by Robin Helm
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And, of course, her staff would be cleaning. In the drawing room, in the entrance hall—everywhere! Out the front door sailed Lady Catherine, for the day was fine and bright. Her objective was the rose garden. Surely there she could find peace and quiet.
But as soon as she rounded the tall hedge, she stopped short. There, on the stone bench, sat a gentleman. Sir Walter!
“What are you doing here?” she heard herself say. Heavens, her voice held a strident tone. Now why was that?
At once he rose to his feet and made a little bow. “Good morning, my dear. Won’t you join me?” He gestured to the bench.
Lady Catherine gave a mighty sigh. She had meant to stride about, rehearsing her angry grievances to—why, to no one. And now she had a listener. She gave a speculative look to the bench.
Sir Walter, looking as handsome as ever, continued to smile at her.
“Oh very well,” she relented. “A few moments will do no harm. I am much occupied this morning. So many duties.”
“I quite understand.” Sir Walter’s gloved hand cupped her elbow, and he assisted her to sit. This thoughtful gesture was rather startling.
“I see you are wearing black again,” he said. “What has happened to upset you?”
His eyes gazed into hers. Suddenly the morning’s irritations seemed petty and unimportant. “Oh,” she said vaguely, “just everything. The coffee was burnt, and Anne did not come down to breakfast, and my nephews are being—” She paused. “For lack of a better term,” she said frankly, “the two of them are behaving like ninnyhammers.”
Sir Walter gave a gentle chuckle. “That is the failing of all men in their twenties. Youth is wasted on the young, our grandfathers used to say, and rightly so.”
Lady Catherine felt her lips curve into a smile. Just as quickly she banished it.
“I noticed Mr. Collins’s pony trap go by. Did he put you out of temper? Most understandable! I had dinner at the parsonage yesterday; does the man ever stop talking?”
“I—fear not,” she said unsteadily. “He is, however, a source of useful information. About village gossip and such.”
His eyes laughed into hers. “I daresay he is, but at what cost to your sanity? If the man has been in your drawing room doing the polite, I can see why you are on your last nerve.”
Lady Catherine was betrayed into a smile.
“Mr. Collins does not understand that, with a woman of your intelligence, flattery is useless. It can only provoke and irritate.”
“Then,” said Lady Catherine bracingly, “he must be reminded.”
“A waste of your breath, my dear. A man of Collins’s stamp will never listen! Ah,” he said soulfully, “the things we do not know until after we engage a person.” Sir Walter paused. “My own vicar you will not like any better. He is not as talkative as Collins, but my word, so drearily devout!”
There was a robin hopping on the lawn, eyeing the grass for worms. Lady Catherine watched this bird with new eyes. Why had she never noticed that spring was coming on? A hopeful time of year, spring. Yes, it was good to sit in the garden like this.
“I thought for a moment,” said Sir Walter slowly, “that you were put out because Mr. Darcy had proposed to Miss Bennet.”
“Why, he would not dare,” cried Lady Catherine, firing up. “Fitzwilliam knows his duty. This infatuation with Miss Bennet is merely that—a passing fancy.”
“I daresay you are right,” agreed Sir Walter. “But I have seen how he looks at her.”
Lady Catherine had seen it too, and she ground her teeth. But before she could say anything cutting to Sir Walter, he spoke again.
“He looks at Miss Bennet with admiration. I…understand the feeling.”
Suddenly, Sir Walter got to his feet. Back and forth in front of the bench he walked. Lady Catherine was too surprised to say anything. After a silence of several minutes, he came towards her in an agitated manner.
“In vain have I struggled,” Sir Walter said. “It will not do. My feelings will not be repressed. You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you.”
Chapter Twelve
As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Sir Walter wished them unsaid. What was he thinking? This was no way to propose marriage! And why had he blurted out the word love?
Still, he hadn’t thoroughly bungled it. That bit about ardently was very nicely put. Yes, a poet could not have done better.
Lady Catherine was now on her feet. Her astonishment, alas, was complete. She stared, her cheeks grew red, she looked openly doubtful—and, most unfortunately, she was anything but silent.
“Pray explain yourself, sir.” Her tone was icy and her eyes sharp.
This was not what Sir Walter expected. Not a scrap of gratitude did she display! No gentle sighs or maidenly confusion! And yet, having begun, he must persevere.
“I would like you to become my wife, my dear,” he said simply. “That is the long and short of it. In spite of our, er, social inequality.”
Lady Catherine had the effrontery to laugh. “Our social what?”
The laughter was good, but the scorn was not. Did she not understand the sacrifice he was making? Sir Walter gave her a pitying look.
“My Elliot ancestor was elevated to the baronetcy in the first year of Charles II,” he explained. “Whereas the Fitzwilliams did not acquire the dukedom until a full five years later.”
She was stunned to silence.
“Then too, there is the matter of your husband being only a knight. However, your own noble birth shifts the balance mightily in your favor.”
“I should say so!”
“There, you see? The problem is solved. Yes, and very nicely.”
“I am not of a mind to take another husband,” she said. “And even if I were, I would not choose someone like you.”
Sir Walter concealed his disappointment. “Well,” he said thoughtfully, “finding someone who is better presents a challenge. I don’t suppose you would consider me as a bird in the hand?”
“You misunderstand me, Sir Walter. Let me put the matter plainly. You are the very last man I would ever wish to marry!”
“No,” said Sir Walter promptly. “That would be William, Duke of Clarence; no right-minded woman would wish to marry him. Or could marry him, now that I think on it.”
“The Duke of Clarence!” Lady Catherine cried. “Have you lost your mind?”
“The Duke of Margate, now,” Sir Walter went on. “You might do better there. He is almost as good-looking as I am. But only if you are able to overlook that missing front tooth. And his fondness for gaming.”
“This is absurd!”
“It is, is it not?” Sir Walter gave her his most charming smile. “Here I am, my dear, awaiting your decision.”
“Sir Walter—” she protested.
“Shall we sit down again? I cannot think why we are standing about in this stupid way.”
With reluctance, Lady Catherine resumed her seat.
“There, that is better,” said Sir Walter, settling in beside her. “Now then, I wonder if you recognize the opportunity that is before you. Doubtless your father chose your first husband, am I right? But now you are able to decide for yourself.”
“I have always been able to decide for myself.”
“Your ability to know your own mind is one of the things I like in you. I said as much to your nephews when they called.”
There was a small silence. “You spoke with my nephews? On the subject of our marriage?”
“I, er, did, my dear,” he said slowly. “But with the utmost reluctance. That is to say, the conversation was not instigated by me.”
“They sought you out?”
Although he said nothing, Sir Walter managed to look an answer.
“They forced you to declare your intentions?”
“I would love to tell you all about it, but as a gentleman I am obliged to keep confidence.”
“Upon my word!
I do not need their permission to marry!”
Sir Walter took her abrupt turn of face in stride. “Just what I told them! The very words! However, I would not judge them too harshly, my dear. They did what they thought was best.”
“What was best for them!” she cried. “The colonel, in particular, guards what he will inherit from me like a jealous harpy. He would not wish to share even a groat with you—er, I mean with a second husband.”
Could it be that she was softening? Hope bloomed anew. Now was the moment to display humility—yes, the time was right. Sir Walter gathered his courage.
“Perhaps the best thing to do,” he said kindly, “is to forget the whole thing. We shall remain as we were, good friends. I only—”
Sir Walter paused. To see her generous income slip through his fingers; it was too, too tragic!
“I only thought,” he confessed, allowing a break in his voice, “of the fun we could have together. Part of the year spent in London, part here. And perchance a short visit to my beloved Kellynch.”
Lady Catherine listened in silence. Was this a good sign? Sir Walter soldiered on. “Ours is a world of couples, as you know, and we have been solitary for far too long. You and I, together, could take the ton by storm.”
“I—have no desire to do so.” But she did not sound convinced.
“Yes,” said Sir Walter quietly. “I see that now. You were made for noble pursuits, whereas I am a silly creature. My sole desire, for instance, is to see you smiling and wearing pretty gowns. To attend concerts and dinners and plays by my side. To laugh and enjoy life again. And perhaps, upon occasion,” he added, smiling wistfully, “we might demonstrate that we are not too old by waltzing together.”
“Of course we are not old,” she said crossly. “I am ashamed of my nephews, making you feel like a fool.”
“The presumption was mine, my dear. I spoke too soon of my feelings. No wonder you are shocked and repulsed.”
Lady Catherine was now frowning at the gravel path. Of what was she thinking? Her next statement could decide all. Sir Walter held his breath.
“When you leave Hunsford,” she said at last, “my nephews will assume that they have won.”
“Well, yes.”
“I do not like that. I shan’t be told what to do. Especially by boys who are half my age.”
“Oh, not half, my dear,” cried Sir Walter, with genuine distress. “Two-thirds only.”
She gave a brittle laugh. “How absurd you are!”
What could he answer?
Lady Catherine filled the silence for him. “Fun,” she said, turning to study his face. “This is your reason for marriage? To have fun? Not merely to satisfy your lustful animal impulses?”
Sir Walter gasped; he could not help it. Horrors!
“I have had enough of that to last a lifetime,” she added crisply.
Sir Walter scrambled to put his thoughts into words. “I shall do my manful best to contain my, er, fleshly desires, my love. Until you decide otherwise.”
Lady Catherine continued to study him. Sir Walter allowed his lips to form a slight smile. This left view of his profile was, he knew, most attractive.
It was then that he noticed a folded paper peeking from her sleeve. Boldly he took hold of its corner and drew it out. “What is this, my love?”
He heard her sharp intake of breath, but she did not forbid him. He read the direction. “A letter—to me?”
She blushed like a schoolgirl. This was more like it! Sir Walter broke the seal and opened it.
“Ah,” he said, smiling. “Here is my reply: Sir Walter Elliot begs leave to inform My Lady Kate that he will be pleased to join her for dinner tomorrow.”
“Kate!” she cried. “Never have I been called Kate!” But he could see that she was secretly pleased.
For Kate she was—tempestuous, shrewish Kate. And he? Why, he was that swaggerer, Petruchio! Sir Walter’s chest expanded. He had never read Shakespeare—who could? But he had seen the play. That Shakespeare, he was a wise fellow. A strong woman responded to strength.
Sir Walter therefore lifted her hand and boldly kissed her fingers. “Shall I send the notice to the Gazette this afternoon?”
Lady Catherine pursed up her lips. “Oh, very well,” she said. “If you must, you must.”
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And so it followed …
Thus it was that Lady Catherine de Bourgh’s ordinary Sunday dinner became an engagement celebration. The stunned faces of the guests, as they absorbed the news of the announcement, were a wonder to behold. And later, while Lady Catherine and her swain held court before the fire, conversing gently with the Collinses and her neighbours, Sir Charles and Lady Howell, another group was gathered at the far end of the drawing room.
Fitzwilliam Darcy was looking unhappy. “I would that she had chosen a better fellow,” he said. “That is to say, an honourable, God-fearing man instead of—”
As the group looked on, Sir Walter caught a glimpse of his reflection in the looking glass over the mantelpiece. He made a slight adjustment to the folds of his cravat and smiled.
Darcy gave a heavy sigh. “The man is Narcissus all over again.”
“As to that,” replied Miss Bennet, “one can always hope that, under the spiritual guidance of Reverend Collins, he will improve.”
Her eyes met Darcy’s, and they shared an amused look. “Oh dear,” she said unsteadily. “I fear he is as proud as she is opinionated.”
“There is little difference between them,” agreed Mr. Darcy. “Each is as self-absorbed as the other.”
“A match made not in heaven,” said Colonel Fitzwilliam glumly, “but in the other place.”
“Under his influence, I fear she will grow steadily worse.” Darcy paused. “He will likely persuade her to spend part of the year in London.”
Elizabeth gave a sidelong look to Mr. Darcy. “Although disguise of any sort is an abhorrence, I suggest we practice pretending that we do not know them.”
Darcy was surprised into a laugh.
Colonel Fitzwilliam cast his gaze to the ceiling. “May the Lord have mercy on us all. With that pair on the town, there is nothing for it. I shall have to request a foreign assignment.”
“Or you could marry,” suggested Darcy with a twinkle.
“Speak for yourself,” Colonel Fitzwilliam countered.
“Perhaps I shall…”
Meanwhile, Elizabeth was studying the engaged couple. “Why do I have the uneasy feeling that, given enough money, there is no gainsaying Sir Walter Elliot?”
“He’s the devil in a dress coat, sure enough,” said the colonel. “And she is the cat who swallowed the canary.”
His gaze traveled to where his cousin sat with Mrs. Jenkinson and Maria Lucas. “But Anne will have a better life now, don’t you think?”
“I do indeed,” said Darcy. “In fact, I am sure of it.”
The End
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Laugh out loud, fall in love,
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Mercy’s Embrace
MY FOREVER VALENTINE
Wendi Sotis
MY FOREVER VALENTINE
Copyright © 2018 Wendi Sotis
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems – except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles are reviews �
� without permission in writing from its publisher and author.
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
Includes excerpts and/or short passages paraphrased from:
• Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen (1813) which is in the public domain.
• Every Lady’s Own Valentine Writer, in Prose and Verse for the year 1794,
• Reproduction from Cambridge University Library, copyright J. Roach 1794
• The Complete Valentine Writer: or, the Young Men and Maidens Best Assistant: Containing: A Variety of Pleasing Verses Calculated to Crown with Mirth and Good Humour the Happy Day which is called St. Valentine, written by Miss Reynolds, Miss Peggy Collins, and Miss Long.
• Reproduction from Trinity College Library, Watkinson Collection, copyright T. Sabine 1780.
• THE WISH: AN ELAGY: TO URANA by Thomas Blacklock (1721-1791) http://www.eighteenthcenturypoetry.org/works/o4985-w0350.shtml
The first draft of My Forever Valentine was posted serially at BeyondAusten.com October through November 2018.
Chapter One
~Friday, December 27, 1811
The moment Miss Elizabeth Bennet had anticipated with both joy and dread these past three weeks had arrived. Tears welled in her eyes, even as her lips stretched into a smile so wide, her cheeks ached.
It was time to say goodbye to her treasured confidant, dearest friend, and roommate — her elder sister, Jane.
After the happy couple bid adieu to the neighbours and all the other family members, Elizabeth stepped forward.
“I wish you the greatest joy, Mr. and Mrs. Bingley!”
“I am the most fortunate man alive.” Charles Bingley beamed at his new wife, the sweetest lady who had ever walked the earth.
A wave of compassion came over Elizabeth, knowing this amiable man had been abandoned by his sisters, Miss Caroline Bingley and Mrs. Hurst, as well as his best friend, Mr. Darcy, on his wedding day. Poor Charles had resorted to asking Sir William Lucas to stand up with him at the ceremony.
