Duty and Desire chapter 18: The Letter

I do not own Twilight or Pride and Prejudice




Ashes and Wine, a Fine Frenzy

And I'll tear myself away

So if that is what you need, there is nothing left to say but

Is there a chance, a fragment of light

At the end of the tunnel, a reason to fight?

Is there a chance you may change your mind

Or are we ashes and wine?


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I walked away.

I turned my back on the one woman I knew was perfect for me in every way. I knew a lost cause when I saw one and Isabella was very decisive. She wanted nothing do with me.

Hell, she could barely stand the very sight of me.

My lips burned from the memory of her mouth. The way her soft lips had yielded to mine, so passionate and so right… yet she had pulled away, no doubt disgusted by her actions.

There was nothing left for me to do.

I trudged back toward Rosings, the rain beating down on me nearly as hard as I beat down upon myself, soaking my clothing again. But what did I care for rain when my heart was bleeding? I had traveled with such high expectations, only to watch them turn to ash.

I felt such shame when I thought of her poor sister. Her circumstances were so similar to what had happened to Alice.

Alice.

I was furious with the lies that Wickham had used to poison Isabella’s mind. If I ever saw the bastard again, I would run him through on principle, without a second thought. I had no doubt that he would celebrate this as a victory, if he knew just how much his lies had cost me.

His lies.

I stopped suddenly. I had to somehow improve Isabella’s opinion of me. She may never care for me the way I do for her, yet I could not stand the thought of her going through this life hating me based on falsehoods uttered by that man. I would never give up on her.

But how?

I began walking again. She would not welcome my presence that much was painfully clear.

Anger bubbled at the surface as I remembered our encounter.

She had described me as the worst sort of man. One who took advantage of unsuspecting women and lived to see others in misery.

In short, she had described Wickham.

Damn that bastard to hell!

Wickham was many things; the vindictive man who had attempted to steal from me and my father, more time than I could count. The heartless bastard that sought to ruin my sister’s reputation and break her trust in others, in the foulest way possible, and now it seemed he aimed to slander my name to anyone who would listen to his pathetic excuse for lies.

How had my life become so distorted? If it had been any other woman, I would have not given it a second thought. Yet here was the one woman I wanted to spend my life with, and she hated me before I’d ever had a chance to win her affections.

I neared the house; not wanting to speak with anyone at the moment, I elected to go through back entrance. I was not in a fit state, physically or emotionally, to deal with the Old Bat.

I made a valiant effort to remove the mud from my boots, though I knew I failed miserably. I would need to remove them once inside. I pushed open the door, and nearly toppled over.

Caius.

“Well, well, if it isn’t Master Edward. Back from a little jaunt in the rain?”

He smirked. “I am sure her ladyship would love to know your whereabouts. You should know that very few things go unnoticed by me. Shall I inform her you have returned?”

I pulled myself up to my full height, which was a good head above him.

“Enough!” My voice was harsh.

“You forget your place, Caius. I am no longer a boy, and you will do well to remember in the future that I will no longer tolerate your insubordinate behavior. I am Edward Masen, and I answer to no one, least of all you. If you value your position, I suggest you curb your attitude before next we meet. I would hate to inform her ladyship I can no longer make my annual visit due to a certain servant’s poor behavior.”

I watched as his face paled. My threat was real, and he knew it.

“I thought not. Until next time then, Caius.” I said curtly, walking past him. Though it had been a long time coming, I still felt no sense of victory.

I made my way to the back staircase, carful to remain undetected. I passed the last corridor and slipped quickly into my chambers. Once inside, I slumped to the ground physically exhausted.

~I~I~I~I~I~I~I~I~I~I~I~

I can’t say how long I remained, but it was not until the sun had begun to set that I realized I was still on the floor.

My body felt sore and filthy.

My spirit felt broken.

I picked myself up and walked toward my dressing room.

Standing at the doorway, I tried to make sense of what I was doing. It was then I noticed a bath had been drawn recently. I tested the water and found it to be still warm. I pulled the cord to signal my need of more hot water. Retreating behind the screen, I stood in front of the mirror.

My appearance was haggard; all semblance of the man I knew was gone.

In his place was a fool.

I began the process of stripping each piece of clothing from my body. The door opened with a faint click, followed by the unmistakable sound of water being added to the basin.

“Will there be anything else, sir?”

I looked at the clothing piled onto the floor.

“Yes.” I ground out with my raw voice. “When I have finished please dispose of these clothes?”

I could no longer bear to look at them.

“Would you inform Col. Whitlock we depart on the morrow? He is to take the carriage to London; I will ride Blackjack. Tell him I expect to depart no later than mid-morning.”

“Very well. Is that all, sir?”

“Also, I would like to remain undisturbed for the remainder of the evening. I do not require food, so please inform the staff I am not to be interrupted.”

“Very well sir.”

I heard the door click shut. I took once last glance at the clothing, and moved from behind the screen toward the bath. I stepped into the bath, hissing as the heated water hit my cold flesh.

Fully immersing myself in the water, I let my head fall back against the edge of the bath. I stared up at the ceiling as I let the full weight of my emotions wash over me.

Rage…

Humiliation…

Shame…

Regret…

Emptiness…

As I contemplated what I had done, and the things Isabella had said, it was not long before I, Edward Masen, sat in my bath, weeping.

The tears flowed silently before the sobs racked my body. I brought my hands to my face, trying to blot out the horrible memories.

“I had not known you for a month, before I was convinced you were the last man in the world whom I could ever be prevailed upon to marry.”

Her words echoed in my brain, leaving me bereft of feeling.

“Isabella…why?” I choked out in a sob. “Why did you listen to him?” I whispered to no one.

Images of her face swirled in my mind: the fury…the utter fire and passion she’d showed as she defended those she loved.

But I was not among those; I was the adversary.

I needed to address the lies she had been told by Wickham.

How, though?

I had asked myself this question before, yet I was still at a loss.

How could I pour my heart out to her in such a way that she would be receptive?

A letter!

I would write a letter. I could only pray she would read it before tossing it to the flames.

I stood quickly; a sudden burst of hope renewed my conviction. Perhaps there could be a chance I could make a slight change in her opinion of me. I was not fool enough to believe she would ever love me.

But to have her think well of me… that would be worth everything.

I reached for the towel, and dried off. Donning my robe, I walked into my chamber, where a freshly stoked blaze waited for me.

Sitting at the writing desk, I methodically pulled out paper, ink and quills.

I sat back and sighed. How does one begin such a letter? I did not want to cause her more distress in thinking the letter was another feeble attempt at gaining her affection.

After all, that is the last thing she would ever consider, I thought bitterly.

With a deep breath, I began to put my feeling to the page.

~I~I~I~I~I~I~I~I~I~I~

Madam,

Be not alarmed on receiving this letter, or that it contains any continuation of sentiments or renewals of offers which today were so disgusting to you. I would, however, like to address the accusations leveled against me.

First, despite the feelings of either party, I separated your sister from Mr. McCarty. Although I do not deny this, I feel my reasons were just.

I noticed early on that Mr. McCarty admired your sister and was very much taken with her. The night of the Netherfield ball convinced me that it would not be long until a serious attachment would be made. However, after observing your sister for several weeks, I was unable to sense any kind of strong attachment on her side. Although she seemed to enjoy his company, I was convinced her affections were strong as my friend’s feelings for her. So many of our class marry for wealth and titles, and it is a rare match indeed that is formed from love. I did not want my friend to suffer that fate.

In addition, I was given information that night about a prior engagement your sister had with a Mr. Royce King, one which he ended suddenly. Mr. McCarty was confused and unsure of how your sister really felt, afraid that perhaps she pined for this other man. I convinced him it would be wise to leave for town in order to sort out his feelings.

I now understand that she did have strong feelings for him, as you informed me, and for that I am truly sorry. It was foolish of me to make assumptions based on what was obviously gossip. I never meant any offense against your sister. I hope you can understand I acted in a way to protect the happiness of a friend by encouraging him to make an informed decision. I can not blame myself for having done this much.

In the matter of Mr. Wickham, I do not know under what falsehoods he imposed himself on you, yet I hope you can acquit me of cruelty toward him. I feel the only way to do this is it to reveal to you his connection with my family.

James Wickham is the son of my late father’s steward. His father was a good man and held the management of our family’s estate. We played together as children, often fishing and getting into trouble, as most young boys do. My father was fond of him and offered to assist him with his education. James attended; however, he showed little real interest in pursuing any career. By the end of his term at school, his habits had become alarmingly erratic, from drinking, to gambling heavily, to debauchery of the worst sort.

It was not long before he was dismissed from school.

He floundered in and out of several other careers. We saw little of him until news of my father’s illness brought him back to Pemberley. My father’s attachment to Mr. Wickham was so steady that upon his death, James was given three thousand pounds, as promised in my father’s will. After receiving the money, he vanished for a time. Subsequent to gambling away all his money, he sent a missive asking for more funds, which I refused. He then severed all contact and I did not hear from him until a year ago, under the most painful circumstances, which every day I wish I could forget.

My sister, Alice, who is ten years my junior, was left in the care of a Mrs. Laurent, in whose character we were very much deceived. After reading several of my sister’s letters, I determined that she seemed to be suffering from low spirits. I resolved to leave immediately and try to do what I could for her. Wanting to leave as soon as possible, I did not write ahead to inform anyone of my arrival. When I arrived, the house appeared vacant and Mrs. Laurent was nowhere to be found.

At that moment, I heard a scream that will forever be seared in my memory.

I ran frantically, searching for the source of the scream, knowing it was Alice. Approaching her chambers, I threw open the door. What I found shocked and enraged me to no end. James had his hands on my sister, attempting to force himself on her. I ran and threw him off of her, but in my attempt to comfort Alice, who was in hysterics, James had fled.

The bastard had tried to befriend her, in the hopes she would elope with him. When it became clear that she did not harbor any feelings for him beyond friendship, he sought to ruin her reputation in exchange for money to keep his silence. I suppose his primary motive was money, however, I feel a secondary motive was to revenge himself on me for denying him more funds. If he had succeeded, his revenge would have been complete indeed.

We were unable to pursue him through the law; to expose him would have meant ruining Alice’s reputation. That was not something I was willing to risk.

And so the rogue roams free, while my sister tries to regain her life. She was but sixteen years old.

I understand the shock you must be feeling, and I would not burden you with this; however, I have a strong need for you to understand the truth. I know this will not improve your opinion of me, and to that I am reconciled.

For confirmation, should you feel in need of it, you may apply to Col. Whitlock, who shares the guardianship of Alice with myself, and is aware of all these events and transactions.

I wish you health and happiness.

Yours faithfully,

Edward Anthony Masen

As I finished signing my name, I slumped back in the chair. I was emotionally and physically exhausted. I turned my head toward the clock, which read three hours past midnight

Turning my attention back toward the letter, I methodically powdered the ink before folding the letter. I watched with concentration as I melted the wax over the paper and pressed my seal down.

It seemed so ironic.

Will this letter seal my fate? Or will it help to alleviate some of the misguided feelings Isabella harbored toward me?

I had no way of knowing; only time would tell.

There was nothing more to be done tonight, and I was in desperate need of sleep.

Stepping over to the basin, I splashed water on my face in an attempt to calm myself. However crucial my need for rest, somehow I knew sleep would not come easy tonight.

I disrobed and fell into bed exhausted, as though I had been on a very long journey. The canopy above the bed partially blocked the fresco painted on the ceiling. It was a beautiful depiction of the heavens; millions of stars dotted the midnight skies. It was meant to represent that life was bigger than us all and we were not meant to understand everything.

Though, how I desperately wished to understand.

I still held onto a sliver of hope that tomorrow this would all have been a terrible nightmare.

With that feverish wish, I drifted to sleep.

~I~I~I~I~I~I~I~I~I~I~I~

The little sleep I’d gotten had been restless at best. I had not succumbed for another hour after falling into bed.

All I could see when I closed my eyes was her face.

Broken, weeping and angry.

I had awoken in a thick sheen of sweat that covered my body. Hoping that it all been just a terrible nightmare.

I stood and went in search of anything that would confirm my hope, when my eyes were drawn to the writing table. There among the shavings was a letter, the bright red seal affixed, and written above was the name Miss Isabella Swan.

I felt my breath grow ragged, and my body grew cold and clammy.

It had not been a nightmare, it had really happened.

Oh, Lord.

I rushed to my dressing room and purged my insides into the basin. The retching was violent, painful and futile, considering there was very little in my stomach to begin with.

I looked up into the mirror, finding the man who stared back at me unrecognizable.

My path, which until recently had been so clear, was now blurred and distorted. I didn’t know which direction I was to go. I was a lost man.

I had lost the only woman I loved, the only thing worth fighting for.

She had dismissed me, and like an idiot I had walked away.

Would there still be a chance?

I moved away from the basin and its putrid smell.

If there was to be any hope, it would be that Isabella would cease to despise me, for anything more would be wishful thinking.

I pulled the bell cord, deciding it was time to bathe and dress. I was met by a very concerned Valet.

“Sir, are you ill? Should I summon assistance?” He asked, his face creased in a frown.

“No, I will be well. I have an urgent matter of business that must be attended to this morning. Is all arranged for our departure?”

“Yes sir.”

I nodded “Thank you, and please let Colonel Whitlock know I shall need to speak with him as soon as I am dressed.”

“Yes, sir. I took the liberty of drawing you a bath earlier. It should still be warm.”

“Thank you.”

After the valet Left me in peace, I washed my body, trying desperately to feel clean once more. As I bathed the memory of her scent assaulted my senses.

It was everywhere, that rich lavender scent.

“Isabella?” I whispered stupidly, hoping and praying she was near.

Lavender, by nature, was supposed to have soothing properties, yet I could find no peace.

I scrubbed harder, to the point that my skin was raw. Disgusted with myself, I threw the cloth; it was no use.

“Sir, are you ready?” I looked up at my Valet who had returned and was holding my robe.

“Yes, I suppose I lost track of time.”

“Was the lavender oil soothing?”

What?

“What lavender oil?” I asked, anger bubbling through my veins.

“You had a difficult night last night; I thought it would be soothing.”

I closed my eyes and willed my self to be calm. The fault did not lay with him.

“I apologize if I overstepped, sir.”

I exhaled slowly before speaking. “Nothing is amiss; I was taken off guard, that is all.”

He eyed me warily before helping with the rest of my attire.

“Will that be all, sir?”

“Yes, I will journey to London immediately upon concluding my business.”

Donning my greatcoat, I pocketed the letter, and went in search of Jasper.

I found him waiting, or pacing, I should say, outside my room.

“Edward! Do you know how worried I have been? What happened to you?”

“I am fine, Jasper. It seems you were right, my presence was not wanted by Miss Isabella.”

“I am sorry friend, I tried to warn you. Something seemed off when we parted.” He admitted.

“Jasper, I have not the time to explain all at this moment, but we will talk. I need to ask you, if Miss Isabella applies to you for confirmation about the events that happened to Alice, I need you to tell her the truth. Hold nothing back.”

Jasper’s expression was one of shock. “Edward, this is serious. Can Miss Isabella be trusted with this information? This is Alice’s reputation we are talking about.”

I understood his concern, however, I knew the truth would be safe with Isabella. “I trust her implicitly, Jasper.”

He nodded in understanding.

“I plan to ride to London immediately after delivering this letter.”

I had turned to leave when Jasper caught my arm.

“I am sorry, I did try to help.”

“I know, and we can talk more about my folly later.”

Like a man walking to the gallows, I made my way to the stables. Blackjack was saddled and waiting for me. I had not been as attentive to him as was my usual practice.

Mounting the saddle, I kicked him into a gentle trot. I was not in any hurry to complete this task. It felt as if this would be the last time I would ever see her.

How will I survive? My heart broke at the thought.

As I neared the parsonage, from the corner of my eye, I saw a flash of color through the trees. I had no doubt it was Isabella.

I quickly dismounted and ran in the direction of the color. She was running.

Had she seen me?

I gained on her quickly and found she was simply running for her own pleasure. She had no idea I was there.

This was it.

I stepped forward and the noise alerted Isabella to my presence.

I took in her face. She looked pale and tired. Her eyes, which had at one time had held so much life, were oddly dead.

In a moment her expression changed, and the fire I so loved ignited in those eyes.

She was expecting another confrontation.

It was hopeless; she really did hate me.

With all hope gone, I reached for the letter.

“I know I have no right to ask anything of you, but would you do me the honor of reading this letter?" I asked softly.

I gently placed it in her hand and turned quickly, before I broke down and begged her to reconsider.

I ran back to Blackjack, the more distance I put between Isabella and myself, the deeper the pain in my heart.

Remounting, I kicked Blackjack into a gallop.

While riding through the forest, I felt everything.

I could feel the wind as it whipped past my face, caressing it with a coolness that always seemed to calm me. The subtle scent the dew gave as it rested on the mossy forest floor. Every sound echoed as I pushed harder and harder, desperate to find what I needed.

I could still see her face, those angry, defiant eyes that looked directly into my soul. Her eyes called to me, locked me in place.

I never had a chance.

Galloping through the woods, I spurred Blackjack harder; I needed this almost as much as I needed her. I knew I was punishing myself, but I didn’t care. I had been careless with my actions and callous with her feelings. I couldn’t blame her for rejecting me.

I had brought it all upon myself.

With another crack from my crop, the horse ran faster. My thighs were burning, desperately trying to hold their place. My backside ached from the repeated contact with the saddle. My lungs burned and I didn’t know how much more I could take. I was suffocating, but I kept pushing.

Knowing I was running toward nothing.

I would return to London, where I would hide and lick my wounds. I could only pray that my letter would change some of the ill feelings she harbored toward me.

After all, much was founded from lies. As to everything else, I would have to live with the knowledge that my pride had managed to ruin my only chance at happiness.