Chapter 10
Three weeks had passed since Colonel Fitzwilliam left her home following his astonishing proposal, and Lady Cassandra could scarcely believe it happened. Colonel Fitzwilliam—to have such deep feelings toward her and actually propose to her?
Not for a moment did she doubt his words; not for a moment did she presume he only pretended to possess tender feelings for her to induce her into matrimony.
She knew him to be a deeply honourable man, and she trusted him enough to be certain he would never try to deceive her.
He would never declare a love he did not possess.
But to love her? After all those years? After a lifetime of friendship? How could that be?
The more she thought about it, the more her turmoil increased and the more she fought the undeniable evidence; her heart was not stone even if she wished it to be. Or at least it had not hardened in front of the younger Fitzwilliam son.
Yes, it was a lifetime of friendship, but not the kind of friendship she and Darcy had shared.
She had not met David Fitzwilliam as much or as often as she had met Darcy nor had she spent more than a couple of months of each year on the same estate.
However, when they met and were in each other’s company, he had always been the one who knew how to treat her and make her stubbornness as a spoiled girl disappear instantly.
Even when she was very young, no one—not her governess, her parents whom she loved deeply, the Darcys whom she cared for as much as her parents, or even her best friend, the young Fitzwilliam Darcy— succeeded in their attempts to temper her, control her, or scold her without opposition in the manner David Fitzwilliam could do.
He was the only one she listened to without argument when she was a child; he seemed always to know what she should be allowed to do without putting herself in danger or feeling restricted. And she had always accepted his advice.
Lady Cassandra smiled again at the remembrance of her childhood.
Oh dear, my poor, beloved mama—what she had to go through with me.
She shook her head in a tender scolding against her past behaviour and went to the wall where the miniatures of her parents smiled at her.
She caressed the pictures with trembling fingers as she wiped her tears.
Even now, all these years later, she still could not think of her parents without being overwhelmed by emotion.
She had been a difficult child—she knew that—and all because her parents and their friends the Darcys were overly kind and indulgent with her.
Fathers did not involve themselves in their small children’s education, especially the girls; her father and the late Mr Darcy were no exception.
If they were preoccupied with anyone’s education, their interest seemed to be the young Fitzwilliam.
Now she understood that, in all likelihood, both fathers shared the hope that she and Darcy would someday marry, and he would take the responsibility of both estates.
She often felt neglected and a bit envious of her dear friend for all the attention he received.
However, she really could not complain about a lack of attention from either parent. Her father had two weaknesses—his wife and his daughter — and Cassandra learned that fact early and took every advantage a child could gain from it.
Sometimes, her parents did not allow her to do things that could prove dangerous for a little girl; on the other hand, they never forced her to do anything she did not wish to do.
She had grown free and unrestrained by anything except a good, healthy education based on fair principles, applied with the generosity she inherited from both her parents.
Some people might have called her a wild girl, and Lady Catherine de Bourgh did so — many times.
When Cassandra was seven, her parents offered her a beautiful horse instead of her old pony but did not allow her to ride with her much older friends—young Darcy and the Fitzwilliam siblings.
She had cried, feeling disappointed and certain everybody was unfair to her, and she refused a meal that day.
A couple of days later, Lord Russell presented her a compromise: she could ride with the boys only if she remained close to David Fitzwilliam, who was seven years older than she and kindly offered to supervise her.
She immediately argued that she was an excellent rider and did not need supervision, but David, with his happy disposition and ready smile, assured her they trusted her riding abilities, but they did not trust the horse well enough and wanted to be certain the animal would behave.
That seemed a reasonable explanation, and she accepted it happily.
From that moment, Cassandra concluded that David Fitzwilliam was—next to her friend Darcy—the nicest and the wisest young man in the whole of England, and she retained that opinion until she turned seventeen and things changed for her.
From the age of eleven, she rarely saw David Fitzwilliam who, like Darcy, had been sent away to school.
She saw him once when Lady Anne passed away and twice in the next few years.
He joined the army, and she heard little about him; Darcy mentioned him from time to time in the regular letters he sent her.
She met David Fitzwilliam again the year she turned seventeen; her mother had arranged a sumptuous ball for her coming out.
Lady Lavinia was much more excited about the event than Cassandra herself and certainly more pleased with it.
Cassandra did not wish to have a ball; she did not truly wish to be “out” either.
She was content to spend time with her family and the Darcys, riding through the fields and playing with Georgiana.
Who needed to be “out”? Not she, that was certain!
However, her mother wanted the ball, so she did everything she could to appear pleased with it. In truth, however, she felt bothered and nervous about the ball. She did not know many people among the guests and did not feel comfortable in the midst of so many strangers.
When David Fitzwilliam had approached her, she had been startled with surprise and relief. He looked utterly different in his uniform, different than she had last seen him and different from the other gentlemen in the room.
He stayed with her and Darcy for quite some time, asked her about everything that happened during the past years, and declared more than once that he would certainly not have recognised her if they had met by chance, and that she had grown into a beautiful young lady.
She remembered how she had blushed at every word and was shocked by her own reaction.
She knew she behaved childishly, and she was afraid she had made a fool of herself.
As for David, he had acted as always: friendly, open, and kindly.
He was not flirting with her, no indeed; even she—with her lack of experience in the matter—could tell that.
He simply stated his opinion of her, about how she looked and about the entire event.
And then, with his friendly voice and open smile, he had asked her for the favour of the first set.
For the first time in her life, Cassandra had felt her stomach turn into an icy hole and her heart race wildly.
Furious with herself and fighting to understand what was happening to her, she had managed to formulate a reasonable acceptance.
The dance—the whole evening—had been lovely; David, together with Darcy, offered her his full attention, being discreetly around her all the time.
She had felt better than ever and, as the hours had passed, had begun to realise that what she was feeling in David’s presence was different from anything she had experienced before.
Her gaze followed him around the room, and when their eyes met, he smiled at her.
From time to time, he had sneaked near her and whispered something, making her laugh and blush.
He had asked her for yet another set, and during supper, he talked to everybody around him but had turned to look at her more than once and even winked at her in a barely noticeable gesture.
Yes, at her coming out ball, Lady Cassandra’s innocent heart had been touched for the first time.
The next morning, after barely sleeping from excitement, she allowed herself countless speculations.
She admitted that David had turned into a handsome and charming gentleman and that she enjoyed his company exceedingly.
She also had been certain he was not indifferent to her, either.
And she remembered that, as the second son of an earl, he must be careful in his choice of a wife.
What better choice than herself, the heiress of a great fortune from a noble, titled family?
That indeed should have been a marriage to the advantage of both.
However, her dreams shattered painfully the next day when she saw David at the theatre in the intimate company of a young countess who was a recent widow.
He was staying in the countess’s box, which was quite near her family’s, and he behaved as he had at the ball: he came to greet them, complimented Cassandra for the ball and whispered to her that everyone in Town was talking of her, and all the eligible bachelors were vying for her attention.
He added that he was as proud of her as he would be of his own sister.
Then he returned to the countess with whom he had indeed been flirting, and there was no doubt about the intimate nature of their relationship.
That night and for many nights that followed, Cassandra had wet her pillow with the bitter tears of her dashed, first romantic hopes.
For a few months, she avoided seeing David Fitzwilliam as much as she could; then, finally, her mind and senses overcame her disappointed heart, and she understood that her sudden and strange change of feeling could not force his to change as well.