by Jane Odiwe
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"Is it really you?" asked Georgiana as she gazed up into Tom's eyes. As he took her hand she prayed he would not let it go. "How can you be here?" She could not believe that he was standing before her, that he held her hand, however briefly. It was useless to deny all that Tom meant to her; just his very presence was enough to make her feel as if she were glowing inside. In that moment Georgiana recognised beyond a doubt that she was in love with Thomas Butler and there was no going back.
"My dear Miss Darcy, I knew I would find you here. Your letters described this spot so perfectly; it is exactly as I saw it in my mind's eye, such a heavenly place. Thank heaven for Lord Featherstone! I am here because of his kindness. My patron could not demand an invitation from Lady Catherine for myself, but he knew how much I would enjoy seeing the Lakes and he has long known of my wishes to explore the region. He suggested I might benefit from a holiday and he arranged for me to travel at my convenience. Besides, I think he is rather hoping to furnish some of his drawing room walls with scenes from the Lakes and I am only too happy to oblige."
"But where are you staying? Have you managed to find accommodation? Are you settled at an inn nearby?"
"That is the best part. I think I have the most wonderful employer for he insisted on finding me a small cottage of my own. It is about half a mile along the shore from Bellingham Hall. It is not a very romantic dwelling, but it is neat and clean, with a servant to cook and sweep up. I consider myself a most fortunate fellow, especially when I think I have avoided being a guest at Golgarth Park. I could not wish for anything more perfect."
"And to have a cottage of your own; I must admit, although I love my family, I cannot think of anything more splendid than to be in complete solitude amongst the lakes and mountains."
"Perhaps complete solitude might do for you, but I would prefer the company of someone with whom to share such vistas," he said, looking straight into her eyes.
"You will be spoilt for choice of beautiful views to do your paintings," remarked Georgiana, blushing as she spoke, unable to meet his gaze.
"I am sure I shall," Tom agreed, "but the only view I wish to capture is one of Miss Georgiana Darcy sitting with her sketchbook in studied contemplation of the view, the wind playing in her hair."
"I am finding my independence more and more," Georgiana continued, not knowing what to say in reply. "At first, I was only allowed to collect the post, but now my brother is happy for me to go on solitary rambles with my paints and sketchbook. I must say where I am bound and how long I shall be before I am allowed to go, but no one worries in such a safe and congenial place as Winandermere. Dearest Elizabeth has been so helpful in securing my freedom; she is a marvel. My brother will act on anything she commands."
"How wonderful. Perhaps we could meet sometimes, do you think?"
Georgiana was thoughtful. More than anything she wanted to meet Tom, but she did not want to be deceitful. Her brother, she knew, would not be at all happy about any arrangements she might wish to make. "Mr Butler, you know I would like nothing better. However, I do not think I should meet you, even if it is my dearest wish."
"If that is what you want," said Tom quietly, disappointment pronounced in every word. "Forgive me, Georgiana, I know you are in a difficult position. I should not really have come to find you, I know, but I could not help it, believe me. I will do anything you desire, even if it means I must stay away."
"Thank you, Tom," whispered Georgiana as he let her hand go at last. "I knew you would understand."
"I understand completely," he said, bowing formally before her. "I promise, Miss Georgiana Darcy, never to arrange any meeting with you, but I am duty bound to tell you that should we ever accidentally bump into one another, I shall not be responsible..."
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Lord Dalton looked, to Caroline Bingley's eyes, the picture of manly perfection as she watched him on his hands and knees before the grate. His coat lay on the chair where he had abandoned it before rolling up his shirtsleeves and setting to the problem at hand. She could not help notice his muscular body as his shirt revealed what she had only imagined before. "His hands are so strong," she thought, watching him about his work. The coals had been taken off the smoking fire and were placed on a piece of newspaper. A basket of kindling and spills made of used paper had been put to good use so that now orange flames licked up the chimney in fiery tongues and the satisfying crackle of a fire spat and sputtered into life. As Henry Dalton placed coals gingerly on top of his careful arrangement, Caroline took her chance.
"Oh, do let me help," she cried, kneeling down beside him on the floor, taking care not to sully her muslin which she was beginning to realise was far too thin for such a damp cottage. She reached out for a piece of coal, trying not to grimace at the sooty marks it made on her fingers. Their heads were very close, each engaged in the task. "The smell of a man is quite intoxicating," she thought to herself, having never before been quite so close to one other than her brother Charles. Caroline felt quite elated at the near proximity of Henry. Her shoulder brushed his as she picked up another nugget and, squealing with girlish excitement, she threw it without aim. It missed the fire, bouncing back off the basket to land in her lap. Their heads turned toward the other in an instant. Caroline, overcome by the sensations she was feeling, was unable to conduct herself in any other way. She swooned, or at least she told herself that was what happened, and finding Henry's arms about her as a result looked up at him with an expression of adoration as soon as she considered it was time to come round and open her eyes.
"Miss Bingley, you've fainted straight into my arms," he said, with an expression Caroline found most pleasing. It was almost as if he were looking at her as if he had never seen her before.
"Oh, Henry," she simpered, "how can I ever thank you for saving me?"
When Louisa Hurst chose that exact moment to return, she was naturally shocked to find her sister in such a compromising attitude. She excused herself immediately, turning once more toward the door, but Lord Dalton instantly called her back, rising to his feet as rapidly as the occasion warranted, ungallantly choosing to leave Miss Bingley in a rather crumpled heap where she was on the hearthrug before the fire.
"Do forgive me, ladies," he cried, reaching for his coat with haste, "but I have suddenly remembered a prior engagement. I beg your pardon; I must take my leave this moment." There was no hint of embarrassment in his voice yet it was clear he was eager to go.
Miss Bingley was on her feet in a second. "Lord Dalton saved me, Louisa, from a most terrifying faint. I do not know what I would have done without his assistance. I might well have been aflame if not for his intervention!"
Louisa looked from her sister to Henry Dalton and considered how timely had been her return. She was certain Lord Dalton had meant to take full advantage of the hapless situation her silly sister had effected. Goodness only knew what might have happened had she not been sensible about the time she was absent. The rumours circulating London about Dalton's affairs with any eager and willing young woman were most likely unexaggerated, she thought, after having witnessed his smirking expression. And Caroline, innocent in her newfound feelings, was gazing at him in triumph as if she had secured his love forevermore. What was she to do, Louisa wondered with a sense of doom.
"Oh, Louisa," cried Caroline, after Lord Dalton had made his speedy exit like a shot from a pistol through the door, "I think Henry Dalton and I are in love!"
Chapter 26
The first time that Miss Georgiana Darcy accidentally bumped into Mr Thomas Butler, her reactions were quite divided: by initial fear on one side and by true elation on the other. She was frightened by the acknowledgement to herself that however much it was wrong to see Mr Butler and not to inform anyone of this fact, she also knew that no amount of reasoning with herself was going to prevent it. The very next morning as she went to collect the post, she was sure the thrilling sensations that coursed through every nerve on seeing him step o
ut from the clump of trees where they had first met had never been experienced by another living soul. Every emotion was heightened, and far from thinking that she was defective in her judgement, her newfound confidence confirmed her belief that she was right to follow her heart.
"I am in love with Thomas Butler," she said to herself as she saw him standing under the shelter of the trees in the damp morning air. "Why should I not be in love with him? There are other forces at work here; it is not our choice... the Fates have thrown us together; I know it. And why should we not follow our hearts? Fitzwilliam, my dearest brother, I love you too, but you take no account of what I shall suffer if I have to marry elsewhere. Besides, you did not deny yourself the privilege of falling in love against your family's wishes. So then, why should I?"
Having justified the reasons for meeting, it was easy for Georgiana to act. On this first brief occasion both lovers knew their time was limited. Georgiana would be expected home with the post, but later, she promised, she would take the path again, and if he should be sketching this way, perhaps they might spend some time together again.
The day and time seemed to pass as slowly as the mountains weathered; every chance she had to make her escape was thwarted. Mrs Gardiner kept her in conversation, Elizabeth wanted to look over all her sketches, and her brother wanted her opinion on a book he was reading. But at last Georgiana was able to slip away with her sketchbook under her arm, her curls escaping from her bonnet as she ran along the path she knew so well, her heart leaping when she saw Tom waiting. For the following days they met again in secret whenever they could. They rambled about the countryside with their sketchbooks and paints, sitting companionably together, sometimes quietly revelling in the silence or conversing on any subject that might take their fancy. When they could not be together they left notes in a hollow under a special tree, the very one where they had first set eyes upon the other in the Lakes.
On Friday afternoon, the day of Lady Catherine's soiree, Georgiana hurried to their favourite spot only to be disappointed. Bending down to the roots of the great tree she removed the stone, catching her breath as a corner of paper revealed itself in the sandy hollow. Oh dear, she had been so looking forward to seeing him. Undoing the missive with agitation, she read:
Dearest G,
Please wait! I may be late--I have had some business in Kendal to attend, but I promise I shall see you before long.
Yours ever,
T
All was well with the world again. Georgiana made herself comfortable and waited.
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Mrs Butler was feeling rather harried. She was divided by her sense of propriety, her strict moral codes, and by feelings of loyalty to her one and only child. A meeting with him in Kendal had been the reason for her discomposure and no amount of talking to him had had any effect. She had received a letter from him the day before which indicated that he knew she was to be in Kendal on the following morning. This was true; a trip had been arranged between Mrs Darcy, Mrs Gardiner, and herself to partake of some shopping. Mrs Gardiner needed a new piece of lace for a headband she was making over for Lady Catherine's evening party, and Elizabeth had suggested that they make the visit in pursuit of trifles. That Tom knew Mrs Butler's movements had been surprise enough, but to then find out that he was in the same part of the country, and that his intelligence of the proposed outing had come from a least expected source had set her spirits all aflutter. The meeting had been of the most disquieting kind, leaving Mrs Butler with such agitated and despondent thoughts as could not be erased. What she was to do about it all she could not decide and she wished more than anything that Tom had not taken her into his confidence. She could not even confide in her dear friend Mrs Gardiner for Tom had sworn her to secrecy. How she wished she were not involved! Above everything else she deplored lying of any kind and how she was to avoid answering Mrs Gardiner's questions about how she had occupied herself all morning after they had separated was an impossible thought to contemplate. Fortunately, when they did all eventually meet up, her friend and hostess were so engrossed in discussions pertaining to lace and fripperies that the questions were not asked.
Meanwhile, a young girl sat on a rock on the slopes of the mere, contemplating the scene. She could not be bothered to sketch; in any case it did not seem so much fun without a certain young man to share the experience. Just as she began to despair of him ever coming, she saw him and her spirits were instantly lifted. Tom raised his hand in salute. Georgiana rose and ran; she could not wait another second to be at his side.
"I hoped you'd wait," Tom cried, as the girl he loved eagerly joined him.
"I could not go until I had seen you," she answered, trying to catch her breath. "Where have you been?"
"I went into Kendal to meet my mother," he said, as Georgiana's eyes opened wide with astonishment.
"You didn't tell her about us, did you?" she asked fearfully. Georgiana liked Mrs Butler very much but knew beyond a doubt that she would not approve of her meeting Tom in so clandestine a way. As far as that lady was concerned, Georgiana was engaged to be married to someone else; not only would she be very shocked, but Georgiana thought that Mrs Butler would think the worst of her. Tom's silence on the matter confirmed her worst fears. He didn't look in the least bit concerned, but was grinning from ear to ear.
"Do not let us worry about that," he said, taking her hand and pulling her along. "Come, Georgiana, let us chase the sun. I've a passion for painting today."
Miss Darcy, caught by his enthusiasm, laughed as readily as he and allowed him to take charge for the moment. They followed the shoreline but kept away from the common paths where they might easily see someone they knew.
"Where are we going?" asked Georgiana as they hurried along.
"I've a surprise for you," he said, as they approached the little village of Bowness. Tom halted at a point well screened by trees at the side of the lake and so they stood for a few minutes watching the boats. It was early in the season and as yet there were few sailors out on the water.
"Stay there for a moment," he said. "I'll call you when it is safe to do so."
Before she could ask where they were going or what they were doing Tom had walked up to the man in charge at the boat station where they exchanged a few words before the former was presented with a pair of oars. Georgiana's mouth fell open in surprise, but she immediately advanced towards Tom's beckoning arm without a moment's hesitation. He was in the boat in a single step and held out his hand to assist her.
"Oh, Tom, do we dare?" Georgiana cried as she took it, feeling the boat rock under her unsteady feet. The swaying vessel took her off balance, forcing her to sit rather promptly. They both laughed again. What an adventure she was having!
"We're headed for that island, yonder," declared Tom, making fast progress as the oars twisted and dipped, pulling them away from the shore. "I have a passion to paint for myself today. See how the mist shrouds us, Georgiana? I wish to capture the atmosphere before it all disappears or rains down on us in a torrent."
Georgiana looked dreamily into the distance in recollection of a memorable quotation.
"Ye mists and exhalations, that now rise,
From hill, or steaming lake, dusky or gray,
Till the sun paint your fleecy skirts with gold
In honour of the world's great Author rise."
"Ah, Milton, I recall," Tom rejoined.
"I love the picture those words paint in my head; it matches this very outlook," said Georgiana, leaning back against the seat. She drew her cloak about her; it was cold on the lake despite the sun bursting through the clouds to send sparkles of light glimmering on every ripple of water made by the oars. "The island," she asked, "is it inhabited?"
"No, at least not by human kind." Tom looked across at his love. There was a small frown furrowing her brow. "Are you worrying, Georgiana? Do you think I do wrong to take you there?"
"Oh, Tom, I think there is nothing more natural and lovely than you
taking me to the island where I know you have no other thought than for us both to enjoy some sketching." Georgiana hesitated, trying to find the words.
"But you are concerned nevertheless, I know. It was really thoughtless of me, I see that now, Georgiana. My mother tried to tell me but I would not listen. I just kept thinking what a surprise it would be; I wanted to see your face light up in that lovely way you have when you are not expecting something. I was wrong; we'll turn back."
"No, Tom, I do wish to go with you. I am a woman of independent thought, after all. I will not be dictated to by the stuffy confines of a society that brands the innocent as guilty merely because of their stupid codes of propriety. I want more than anything to see the island and to see it with you."
It was clear that this heartfelt speech meant much to Tom. He returned the fire in her eyes with a look of pure adoration.
Larkholm loomed before them, a thick belt of trees encircling the island so that it was impossible to see anything beyond. A sense of mystery pervaded the scene; the isle sitting in the lake shrouded in mist looked as if it had been forgotten in time. Georgiana watched the swans flying overhead and felt herself quite under the spell of such a magical place. It was as if she and Tom were lost in time; the sensation was most enjoyable.
Having secured the boat, they set to walking through the dense wood. All was quiet except for the scurrying noises of small animals in the undergrowth, the waterfowl calling from the lakeside, and the musical soughing of tree branches in the wind. Tall pines arched over their heads, scenting the air with their fragrance, filtering the sun to dapple the mossy earth with patches of gold. Coming out on the other side, the landscape appeared as if especially composed for an artist's eye with rocks, trees, and a glimpse of a ruined summerhouse placed with picturesque perfection.