by Fanny Finch
“That is my own fault and my own folly and I do own it fully. I know that I am often harsh in my words. My wit, I fear, can be too cutting. And so I have striven to be more gentle as of late.
“This includes in regards to any particular suitors. I thought that I ought not to dash your hopes in too extreme of a manner. Instead I had hoped that my shown lack of interest would be enough to tell you of how I was feeling.”
“Yet, the other day—at dinner—”
“I told you then that I had not meant to encourage you. That I was only curious. That I enjoy searching the minds and hearts of others.
“I have been called by a dear friend a ‘little raven’. It is not because of any particular look of mine, nor because I love birds. It is because I have been noted to be too inquisitive for my own good.
“I allow my curiosity to get in the way of my sense of decorum. I will bother people, as a raven bothers other larger birds and even humans.
“That is all that I meant in my querying. I was curious about you as a person and I pushed too far. I can see that now.
“You will have to forgive me for the improper behavior which led you to believe that you had hope where there was none. I received your attentions with grace because I did not think that they were altogether as serious as they are. I thought you to be only at the beginning of considering a courtship with me.”
“I apologize, then, for not being more obvious in my affections,” Mr. Carson said, interrupting her.
Julia wanted to tell him that he ought to do her the honor of waiting for her to finish. Just as she had done for him. It was a courtesy.
But she could also understand that he was distressed. She ignored the irritation and kept her thoughts to herself. For now.
“I see now that I was a little too delicate in my approach,” Mr. Carson said. “And that in attempting to be gentle in my courtship with you I went too far in the other direction. I was timid. I can assure you that I shall not make that mistake again.”
“Sir, even if you had been not quite so timid, you would not have succeeded in your aim,” Julia replied. “All that it would have done would be to ensure that you got a more direct answer sooner for your troubles.
“I do apologize that you have now wasted some weeks on me when you might yet have found another lady who would better receive your attention. It was never my intention to lead you astray.
“I beg of you to think on me kindly and not to think too harshly of my behavior. It would have suited us both better had I paid more attention to your subtle clues. But alas, we cannot undo what has been done. You will simply have to accept my most sincere apologies instead.”
Mr. Carson looked as though he had been struck by lightning. The surprise on his face was almost comical. Had Julia not been so worried that he would give way to an outburst then she might even have been tempted to laugh.
There was a moment of silence. It was odd, how like and yet unlike it was to the silence between herself and Mr. Norwich only a couple of weeks ago. How they had stared at one another.
The both of them had been so afraid to speak. So unsure. It was both sad and amusing how two people who had known one another almost their entire lives could still become awkward and speechless around one another. If the circumstances were right.
Yet that silence was nothing compared to this. That silence had been confusion. Uncertainty.
This was as though she was standing at the executioner’s block. Waiting to see if the axe would fall or if she would be pardoned.
A bit melodramatic of her, she knew. Mr. Norwich would have laughed if he’d been there and she’d told him. And she would have told him. Because she trusted him completely, irrevocably.
Mr. Carson, however, would not be nearly so amused. And only partly because he was serving as the role of the executioner in her little metaphor. She did not think that he would have found it amusing even if she was talking about another man entirely.
She could not possibly marry a man who could not indulge or at the very least put up with her moods. Especially her little flights of fancy.
“Please do not think of me too harshly,” she begged. “I have the highest opinion of you, sir. Truly, I do. You might not believe it of me right now but I can assure you that it is so.
“It is not for any reason in particular that I must turn away your generous proposal. Other than the truth that I do not think that we would truly make one another happy.
“If I thought that we could be joined in a union that would benefit us both then I should say yes at once. But I believe that in the end, we would only end up tolerating one another. And I cannot abide that prospect. It is fair to neither you nor to me to subject ourselves to such a fate.”
Mr. Carson’s eyes narrowed. “And it is not because there is any other man in your heart?”
“My decision, and any lady’s decision, should not be because of her feelings in regards to infatuation. Affection that steals in at once because of a handsome face does not tend to last.
“A woman ought to look for a man who will take care of her. A man who has strong moral character. A man who will respect her and listen to her. It is not a decision that should be taken lightly.”
She did not take lightly her decision to write to Mr. Norwich. It was not an infatuation that she held for him. It was because of his thoughtfulness and his respect for her that she loved him. It was because he thought well of her parents and took care of her mother when he came to their house.
It was common sense and affection both, mingled, and making something stronger as a result of their combined forces.
“And so no, sir. It is not because of any other man that I have to decline your offer. It is because I know that I must seek for some sort of civil happiness with my husband. And we would not be able to provide that for one another.”
“You and Mr. Norwich are extraordinarily close,” Mr. Carson replied. “I asked him if he had been courting you and he said that he had not. Have circumstances changed?”
“No, sir. It is not because of my relationship with any other man that I turn you away.”
Even if she had not been in love with Mr. Norwich, she would have turned him down. She had told her mother that she would not marry except for love. She had meant it then and she meant it now.
“If I may be frank as well, I rather resent the implication that I should lie to you as to my reasons why I must turn down your proposal.
“Were I seeing another man I would have told you so at once. I would have taken care to be seen with him by others so that this sort of misunderstanding could be avoided.
“This is not a decision made because my heart is elsewhere. It is a conclusion that I had already come to some time ago. I can only apologize that I did not do a better job of conveying that choice to you in my actions.”
Mr. Carson, at least, seemed satisfied. He nodded, then bowed.
“I cannot say that I am not disappointed. But I will not do you the discourtesy of going on for some time about what state my heart is in. I wish you all the best, Miss Weston. Give my regards to your mother.”
Julia curtsied, and stood aside for him as he exited.
The moment that the door closed behind him, Mrs. Weston entered the room. “Well!”
Julia jumped, startled. “Mother! Do not tell me that you were listening in.”
“I might have paused partway down the stairs when I realized that I was hearing voices,” her mother replied innocently.
“Mother!”
“Can I not take a vested interest in my daughter’s social life? My dear, you certainly know how to catch them. The poor man.”
Julia sighed, all but collapsing into a chair. “Do not act as though you feel sorry for him now. You never wished for me to marry him.”
“That does not mean that I cannot be sympathetic to his feelings, Julia.”
“He is not truly in love with me. He shall get over it soon enough.”
“Mmm. I must say that
I believe you are correct. You handled it well, my dear.”
“I hope so. I do not wish to be the reason that I break a man’s heart. Nor do I wish for people to gossip about me.”
“You will always break a few hearts along the way,” her mother replied. “It is how life works.”
“Well I find that to be completely unacceptable.”
Her mother hummed noncommittally.
“He did not seem inclined to be too angry with me,” Julia went on. “I do not think that I shall become the subject of ridicule.”
She paused, considering. “You overheard what we were saying. Was I right to tell him that he ought to have been more obvious in his courtship?”
“I believe so,” her mother said, sitting down as well in her favorite chair by the window. “The only reason that you knew he was thinking of you in such a manner was that no other man was doing anything at all.
“It was only the absence of other men’s interest that made his interest prominent. That is not the proper way to court a woman. It must be plain to her so that she can properly refuse or accept him.
“But in any case, my dear, why are you wasting time worrying about him? He is inconsequential to your happiness.”
“I think that it is my right to worry about whether a man is about to damage my reputation.”
“He will not. Otherwise he is not a man of honor. A lady has a right to a refusal. Now, have you decided on writing to Mr. Norwich?”
Julia sighed. When her mother seized upon a subject there really was no turning her away from it.
“I was about to write to him when Mr. Carson interrupted me.”
“Then by all means, go.” Mrs. Weston smiled. “Julia, I did not start out in love. I married a man that I knew would respect me and provide for me. I married a good man.
“But I did not marry a man with whom I was in love. I was fortunate that I fell for him later on in the marriage. And if Mr. Norwich was not in love with you and you not in love with him I should advocate doing the same as I did. Finding a husband who is a good man, a man who will respect and provide.
“However, you are fortunate enough to be in love. And to be loved in return. That is no small thing. Now that you have found it, I beg of you to seize it. Not everyone is so lucky to fall in love with their spouse later on as I was. And even fewer are so lucky as to be in love with one another before the marriage even starts.”
Julia could not help but smile. Her mother spoke in such a loving and sweet tone, quite unlike her usual manner. She sounded so very earnest. But also happy—as though she could already envision the joy that her daughter would experience in such a marriage. If she would only seize her chance.
If Julia had not already determined that she would write to Mr. Norwich, she would have come to that conclusion right then. For she could not deny what her mother was saying. Especially not when her mother looked so happy and hopeful for her.
She rose. “I suppose that… that I had rather get started on that, then, mustn’t I?”
Mother smiled proudly at her. “Do not spend too much time apologizing. It will not become you. Rather, focus on the way that you feel about him. That will convince him.”
Julia could already feel nervousness bubbling up inside of her again, but she nodded and went upstairs to begin writing.
How could she even start the letter? She felt as though she ought to write I’m sorry over and over again. Until the entire page was filled with it. That even then, it still might not be enough.
How could she begin to explain her own folly? Or even, on top of that, the mental paths through which her mind had run to come to her new conclusion? Dare she mention speaking of this matter to her mother and Georgiana? Or would he consider that to be a breach of trust?
At last, she realized that if she did not begin writing this letter she would not write it at all. There was no way for her to determine what the perfect thing to say to him would be. And the longer she pondered over it, the more she delayed in receiving a possible reply from him.
An imperfect letter was better than no letter at all. His hearing of her realizations and emotions in a clumsy or frustrating manner would be better than his never knowing of them.
If she erred, at least he would know. And that would be better than all else.
She sat down and carefully began to write. She must not be hasty. She could not afford to let her words become smudged.
Dear Sir…
Julia ended up having to go through a few drafts before she was satisfied. She found herself wondering how many drafts Mr. Norwich had gone through when he was writing that first letter of his to her.
Had he been so nervous? Had he crossed out whole lines, and written in new ones? Had he crumpled his paper in disgust and thrown it into the wastepaper basket?
In the end, she simply had to write what was in her heart. And what was in her heart was him. His absence was like an aching hunger only in her chest, her soul, instead of her stomach.
She wrote for him to come to her. To try again. To step into her drawing room and say the words that he had realized would be improper to say the other day.
Let him say them, and he would find the warmest of welcomes. The words were already on her lips. She was only waiting for him to say his so that she might then reply.
Let her folly not have made her too late in being able to accept his affections. Let him understand that she was only confused and lost. That she never meant to hurt him or reject him outright.
Please, let him understand that she had meant everything that she had said to him when he was only her mysterious correspondent. She had meant them, from the bottom of her heart, and she meant them now.
When it felt as though she had exhausted herself, when it felt as though she had said everything she needed to say twice over, she folded up the letter.
She was tempted to copy it all out neatly onto a new set of pages so that it would look nice for him. But she felt that honesty, in all of its forms, was the best way to go about this.
The crossed-out lines, the cramped writing, the additions in the margins, those were all honesty. Those were her feelings, scribbled and scratched into the paper.
Hopefully he would see the mess and through it would understand what it had cost her to write this all out to him. Hopefully, it would help to convince him of the truth and depth of her feelings.
Hopefully. Hope. That was all that she had.
But, she supposed, he had taken a leap of faith on her. It was only fair that it became her turn to take a leap of faith for him.
Julia sent the letter off, her breath bated even as she handed it over. She knew his estate and so could fortunately send the letter there. She could only hope that he had not quit the estate and gone to London or somewhere without her knowing of it.
“Good girl,” Mrs. Weston said when she saw that it was sent off. “It will all turn out as it should, you will see.”
Now there was nothing to do but wait.
Epilogue
James was sitting at the breakfast table as he went over the morning’s mail.
There was, as always, much to be done at the estate. Father was shirking his duties yet again. Much to James’s everlasting frustration.
He could understand the desire for retirement. To live out the last few years of one’s life in peace.
But Father was far from sickly or old. He was hale and hearty and all the other lords of his age were managing just fine in their duties to the estates. Father was simply being lazy.
There was nothing in the mail from his brother, alas. There were some letters of business. He would see to those in a moment. One letter from a friend in London. And…
He nearly dropped his fork.
Even before he read the return address he knew who it was from. The handwriting was too familiar and beloved for him not to realize.
Miss Weston.
She had written to him—but why? What for? So that she might apologize in an official manne
r for not returning his affections, he supposed. Or perhaps she wished to inquire about how he was faring. She had to know that she was the reason for his quitting Bath. She was not a stupid woman and never had been.
James glanced up in order to make sure that his father had not come into the room while he was distracted. Father tended to sleep in far later than he should as the lord of the estate.
Now that James was around, however, Father seemed to think that James would take care of it all.
And he had been, because if he did not, who would ensure that the tenants were being looked after?
James gritted his teeth at the thought of the impossible position Father had put him in. If nothing else, Miss Weston’s letter would give him something else to think about.
He opened the letter.
The first thing that he noticed was how messy it was. He was surprised, in fact. Miss Weston’s penmanship was lovely and she had always sent him quite neat and organized letters when they were corresponding.
Yet here, there were added words and sentences scribbled in the margins. She had crossed out bits here and there. Some of the handwriting was smudged.
It was, quite honestly, adorable. Worrying as well, however—was she in such an emotional state that she had not even had time to write out a fresh, proper draft before sending the letter?
He could not imagine what would have her in such a state. Not unless…
Oh, no. Had her mother taken a turn for the worst?
Feeling his heart climb into his throat, James began to read.
Dear Sir,
You must excuse my writing to you like this. You must not want to hear from me ever again. If that is the case and you simply throw this letter into the fire without reading another word, I shall forgive you. I shall understand.
I treated you most poorly. I behaved as though you were two separate people: Mr. Norwich and my correspondent.
When of course you were the same person the entire time. If I loved one, then I must love the other, for there is no difference between you two.
I was confused and surprised. That is the only excuse that I can offer, and it is a flimsy one at best. I know that I have treated you poorly as a result of my own lack of observation. I know that I have not given you the understanding and attention that was your due.