My Cousin Caroline: The acclaimed Pride and Prejudice sequel series The Pemberley Chronicles Book 6

by Rebecca Ann Collins

  Fitzwilliam agreed it was a good plan, but how was it to be achieved?

  “We shall have to find someone who could tell her gently and kindly,” he said and then in a flash, Elizabeth said, “Emily, Emily will tell her, I am sure of it. They are very close.”

  Both gentlemen thought this was an excellent idea, but Darcy wondered if Caroline should be apprised of it first.

  “Does Caroline know all this?” he asked and Fitzwilliam admitted that he had not told his wife everything for fear of upsetting her.

  “She is quite fond of young Bentley; I cannot tell how she will take this news. He is, after all, innocent of any wrongdoing, tainted only by his association with others who are guilty.”

  Elizabeth spoke quietly, echoing his words. “I am very sorry for poor Mr Bentley—he is unfortunately the innocent son and stepson of two quite evil men. No doubt this is why the two Misses Henderson are in their middle twenties and as yet unwed. I have often wondered what impediment, apart from Henderson's coarseness, had prevented two such pretty, accomplished, and well-endowed young women from being snapped up by aspiring suitors. Their father's past must be known to their general acquaintance, surely?”

  “Well, I think you have your answer, Lizzie. The children are innocent victims. But, we must now consider Isabella's future; it would destroy her to discover the truth after she has given him her word,” said Fitzwilliam ruefully, well aware how difficult this was going to be.

  That evening, a plan was made for Fitzwilliam to convey Emily to Oakleigh Manor, where Mr Gardiner would enlighten her, so she could relate the sad and unpleasant tale to young Isabella before Mr Bentley returned from London.

  Fitzwilliam knew that Caroline had invited Bentley to dine with them on the first Sunday after his return; it was very likely that he would expect to approach Isabella and essential that she be in possession of all the facts by then.

  “Poor Isabella,” said Elizabeth and her husband added, “Poor Emily—I would not have her task for the world. She is very fond of Isabella, which will make it all the more difficult.”

  And yet, when it was put to Emily and the circumstances were explained, she was so deeply affronted by the prospect of her niece marrying into such a family, in ignorance of their circumstances, she agreed immediately to their scheme, on one condition.

  Her sister Caroline must be told and must agree to the plan.

  “It will not only be totally wrong for me to approach Isabella without her mother's knowledge, I think it would break Caroline's heart. How would it be, Cousin Lizzie, if Jane or Kitty or Caroline had decided to counsel Cassy without a word to you? Would you not have considered it an act of intolerable arrogance?”

  Elizabeth had to agree and Fitzwilliam consented. He would bring Caroline with him to Oakleigh, he promised. There, they would acquaint her with everything before Emily spoke to Isabella on the morrow.

  It was not a prospect any of them looked forward to with any degree of enthusiasm, least of all Emily, whose warm affection for her young niece would make the telling of it very painful indeed.

  THERE WAS NOTHING UNUSUAL ABOUT Sunday morning, except that Emily, who usually attended the church at Pemberley, arrived for the midmorning service at the parish of Kympton. Isabella thought perhaps her aunt had enjoyed Reverend Courtney's sermon on another occasion and had decided to change her allegiance to the parish, but her mother said, no, Aunt Emily was coming back to the farm with them because she had something important to do.

  Isabella could not imagine what there was for her aunt to do at the farm, but in view of her mother's rather grave countenance, decided not to ask too many questions.

  Later, after they had partaken of tea, when Emily invited Isabella to accompany her on a walk down to the lower meadows of the property, she began to believe there was more to this morning's visit than at first met the eye.

  Isabella loved the wild meadows and the little river that leapt and sprang as it rushed along its rocky bed on its way to join the Derwent, beyond the steep gorge. She often used to come down here with her brother Edward and enjoyed sketching the scene, as he played at fishing. As children, it had been their special place. Their grandfather had a couple of her pictures of the high peaks rising above the tumbling water on the walls of his study and one of Edward pretending to land a fish.

  When they reached a familiar spot, where a large tree overhanging the water gave them good shade, Emily said, “Bella my dear, do you think we could sit here awhile? There is something very important which you must know.”

  Isabella knew she had no choice; she'd had a premonition that had increased in strength as they walked that her aunt had bad news for her. They sat in the shade and over the next hour Emily told her in detail all the information she and Caroline had had from Mr Gardiner about Mr Henderson's business and the part played by Mr Bentley's late father.

  As Isabella listened, Emily explained that her father had received a letter from Mr Bentley asking permission to propose marriage to her; it was news Isabella took without any show of surprise.

  Emily then proceeded to tell her of Fitzwilliam's concerns and relate the sequence of events that had led to Mr Gardiner's discoveries. Taking a bundle of papers out of the small satchel in which she had placed them that morning, she gave them into her niece's hands.

  As Emily watched, Isabella's expression changed from mild bewilderment to alarm and revulsion. She intervened gently, “Remember, my dear, that Mr Philip Bentley is not guilty of anything more than being the son and subsequently the stepson of men who seem to have had no limits to their greed. He had no control over the situation, nor did he ever participate in any of their evil deeds.”

  Isabella looked up at her aunt, and Emily, seeing tears in her eyes, braced herself for a struggle, marshalling her arguments and preparing to use her most persuasive manner, but none such ensued.

  Instead, Isabella said very softly but quite firmly, “Yes, and therefore, I can see no impediment to my continuing friendship with Mr Bentley; but I suppose I could not marry him.”

  Emily only just succeeded in concealing her astonishment, when Isabella continued, “If I were to do so, quite apart from the sorrow I should cause Papa and Mama because I know Mr Bentley receives a generous allowance from his stepfather, I should never be able to rid myself of the feeling that everything we had, every pleasure we enjoyed together, each luxury we indulged in was purchased with money tainted with blood of slaves. It would be forever on my conscience.”

  Emily took her hand and held it, feeling the fingers tremble as she spoke in a voice that was surprisingly steady.

  “Dear Aunt Emily, you will remember when we last spoke of Mr Bentley, I said I thought I could love him, for he is indeed an amiable and kind gentleman, but I also said I needed to know him better. Unhappily, it would appear that my enhanced knowledge has not been to his advantage, although he is not directly responsible for the impediment.”

  The tears that had welled in her eyes compelled her to stop and take out her handkerchief.

  Emily put her arms around her. “My dear, dear Bella, if you do love him, it will surely hurt to turn him down…” but Isabella shook her head.

  “If I loved him as deeply and as selflessly as you loved Paul, I would have been prepared to risk my happiness and my parents' disapproval to marry him, but clearly, I do not. I like him very much, Aunt Emily, he has been a most agreeable and engaging friend and we have spent many happy hours together.

  “Nor do I deny that I have been aware of his deepening interest through the Summer and have enjoyed it, but clearly, I am not in love with him. I am deeply sorry for him; he does not deserve to be so burdened with the sins of his father and stepfather; he is kind and good-natured, and I cannot pretend that I have not felt some affection for him, but how can I marry him, knowing that it will cause my dear parents so much grief? Such a marriage will make neither of us happy.”

  As Emily listened, Isabella continued, “I shall tell Papa to respon
d but make no mention at all of the crimes of his father and Mr Henderson. Mr Bentley must not think that I have learned of their misdeeds and hold him responsible for them. Papa can convey my sincere thanks, but say I cannot accept his proposal, though I hope he will always count me among his friends. It is sincerely meant, for I do not mean to denigrate him in any way and must hope that it will be accepted by him in the same spirit.”

  As Emily watched, amazed at her niece's words, Isabella turned to her and asked in a voice heavy with resignation, “Will that do, Aunt Emily?”

  Holding her very close, Emily replied, “My dearest Isabella, that will do very well; you are indeed a brave, kind-hearted girl. I pray that one day, you will meet someone you can love with all your generous heart and be very happy together.”

  Isabella gave no sign that she believed this would be the case. Her expression was grave and sad as they returned to the house.

  Caroline met them in the hall. She looked apprehensively at her daughter, but Isabella kissed her mother and went to her father in his study, while Emily took her sister upstairs. When she heard of Isabella's decision, Caroline wept with relief and sorrow. Renunciation was never easy, and she hoped that it would not be a scarring experience that blighted Isabella's life. Emily's assurance that it was not likely to do so did not convince Caroline, who had observed the couple closely through the Summer and seen a degree of attachment which she had believed would not be easily extinguished or forgotten.

  Recalling her own romance and the strength of her feelings, which would have precluded any possibility of forsaking the man she loved, Caroline was not as confident as Emily that they had done the right thing.

  Three letters will suffice to conclude this unhappy episode.

  Writing to Mr Phillip Bentley, after speaking with his daughter, Colonel Fitzwilliam took particular care to say nothing that might reflect upon his character in any way; it was what Isabella had wished him to do.

  Having thanked Mr Bentley for his proposal, Fitzwilliam wrote:

  My dear daughter Isabella also asks me to convey her thanks for your offer, which she regards as an honour. However, she regrets that she is unable to accept your proposal of marriage.

  She wishes me to say that though she cannot marry you, she will always think of you as a friend and hopes you will remain so in the future.

  Mrs Fitzwilliam and I join our daughter in wishing you good fortune, health, and happiness.

  Yours etc.

  When it was done to the satisfaction of both father and daughter, it was signed, sealed, and dispatched to the post forthwith.

  Fitzwilliam rose and kissed his daughter on the forehead.

  “I am so very sorry, my dear. I was thinking only of your happiness,” he began, but she would not let him continue.

  “Please, do not apologise to me, Papa. You did what you thought was right and I did what I had to do for my own peace of mind. I am pleased, however, that Mr Bentley need never know that the uncovering of his father's heinous deeds was the cause of it. Believe me, Papa, he is a good man, deserving of both love and respect, regardless of these unhappy circumstances of which I am quite sure he is unaware.”

  That night, two more letters were written in which the hapless Mr Bentley figured prominently.

  Emily, writing to her cousin and confidante Emma Bingley, now Mrs David Wilson, recounted the details of Isabella's story and Mr Bentley's unfortunate antecedents, which had prevented what might well have been a perfectly happy union of two otherwise well-matched young people.

  Do you not think, my dear Emma, that there must be some wretched force at work in the Universe that pits itself against the will of good people when they wish to enhance their chances of happiness?

  How else to explain such a dreadful debacle as has befallen our dear Isabella and the unfortunate Mr Philip Bentley?

  That a young man with all the advantages of good looks, a sound education, charming manners, and an amiable nature should have his suit refused and his happiness blighted because of the brutal criminality of his father and stepfather, of whose misdeeds he knew nothing, seems utterly unfair. Yet if you were Isabella's mother or father, how else would you respond except to protect her from such an association?

  Even Isabella agreed she could not knowingly marry him and live on an income derived from the suffering of countless human beings, abducted and abused by her husband's father and stepfather. Yet, I could not help noting the tears in her eyes as she spoke of him, assuring me he was a good, kind man deserving of affection and respect.

  It was a most melancholy situation, Emma, and I was glad when it was over.

  Out of all this misery, there was but one shining moment—when Isabella, having decided that she could not marry him in the light of all these revelations, was most anxious that he not be humiliated by a recitation of the actions of his father and Henderson. It showed a generosity of heart and a greatness of spirit in one so young that is quite uplifting in a time of increasing selfishness and moral cowardice.

  Do you not agree?

  Emma Wilson did agree. Indeed, she had reasons of her own to believe exactly as Emily had done in the value of moral courage, but for Emma the time was not opportune and she could not reveal any of it, not even to her dearest friend.

  Many years were to pass before the truth could be told.

  In the early hours of the following morning, Isabella arose after a restless night, during which she had had little sleep and, while everyone slept in the silent house around her, wrote to Rebecca Tate.

  My dear Becky,

  It would not be fair to let you discover what has transpired through the vehicle of gossip and rumour; hence this letter, which I hope will reach you before any other news. I shall send it over after breakfast.

  As you are no doubt aware already, Papa has received from Mr Philip Bentley an offer for my hand in marriage. Perhaps you have learned from Mr Bentley or Maria that such a situation would eventuate.

  Sadly, Becky, while I have greatly enjoyed his company all Summer and am convinced he is one of the most amiable men I am ever likely to meet, I do not believe that I love him enough to marry him. Not, that is, with the devotion and unquestioning love that my mother or Aunt Lizzie or even my dear Aunt Emily loved their husbands.

  I have asked myself why this is and can only conclude that neither Mr Bentley nor I can claim, with sincerity, that we were able to open our hearts totally to one another and hold nothing of ourselves back. I do not feel I know him well enough to accept him, and he, though paying me the most charming compliments, knows very little of me. We were friends, certainly, but I doubt that we are ready to become lovers. He is a man of such good nature and kindness that he deserves to be well loved.

  I respected him as a friend and hope one day he will find someone who will love him as a wife should love a husband. I am sorry I could not be that fortunate woman.

  I wish him well and, dear Becky, when you do meet, should my name be mentioned between you, will you do me the kindness of telling him what I have told you in this letter?

  Your loving friend,

  Isabella Fitzwilliam.

  It was a week later the news came that the Hendersons would not remain at Newland Hall beyond the end of Autumn. The family was returning to London, it was said, for the Christmas season. Mr Henderson had taken a house in town.

  It was Fitzwilliam who told Caroline as they sat alone in the parlour after dinner. Caroline felt some relief; it had been exceedingly difficult to meet the Hendersons, even the innocent members of the family, with the knowledge of Mr Henderson's activities constantly nagging at her thoughts.

  “Fitzy, how was I so wrong?” she asked softly. “I never dreamed that Mr Bentley could ever be the son of a slave trader, it's unthinkable; nor that Mr Henderson's wealth had been amassed by criminal means.

  “Oh, I could see that he was uncultivated and coarse in his manners and his background was unknown to us, but I would not have suspected the truth had it
not been for you and Papa. I sincerely hoped Mr Bentley would propose to Isabella and she would accept him. It seemed an ideal match. How could I have been so mistaken?”

  Comforting her, Fitzwilliam was generous. “My dear Caroline, do not blame yourself; like many people with little experience of confronting evil, you do not look for it in everyone you meet. It is to your credit that you treated Mr Bentley as you did, for in truth, he is not guilty of anything. His misfortunes arise from the misdeeds of his father and stepfather, which you were not to know.