by Jayne Bamber
“Lydia,” Mary cried, suddenly feeling such a burst of high spirits that she grabbed her sister by the face, planted a sloppy kiss on her cheek, and then embraced her while dancing a little in place.
Lydia groaned. “Get off me!” Lydia extricated herself from Mary’s embrace and looked at her as if she had gone mad. Mary did not mind a bit, for she was feeling so giddy, nearly delirious, that she was quite sure Lydia would never vex her again.
“Oh – I beg your pardon, Ellie,” Mary said. “Lydia, this is my dear friend from Surrey, Miss Helena Cole. Ellie, this is my youngest sister, Lydia.” Eleanor dropped into a very proper curtesy, but Lydia paid her no heed, and continued regarding Mary with dubious irritation. Mary thrust the letter at her. “Lydia, read this. Do you not understand?”
Lydia took the letter in her hands, ignoring Mary’s directive that she not wrinkle it, and a moment later she gave a squeal of joy. “How perfect! Oh Mary, you have saved me. You have saved my life, I am sure of it!”
“Thank Harriet,” Mary replied, gesturing to their friend, who had hung back from their exuberant encounter.
Lydia returned the letter to Mary and threw herself into Harriet’s arms. “I take back every awful thing I ever said about you, and all the ones I thought but did not say, too, Harriet. And when I am married, I am sure you shall be a bridesmaid for me!”
Harriet overcame her momentary surprise at Lydia’s ebullience, and returned her embrace in earnest. “I suppose I had better not ask what you once thought of me – indeed I should like nothing better than to never know. But I am your friend, Lydia.”
“You are my very favorite friend,” Lydia cried happily.
“A great day for friendship, indeed,” Eleanor said to Mary. “My, I think I shall never wish to leave Rosings, now that I am come.”
It was at that moment that Georgiana emerged from her room, the next one beyond Lydia’s, curious no doubt as to what was causing such a great commotion in the hallway. Her present state of misery was a stark contrast to what the other ladies were feeling, and Mary felt a pang of guilt in her heart, that the four of them should be so gay, when one amongst them was still so wretched.
“Oh, Georgie,” Mary sighed. “I hope we have not disturbed you. I was merely introducing Lydia to my friend – and Harriet’s – Miss Helena Cole has just arrived from Surrey to visit us. Ellie, this is Miss Georgiana Darcy, my sister by marriage.”
Lydia interrupted the introductions, snatching the letter away from Mary once more and bouncing over to Georgiana. “Look at this,” she cried. “Do you know what this means? Henry and I shall be wed after all!”
“So many Henrys,” Eleanor whispered to Mary.
“You just missed another – Mr. Henry Crawford and his wife just left Kent a few days ago,” Mary replied before turning her attention back to Georgiana.
Georgiana was looking over the letter, while Lydia fluttered around her with glee. “Oh! Good God! How tragic – but I see what you mean. But where is Caroline?”
Harriet moved to take the letter back. “Mustn’t let it get too rumpled,” she said. “I think I had better have this sent to Cranbrook at once. And we had better all get over there ourselves, with such inducements to be found.”
“Not I,” Georgiana sighed.
“Yes, you too,” Harriet said, linking her arm through Georgiana’s. “You may not have a beau at the picnic, but neither shall Miss Cole – mustn’t let her grow desolate! At any rate, you and she may have more in common than just that – do you know, she seems to have some particular opinions, just as we all do, regarding one of Mary’s suitors?” Harriet gave Georgiana a nudge and a knowing look.
“Indeed I do,” Eleanor replied. “Come along with us and I shall tell you all about it.”
Georgiana smiled ruefully at them, and finally relented. “Oh, very well, I shall go and fetch my bonnet.”
***
Caroline had done her best to avoid Captain Wentworth in the week she had been back at Rosings, and had been so adept at dodging his company that she had broken her own heart – she longed to speak with him, as they had done before, when she had been able to convince herself there was nothing between them except in her imagination.
There was no avoiding him today, as she had helped Cecily and Emily prepare for the ladies’ picnic to accompany the shooting party. She had an excuse at the ready, if it should become necessary for her to get away – she might always say she was needed back at Rosings, to attend to Lydia and Georgiana. She was on the verge of playing this trump card when Captain Wentworth asked her to walk with him, but she saw the girls approaching. Her heart sank as Lydia and Georgiana came into view, walking with Harriet and Mary, and a girl Caroline had never seen before. Of course, she should be happy that they were in enough spirits to leave their rooms and come at all, and she really was, but how ill-timed! She had no excuse not to take Captain Wentworth’s proffered arm, though she had every reason to avoid him.
“We must stay in sight of the others,” she warned him, opening her parasol as he led her along the lawn. “I must be on hand if Lydia needs me.”
“Of course,” he said with a knowing look. “There could be no other reason you would not wish to be alone with me.”
Caroline looked around, making sure there was no one near enough to hear them. “Why should I be alone with you,” she hissed. “I am a married woman.”
“Are you?”
She looked at him in some confusion. “Do not speak in riddles to me, sir.”
“Do not feign confusion,” he quipped back at her, a smile forming in the corners of his lips. “It is I who must be confused. After the last time we spoke, the last time we were alone together – I thought it had meant something to you, as it did to me. That I shall not deny, Caroline. I have known you are married; it has been inescapably present in all my thoughts, but it changes nothing for me – and yet, it may be changed. I confess, I had begun to hope you had gone to London to seek an annulment.”
An annulment! How the man could make such a speech with such an easy look on his face was beyond Caroline; she was obliged to adjust the position of her parasol, to block her face from being seen by the rest of their party, who were beginning to mill about, taking refreshments and grouping up to begin the shooting. “I cannot imagine why you should come to such a conclusion, sir!”
“Oh yes, you are right,” said he. “Why should you wish to annul such a happy marriage? Here you are, in the bosom of his family, your devoted husband inseparable from your side, bestowing upon you all the affection you deserve.”
“You do not understand.”
“You are right – I do not. I have feelings for you, Caroline. I will not deny them any longer. After that kiss, just before the play, I really began to hope, as I had not before, that you could return my feelings.”
Caroline’s heart lurched, and tears pricked at her eyes. She felt she had to get away from him, as she did not trust herself, but there was little she could do at present without attracting any unwanted attention from the rest of the assembled company. She pulled at his arm, making for a little stone archway that connected the neatly manicured lawn to an adjoining little wilderness, where they might be more alone.
He led her down a narrow path through the foliage, and gestured to a bench not far from the stone arch, but out of sight from the others. “You are angry with me,” he said.
“I am – and with myself,” Caroline replied, not meeting his eye. “I let this go too far – I let my own fancy get in the way of prudence, and every other priority.”
Captain Wentworth sat down beside her and took her hand. “Your fancy? You mean your feelings for me?”
“Yes – my feelings for you. I can acknowledge them sir, but only to admit they are wrong, and dangerous. This cannot go on any longer – at least, not until....”
“Not until what? You might seek an annulment, Caroline! I know the truth; everybody knows it.”
Caroline’s head snapped up in
alarm. “What?”
“Sam told me – I beg you not hold it against him. He was drunk and winning at cards. He told me how your marriage came about.”
“I see.”
“Do you? I cannot account for how you should resist finally feeling some degree of passion, after being trapped in a loveless marriage.”
“But I am trapped – nothing has changed, sir. I am trapped and I cannot get out, and falling in love with another man is the last thing in the world that I need right now.”
Captain Wentworth grinned at her, cupping her face in his hands. “Falling in love?”
“I – I should not have said that.”
“I disagree. It is everything I have wished to hear,” he said, softly stroking her face.
Caroline closed her eyes and whimpered, flustered by the pleasant warmth of his hands, and by her utter loss of composure. “What can you expect of me? I will not be your mistress, nor can I seek an annulment.”
“Why ever not? The marriage was forced upon you, quite against your will. Surely something might be done.”
“Because I cannot get an annulment from a madman,” Caroline burst.
Captain Wentworth recoiled. “What?”
Caroline smiled sadly, her triumph bittersweet. “As it happens, sir, you do not know my situation – not completely.”
“Your husband is mad,” he repeated slowly, comprehension alighting upon his face. “Good God, that accounts for it – that is the missing piece of the puzzle I have been tormenting myself over. I knew you were unhappy – I knew something was amiss – I knew there was some reason he would not come to you, when you were here, amongst his own family! I saw how it pained you, and yet I could not think you to be really desiring him. Perhaps it was vain of me, or merely wishful thinking, to have long supposed you to return my affection, which has only grown every moment I have spent in your company.”
He had rested his hand on her shoulder, and Caroline reached up to place her own on top of his, clenching her eyes closed to enjoy the feel of his nearness. She was nearly resolved now – she may as well have out with the whole truth, this one last indulgence, and then he should surely scorn her forevermore. “I will say it, just this once – I love you,” Caroline breathed, feeling her own heart shattering. “But we can never be together – not as long as my husband lives. I do not know how long it shall be; I could never ask you to wait.”
“Wait for what?”
“For him to die,” Caroline sighed, opening her eyes to gauge his reaction.
Captain Wentworth stared at her with burning intensity and drew nearer, wiping away a tear that had begun to fall from her eye. “Are these tears for your dying husband, then?”
“No, sir – they are for myself.”
He gave a little nod. “I see. And why do I sense there is something you are not telling me?”
Caroline flinched. “Because there is, and I shall tell you, but once I have, I know you will want nothing further to do with me.”
“Can you think so little of me? Can you think me incapable of true attachment and constancy? You pierce my soul, Caroline. What can you say that would make it otherwise?”
Caroline looked away for a moment, biting her lip, before finally tipping her chin up and letting out a heavy breath, as if the very words she must speak would cause physical pain – they might be the last she would ever speak to him. “I left my husband in an asylum in Scotland, in January – left him to die – he is afflicted with the French disease.” Beside her, Captain Wentworth said nothing, but let out a shaky breath, and Caroline closed her eyes again, seizing his hand in hers as she forced the rest of it out. “I remain a maid – I never... we never consummated our union – I have despised him from the earliest moments of our meeting, when he... when he....”
His fingers were on her lips, his forehead leaning against hers. “Do not say it, Caroline, I beg you – do not say it if it pains you. It pained me to hear of it, but I have.”
Caroline let out a few ragged breaths, leaning against him as he held her face in his hands; she could not look at him, could not open her eyes, but she clung to him, her hands gripping his shoulders as the first sob tore out of her. She began to weep, and he held her in his arms, rocking her gently. “God, how I love you, brave girl.”
Caroline had not cried like this in the whole course of her life, and yet, once she had begun, she could not stop. She cried so hard, and at such length, that she lost all sight of what she was crying about – everything, it seemed, every moment of the last eight months. Finally her tears subsided, and Caroline drew away from him. She sat upright, wiping at her face, and he captured her hand in his once more. “So you knew? You knew about how Seymour compromised me? And you loved me anyway?”
“As I said, Sam got drunk at the ball here at Cranbrook. Truth be told, I wanted to know your history. I was not prepared to hear what he did tell me, regarding the night you met your husband, and how unwilling you were to become betrothed. I do not even know what I had expected to find out – certainly it was not that, and it only made me more in love with you, more resolved that you deserve some real happiness, though I do not know what I can give you.”
Caroline sniffled. “Not as long as he lives. I do not know that I could ask you to wait.”
“Ask me,” he said, stroking her face once more. “If it is what you wish, you know you need only ask. I will wait for you.”
“I cannot ask that of you – I cannot even deserve it,” Caroline began to say, when they were interrupted. She and Captain Wentworth instantly moved apart, but it was only Lydia standing under the stone archway.
Lydia’s face lit up with delight. “I knew it!”
Caroline jumped to her feet. “Hush, child! You most certainly did not! You know nothing – I am only a little distressed at present – it is nothing.”
Lydia chewed her lip, repressing her smile with little success. “Have you heard the news, then?”
“What news?”
Lydia reached into her reticule and withdrew a folded piece of parchment, which she handed to Caroline – it was a letter, and it was rimmed in black. Captain Wentworth stood, placing his hand on the small of Caroline’s back as he watched her take the letter; she accepted it with no little disbelief. It was addressed to her, but the direction was wrong; her house number had been written as Number Seventy, not Number Seventeen, and then there was no seal on it.
“How came you by this letter, Lydia?”
Lydia grinned widely. “It was found amongst Cynthia’s things… by accident.”
“Open it,” Captain Wentworth whispered. “I am half agony, half hope – is this our salvation?”
Caroline unfolded the letter. From the looks of it, she was not the first to read the letter, and yet she could not spare a thought for that at such a time. “April eighteenth – but that was three weeks ago!” Caroline scanned the letter with Captain Wentworth at her side, looking on.
Mrs. Sutton,
We regret to inform you, once more, of your husband’s unfortunate passing. Mr. Sutton took a severe chill, and never regained his senses. He was in some discomfort and confusion for several days before succumbing to his illness. Per your instructions, we have sent word to your home in London of Mr. Sutton’s death on 27 March. Having received no reply to our communication, we arranged for Mr. Sutton to be buried in the churchyard at St. Cuthbert on 4 April, attended by the local magistrate and members of his staff at Dimthorn Park, who also await your instructions.
I shall make this second attempt to beg your final instructions regarding his personal effects, which have been returned to Dimthorn Park, and repayment for the burial fee. Please send word through your solicitor at once, and know that you have our heartfelt condolences for your loss. God be with you.
I remain at your service,
John Addison
Postscript – I thank you for sending your sister, Miss Sutton, to us – she has seen to everything, and will bear you this letter in person.
Having read through the letter, Caroline was overwhelmed with emotion. “Good God!”
“You see,” Lydia cried, “this solves everything! Cynthia cannot marry Henry now, for she will have to go into mourning for her brother – and when her father finds out that she knew of his death and concealed it so that she could steal my Henry, she will be punished! Perhaps he will send her away again!”
There were a hundred biting retorts Caroline wished to make about Lydia’s stupidity, but she was suddenly too dizzy to give voice to any of them. She staggered against Captain Wentworth for a moment, and then everything grew fuzzy for a moment before fading to black.
She opened her eyes to find herself indoors – she had been carried into the front parlor of Cranbrook and set on the sofa – Captain Wentworth and Lydia were hovering protectively over her. She blinked up at them, still getting her bearings, when she heard the unmistakable sound of Sir Gerald clearing his throat. “Thank you, Captain Wentworth, Miss Lydia. I am sure Caroline is quite comfortable. And now, I believe I must have a word with my daughter-in-law in private.”
***
Lydia would not be denied the satisfaction of delivering the news to Caroline herself, and Mary and Harriet were content to let the younger girl have her moment of triumph. Mary and Eleanor walked arm-in-arm up to the lawn at Cranbrook, with Harriet and Georgiana trailing behind them. Mr. Tilney was speaking with the other gentlemen, who were preparing to go into the meadow to begin their shooting, when he saw them approach and made his way over directly; Mr. Rushworth followed closely behind to seek out Harriet, and Eleanor gave Mary a knowing look. “First impressions, my friend,” she whispered.
Harriet and Georgiana moved away with Mr. Rushworth, and Mr. Tilney offered Mary and Eleanor each an arm, but the girls would not be separated. He laughed off his sister’s gentle rebuff. “I see how it is to be!”
“I am glad you understand that, Brother,” Eleanor whispered. “We have a great many matters of importance to discuss between us, Mary and I.”