Pour le confort de l'argent ou de l'amour
"You should not have said these things, Alex." "I don’t see why not. I’ve meant them." "If you did, you have been foolish. Words, once spoken, cannot be retrieved." "I had never intended on them being taken back; I never imagined any need! You are being very cruel, Isabella. I would have never imagined this from you. Forgive me, but I had thought I might hope…" "Did you think that I could accept you?" "I have not even yet had the chance to make my offer." "Then stop! Speak no more, Alex. I beg of you," Isabella said, caressing his hand gently. "Indeed, you are very cruel," he said, withdrawing from her touch. Her hand began to shake, losing confidence. "You break my heart, Alex." "No, indeed! I cannot believe how selfish you are being. It is my heart that is breaking!" "Surely not, Alex, dearest. Surely you have been mistaken in your feelings towards me." "How can you doubt the sincerity of my sentiments? I have never doubted yours, until now." "That is not at all fair."
Alex placed his hands one hand on his hips, tossing his coat tails back. "Has some one else been lucky enough to capture your heart?" Alex demanded. "Indeed, no. You know that not to be possible." "Do I? You have left me no reason to hope that you do care for me…" She held up her hand, stopping him from continuing: "You need not doubt the strength of my feelings for you. Is that what you wish to hear? Has this now made the situation more bearable for you? Now, I must beg you to leave me immediately."
She attempted to move away from him, but he grasped her hand as she turned, making her stay with the slightest pressure of his hand against hers. "If you return my love, then why are you dismissing me?" "Because nothing can come of it. So, these utterances only lead to pain." "Pain?" Alex asked questioningly, drawing her hand to his cheek, "if you shall grant me this hand, then I shall never cause you pain, Isabella, my dearest." "But I should, in time, bring pain to you." He let her hand slip: "because you don’t truly care for me." She sighed, shaking her head. "You are unfair again." "Very well. But, if our feelings are as one…" "In time, money shall press as urgently as your passion does now." "Money! That is what causes you to reject my offers?" "I shall not see you give up so much in marrying me. I have nothing to offer you." "I should be giving up nothing and gaining everything. You forget that I am just as poor as you, Isabella, and there is no need to feel ashamed on that point." Isabella looked down at the floor, her face set like stone. "I am not forgetting that detail for a moment."
Alex stood there absorbing what she had said, and his face began to reflect a dawning realization. Isabella looked back up at him, feeling regretful as she saw his new expression. "Now, I can tell that you think the worst of me: you think I am mercenary, but if you shall listen to me, if you would be so good, I shall endeavor to convince you of the prudence of my words." "I will listen, I would grant you anything, as you know, but I must warn you, Isabella, that your words shall never sway my heart; I shall remain steadfast in my feelings."
Isabella shook her head and withdrew another few feet to try to further her emotional separation. "You and I are both without a living. We should be ruined in marrying each other. To live in good society off the generosity of others, as we do now, would then be impossible. I could possibly live thus, but to see you brought so low? I could not bear it." It appeared that what she said was true, for she paled at her own words and pressed her whitened hands to her stomach. "It is only for me to decide how I choose to live my life." "True, men have such freedoms, but I will not allow you to throw yourself away on me. I can do that much; I hold that much power. You ought to marry an heiress, and you shall have no problem catching one."
Alex shook his head taking several strides so as to be close to Isabella once more. "I want you, Isabella. Doesn’t that mean anything? I care not for money; the very idea that it should be uttered in the same sentence with our affection for each other makes me ill!" His breath was warm on her neck, raising goose bumps along her arms. She paused only for a moment to compose herself before replying: "You should care very much if you lacked wealth entirely, and you know very well that you would if you should marry me." "You paint me very ill," Alex spat, turning his head away. "Then let me turn on myself, if you think the truth so cruel: I should think very much on money in such a case. We have been raised amongst the best of society, and then we should be dropped from it completely. I refuse to be the leveling force in your life. If I were to let my heart rule my will, then I might not be so kind to myself, but I refuse to allow that to happen to you, Alex."
Isabella’s face was firmly set, so much so that she almost appeared stubborn. Alex could not endure gazing upon her anymore, and turned his back to face the door. "You seem to have thought on this very much?" "Yes, Alex, I have. And if it was presumptuous of me, I apologize." "So, you have given it careful thought, and yet you are still in the wrong." "You shall find someone else to catch your fancy, Alex dear." "Fancy! No, I shan’t. I love you, Isabella." "If this should be true…I greatly pity you." With these words, Alex fled the apartment. As he hurried down the stairs, stung, he found that he could not believe that Isabella loved him at all--not after she had refused him so thoroughly.
The sun was painfully bright as Alex stepped from Isabella’s house in London. The streets were crowded with gentlemen making their way towards Parliament, but Alex was not an M.P. He had no where to go, and so he headed for the park, where he might walk unmolested. He tapped his cane heatedly as he walked along, and yet inside he felt like a wounded animal.
Isabella pulled the shades together, blotting out Alex’s ever more distant figure, and yet she could not will her feet to move away from the window. "volez, mouche de moi, le plus cher à mon coeur," she quietly whispered after him.# The door of her apartment opened, and she was for the first time aware of the tears wetting her cheeks. Flustered, she dabbed at them with her lace handkerchief before turning to face her cousin with her best attempt at a smile.
"Dearest cousin! You’ve been crying!" Miss Evelina said, rushing forward to grasp Isabella’s hands. Isabella blushed and dropped her head. "Now, unburden yourself, Bella. I should very much like to be of some comfort to you." Isabella gently withdrew her hands and settled herself on the divan, carefully arranging her skirts, hands, and feelings. Evelina, her cousin, younger by six years, came to sit by her side. "Who was just here with you, Bella? For I knew you were not alone, and now I find you upset." "I am all right now. Thank you, Evelina." "And you will not tell me what is wrong?"
Isabella drew breath collecting herself. "What has passed between Alex and myself--for I know you will not rest till you find out who was just here--well, it is over now, and I am not unwell. Please speak no more about it." "I will not, since you ask it of me. I know you think me too young to be faithful, but I shall attempt to be good by keeping silent." "Evelina, dear, do not be so hard on yourself and make me look so untrusting in the same breath. You are my dear cousin, as good as a sister, but there are some things that pass between a lady and a gentleman that would be dishonorable to repeat to anyone." From this Evelina knew that words of love had passed between Alexander Reginald and her cousin, Isabella Bloomingfield. This fact did not surprise her, but Bella’s reaction did. Yet, she had pledged her word: she would say no more.
Communications
An invitation arrived from Lady Courtenall two months after Isabella’s rejection of his advances. Alex knew it would be better to go than to stay alone in London while his friends played and hunted at the Courtenall’s estate. And yet this would be the first large gathering he would attend since being barred from happiness. During this time, Alex had kept himself shut up, barely even visiting his young friends and only emerging when he could be sure there would not be any chance of Isabella being amongst the company. Alex went with no thoughts of finding new love at the Courtenall estate, let alone thoughts of happiness.
Isabella, once informed about the invitation by Evelina, however, did have very romantic notions, however superficial in their make up. With Alex being completely removed from her social circle she had come to believe herself quite capable of living without him, even though she missed him acutely. If he was not there, there was nothing she could do about it, so she might as well make her own advancement in life. Furthermore, his disappearance removed some of the unpleasantness inherent in making love to new gentlemen: in his absence she felt as if these flirtations were less of a betrayal.
Evelina, on the other hand, worried very much about a probable meeting between Alex and Isabella, since she could only assume that they had quarreled. So, she set herself the task of determining whether Alex would be present at Lady Courtenall’s grand party. After inquiring with her elder brother, Gerald, after Alex’s current engagements, she could find nothing out, since Gerald professed that he knew nothing about Reginald’s whereabouts these days. So, she reluctantly wrote directly to Lady Courtenall.
Dearest Lady Courtenall,
You will think me very silly for writing to you, but perhaps this flaw might be excused owing to my youth. And now I can think of no rational way to introduce this question, so I shall jump right into the thick of it: will Mr. Alexander Reginald be one of our party? I know you will think this is a strange and impertinent inquiry, when I could as easily ask him myself, but at the moment I am incapable of doing so. Now, if you will be so good as to answer me and then never tell anyone what a silly goose I am, I will be eternally thankful.
Yours truly,
Miss Evelina Wittier
Lady Courtenall shook her head upon reading Miss Wittier’s communication. "Young ladies only grow more ridiculous with every passing season," she said aloud, even though the only companions present with her in the drawing room were the flowers placed on the mantle-piece. Lady Courtenall was not a young lady nor was she an old one. Yet, she had been a widow for eight years, during which, throwing parties with an eye towards matchmaking had been her all-consuming occupation. Upon his marriage to the former Miss Eldermore, old Lord Courtenall had been just that: old. The match had been a good one on Miss Eldermore’s side: she gained a title and a significant stretch of land. Nor was the match one-sided, for Lord Courtenall was only too glad to accept Miss Eldermore’s youth, brimming dowry, and adept social skills. Both overlooked their mutual dislike for each other, and it was viewed as a six-year success, until Lord Courtenall conveniently died, leaving Lady Courtenall to do as she pleased.
Prior to her marriage, Miss Eldermore, had felt herself superior to the men and women that were her own age. Now entertaining as the widowed Lady Courtenall, she was older than most of her guests, and she felt this gap in ‘understanding,’ as she termed it, even more acutely. Her private pledge was to be the consummate hostess, doing her imagined duty for society by arranging marriages or ‘alliances,’ as she referred to them, that were equally as successful as her own had been.
Now her obligation as a pleasing hostess and her zest for matchmaking came into conflict in regards to this letter, if Miss Evelina was in fact inquiring after Mr. Reginald for herself. Lady Courtenall sighed inwardly at the boldness of Miss Evelina’s question, as well as the prospect of such a lack-luster alliance. Mr. Reginald had no property and no appointment. While Miss Wittier, due to her older brother’s inheritance of the family estates, had only a small income due to her from her deceased mother, Mrs. Glencora Bloomingfield Wittier. The silly girl would be resigning herself to a volontaire occlusion. Nevertheless, Lady Courtenall faithfully answered in the affirmative: Mr. Reginald had accepted her invitation, but was not planning to make his appearance until the second week. That was the amazing quality of Lady Courtenall’s parties: they lasted for weeks with guests coming and going throughout. So, Evelina, afraid to broach the subject with her cousin, silently carried this knowledge as Gerald, Thomas, Evelina, and Isabella removed to the Courtenall estate.
