by Lily Holland
I head to my bedroom and get into my nightgown before sitting on the bed and jumping up as the door opens and Lord Feaston makes his way in.
I observe him and he observes me and nothing is said. I look down at the ground and I hate that I look so stiff. I hear him sighing and the rustling of fabric indicates he is undressing.
I look up and notice he has just taken off his shoes and his jacket. Then he stops and looks up to me and I am lost, completely unknowing of what is to be done.
This embarrassing moment seems to drag on for so long that I feel hours have passed with the two of us standing with a bed between us.
Swallowing at the lump in my throat and closing my eyes, I start untying the knot of my nightgown without looking at him.
He observes me, I know, but he doesn’t speak. When I am about to push the fabric down my right shoulder, my fingers shaking hardly, he sighs and shakes his head.
“You don’t have to do this,” he says and my eyes jump to his face.
He looks like a more mysterious figure in the candlelight, it suits him well, makes less obvious the broken heart he has a hard time hiding on his face.
“No?”
He shakes his head.
“No. I noticed you didn’t eat much during supper tonight. I think it would be better if you were to get some rest. The wedding preparations and festivities have probably tired you much.”
I look at him without understanding and he nods, heading for the bed and sliding under the cover to sleep.
“I suppose you are right,” I say, a wave of relief making my entire body warm up instantly.
I lie down in bed next to him and I detail the ceiling. He is a kind man, there is no doubt about it. Many a man in his position would have done what is required of a husband during his wedding night, but he doesn’t seem to care much about it.
Why is he sleeping here if he doesn’t want to have me? I wonder. But then, isn’t it obvious? He can’t desert the conjugal bed on his wedding night, that would make for some gossip among the servants and even among town for certain.
No matter what his motivations for his actions are, I don’t care. I snuff the candle as I settle on my side of the bed and I close my eyes.
“Good night, my Lord,” I say and immediately regret not calling him John.
He sighs but, after a few more seconds, he answers.
“Good night, my Lady.”
I do my best to find something else to say, but it doesn’t come and I feel sleep fogging my mind. Will this be my life now? A loveless husband in a loveless bed but in security, in comfort?
I don’t know, but if it is, I would rather have been poor but loved.
Chapter 5
Charity
I settle in married life pretty easily. So does my husband. Weeks pass and every day looks the same. After our wedding night, John decided to sleep in another room. Every night, I go to bed alone and so does he.
When I think about it, I find it sad but I suppose it is worse than some and better than others. At least my husband isn’t mean to me, that’s something to consider.
John and I live together but we don’t share much more than quiet evenings. Somehow, our talks are always vain and when there isn’t anything left to say about the weather, silence falls down on us.
We have established a routine and I think it suits us both. We don’t see each other until it is time for luncheon and, after the meal usually spent inquiring of each other’s night or health, we don’t speak until it is time for supper. When we are done eating, we retire to the library where I usually read a book and he studies and writes letters on a little table. It is our way of spending time together but we both share very few words.
In all, it is a very silent marriage. We are on friendly terms, I know, but it is far from what I would have expected. Is he happy? I’m certain he is not. Am I content? Not one bit even if I don’t have any material reason not to be.
Often enough, we are invited to social events. Dinner at some widow’s table, tea at a major Lord’s mansion, we go as a couple and we play our part well enough. Sometimes, I wish he could look at me like the young bachelors look at the pretty ladies they are courting. It would make a certain change in our relationship.
Ever since he briefly kissed me on our wedding day, John has never tried to do it again, nor touch me for that matter. Our union is purely platonic. Is it even legal? Does it mean I could get out of it if I wanted to? Do I want to?
I shake my head to myself, I’m pretty sure I don’t. I still see through his broken heart, I know he is a kind man and I love his good looks. I remember meeting him a year ago when he was courting another woman with jet-black hair, he was smiling, his eyes shooting romantic looks across the room to the object of his desires. His blue eyes are sharp and give him a strong, smart gaze. His short black hair makes him look neat and perfect and he is simply handsome. His smile is beautiful too, his teeth are slightly crooked but they are white and he always smells good cologne. If I were to listen to my heart, I would be falling in love with him easily enough. But I can’t do that, not as long as his eyes can’t see any other woman than the one his heart is set on.
One evening, after our supper and during our time in the library, I start wondering if this marriage has a purpose at all. I am not poor anymore, I get to order servants around and I enjoy the amazing grounds of Mooreshire, but I don’t think that is the reason why he married me. If he doesn’t touch me, how does he think I can produce an heir for him? The more I think about it, the more I wonder if I might disgust him. It is probably the only answer to his coldness toward me. I chase the idea by squeezing my eyes and I refocus on the book I have been reading. I gaze up for a few seconds and study John’s face. In the candlelight, he looks more tired than he might confess to be. This heartache, this pain he feels deep within himself, is it reason enough to forlorn his life? I wonder and, closely detailing his face, I decide time has come to talk to him.
“John.”
He looks up to find my eyes and frowns.
“Charity?”
“Can we talk or am I disturbing you?”
His frown deepens as he looks back at the letter he has been writing.
“I suppose I can do both at the same time.”
I smile and shake my head.
“Never mind, it can wait.”
I get ready to dive back into my reading and he must sense the matter I wish to discuss is of importance because he wets his lips and puts down his quill.
“Is something the matter?”
I look up to him and offer him a shy smile. I shake my head.
“No. I would simply wish for us to talk about… Something that has been on my mind. It’s not that important.”
He nods and, against my expectations, he stands up and comes to sit on the chair facing me. This looks like a confrontation, I’m not sure I like this.
“What is it you wish to discuss?”
I can hear in his tone he is genuinely unaware of what might trouble me. Does he believe I don’t know he is depressed?
I inhale a deep breath and conjure all the strength I might muster.
“I… I would like you to tell me about the girl you are in love with.”
A suffocating silence follows my words and he details my face so closely my insides start to turn in fear of his reaction.
“What are you—”
“Please,” I say, raising a hand to stop him from denying. “There is no need to pretend. I know you are in love with Selina Knightley and… Well, I would like for you to tell me about her. About you. What happened between you and how you fell in love with her.”
He observes me and looks speechless. After a few minutes of utter silence, I believe he will never answer me. I shake my head and take back my book.
“As I said, never mind.”
“I… I met her at one of Lord Devinan’s tea party.”
My eyes jump up to meet his and I inhale a deep breath. He hesitates but he goes on.
“It was about a year and a half ago I believe. She was introduced to me by Lord Devinan himself and she was…”
He eyes me and wonders if he should go on.
“Beautiful?” I try.
He clears his throat and nods. He is uncomfortable, it is plain on his face. Yet, he doesn’t flee.
“Yes, beautiful. It was the first time I was seeing her and I thought at once that she was the most charming creature I had ever seen.”
“She is very charming, you have a good eye.”
I smile and it seems to help him relax. I don’t want him to feel guilty, I want him to mourn his lost hopes and focus on the present and the future, not the past.
“I like to think I do,” he says with a shy smile and I know he intends it as a compliment for me.
I lower my eyes to the ground, unable to hide a hint of pink from coming to my cheeks that the candlelight must be hiding mercifully.
“Did she also fancy you?” I ask in a soft voice.
He shrugs.
“I believed so. We met on many occasions, she was witty, kind, joyful and elegant. I saw in her the qualities I would like in my life’s companion.”
He stops for a few seconds and I see his hands tensing.
“About six months ago, she came back from a trip to Clarencroft, Lord Knightley’s estate. Their fathers were good friends, I supposed it was a visit of common courtesy.”
“Was it not?”
He shakes his head.
“No, at first I thought so, but not anymore. I think… I think Miss Heathfield was in love with Lord Knightley right from the beginning. What had been keeping them apart, that is a good question but at the time I didn’t see it that way. When she came back from her visit, she was different. She had lost her joyful smile and hid behind a mask of property but I could see right through her.”
“She wasn’t happy… If she was apart from the man she loved, that is understandable.”
He shudders at my words but nods nonetheless.
“At that time, the idea of proposing to her flourished in my mind. We were having lengthy discussions and she liked me enough, I know, so I took the leap. I offered marriage to her during one of Lord Devinan’s party and…”
He stops and focuses on the dance of the candle’s flame.
“Did she agree to it?”
It calls him back to me and he shakes his head.
“No, I had told her to take her time to answer me but that night, she left the room for an hour to talk with Lord Knightley freshly arrived from Clarencroft and when she came back into the room…”
“Her inclination made no more doubt.”
He nods at my words and leans back in his chair, sighing deeply.
“She told me later in a letter that Knightley had proposed to her that night and that ‘her heart could know no other name than his’. She added she was sorry but that she had no other choice but to refuse my proposal. Wishing me good fortune, etc, etc.”
“I see.”
I study my hands resting on my lap. I need to choose my words cautiously.
“I am really sorry, John. This must have been a very hard trial for you.”
His eyes jump to my face and he details me closely. He nods faintly.
“It has, but I didn’t know it would hurt that much.”
This makes me grit my teeth but I don’t let it show.
“It would,” I say softly. “Of course it would. You loved her and she refused you, you thought you finally had all that was required to your happiness and it all crumbled away in a single evening. I would have been surprised if you hadn’t suffered from it.”
“Thank you,” he says, “it is very kind of you to acknowledge.”
I nod.
“Love is not a matter of reason, but reason can understand love. I understand you John, I’m very sorry you had to go through all this.”
“Thank you,” he repeats and silence settles between us but none of us feels ready to move away.
“Did it pain you much when we last met her at Lord Thorner’s house?”
He shrugs again and, for the first time, I can detect he is going to lie.
“Not really.”
I study his face and his shoulders droop.
“Maybe,” he adds with a sigh. “Yes, I think it did. It is never easy to see your biggest failure facing you.”
At this, I shake my head vividly.
“Don’t say that, it isn’t true. You should not consider Lady Knightley as your biggest failure. She did give you the impression that she would marry you, I understand that, but the rebuff is not due to you. You did nothing improper, the failure isn’t on your side, it is on hers.”
He sighs again but a little smile curls the corner of his lips.
“That’s a way to see it, I would suppose, but it’s not the way I see it.”
“Then maybe you should try to see it from my point of view.”
I smile and he smiles back. Silence settles in for a few minutes.
“Judging from what I have seen of her,” I resume on a more serious note, “she seems very happy in her new married life. Truly, deeply happy.”
I dare a gaze to my husband’s face and he appears closed, his eyes following the shadows of the candlelight.
“It wasn’t because of you, John,” I say in a gentle, soothing voice that I hope might help lift his spirits. “She made her choice and, from what she displays on social ground, it was the right one. She is happy, well settled and married to the man she loves, many women would be jealous of her.”
He doesn’t say anything but looks at me intently.
“Are you?”
His question surprises me but I don’t want to lie to him. I nod.
“In a certain way, yes.”
He nods slowly and silence settles in for good. We both remain unmoving, our mind lost in our own thoughts.
“Thank you,” he says and it takes me out of my reverie.
“Please?”
“For this,” he says blinking quickly, “talking to me like this, being here with me. Thank you Charity.”
I smile but truly I want to cry. I feel sad for him and I feel sad for myself. Could his heartbreak ever heal? The more time passes, the more I believe it will be impossible.
We remain sat in front of each other for a long time, our minds wandering in various deserts, before one of us moves.
He stands up to stretch his legs and he looks at the clock.
“I shall go to bed,” he announces and I smile at him, nodding.
“Good night.”
He takes a step forward and, unexpectedly, stops right in front of me. I detail his face, a veil of surprise falling on mine and I frown. I open my mouth to ask him if something is amiss but he smiles gently and his hands cup my cheeks.
I freeze at his touch, his thumbs caressing my skin and his eyes locking with mine.
“Thank you.”
I nod and, as he smiles with a warmth I have never seen in him, he closes his eyes and presses his lips to my forehead. The sensation makes my eyelids shut in their turn and I focus on his skin against mine, his hands on my cheeks, his lips on my forehead, it’s like nothing I’ve experienced before. I am surprised such a sweet, innocent kiss might make me feel so alive. I like the touch of him.
He pulls back and his eyes linger onto mine.
“Good night, dear Charity.”
I nod between his fingers and he releases me, takes a step back and leaves the room. I have never been that close to my husband. Did something just happen between us right now? Did he actually express some kind of feeling that isn’t despair or disappointment? I think he did.
I remain in the library for another thirty minute, gathering back my composure and trying to understand all the words that we have exchanged tonight.
That is when I take a resolution, the resolve of doing all that is in my power to erase the bitterness in his heart and turn it in the sweet kindness I have just glimpsed at in his eyes.
<
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The days following our talk about his lost love, John and I become closer to good friends. He is still reserved with me, I know, but our discussions become warmer and our words truer to our feelings. Our evenings in the library are less silent, more genuine, and our shared time is enjoyable.
I ask him questions about the estate, his family, his life before we met and he takes an interest in my passions for horses and the sea.
“I will try to get you a new book about ships, if you want,” he says one night as I read through an old exemplary of Boats and Companions of the Sea I found in his library.
“Oh I would love that!” I say, enthusiast. “But only if it doesn’t take too much of your precious time. I wouldn’t want it to be a trouble.”
He shakes his head before focusing back on the paper he has been reading.
“It will be no trouble at all, I only hope I’ll find something you might enjoy.”
I smile.
“I’m sure you will.”
He looks back at me and smiles kindly. I nod and refocus on the detailed illustration of a lugger. Tomorrow morning, he is going to London for his business. He won’t be home for a week and it will be the first time I will be left by myself in this grand estate. I’m not scared though, I know I will find something to keep myself busy, the only thing that annoys me is that he won’t be here.
Somehow, I am getting more used to John’s presence and companionship than I would have thought. He is kind, and his heart is honest and pure. I could be falling madly in love with him if he were to give me only half a hint that he might be seeing more in me than an agreeable yet unappealing companion. But he doesn’t, so I forbid myself to consider him differently than a friend.
I spend my week alone doing the things I love the most, reading, riding horses, taking walks, meeting some of the ladies of the neighborhood I have befriended for tea, and time flies. Yet, every evening, I miss John’s presence tremendously. I miss hearing the scratching of paper when I read after supper, I miss the perfume of his cologne as he walks past me and I miss his gentle voice asking me if I had a good night of sleep or what my plans for the day are. I miss him.