Her next words made him moan inwardly.
“The letter was decidedly not that of a jilted lover but bore all the signs of an ongoing relationship. Her adopted moniker, along with a line or two from Milton’s Paradise Lost, led me to suppose that such was their banter, so I responded in kind. It mattered not if my wording was correct, for the letter would be sent to Wilfred, not to Eve.”
“But how did you manage to copy Salisbury’s writing?”
“Chess notes.”
He laughed aloud, then cleared his throat and attempted a stern expression.
“I do not approve,” he stated severely, “but I begin to understand why you felt it necessary.”
Behind Mr. Kelly, the door to the front drive opened quietly, and a long shadow fell upon the guests. Kate had the better perspective of the newcomer, but Mr. Kelly had the view of his daughter’s face. The somber expression she wore sank still deeper into sorrow and shame until finally she half-covered it with the handkerchief just before she fled, free hand extended, past her father to the figure waiting behind him.
Naturally, Mr. Kelly turned to follow her progress, and it was during that transition that the man spoke. The tone was soothingly low, the accent shamefully hybrid.
“Now there, Miss Kate,” the baritone comforted, taking her outstretched hand in his monstrous paws. Mr. Kelly’s eyes continued up the path from the massive hands, up the arms, up and up still further, until, at last, they framed her face.
He squinted into the light that poured around the giant like a body halo and could only stare, transfixed, at the interaction happening before his eyes. His daughter’s voice was a melodic hum weaving in and out of the bass solo. By God, they were beautiful!
“You must be Mr. Kelly,” the man was saying. “I first met your daughter in London, before I accepted the living at Hunsford, several months ago. We have corresponded since then, which is acceptable behavior in America. I am here to ask for her hand in marriage. She has already accepted me.”
He had freed one hand from Kate’s grasp to offer it to the father. This brought Mr. Kelly’s vision sharply back into focus. The American! He cautiously extended his own hand and was relieved to draw it back unmaimed.
The younger man began to speak. “Not the way I was hoping to make your acquaintance, but I am…”
“Mr. Albright? Of Hunsford?” interrupted Mr. Kelly. Finding the name simply too much to bear, he dropped his chin to his chest, attempting to stifle the chuckle that threatened to escape. The effort brought tears of amusement to his eyes, which he was forced to wipe away.
“Sir?” asked the younger man.
“Tis too much to launch into at the moment,” Mr. Kelly objected with a wave of his hand. After asking directions from a manservant, he turned to descend the stairs to the kitchens. He muttered to himself as he hurried away. “I should like nothing better than to wake up in my bed and begin this day afresh.”
Mr. Albright and Miss Kelly were left to stare in bewilderment at his departing figure.
Back in the kitchen, Mrs. Collins was standing at the table, swathed in an apron, sleeves rolled up, pounding a lump of dough, surrounded by the astonished Pemberly kitchen staff.
Mr. Kelly dismissed the staff with a wave of his hand, and they filed out.
He felt that he had come full circle and was as close to a fresh start as a man could achieve without divine intervention. He proceeded into the room cautiously so as not to send his Mouse scurrying away yet again, but she was too busy muttering to the dough before delivering the blows to notice his presence. He was sure to take his place across the table and out of her reach. Finally, she glanced up.
“I thought you must have gone,” she said, somewhat guiltily, before flipping the ball of dough.
“Kate was ripe for the plucking. A delay in the conversation could have added years, centuries even, to our quest for knowledge.”
“I see.” Punch.
“I shall relate the account to you…”
Punch.
“in full…”
Punch.
“at a later date perhaps.”
Flip. Nod.
“She will remedy the situation in whatever way you see fit.”
Punch. Nod.
“I am sure she had her reasons and, once all is remedied, will be forgiven,” Mrs. Collins explained to the dough.
“What is to be done with this?” Mr. Kelly asked, producing the snuff box, and placing it gently on the table.
Punch. Flip. Punch.
“Perhaps Kate should keep it as a reminder of a lesson learned.”
Punch. Sigh. Mrs. Collins drooped before finally meeting Mr. Kelly’s eye.
“Just leave it. I shall hide it in a drawer until it can be viewed as a good joke.”
“That may be best,” said Mr. Kelly agreeably.
Mrs. Collins pursed her lips, returning her attention to the lump resting beneath her hands.
“I suppose,” she began, looking up with a wry grin, “that I should endeavor to keep my friend’s guests entertained in the parlor more so than in the kitchen. Shall we go up?” she invited, wiping her hands on her apron in preparation.
"I should very much like to marry you," he blurted, as much to his own surprise as to hers.
He interpreted from her dismayed expression that he had spoken too soon. In desperation, he plunged ahead. "I can offer you no fine words - the few I may attempt to coerce into any type of decent expression are doomed to fall sadly short of what I wish to say."
Had the poor man not been struggling on the end of a perceived noose, he would have appreciated the sudden twinkle that came to the lady's eyes at his admitted lack of pretty speech. She, who had been married over a decade to a flourishing adjective, was certainly able to appreciate honest simplicity.
"We could make you happy, I believe, my daughter and I, and you could be comfortable being your own mistress. I would hope that we could share our interests and opinions with each other, as we have done in the past, and you must know that I regard you with the highest esteem."
"You describe a friendship, sir," Mrs. Collins said with a gentle smile, "but we need not marry to continue as friends." Her gaze lowered as her brows furrowed. "Indeed, marriage is the surest way to destroy any feeling of regard we may have acquired for one another."
He laughed outright, once again achieving her full attention. "Our first marriages were disastrous, were they not?" he inquired, grinning ruefully. "But we are wiser now. Does our Lord not give second chances? Are we never to achieve happiness for ourselves? Are we cursed to watch the fulfillment of others while we, ourselves, are condemned to loneliness?"
"You must know, sir, that I have the felicity of a large assortment of siblings, all boasting a propensity to procreate. Then there is the parsonage at Hunsford and the people, as well as friends, for which I care. Let me assure you that I am rarely afforded the tranquility of loneliness."
"Perhaps not," was his reply, "but I must suppose, as to the former, that an excuse in the way of being less convenient would not go amiss. As to the latter, well, your powers of observation must be sadly lacking if you have not yet realized the growing attachment between that American Adonis and my daughter."
“Mr. Albright?” she asked.
He nodded. “I just met Mr. Albright in the corridor as he arrived. The man wasted no time in asking for permission to marry Kate.”
"Of course, I noticed it,” Mrs. Collins admitted guiltily, for once distracted, “and I was loathe to tell you.” She flipped the dough. “I was counting on the gaieties of the Season.”
Determined not to endure another round of dough pulverization, Mr. Kelly hastened around the table and turned her by the shoulders to face him.