue gown really suits you, and the hat is very pretty," she replied and was rewarded with a special smile.
"Thank you, Nelly," she said, and they resumed walking.
Once within the gates of Edgewater, Becky asked, "And did you order some tea for Mr Contini? He must have been in need of refreshment after his long journey."
Nelly's reply was a further surprise.
"No, ma'am, he did not wish to come into the house; he said he would like to walk about the grounds while he waited for you to return."
Becky shook her head. She could not understand why he would wish to walk about the grounds. Admittedly, it was a fine day, but it seemed an odd thing to do, she thought.
As they approached the house, she looked around the front lawn but could not see him.
"Which way did he go, Nelly?" she asked, and Nelly, looking past her mistress, caught sight of a tall figure walking at some distance from them through the grove of trees on the far side of the lake. She pointed in the direction of the spinney; the poplars were bare, and one could see through them into the woods beyond. He had his back to them and could not have seen them as they came up the drive.
"Shall I go and tell him you are here, ma'am?" Nelly offered.
"No, Nelly, I will go to him, but do go in and ask Cook to have tea and refreshments made ready. You can bring them into the parlour later."
"Yes, ma'am," said Nelly, and as Becky turned to go, she added softly, "Please, ma'am, begging your pardon for saying this, but he's such a lovely gentleman; don't send him away again."
Leaving her mistress speechless, she rushed indoors as Becky walked around the lake and towards the figure, now moving even farther into the woods.
She hurried forward, and as she approached, hearing her footsteps, he turned and, seeing her, quickened his steps as he came towards her.
They met within a grove of elms whose leafless branches let the Winter sun through. He held out his hand to her, and she took it, letting him draw her into his arms. Neither said a word for several minutes as he held her very close. As they stood together, Becky felt the rising excitement of her own heart and knew he must surely feel it, too.
When he spoke, it was to say, "My dearest Becky, I love you so much, will you marry me, please?" and when she replied, "Yes, yes, I will, and I love you too, very dearly," his joy was so profound, impossible to contain, he held her in his arms and kissed her, quite oblivious of the curious glances of two young farmhands who had appeared behind them, making their way through the woods to the village, with a barrow-load of kindling.
Becky saw them as they passed and said softly, "There, now it will be all over the village that I have been seen kissing a stranger in the woods."
He threw back his head, and his laughter filled the air as he said, "Ah, that is very good; then they will all know that I love you, and when we tell them that we are to be married soon, they will be very happy for us."
Becky laughed too, and for the first time in weeks, her heart was filled with the same joy she had known two years ago, but with none of the guilt.
"Are we to be married soon?" she asked, a teasing note in her voice.
"As soon as you wish, my dearest; I feel as if I have waited for you for years. It has been too long."
Though she did not say it then, Becky's feelings were no different.
It was as though she had waited for him all her life.
As they returned to the house, her arm through his, Nelly came to the door, and seeing them thus, she smiled and ran back in again, confident that this time her mistress would not be sending Mr Contini away.
***
The rest of the day was spent in the sort of conversation that occupies most lovers who, having become engaged, find themselves released from the restraints previously placed upon them by demands of decorum.
Seated together on the sofa in the parlour, they found there were many questions to be asked and answers to be given. Some were lighthearted, others more serious.
Becky wanted to know why he had not written before leaving England for Italy. "I was very surprised and a little hurt; I had soon convinced myself that you had returned to Italy without a word to me, because you had decided our friendship was no longer worth pursuing," she said, and he was most apologetic, explaining his reasons.
He insisted she was mistaken.
"Not so, my love; in fact, I was recalled very suddenly because my mother, who is very old, had become ill and was asking for me," he said, adding with a distinct twinkle in his eye, "Of course, it was not serious; each time she becomes ill, they call the priest first and then send for me. Most often, neither of us is required to do more than hold her hand and recite a prayer, but I had not the time to call on you as I had hoped. I am sorry if I caused you pain, but I did leave a letter with my friend Mr Bingley, who gave me his word that he would deliver it on the earliest possible occasion."
Becky was reassured. "Which he did very well, and despite his protestations to the contrary, Jonathan was a most eloquent advocate for you. He began by insisting that he was a disinterested intermediary, merely conveying your message, but before long, he left me in no doubt of the value he placed upon your character and the sincerity of your feelings for
me," she said.
"Dear Jonathan, he is a good friend; I have many reasons to be grateful to him," he said. "He persuaded me to write. I was very afraid you would consider it impertinent of me, presumptuous even. After all, you had given me no indication that you had any particular feelings for me when we were in London, and besides, I am not a very clever letter writer, especially in a foreign language. My English friends are amused by what they consider my 'bookish' style. You, Becky, are a real writer—I was afraid you would laugh at me, too."
Becky was determined to make it plain that she did not share the opinion of his friends.
"Laugh at you? You need not have feared any such thing. Your friends may laugh, but I certainly did not. I may not have said this before, but now we are decided upon our future, I can assure you it was one of the most charming letters I have ever received. It was certainly not impertinent or presumptuous— indeed it was so well argued, so pleasing without being at all excessive, I think I shall preserve it forever."
Woman of Influence (Pemberley Chronicles) Page 29