Chapter 13 #2
Marcus had given her only his love... and a little daughter who had never lived to see the world.
He longed to speak with Eleanor in private and ask the questions that had tormented him for twenty years.
But that moment had not yet come. For now, he could do nothing but watch her.
One thing, however, brought him an unexpected sense of relief.
She was a widow. He doubted he could have endured seeing another man at her side.
"Miss Elizabeth, I imagine you must have missed your aunt greatly during all the years she lived in Canada."
Marcus spoke as casually as he could, though every answer mattered more than Elizabeth could ever know.
She smiled apologetically.
"The truth is, General, I never knew I had an aunt in Canada. In fact, I only met Lady Campbell four months ago. My father explained that Lady Campbell was only a distant cousin and that they had scarcely known one another."
Marcus looked at her in surprise.
"And does your father have any brothers or sisters?"
Elizabeth shook her head.
"No. My father had only one sister, and she died many years ago, shortly after I was born."
Elizabeth could not understand the general's unusual curiosity about her family. It seemed obvious to her that his interest lay with Lady Campbell, not with the Bennets of Longbourn.
After a brief silence, Marcus asked quietly,
"I hope you will forgive the question, Miss Elizabeth, but may I ask how old you are?"
"My dear General, surely you know that ladies do not usually welcome such questions," Elizabeth replied with a smile.
"I beg your pardon. It was an impertinent question," Marcus said.
Seeing his discomfort, she added more gently, "Do not look so troubled. I do not particularly mind your knowing my age, provided you promise not to reveal it to anyone."
"I give you my word," Marcus replied with a smile.
"I am twenty, General."
Marcus looked at her intently.
Her eyes, her hair, the shape of her lips—so many features reminded him of his mother that he could scarcely look away.
Elizabeth, for her part, was equally intrigued.
There was something questioning in Marcus's gaze, a puzzlement, as if he was searching for something written upon her face.
His eyebrows were knit together, perplexed.
For the first time, she noticed the colour of his eyes.
They were remarkably like her own. The shape of them, too, and the slight wave in his hair seemed strangely familiar too.
Neither of them realised that the music had ended and that they were still standing on the dance floor, looking at one another with mutual curiosity.
"Miss Elizabeth, if you are not already engaged, would you do me the honour of standing up with me for the next set?"
Mr Darcy hated himself for asking. He had sworn he would do no such thing.
Yet the impulse had proved stronger than his resolution. He could no longer bear to see Elizabeth exposed to the general's searching gaze.
Elizabeth, still distracted by the unsettling familiarity she had discovered in Marcus's features, answered before she had quite realised who had addressed her.
"I am not engaged. Thank you, sir, for asking."
Only then did she turn and see Mr Darcy standing before her, elegantly dressed and regarding her with his customary severity.
"Thank you, Miss Elizabeth, for granting me this dance," Marcus said, gently taking her hand. "I hope it will not be the last time."
He raised her hand to his lips with such tenderness that Elizabeth could not help feeling moved. She answered him with a warm smile.
"It was a real pleasure dancing with you, General."
Mr Darcy, meanwhile, was seized by the unreasonable desire to carry her off to Gretna Green and be done with every objection that stood between them. If only she were his wife, he could protect her from everything and everyone.
Colonel Fitzwilliam had stood up for the first set with his aunt, Lady Samantha, who had then insisted that he accompany her to greet General Sinclair. The general, after dancing with a beautiful young lady, was now standing beside his niece.
"My dear General, how very pleased I am to see you again," Lady Samantha said.
She had taken particular care with her appearance that evening, hoping to attract Marcus's notice. She could not deny that the general looked remarkably handsome in uniform, and she was determined to remain near him for as much of the evening as possible.
"Lady Samantha. Fitzwilliam," Marcus replied with a bow.
His civility was faultless, but his attention was elsewhere. He wished only to be left in peace.
Richard, however, had his own purpose.
"Lady Claire, would you do me the honour of standing up with me?"
Claire smiled at once. "With pleasure, Colonel."
They joined the dancers, leaving Lady Samantha to attempt conversation with Marcus. But Marcus's eyes searched the room again.
He wished to approach Eleanor and ask her to dance, but at that moment he saw Viscount Blackwood escorting her towards the floor.
He would have to wait. At the next opportunity, he would ask her himself.
Jane had just finished the set with Mr Gardiner when Mr Bingley approached and asked her to stand up with him.
She could not politely refuse and therefore accepted.
As they danced, Mr Bingley spoke much as he always had, about acquaintances she scarcely knew and about subjects that no longer interested her.
It was fascinating, she realised, how interesting someone could seem when you cared for that person and how trite those interests suddenly became when that feeling vanished.
Jane could not help wondering how she had ever convinced herself that she cared for him. Before long, her thoughts had wandered to Mr Andrews de la Garza.
Caroline and Louisa, meanwhile, watched the pair with growing irritation. Determined that their brother should not be left alone with Miss Bennet for a single moment longer than necessary, they agreed to intercept Jane as soon as the set came to an end.
◆◆◆
Matthew awoke with a start after sleeping for little more than an hour.
He and his father had left London at dawn and, after an arduous journey and dinner at the inn where they were to spend the night, each had retired to his own room to rest.
Unfortunately, whenever Matthew slept in an unfamiliar place, the same nightmare always returned.
The event that had marked his childhood came back to him with painful clarity.
‘Thank you, Marqués de la Pena,’ Matthew murmured in his sleep, his voice heavy with emotion.
Pedro Anselmo Rodrigo de la Garza y Villanueva, Marqués de la Pena, and his wife, María Alta Gracia de la Carrera y Velásquez, seemed to possess every blessing fortune could bestow.
They were wealthy, powerful, and admired throughout Spain, both descending from ancient and distinguished families.
Although their marriage had been arranged, they had built a happy life together, united by mutual respect and shared ideals.
Their only disappointment was that they had but one child, Dona Rosa Margarita de la Garza y Carrera.
Rosita, as everyone had called her since childhood, was an extraordinary young lady. She possessed an exceptional gift for the arts. She painted, danced, sang, and played several musical instruments with remarkable talent.
When she was twelve, her family moved to Cuba after her father was appointed the Crown's highest civil authority on the island.
Rosita adored life there. Compared with Spain, the island offered a freer and less rigid society, one that stirred her adventurous spirit.
There were many things she longed to do, though she knew her parents would never approve. Consequently, at the age of eighteen, she began leading a double life.
Her parents' many responsibilities left them with little time to supervise her, and they never discovered that, several days each week, Rosita disguised herself in a servant's dress, tucked her paints beneath her arm, and slipped away to the promenade to paint among ordinary people.
On one of those occasions, she met a young Englishman who had come to the island on business.
Rosita had sun-kissed skin, beautiful brown eyes, and jet-black hair. James Andrews was her opposite—fair-skinned, with red hair and striking blue eyes.
Rosita spoke excellent English, while young James was learning Spanish.
At first, she told her English friend that she was the daughter of the housekeeper of the Marqués de la Pena, which, in a sense, was true. Old Adelaida had been the woman who had truly raised her.
James cared nothing for his friend's humble origins. He had never before fallen in love, and what he felt for the beautiful Rosita was far too deep to allow prejudice to stand between them.
Determined not to leave her, he found ways to prolong his stay in Cuba until, at last, he declared his love and asked her to marry him.
Rosita refused him.
She told him she regarded him only as a friend and ended their acquaintance.
That night, however, she returned to the palace and wept until morning.
Before James left the island, he received an unexpected invitation.
The Marqués de la Pena wished to establish commercial ties with several English merchants and had arranged a dinner to discuss future ventures.
James was astonished to discover that Rosita was the Marquis's daughter.
Convinced that the wilful young lady had toyed with his affections from the beginning, he could bear the humiliation no longer. After dinner, he excused himself and returned to the house where he was staying.
Fortunately, he would leave the island two days later and put the painful episode behind him.
That evening, just as he was preparing for bed, someone knocked at his door.
It was Rosita.
She had followed him to tell him that she loved him and was willing to go to the ends of the earth with him.
Two days later, they sailed together for the Bahamas.
They were married aboard the very ship on which they travelled. The captain, an old friend of James, officiated at a beautiful ceremony that united them as husband and wife.