Recollections of Rosings (33 page)

    She had not believed it possible that she could experience such profound pleasure at such a simple gesture. She recalled briefly how calmly she had entered into the engagement with Dr Harrison and wondered at her present state of emotional ferment. She could not deny the excitement she felt, without a trace of guilt or regret. It was like nothing she had known before.

    Trying to quiet her racing heart, she slipped into her nightgown and curled up in an armchair, absorbed in delightful contemplation of what might be, before finally retiring to bed.

Prior to their meeting, on the day following, Catherine and Frank Burnett had spent some time in contemplation, each of their own situation and feelings.

    Catherine, until certain recent events, had regarded Mr Burnett chiefly as a valued friend, whom she had known, as if in another existence, at Rosings many years ago. Pleasantly surprised by his reappearance and gratified by his attention and regard, she had not given much thought to the feelings of the gentleman himself.

    Viewed in a practical light, she saw that their association could only be beneficial to her, since his greater learning, information, and knowledge of the world would surely complement her own education and be a source of advice upon which she could depend. However, if she were honest with herself, she would have to admit that more recently, especially since telling her sister Becky of the youthful attachment she had once felt for him and reading again her own accounts of it, there had been a reawakening in her of certain feelings, which she had believed to be quite extinct!

    As she prepared to see him that morning, these and other recollections made her nervous and rather shy, for she was uncertain of his thoughts on the matter.

    As for Frank Burnett, he had long acknowledged to himself that the feelings Catherine had inspired in him as a young man had not merely lain dormant over the years to be awakened upon his meeting her again; they had in truth been enhanced and deepened in the last six months. As he had come to know her and appreciate the qualities of the woman, in ways that had never been possible with the girl, surrounded as she had been by the carapace of Lady Catherine de Bourgh's protection, he had discovered in her someone for whom he could feel the very deepest love. He had yearned to tell her so, but for reasons of propriety, for she was only recently widowed, he had not spoken.

    Of Catherine's emotions Mr Burnett knew very little.

    Indeed, from her informal manner towards him, treating him always without ceremony or fuss, he had begun to wonder whether she'd ever had any attachment in youth, which might be transformed into a deeper affection, or if it had only been the ephemeral though sincere feelings of friendliness. If the latter were the case, then could she perhaps be persuaded, he wondered, or was it all too late? Would the gentle warmth he had recognised in her nature encompass him, or had too many years passed and were the tender feelings he had once thought she had for him, which he had hoped once more to arouse in her, gone forever?

    These and other agonising prospects had tormented him while he had waited patiently for an opportune moment to speak. Her discovery of the framed portrait had brought that moment forward sooner than he had anticipated. Now the day was here, he had asked to see her and she had agreed. No postponement was possible.

    At approximately ten o'clock, Caroline Fitzwilliam and her maid set off for the railway station in a hired vehicle, accompanied by Lilian and her mother's maid, Sally. They expected to wait until noon, to see Caroline safely into her seat on the northbound express, before returning home in the early afternoon.

    At precisely fifteen minutes past the hour, Frank Burnett arrived at the Dower House and was admitted into the parlour. Catherine, who had been waiting for him, rose to greet him, suddenly a little more formal in her manner than usual. She invited him to be seated and offered him some refreshment, which he politely declined. He seemed impatient, unable to settle into a chair, rising and walking restlessly about the room, then sitting down again.

    They had both been seated only a few minutes when he stood up, walked across the room to look out of the window, and then returned to sit again, but this time, beside her on the chaise longue.

    When Catherine looked at his face, it seemed to her that his expression was one which in all her life had never been turned upon her by any man. A little apprehensive, yet inexpressibly tender, it stirred feelings in her for which she was quite unprepared.

    For all that she had been married, and contentedly so, for many years, Catherine had not known such emotional tumult as she felt then. It was too much for her to absorb and she wished she could have run from the room, but conscious of her situation in the household, she stayed. Yet, unable to meet his eyes, she looked away and down at her hands.

    Moments later, he reached for her hand and when she did not withdraw it, said in a quiet voice, "Forgive me, Catherine, I had planned to make a fine speech explaining my feelings for you, telling you how long I have waited for this moment. I had it all in my head this morning but alas, it has quite deserted me, fled from my memory. Now, all I can do is to ask you to believe that I love you dearly and to understand that my action in taking your picture can only be pardoned if you accept that it was done out of the deepest and most sincere affection. If you will, tell me and I shall continue; if not, stop me now and I shall leave and never speak of it again."

    Catherine did not have the words to answer him directly. No one had ever addressed her in such endearing terms before.

    Her first proposal from Mr Harrison had been written, couched in serious terms, in which both love and marriage were clearly understood for what they were, important parts of a social convention and a sacred sacrament. There had been no extended courtship in their case; deep personal emotion, passionately felt and openly acknowledged, was quite new to her.

    She was hard pressed to respond. Her silence, though not longer than a few minutes, must have seemed an eternity to him. Taking it to be a prelude to rejection, he rose and walked away towards the bay window at the far end of the room.

    Catherine, realising this, could not bear to let him suffer. She spoke gently, "Mr Burnett, pray do not judge me by my silence… or my lack of appropriate words… I have not the proficiency to speak as easily on these matters as I might on other more commonplace subjects. Please do not suppose that, because I seem tongue-tied, I am also indifferent to the feelings you have expressed. In truth, it is the very fact that I am deeply touched by them that makes it so difficult for me to find the right words to respond and say what I feel… Oh dear me, I am sorry… I am not doing too well, am I? I feel so foolish…" she knew she was stumbling, her words making little sense, and feeling inadequate and silly, she stopped abruptly.

    He returned to her side then and, taking both her hands in his, said, "If it is only words you have difficulty with, Catherine, may I assist you? Will you tell me simply, with no attempt to spare my feelings, if the sentiments I have expressed please you, or if I have offended you by speaking of them?"

    Catherine looked genuinely surprised that he should ask. "Mr Burnett, how could you ask such a question? Of course I am pleased, who would not be?"

    "You are not affronted, then?"

    "Not in the least. How could any woman be affronted by such a generous declaration of feeling?"

    He looked immeasurably relieved and continued, "And were I to ask if there is a chance that you might feel some similar affection for me, what would you say?"

    This time she was more forthcoming. "If you were to ask me and I was to answer truthfully, I should have to say, yes, there is."

    The exclamation of pleasure that this simple answer provoked was such that Catherine, quite taken aback and afraid lest the servants might hear and presume upon his rejoicing, put up her hand to restrain him.

    At which he held it, kissed it, and said, "And will you then, my dearest Catherine, agree to marry me?"

    "Must I answer immediately? May we not for just a short while enjoy the pleasure of knowing we love one another and talk together of our feelings, before launching into matters of matrimony?" she asked. Then seeing the disconsolate expression this brought on, she added quickly, "I ask only because I fear it may not be seemly for us to be openly betrothed before Lilian is married. It is not yet a year since Mr Harrison's death; were I to agree to marry you and this became widely known, would it not seem rash—impetuous, even? Might it not draw adverse comment, even censure upon us?"

    Frank Burnett looked less aggrieved on hearing her reasons, but he had his own case to argue and this he did with great feeling.

    "Censure and adverse comment, Catherine, are these not the very things that kept us apart all those years ago? Were they not the paltry reasons Lady Catherine de Bourgh used to bring about an end to our friendship? I did not believe they were justified then, but in my position, could do nothing to contest or overthrow them, especially in view of your situation in her household. Today, as we are both free to decide our destiny, I cannot and will not accept them as reasons for not proclaiming my love for you."

    Seeing the look of complete bewilderment upon her face, he asked, "Did you not know, Catherine, that Her Ladyship had made it very clear to me that I would not be acceptable as a suitor for you—that your family would not agree to it, indeed, that you were already spoken for?"

    His voice was low, but there was no mistaking the depth of his feelings.

    She was so shocked, she could say nothing at first and then spoke only to apologise. "I am sorry, I knew nothing of this. I had no idea that Lady Catherine had sought to discourage you as well. She certainly worked hard at persuading me we were not suited and warned me against anything more than a casual friendship. She even suggested that if I persisted, against her advice, your position at Rosings would be in jeopardy. I assured her that it was no more than friendship and suppressed all other hopes I might have had. Since I had no means of knowing what your feelings were, I assumed they were not seriously engaged either."

    Seeing the look of disbelief that crossed his countenance, she added, "I had long ceased to blame Lady Catherine for her intervention in my life, but to have led you to believe that I was already committed to someone else… that was not true and if she did so, it was very wrong indeed. There was no one, not then and not for many years after you left Rosings," she said and her voice broke.

    Catherine was clearly distressed and he would not let her continue, for he could sense there would soon be tears. He sought to draw her away from recriminations by pointing out that Lady Catherine had probably acted according to her own standards, by which a librarian, with no fine connections and no estate, was no match for a young lady she had condescended to accept into the privileged circle of her family.

    In a lighter tone, he added, "Now a clergyman, especially one with prospects of preferment, would have been, in Her Ladyship's eyes, a much better match and certainly more socially acceptable at Rosings Park."

    There was a slightly sardonic smile on his face, but Catherine would not be easily placated.

    "How can you make light of her conduct and be so generous in your judgment of her, when she has wronged you so?" she cried. "I had thought my own grievance slight, but now I see how much her interference has cost us both, I cannot contain my resentment as I did before."

    Sensitive to her distress, he intervened gently. "Dearest Catherine, these are matters of the past, of which we may speak later, if you wish. Let them not impinge upon our present happiness. Your wish that we might enjoy speaking of our love for one another is a much better suggestion; indeed, I cannot think of anything I should enjoy more. You may tell me as often as you please why you love me and with your permission, I shall do likewise. I believe it should prove a most agreeable occupation," he said, hoping to lighten her mood.

    Then becoming serious again, he said, "My dear Catherine, if you can only say that you love me and agree to be my wife, I promise I will do everything in my power to ensure your happiness and nothing else will signify at all. As to the issue of propriety, I am quite prepared to wait for you until the twelvemonth is elapsed, and if you so desire, we shall keep our engagement a secret from our friends and families until after Miss Lilian's wedding, if that is more acceptable to your family."

    She shook her head and said firmly, "No, Frank, I do not like concealment. There is nothing dishonourable in our feelings for one another; I am not ashamed of mine, and if we love each other, we should want to tell our friends and our families, knowing they will all share in our happiness."

    "I agree, indeed, for my part, I love you dearly and do not care who knows it," he said, matching her openness.

    Perhaps it was the strength of her own feelings or the passionate sincerity of his words; whichever it was, feelings she had not known before flooded through her and Catherine could hold out no longer. He reached for her hand and in the next instant, she was in his embrace, accepting his love and declaring hers, without reservation.