“Truthfully, I do not know,” I said. “I would do my best, but I fear that my goodness has not been much put to the test, and do not trust myself to be unselfish for very long.”
He smiled then, and said, “That is a very wise answer, Miss Bennet.” I waited for him to go on talking about the poor children, but instead he paused and looked into the fire for a moment. Then he took a deep breath and said, “Did you read my letter?”
I thought he seemed apprehensive, and I hastened to relieve his mind by saying, “I did, indeed, and I must tell you, sir, that my esteem for you was not lowered in any way by the way you managed the drunk man—I thought you dealt with it very well. I am sorry you felt any uneasiness on the subject.”
He looked gratified by my answer, but was silent for a few more moments before saying, “Was there something else, then, that caused you to be so very quiet and serious with me at the ball?”
Jane, what could I say to him? How could I tell him that I was in love with him and supposed he could never love me in return? But equally, I could not let him believe that he had done something to make me take offense. I gathered my courage, stared hard at the floor in front of me, and said, “I realized that you must think me a flighty, silly girl who cannot be sober-minded or think on weighty things.”
“Oh, Kitty,” he said.
Do you remember me once writing to you that if a man ever looked at me the way Mr. Bingley looks at you, or Mr. Darcy does at Lizzy, I should be lost? I looked up to see Mr. Caldicot with just such an expression on his face, and I was … lost. I think I forgot to breathe for a moment.
He came over to me, then, and took my hand. “You are not silly or flighty,” he said. “You are, in fact, the best of women. I am far from being the best of men, but I need you so very much. Will you do me the honor of giving me your hand in marriage?”
It sounds so very formal written out in that way, but there was nothing stilted about his proposal. His voice shook a little as he spoke the words, and he was gripping my hand very firmly.
I managed to say “yes” in a faint voice. When I think of the way I had always imagined myself accepting a proposal! (“Thank you, sir, for your kind offer. I must beg leave to consider it soberly for a time”—for I thought I ought not to appear too eager.) All such ideas were gone, and there was nothing in my heart but a kind of trembling gladness.
“Thank you,” he said and took my other hand as well, and kissed them both. We talked for a few minutes about his asking Papa, etc., and then he said he ought to go, “lest I deserve the nickname ‘The Jolly Vicar.’”
“Oh, no!” I said. “For in the song the vicar is quite amorous, but you—” and then I stopped because the look in his eye was hardly dispassionate!
“Yes,” he said. “You will soon discover that this vicar can also be amorous!”
He went away then to write to Papa, and I ran to tell Lizzy and Georgiana. They seemed almost as happy as I am, and Lizzy said it was a triumph. I suppose she meant it was a triumph for me to capture the heart of such a good man, but I thought it was an odd thing to say. I had thought that I would write to you about it tomorrow, but as soon as I was alone in my bedroom, I began to write. Is it usual to want to tell everyone one knows when one is so happy?
The hour is now very late, and I must go to bed, although I fear I will never sleep!
Your very happy sister,
Kitty
My Very Dear Mama,
She is mine. I shall tell you all when I next see you, which will be next week, after I travel into Hertfordshire to speak with my bride’s father.
Your loving son,
John
My Dear Margaret,
I just received a note from Mrs. Darcy, telling me that John has asked and been accepted! No doubt he has already written to tell you his news, but I could not help sending you my felicitations on the match. Perhaps I should say, “my gloatings.” I have succeeded! I flatter myself that she is the best possible wife for him.
Tell me, are there any other young men of your acquaintance who need worthy wives? My sister has always wanted to find a wife for Mr. George Knightley, whom her husband knew at university, but he is rarely in London now. Anyway, he is past the age of thirty-five; I fear he is a hopeless case.
I do wish you joy with all my heart, and you may tell your son that I expect to be sent a piece of the wedding cake!
Flush with victory,
Isabel
My Dear Sister,
We have just had an express, and if it were not so late at night, I would come to you right now to share my news. But it is nearly midnight, and I must instead send you this note by the footman.
Kitty is engaged to be married! Not only that, but he is a Caldicot—the Peterborough family, you know! Did I not say that Kitty going to London would be the making of her? Of course, he is only a vicar at present, but no doubt he will give that up when he inherits whatever he will inherit when his father dies. He has written to Mr. Bennet already to ask if they may meet to discuss marriage settlements, & etc.
I shall not sleep tonight thinking of what gown she must have for the wedding!
Fanny
NO SMALL SPARK
Mandy H. Cook[5]
Chapter 1
Neither her eyes nor her countenance betrayed her awe of the grandeur afforded just beyond the clear glass separating the comfortable squab on which she reposed from the magnificence passing her by so resolutely. The carriage, unlike her own, was well sprung and had, at the last stage of their journey, collected the original matching greys which were known to belong to it.
Pedestrians removed their caps respectfully, unaware that the inhabitant within was a mere clergyman's widow of no particular name or fortune. She uttered no sigh; the time for such melodrama had passed. She had long before deemed such pomp to be supercilious when the use of it could have been readily appreciated as the least of her possible remonstrances with her lot. No, indeed, such a well-regulated mind would not succumb to the debasement of a sigh.
The equipage at long last came to a gentle halt, swaying ever so slightly as a liveried manservant opened the door, bowing to the lady. After the family offered a warm, if uncertain, greeting, the housekeeper led the lady to her chambers. No explanation had been necessary to explain why the lady of the house denied herself that pleasure.
Dinner was to be served in an hour. The guest did not object, for she was eager to stretch her legs, tidy her hair, and change into a different dress before tackling such a duty.
"I have unpacked your trunk," the maid said with a curtsy as the widow crossed the threshold into her bedroom. "Shall I stay to help you dress? There is warm water in the basin just there."
"This is Molly," said the housekeeper, her expression tolerant. Molly dropped her curtsy, blushing fiercely. "She will help with whatever you may require," the housekeeper finished, closing the door behind her as she left the room.
"Molly," the lady considered aloud. "A friendly name. I shall depend upon you to ensure I am up to all the expectations and habits of the house and its inhabitants."
5
No Small Spark Copyright © 2022 Mandy H. Cook
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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.