by Jane Juska
I chose a simple white chemise, thin and flowing, gathered with a narrow blue ribbon beneath my breasts. I would carry a cashmere shawl to protect my shoulders from the cool air of evening or to give myself a hint of mystery should I decide to wear it over my curls. I would wear my hair down with only a thin blue ribbon as ornament. Mrs. Littleworth urged me to be generous with colour for my lips and cheeks, but I demurred, dashing only a bit onto my cheeks and biting my lips to bring forth the natural colour that was mine. I was a breath of springtime in the autumn of the year. Who could resist me?
I can hear now, dear sister, your sharp intake of breath, can feel your wanting to have me before you so that you can scold me for my prideful foolishness. Fret no more, my comeuppance is nigh.
The colonel and I dined discreetly in a lovely alcove just off the octagon room, which offered the privacy rarely available in the gathering places of Bath. No Grand Concourse for us, not as we planned our escape from humdrum convention and tiresome society. We sipped Champagne—it had become my favourite French eau—and his eyes met mine. “Soon we will be together,” he said. He reached for my hand.
Jane, I am approaching that part of the evening which is most upsetting to me. You will find much of this letter blotted with tears, but I must go on. I have heard it said that confession is good for the soul but I beg to disagree. Confession is the shredding of the soul accompanied by pain indescribable by my poor pen. Bear with me, I beg of you, please know that I am suffering.
“We are together now,” I teased my captain. “What can you mean?” I pulled my hand away.
“I mean that I shall hold you close, that you will be mine.” He moved nearer to me and took my hand once again. I could feel his breath on my neck. I shivered as a most sudden and now familiar feeling surged deep within me. I felt my face flush; my breath came quickly.
“Forever,” I breathed.
“Forever.”
I felt his warm lips on my neck just below my ear. They glided gently down and fell into the hollow of my shoulder. I feared I was about to swoon. “Oh please,” I begged. “Allow me to catch my breath. I am feeling faint.”
He released me but still held me close. He handed me my little blue hair ribbon, which had slipped to my shoulders as he wooed me, and I felt at that moment that he would look after me forever. I knew that my refusal to return to home and family was the right thing to do. I knew that this man cared for me in a way that my husband never could. I knew that my marriage and my life at Longbourn were wrong. I knew that the colonel and I were meant to be together and marriage be damned. Was ever a girl so misguided!
Our room had emptied itself of other visitors. Teatime had come and gone. The tables were bare except for the china cups holding the dregs of some exotic tea and a few plates sullied with bits of cucumber and watercress. Evening was becoming night.
“Please,” I begged. “May we not walk a bit? It is so very warm in here.” Indeed, my cheeks felt afire.
“Of course, my love. Let us repair to the out-of-doors. The cover of night will provide us with all the privacy we need.” He rose from the table and led me out to the deserted gardens nearby. “You are so lovely, my dearest one. Your flush becomes you. It makes you so very alive, my darling.”
None of this was cooling. I leaned against him and begged, “Please, find a bench where we might sit for a moment until I regain my composure.” And the strength of my lower limbs, I could have added, for they had turned to warm milk and I feared I might fall.
“Come, my darling,” he said. “I have rooms not far from here. Are you agreeable to accompanying me there?”
“Yes.”
Thus began the night I had longed for, the night that would change my life forever.
I cannot tell you what his rooms were like nor even where they were located. I remember only standing stock-still while he kissed me on my mouth and my eyes and at the same time began to unfasten my dress, which quite naturally fell from my shoulders. But impediments showed themselves: never before had I hated my underthings, but now, what with the loosening and untying and struggling with twisted ribbons and laces, even so patient a lover as my colonel began to mutter his frustration, and for a brief moment I considered taking myself into my own hands, when at last he succeeded in unfastening my corset and then my chemise, thus rendering me naked to my waist. I stood like a statue, feeling his hot breath upon my neck and then my shoulders and upon my breasts as all the while he held me around the waist so that I would not faint dead away. He kissed me where no one had gone before. “You are so lovely,” he murmured and took my nipple into his mouth. At this I felt myself melting; I could barely breathe and feared that I would crumple to the ground. He laid me carefully upon the velvet covering of his couch, which, in retrospect, had surely felt the weight of many a woman, but which at the time felt designed just for me. And then, with his mouth upon my breasts and then my belly, somewhat flattened, thank goodness, by my horizontal position, and then so close to the mound of my womanhood, he said, “At last, I have you. Remove your shoes.” As my shoes were all that were left of my original habiliments I kicked them to the floor, where they joined the rest of my clothing there in a heap, and I did so without the slightest protest and with all the speed that I could muster. “You are so lovely,” he murmured. The oceans swelled within me and I welcomed him in. Glorious surrender.
I can write no more just now.
M.
But I must.
Afterward, we lay quietly together, each of us lost in our own thoughts, each of us feeling the quietude that surely must come after so passionate an interlude. I thought to ease us into a bit of conversation, and so I said, “May I enquire into a matter of some import to me?”
“Anything, my adored one.”
“Please do not think me forward, but I cannot call you Colonel, not after we have been so intimate. What is your given name, dearest?” He was silent. To encourage him, I asked, “What, for instance, does your sister call you?”
“What my sister calls me is of no matter here,” he said abruptly and rose from the couch.
“Oh please, I did not mean to offend, but if we are to—”
“Yes, yes, of course.” He paced back and forth for a moment and then said, “You can call me Charles, my darling. Indeed, I would like to hear you say my name.”
“Charles,” I murmured. In my mind’s eye I saw my future calling cards: “Mrs. Charles Millar.” I heard our names announced at banquets and balls: “Colonel and Mrs. Millar.” So much more dignified than “Mr. and Mrs. Bennet.” Oh, what a nuisance, my husband. But not such an obstacle as one might suppose, for I have heard tell of persons who journeyed to America to begin a new life. My colonel and I could do the same. We could start afresh with none of the archaic conventions that hinder the blossoming of our life together in this country. The world is so full of a wonder of things; why should we not avail ourselves of them? I can think of no good reason.
Charles sat himself upon the couch once more. I felt the heat rise in me again. “And Charles, my dearest, what shall you call me? You know, endearments alone may not prove sufficient in all instances of our life together. Our long life together,” I added.
Again he rose but now I felt a coolness. He paced and I grew cold. “My darling,” he said, “my endearments will never grow stale, nor will they ever be diluted of their passion. Passion for you, my darling.”
“Oh, Charles, you are so wonderful. Still”—and here I knew I was taking my life into my hands—“I remain curious. What, should the necessity arise, will you call me? What is my name, dear heart?”
His face paled, though handsomely, and he took up his pacing once more. I began to fear I had been too bold; perhaps I should have waited until we were Colonel and Mrs. Millar before broaching so private a conversation. Suddenly he stopped his pacing and turned to face me, his colour fully restored, and said in the mo
st charmant manner, “Lydia. I shall call you Lydia.” Lydia? My face must have fallen for he rushed to add, “No matter what your name really is you will be Lydia to me and only to me. It is our little secret. No one else but the two of us shall know. My darling.”
The two of us. My heart was full to bursting. Our little secret. I sat up from the couch and threw my arms around his neck. “Oh, Charles.”
“Now, now, my dear,” he said, unwinding me from himself. “We must be cautious until such time—”
“Until such time as . . . ?” I could not wait for his answer and so I said, “Until such time as we are man and wife.”
He stiffened then and said somewhat condescendingly, “Do you not remember that you are already married? Do you not recall that unpleasant little man who so rudely interrupted our tête-à-tête—”
“Tetatet, what is that?”
Impatiently, he answered, “It’s French, but never mind.”
“But I do mind. What does it mean?”
“I fail to understand how you can be so scattered in your conversation. Furthermore, I hate being interrupted. I find it quite disconcerting. However, since you insist, it’s French for ‘face-to-face.’ Lydia,” he added.
Lydia. What a lovely sound, what a lovely name. I would endeavour to do better. “I will endeavour to do better,” I said. “And yes, I do recall Mr. Bennet’s appearance and behaviour and my chagrin over both. He had no right, no right at all.”
Charles looked puzzled. “But, my darling, he is your lawful husband.”
“Lawful, that is all. And none of that matters. You will be my true husband.”
“Of course, but we need not concern ourselves with that now.”
Something in me compelled me to the notion, however dangerous, that now was the time to plan for the future. “Where will we live, my dearest?” I asked in my most timid fashion.
“Never fear. Perhaps somewhere near the sea, perhaps upon a hillock in a dale, perhaps in a teeming city, perhaps simply beneath the open skies. What need have we of shelter? We have our love.”
With that, he drew me to him, placed his finger beneath my chin, and raised my face to his for a solemn kiss, his solemn promise that we two would be joined forever.
“But”—he wagged his finger at me—“wherever we live it will not be here. So we must make plans to leave Bath. Soon is not soon enough for me, for I must have more of you.”
Now I decided was the perfect time to introduce his little daughter to him. I would need to use the utmost caution; after all, little Jane would be a great shock to even so worldly a man as my colonel. Once he became accustomed to his newly discovered fatherhood, we would be We Three and my dream would come true.
Charles by now had dressed himself and I followed suit. I did not want to leave these rooms, not ever, but sensing some impatience in him, I said, “Shall we walk a bit?”
Night was giving way to day. We strolled along the river, which by now barely mirrored the moon. I held Charles’s arm; he covered my hand with his. I granted him yet another kiss and then begged to be seated. Charles found the perfect bench. Behind us the leaves of the trees rustled, then fell to the ground, creating a canopy of reds and golds and yellows. The time was right. Loosing myself from his affectionate grasp, I said, “Charles, my darling, what thoughts have you about children?”
“They are fine, just so long as they keep their distance. Why do you ask?”
This was not a propitious beginning. “Oh, no reason,” I said as airily as I could. “Can you imagine our creating a family”—here I stuttered—“a child or perhaps two who would carry on your name?” He stiffened. “And care for Northfield in your dotage?”
“I do not intend to suffer a dotage. I shall most likely fall in battle before that.”
I uttered a little shriek. “Dear heart! Say not so!”
“What is all this, then, about children? My duties as a military man preclude children. Furthermore, as you have been quick to celebrate, We Two will do just fine. Something awkward about We Three or, God help us, We Four. Let us continue our stroll.”
“No, no, dear, just a moment longer.” I swear, sister, the wind grew stronger and colder. The river had turned from black to silver. Day was upon us. “Charles,” I said, “please hear me out.”
“What is it?” His impatience was showing.
“We are already We Three.”
“Silly goose, come now; let us find a warmer spot. Better yet, let us head for my carriage. It is past your bedtime, my darling. Besides, I have made my feelings clear: I have never cared much for children. To be blunt, I do not care one whit for them. Now, shall we go?”
This was it, all or nothing: “My dear, you would care for one such child, if you knew her.”
“Surely we could find some sort of conversation pleasing to us both. This one is boring me to distraction.”
Nothing, not even his boredom, could stop me now. “Do you recall the child you thought so adorable at the village fair? The child you called lovely? Her name is Jane. She is two years old. She was born nine months after you and I met. She is your daughter, yours and mine.”
“Silence!” he ordered. “It is not fitting for a married woman to have so intimate an exchange with a man not her husband.”
“She is your child, my beloved. Jane belongs to you.”
“Nonsense! This cannot be.” He rose as if to leave.
I rushed on. “We could easily pass by Longbourn and collect her. She is our child. She is our life together.”
His response was instantaneous and as I look back, probably not the first time he had uttered it: “And how could I be certain of that? Given the wanton behaviour you have apprised me of, your child’s father could be any one of a number of men, men whom you have deceived just as you have deceived me, as you have deceived your husband. I cannot abide deceit. You have besmirched my honour.”
“I? I have besmirched your honour? What about mine?”
“You have no honour, madam, not now, not ever.”
“None now that you revile me.” I fell on my knees and beseeched him, “Have pity, my love.”
“Get up, you fool,” he ordered. “Someone may see us.” And with that he jerked me upright. “You have misled me. Damn you.”
I stared into the darkness at his retreating back and thought of how I might shoot it. From this distance my beloved looked more like a rabbit caught in a hunter’s sights than a man. Yet he need not have feared me. Had I had a firearm I would not have had the strength to raise it, let alone to fire it. I stared into the empty darkness until the chill of the early morning, so cold as to deny the sun forever, forced me to rise from the odious bench, and somehow I managed to stumble back to Mrs. Littleworth’s rooms.
Fortunately, my friend and protector was engaged at the gaming tables and I was free to weep as loudly as ever I have or wish to again. My fury was not just at the colonel. My anger was at myself. How could I have been so foolish? How could I have let that man take such liberties? Where was I to go now? What life was left to me? I was and am deeply ashamed and I shall remain so all the rest of my life.
Upon Mrs. Littleworth’s return, I threw myself upon her and sobbed anew. “What is it, child?” she asked. “Here, here, dry your eyes. Tell your mum everything.”
So I did. “And he deserted me. He walked away and left me alone there in the darkness, all alone without protection or friendship or anything at all except his never-ending loathing of me, his own dear one, his own Lydia!”
“Good God, I am ruined!” said Mrs. Littleworth. “Did he say where he was going?”
“He said nothing. But why, pray tell, are you ruined? It is I who am ruined!”
Mrs. Littleworth’s face contorted itself in a way I had never seen. “Where do you think the money came from, for your wardrobe, your coiffeur, your face, your complete trans
formation into a lady of Society? Your dancing master, your French tutor—expenses I incurred gladly and for your benefit. And now what have you done? All my hard work arranging for meetings, reserving rooms, encouraging walks and talks, all for nothing. I will be cast out in the morning if not before.” She turned her back on me and sailed toward the door. “One last piece of advice,” she said. “You had best be gone within the day. You have failed me, you little fool.”
Another shock, dear Jane, as if I were being lashed anew. My friend and confidante had turned against me. I was indeed alone as I had never before been. Perhaps this most recent shock dried my tears, but dried they were and I sat there wondering how the tragedy of my life concerned Mrs. Littleworth.
I brushed past Mrs. Littleworth’s maid and burst into her boudoir. “I demand to know,” I said. “What do you mean by ‘cast out’? What has that to do with our friendship, your kindness, your generosity to me?”
“Just who do you think your benefactor was? Mr. Littleworth? Hah! My husband cut off my funds weeks ago, shortly after we arrived.”
So Mr. Bennet was right; Mr. Littleworth had rendered her penniless. “And so you are without funds?”
“It pleases Mr. Littleworth to think me so. But I am not without funds. I have not been without funds for quite some time. Mr. Littleworth’s money was but a drop in the pond required to make you socially acceptable.”
“Then who? The colonel?”
“Colonel Millar’s attentions to you were my doing. I arranged not only for meetings and for your walks about this town and for the balls in the evening and for—”
“But my gowns! My shoes! My lessons! Where did that money come from if not from the colonel?” As much as I hated to admit it, he seemed the most likely source.
Mrs. Littleworth rose from her settee and puffed herself up to a great expanse. “The money came from me. All of it, every pound, every shilling, came from me.”
“From you? You have been so very kind to me, but I cannot think that your affection for me would cost you so dearly.” The light was dawning. “In return for?”