Chapter 16
They were once again alone at Netherfield, but how different things were.
Their whole life had changed, beginning with the new place to live and ending with the intense emotions that were blooming in happiness and in hope.
Only Thomas remained unchanged; his daily schedule revolved around his family and great-nieces.
He observed Elizabeth with curiosity as he had that special feeling he was living his youth again—through her.
“You promised to tell me more about the duchess and how we shall live together in London,” she said. “I am a little afraid of being near such a person, uncertain whether I shall know how to behave in a duchess’s company.”
“Nobody does, my dear, except those born within that world,” he replied with a smile.
“You make it sound like a prison,” Elizabeth retorted.
Interested in their future life in London, she also had many questions regarding the past. The story of her uncle and the duchess haunted her imagination.
“For some, it is a prison; for many, merely a way of life, and they tend to defend it from intruders.”
“Were you an intruder?” Elizabeth dared to ask.
Thomas hesitated, a strange expression crossing his face. That story had rested buried in his heart for so long; it was no secret, yet he had had nobody to whom he might confide it.
“You will be astonished to hear that in our story, I was not the only intruder. Henrietta Osbourne also was. I mean the Duchess of Beauford.”
“She was not of noble birth?”
“She belonged to the gentry, a very respectable family. Her father was a baronet but nobody cared about that. They had an estate near Luton; long ago it was lost by the duke in a card game.”
“Oh!”
“Yes, I told you how life leads us down strange paths, sometimes narrow paths through dark woods.”
“Tell me, please!” she begged, like a child waiting for a story.
“This is no bedtime story, my dear!”
“I will cherish it, believe me.”
“I know you will. I have so much confidence in you. Henrietta was very much like you. She lived in the country, rode her horse, and accompanied her grandfather about the estate from the age of five. She liked winter and adored spring, always seeking adventure. I met her when we were children, and from the beginning, we were drawn to one another. When I was ten, my father, your great-grandfather, moved to Luton, only five miles from their estate. Our fathers met that summer, and we were invited to spend a few days at their house. At ten, life consisted of riding together like carefree children; for years, I did not think of her as a girl, but around fifteen, everything changed. We avoided one another for an entire spring, frightened by the new feelings between us, but eventually we understood it was love. We had one extraordinary moment of discovery, and suddenly we were betrothed, not secretly but in our hearts. Nobody around us expected anything but our marriage. Then I left for Oxford. It was more my father’s and grandfather’s dream than mine.
They were hat traders. Did you know that? ”
Elizabeth shook her head.
“Yes, they both possessed a good education and wished their descendants to have an even better one. That is why almost all the men in the family were encouraged to go to Oxford or Cambridge. It was then that my grandfather bought Longbourn.”
“Papa never told us about his family. Hats, you said?”
“Yes, hats. The relative fortune of the Bennets was made from hats.
Then they wished to forget that past of trade, which was unfortunate, because the hat trade permitted a style of living that being a solicitor or a vicar did not.
I went to Oxford only to please my grandfather, but I had already decided to return to Luton and develop the family business and, of course, marry my lady.
We intended to move to London, where I saw many opportunities, and Henrietta agreed with every plan, determined to take her part in our enterprise.
“Unfortunately, during that final summer, as I prepared to leave Oxford, a colleague of mine, not even a friend, for in those days one might be acquainted with a duke’s son but never his friend, offered to take me to Luton.
I was so eager to see Henrietta that we stopped for an hour at her home upon the road.
It proved a grave mistake, for everything went wrong from that moment onward.
Our plans were shattered by a single glance from the proud Earl of Arrowfield, the son of the Duke of Beauford. ”
“She was captivated by his title? Or his place in the ton?”
“I do not know. She said then that she had fallen in love. Yet I suspect it was a mixture of everything: the new life, the unknown world, London, one of the oldest titles in England and, yes, perhaps even him, for he was still a handsome young man.”
“Still?”
“Yes. In time, his dreadful vices made him rather repulsive. I never saw him again, but that is what Henrietta wrote to me.”
“Wrote to you?” Elizabeth asked, all reserve swept away by the excitement of a connection that had endured almost half a century.
“We remained in contact all those years.”
“Fifty years?” Elizabeth almost cried in astonishment and emotion.
“Yes, almost.”
“But how? Why?”
“Because less than two years after my departure to India, she understood the enormous mistake she had made. The earl was already a gambler when they married, and although he managed to conceal it for the first two years, it became impossible afterwards. I begged her to join me in India and forget England altogether, but she was already with child. Her daughter was born, and Henrietta devoted herself entirely to the girl until Sophia married a tradesman and left their home forever, unable to endure life with her father any longer. She asked Henrietta not to seek her out, saying that the only time she might eventually return would be upon the duke’s death. ”
“No!”
“Unfortunately, it was true. Their life became so miserable because of him that her mother accepted Lady Sophia’s decision.
Only a month afterwards, Henrietta was ready to follow me to Africa, for by then I was already there.
She wrote a ten-page letter describing her courage and her indifference to the opinion of the world. ”
He paused, and Elizabeth thought for a moment that he would go no farther, but he merely reflected, for he rarely revisited that old story.
“And?” Elizabeth murmured.
“And I was married.”
So it was true that he had once had a wife.
“Unfortunately, my wife and two sons died ten years ago when a friend from Europe came to visit us and brought with him an English cold. She was a splendid and fierce Bedouin woman. Her name was Mahmuna.”
“I am so sorry.”
“Yes, my sorrow is constant, and my decision to return was taken because I had enjoyed having a family so much. Mahmuna came to live with me under many of our British customs, yet she also brought with her the natural happiness of desert people. But all that was long ago. I continued to live in Africa only because I did not know what else to do. Then, almost two years ago, came that desperate letter from Henrietta, and you know the rest.”
Elizabeth’s bright smile both enchanted and amused him.
“My child, you are immensely eager for happy endings.”
“Are not all of us?” she asked.
“No. Some of us merely want a story. At seventy, my own story no longer requires such a happy ending.”
And they both smiled at the implication, whose meaning was perfectly clear.
“You are my happy ending, and Henrietta.”
“Did she regret it?”
“My dear, every one of us experiences both happiness and suffering,” he answered, trying to avoid the question, but Elizabeth persisted.
“If she wrote to you when she was unhappy, then surely she regretted losing you.”
“Yes, she did. She told me so more than once, but by then it no longer had any value for me.”
“How should someone choose whom to marry?” Elizabeth asked.
“I think one must first know the person deeply, though unfortunately that is not always possible. A person may easily conceal vices or even smaller faults capable of destroying a marriage.”
“Such as?”
“Rage, for instance. If someone is easily angered, that is not a good foundation for happiness.”
“Do not blush, my dear,” Thomas said, observing her.
“I do not mean fleeting anger but a permanent condition of mind and soul. Some people possess no light within them. Such people ruin lives. It is important to choose someone you know you will still wish to have beside you ten years after the wedding, not merely on the wedding day. Many choose to be happy on the wedding day, but a beautiful bride who becomes morose and bitter ten years later is like a magnificent palace transformed into a prison.”
“She chose the magnificent palace.”
“Yes. I believe the dukedom and the palace influenced her choice to some degree.”
“But she did not know of her future husband’s vices.”
“Unfortunately, she had been given a glimpse of them. The duchess, his mother, told her. She hoped the disclosure would persuade Henrietta to renounce him. She was so eager for him to marry another woman that she even attempted it. She failed, and poor Henrietta convinced herself he would change. But they never do. A vice is forever.”
“But sometimes one simply does not know. Then what is to be done?”
“Then one chooses stability and responsibility over amusement and entertainment. Maturity. Someone who has had a good family, mother and father, for the manner in which a child is raised often shapes the whole of life.”
“Very difficult. The easiest thing is simply to fall in love and trust both him and destiny.”
“Yes, when one falls in love as Jane did, it is simple. But when one must choose, it becomes far more difficult. I like you because you are not impressed by titles or wealth.”
“I am a wealthy heiress,” Elizabeth joked.
“Yes, my dear, you are. So wait and choose the man you truly love. Let your heart guide you.”
“What does my heart know?”
“It is merely a manner of speaking. I mean instinct, valuing signs rather than words. Is he kind to all ladies, or does he possess a disdain for women? Does he love children and animals? Is he tender towards his mother or sisters? Such things…and then again, love.”
Elizabeth reflected long afterwards upon that conversation.
She felt deeply sorry for Henrietta, the duchess.
The title had not brought her happiness, whilst her uncle had led a remarkable life and did not regret his choices.
Elizabeth could not imagine herself in such a position, forced to choose between two lives.
She liked Mr Darcy, but she would not hesitate to marry another man if she fell in love with him.
After all, there was still only friendship between herself and Darcy, or at least that was what she allowed herself to believe, as though even love might be governed by reason. As Henrietta once believed.