Generation One: Chapter 4 - Uncertain Future

Holding the tiny form of my nephew Alexander only makes the ache in my chest sharper. I long for children of my own. I begin to fear I never will be blessed with them. There is only one woman whom I can see as the mother of those children, and I have not spoken with her in over a year, and there was no understanding between us when I saw her last. For all I know she could be married to another and I nothing but a memory.

Since the compromise between Caroline and I was reached, I have been tortured with dreams and thoughts of the one woman I swore never to think of again, never to remember fondly again, never to dream of again.  The hope that she might be mine is wavering, growing smaller as each day passes. I sent her a letter, explaining everything, but I have received no reply.

The last two years I was in university, some of my peers and I studied abroad, in France. By this time I was already betrothed to Priscilla, however unwillingly. It was there, in France, that I met her.

Night has fallen, and I am unable to sleep.  If I sleep I know I will dream of her. Regardless, the memories from our time together swirl before my eyes, and it is as if I lived those happy days again, if only for a moment.

--------Flashback--------

I love France. The food, the language, the people, all of it was as refreshing as a day at the sea after home. It had been a battle to convince my father to allow me to come, victory coming at great personal cost. Against my desires, I was now betrothed to Priscilla Davenpore. But I had to get away, see other places before obligations of marriage would keep me closer to home. I am here now, and that is what I shall focus on.

I am not alone here in France. My good friend Andrew Baker is here is well.

Also joining us is William Cooper and Walter Lucas, also studying with us. Several sisters and fiancées have come as well. The ladies will not be staying the two years the gentlemen will live here, but have come to shop and sight see.  

Walter decided that we needed to have a small party to begin our Continental sojourn. At this party, he introduced a lovely lady I had never seen before.

“Darcy,” Walter began, “May I introduce my cousin, Miss Charlotte Dubois? We are related through my mother’s family. Charlotte, this is my friend, Mr. Charles Darcy.”

Miss Dubois turned to me and smiled. She was beautiful. In looks alone she was everything my fiancée was not, dark and light, moon and sun. Mentally I shook myself, it would not do to wax poetic over a young woman I had just met, and I was engaged no less!

“It is a pleasure to meet you, Miss Dubois.”

“The pleasure is mine, Mr. Darcy. Your French is very good.”  She replied, her voice smooth and sweet.

“Thank you, it was the second language I learned as a boy.” 

We spent the rest of the evening in conversation. We spoke mainly in French, but Miss Dubois proved quickly that her English was excellent as well. She explained it as the result of having and visiting English family. We talked of many things, and I was pleased to make a new friend.

Seemingly in the blink of an eye, two years have passed. Today is my last day before we return to England. All of us are saddened to leave, but none as much as me. I will miss everything, but I will miss Charlotte most of all. We have become close, spending many hours in the small park near my lodgings, talking about everything. There is little I have kept from her over the course of the years, and she the same. It was not instant of course, but our friendship has blossomed. Other things have blossomed as well. Against my best interest, I have fallen for my friend. Our friendship has shown me she is everything Priscilla is not and therefore exactly what I desire in a wife. It is the one thing I have kept from her.

She knows I am engaged. We spoke of that and of her uncle, her only remaining French family, and his efforts to marry her to an associate of his. That neither of us is happy with our lots in life is clear, but we have accepted it. I did not plan to reveal my betrothal, but one day after recieveing a letter from home I was agitated and she noticed. She laid one gentle hand on my arm, and the whole tale spilled out. She listened, not speaking until it was through, and then she told her own. We were closer than ever after that.

We spend the day in the park, reminiscing over the two years gone. As the day drew to a close, Charlotte seemed anxious about something.

 

“Charles, we have kept few secrets from each other, yes?” Charlotte began.

“Charlotte, what is this talk of secrets about?” I replied, confused.

She hesitated, and then replied, “I have told you much of what is in my heart, but I have kept silent on one matter and I can keep my peace no more.  I am in love with you, Charles, even though we can never be together. I have fallen for your kind heart and loyal soul.”

 

I was stunned. I could hardly form words. Charlotte assumed I was displeased and was about to apologize when I found my tongue.

“Dearest Charlotte, do not apologize for giving voice to feelings I share. I too, have developed a particular regard towards you, even knowing I am to be married. I have found that you are the woman my heart cries out for, not my fiancée.” I reached out and stroked her cheek 

and her hand caught mine. How cruel it was, that we had found our hearts’ match, only to know that happiness together could never be.  

 

Tears gathered in her eyes, and I knew mine were moist as well. “If I had come to France without being betrothed,” I whispered, “then surely this moment I would have been on one knee for you.”

“And I would have accepted gladly.” She whispered back.

Those tears now flooded her eyes and I held her as she wept. My heart wept with her. It was bittersweet to hold her like this.

When she had stopped crying, we promised to write often and said our farewells. Never has my heart ached like this before. 

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Even almost a year after that goodbye, the memory is painful. I never asked her for any promise, and as she has not responded to my letter, I must assume she no longer cares for me or has married someone else. A lady as lovely as she, it is not so distant a surmise.

In the shadows of the Master suite, I make a decision. On that day, Charlotte showed courage in revealing her feelings. It is time I do the same.

I will return to France as soon as mourning ends in one week.