Lulie

By Jane Dawkins

Life is over for Louisa Bryson. It has been a year since David-her fiancé, from whom she had been inseparable since childhood-was killed in a tragic accident, only days before their wedding. She is still inconsolable and resigned to a life of mourning her one and only love.

Two men, one of them her fiancé's brother, the other a stranger with an unusual past, both yearn to rescue Louisa from her torment but know they must tread carefully if they are to succeed.

Set in the English countryside of the early 1800s during the turbulent period of the Battle of Waterloo, Jane Dawkins, author of two acclaimed continuations of Pride and Prejudice, recounts Louisa's struggles to come to terms with life in this tale of love, heartbreak and redemption.

This is one of the best historical romances I have read in a while... a bright and shining example among the best... Ms Dawkins has created a memorable and special tale... a timeless piece...

• Language: English
• Publisher: AbsolutelyAmazingEbooks.com
• Release date: Jul 23, 2015
• ISBN: 9781311206077

Jane Dawkins

Born in Palestine, Jane Dawkins grew up in Wilton, a small country town in Wiltshire, neighboring county to Jane Austen’s Hampshire. She has been a Jane Austen fan most of her life. Dawkins now resides in Key West, Florida, with her husband, several cats and a dog.

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Lulie

Jane Dawkins

By the same author

Letters from Pemberley

More Letters from Pemberley

(continuations of Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice)

One Perfect Afternoon

If You’re Ever  in Key West…

Visit Jane online at www.janedawkins.com

Lulie

All rights reserved

Copyright © 2006 Jane Dawkins

In loving memory of my Father, Stanley Albert Dawkins

14th November, 1918 – 3rd March, 2005

Acknowledgements

I am very grateful to Chris Hughes, assistant curator at The Household Cavalry Museum in London for answering my many questions on The Household Cavalry, specifically in relation to the Battle of Waterloo. The 1st and 2nd Life Guards do indeed form part of The Household Cavalry; nevertheless, this is a work of fiction and any errors of fact relating to these regiments are mine alone.

Thanks, too, to Bernard Kaplan for his helpful suggestions. And to Chuck Newman, my Husband, for his unwavering encouragement and support.

Cold blows the wind to my true Love,

And gently drops the rain.

I’ve never had but one true Love,

And in green-wood he lies slain.

I’ll do as much for my true Love,

As any young Girl may,

sit and mourn all on his grave,

For twelve months and a day.

(from The Unquiet Grave

English ballad ca. 1400)

Chapter 1

March, 1814

There is nothing like an English spring. Even in a small village churchyard, where songbirds sing their hearts out in the hope of attracting a mate, then set up home busily building nests in the crannies of crumbling stone walls and thick, ancient yew trees. New grass grows around old, mossy tombstones with weathered, barely discernible inscriptions; daisies and buttercups appear, bees and butterflies search for nectar—new life bustling above the dead resting below. Spring makes a mockery of a mourner’s loss, though, paradoxically, offers the solace of familiar sounds and sights of life returning after the long, cold winter.

On a spring morning in this particular country churchyard, set neatly upon a small hill overlooking the village of Chilbury in the county of Wiltshire, a young woman stood before a tombstone only lately erected. She appeared calm, lost in reverie as she gazed at the stark stone before her. Tendrils of dark brown hair escaped from beneath her hood and danced in the breeze; now and then a playful gust momentarily lifted the hem of her cloak—these were the only signs of movement. Oblivious to all around her, her gaze stayed fixed on the grave before her. Of plain, grey stone it stated simply in three crisply chiselled lines: David Reynolds Shipman Forrester, Beloved Son, 28th May 1789 – 4th April 1813. Her calm appearance, however, masked turbulent thoughts.

David, David, it’s been almost a year, a whole year, the longest, saddest year of my life. The first year I have known without you. We had our whole lives before us. We knew how our lives would be. How am I supposed to carry on, David? Why were you taken from me? Why? Why?

These questions have tormented her hourly, ever since that awful day last April. She had yet to find an answer.

Louisa! Louisa! a voice in the distance called. It was Belinda, her Sister, who had been arranging flowers in the little Norman church in preparation for the morrow’s Easter services which their Father, the Reverend Milton Bryson, would lead as he had done since even before Belinda was born, twenty-seven years ago.

Ah, there you are, darling! I thought I might find you here. Belinda put her arm around her younger Sister’s shoulder and squeezed it affectionately. Well, if I say so myself, the flowers look particularly well this year. Come and look! Lowering her voice to a whisper, Belinda added, "And Sophy insisted on making up a posy for you and is longing to present it. Please, at least try and look grateful for her efforts. Please?"

I shall, Belinda, Louisa promised, smiling. She was, in fact, excessively fond of her six-year-old Niece, who had been devastated when told she would not after all be a bridesmaid to her Aunt. Since David’s death, whenever Sophy visited, she insisted upon making posies for Louisa in consolation for both their disappointments, or so Belinda and Louisa imagined. Sophy had never owned as much and her Mother and Aunt had never presumed to enquire. Belinda and her Husband, Clive, lived in the village of Sharpstone, a comfortable ride not four hours distant, and were frequent visitors to Chilbury, even more so in the months since David’s death.

While Louisa appreciated her Sister and Brother-in-law’s kindnesses, she could well have done without them, though, of course, she would not have hurt them for the world by admitting any such thing. With an estate to run and a young Family (Sophy’s Brother, Harry, was just three) their lives were full but they thought nothing of coming to Chilbury as often as they were able, both to comfort Louisa and to provide a distraction for Belinda’s Parents. Despite the fact that the Reverend Bryson had for many years provided solace to his parishioners during times of bereavement, he had been hitherto quite unable to find the right combination of words to comfort his own Daughter, much to his chagrin and profound disappointment. His Wife, who had ably assisted him over the years in his parish work visiting the sick and consoling the bereaved as part of the daily ebb and flow of life, was at a similar loss. Their elder Daughter’s visits were a wonderful breath of air in the house, and the Grandchildren helped lift the gloom that pervaded every nook at the rectory.

Belinda had earlier decided that Louisa would return with them to Sharpstone for a month or two. This invitation had been extended time after time during the past year and had always been graciously declined. Now that the year’s official mourning was almost over, Belinda and Clive felt strongly that Louisa must resume her life again, and their efforts were being encouraged by the Brysons, their own attempts to persuade Louisa to rejoin the world of the living having failed miserably.

Following the Easter morning service, therefore, Belinda suggested to her Sister that the two of them take the longer walk back to the rectory: along the stream which ran at the foot of the hill behind the church, then wound through some water meadows and a small wood, finally turning to enter the village wherein stood the large, stone rectory—the largest house in Chilbury itself since the Manor House lay just outside the village. It was a walk they knew well, one they had often taken together in all four seasons ever since they were Children. This day was a glorious one and Mother Nature had put on her finest dress for the Easter celebrations. Even Louisa had noticed. They had just crossed the stile leading to the path through the wood when Belinda, after first taking a very deep breath and crossing her fingers, told Louisa her plan. It was a speech she knew by heart; she had recited it often enough during the past twelve months, honing and refining it over and over again.

Thank you, Belinda. How kind you are! replied Louisa, giving her own well-rehearsed, oft-repeated answer to this invitation. Turning to look at her Sister, she added with a grateful smile, "I shall come, I promise you, but not yet. I know you have my welfare at heart, Belinda, and believe me, not a day passes that I do not remind myself how blessed I am to have such a dear Sister and a caring Family—two families, really, for David’s is every bit as dear to me as my own." Her voice faltered.

Belinda took another deep breath, willing her next words to come out in the right order. Slowly, deliberately, she began. Sister, you have mourned David for an entire year as is only proper. We all have, but now it is time to begin living again. Feeling courageous, she ventured further. David was as a Brother to me, you know, so I feel I can say with confidence that he would wish—

Stop, stop, stop! Louisa covered her hands with her ears. "Belinda, please do not presume to know what David would wish, I beg you. He would wish to be here, alive, with me. He would wish to have danced at our wedding. He would wish to have fathered Sons and Daughters. He would wish to have teased me as my hair turned silver. He would wish to have Grandchildren to dandle upon his knee. He—"

Her voice, which had been steadily rising, cracked. Tears spilled down her cheeks though she hardly noticed them, they were so familiar. Belinda put a comforting arm around her Sister. I know, she said softly. I understand.

But you don’t, Belinda. You don’t know. Louisa was exasperated and shook herself loose from her Sister. How can you possibly understand? You have Clive, whom you adore and who returns your affections in equal measure. You have two healthy Children, a comfortable life. What can you possibly know of the magnitude of my loss?

I can’t, replied Belinda, simply. My loss is of a different kind. David was part of my life, too, don’t forget. My grief may cut me differently from yours, Louisa, but it is no less real, I assure you. I mourn his loss as deeply as I mourn the loss of my beloved Sister.

Louisa looked startled, as if a pitcher of cold water had been thrown over her.

Yes, Louisa, does that surprise you? Ever since we were Children you and I have been friends, confidantes. Sisters were never so close as we two. We shared our secrets, our hopes, our doubts—everything. This past year you have been gone from me and I have missed you terribly.

A lone, fat tear trickled slowly down Belinda’s cheek and she looked away. Louisa, overcome, took her Sister in her arms and embraced her warmly, silently, until she had composed herself sufficiently to say, Oh, Belinda, I am so sorry. How can you forgive me? I have been so wrapped up in my own grief that I haven’t given a thought to anyone else’s feelings. Of course, you must miss him too—please, please forgive me. I will try to make amends, I promise.

Then come with us to Sharpstone.

Not that, Belinda, not that, I beg you, not yet. Pray, do not ask that of me yet.

Belinda sighed. There was nothing for it but to play her very last card. Louisa, look. I had hoped not to have to mention this, but in truth I am as concerned for our Parents as I am for you. I see two people distraught that they are unable to give you any comfort. They fear for your health and feel helpless that they can do nothing for you. My Father becomes thin and my Mother—well, surely you have noticed how withdrawn and lifeless she is? There has been such gloom at the rectory and it is time it is dispelled. Please, if not for my sake, say you will come with us for theirs. I know you would never forgive yourself if either of them should become ill on your account.

There, she had said it, it was done; she had thrown down her trump card. If Louisa still refused to leave the rectory, there was nothing more she could do. The Sisters walked for a while in silence, tension in the air.

Finally, Louisa took her Sister’s hand and they stopped.  She knew what she must say, but her tongue refused to form the words. Belinda scarcely dared to breathe.

How utterly stupid and selfish I feel, Louisa declared at last. The rightness of your words hurts beyond measure, Belinda, but the shock of them has at least served to open my eyes at last. Indeed, my own sorrow has overwhelmed me so completely that I have failed to notice its effect on those nearest and dearest to me in the world... Of course I will come with you, Belinda. I see now that I must. She frowned, very cross with herself.

They continued walking in silence, too moved for conversation. At last, Louisa continued in a whisper, I shall try to be a better Sister and friend to you, Belinda, I promise you, and a better Daughter to my dear Parents. I must make my apologies—come, let us find them at once.

Taking her Sister’s hand again, she started running along the woodland path towards home. Before entering the house, Louisa stopped and took Belinda’s other hand in hers. Thank you for not giving up on me, Sister. Thank you for opening my eyes.

Chapter 2

March/April, 1814

Life at the rectory was much happier for the remaining three weeks of Belinda’s visit. The very air seemed lighter, fresher—even Louisa noticed. Her heart ached just the same, but she learned to put a smile on her face, and to take part in conversations she had not the slightest interest in, and to make a better attempt at eating (taking very tiny portions and clearing her plate seemed to satisfy everyone). Her exertions in playing this role exhausted her to such a degree that at night she actually slept for several hours at a time so that the shadows under her eyes began to recede. As her Parents’ worries about her lessened, so did the signs of strain in their faces.

Two days before their departure for Sharpstone, they were invited to the Manor House to dine. Sir Charles Forrester and his Wife, Mary—David’s Parents—lived there. Sir Charles’s estates encompassed not only the village and surrounding farms, but thousands of acres across several counties. Lady Mary and Louisa’s Mother, born Harriet Bell, were distant cousins, who, though a few years apart in age, had been very fond of one another as Children. Lady Mary had been married some five years when a letter arrived from Harriet announcing her betrothal to the Reverend Milton Bryson. Lady Mary’s quick mind very soon saw a way for the two friends to live near one other again: Sir Charles had several good livings in his gift and was swiftly entreated by his good Lady to offer one to Mr. Bryson. It so happened that the Chilbury living itself was vacant just at that time, but Sir Charles, much as he loved to indulge his Wife, hesitated, insisting upon meeting the Bryson fellow first. Lady Mary, who already had in mind several plans to make the Chilbury rectory even more comfortable for her good friend, Harriet, and was anxious to act on them immediately, expressed her disappointment.

Now see here, my love, her Husband had remonstrated. "What if this chap’s a sanctimonious bore? He’ll be practically living on our doorstep here at Chilbury and I for one have no intention of sitting through long, tedious sermons every Sunday in my own church just so you can have your friend close by. Moreover, I can’t imagine you putting up with endless, boring sermons for long either, my dear. No, no, we must take a look at the fellow first, but I’ll tell you what—if he turns out to be the pompous, self-important sort of vicar I abhor, I’ll give him the Larchminster living and have old Sopwith come here to Chilbury. He’s harmless enough. And with Larchminster but a few miles distant, you will be close enough to avail yourself of your friend’s company as often as you choose. He kissed his Wife on the cheek. How about that? Eh?"

My dear Charles, I don’t imagine dear Mr. Sopwith would feel at all kindly disposed to being removed from Larchminster after all these years—Mrs. Sopwith certainly wouldn’t, I can assure you of that. I do see what you mean about the Reverend Bryson, though, my love, said Lady Mary, frowning slightly. But I must own that I simply can’t see my dear Cousin Harriet falling in love with a pompous man who gives dreary sermons.

Love! What’s that got to do with it? exclaimed her Husband.

Well, my dear, she’d hardly marry a man of the cloth for his money, would she? And I don’t recollect that she mentioned he has much income otherwise—a small amount from some trust or other, that’s all. Harriet has a reasonable income of her own, don’t forget—and besides, why should not a Woman marry for love? Really, my dear, just because I married you for the sake of a couple of carriages, fine silk gowns and the Forrester diamonds—" She couldn’t finish this outright lie and burst out laughing, confident that her Husband didn’t believe a word of it.

And if I lost it all tomorrow, Wife? he had enquired, taking her in his arms.

Easily remedied, my angel, she replied airily, her eyes sparkling with amusement. First, I’d use my considerable wiles to charm an ancient, decrepit lecher into keeping the Children and me in the grand style to which we have become nicely accustomed. With luck, he will have a very weak heart and will depart this earth in short order—leaving me his vast wealth, naturally—so that I may then speedily rescue you from the poor house, or debtors’ prison, or wherever you have landed up meanwhile.

What a blessed relief it is that I don’t have to worry about my darling Wife in the event of ruination. Thankfully, she’s well able to take care of herself. He kissed her hand. Now, about this Bryson fellow, my love…

And so it was that the Brysons had come to live at Chilbury. The two families became very close indeed, exactly as Lady Mary had hoped and expected. It was an easy, affectionate relationship on both sides. No mention was ever made of obligations or superiority, nor was any sense of obligation or superiority felt on either side. They met frequently, sometimes separately, sometimes all together, sometimes at the Manor House, sometimes at the rectory, and Sir Charles had quickly noted that the Reverend Milton Bryson was every bit his equal in intellect and wit—and a very decent shot besides.

Besides David, their youngest, the Forresters had two other Boys: Carlton and Redford. Carlton, the eldest at 29, lived some distance away where he managed his Father’s affairs and holdings in the neighbouring county of Hampshire, returning home to Chilbury but seldom—only two or three times a year. There would be time enough to spend at the Manor House when his Father died and he came into his inheritance. When that time came, he would have an intimate knowledge of the entire Forrester holdings. Meanwhile, Sir Charles had instructed his steward to send regular reports to Carlton so that in the event of his own untimely death, his Son would be fully prepared and able to pick up the reins of running the estates, which would be in excellent hands.

Carlton had chosen for his Wife Isabella, a doll-like creature with blonde curls and blue eyes, who had utterly captivated him the moment they were introduced. He simply had to have her. That she brought little to the marriage besides her many charms mattered not one whit; after all, Carlton was heir to the Forrester estates. Five years and three Children later, Isabella still retained some of her prettiness and several of her charms, yet Motherhood had not matured her, nor developed her understanding in any significant way. She had made her way thus far in life by acting the part of a pretty china doll and saw no reason to change. A pretty smile, a pretty pout and when necessary, a few pretty tears usually managed to get her what she wanted. It would be another five years or so before her doting Husband began to tire of the monotony (and expense) of his empty-headed Wife. Isabella secretly hoped, moreover, that her next Child would be a Boy, so she could be done with all that. She knew that her figure was one of her greatest assets and had no intention of losing it with constant childbearing, despite her Husband’s wish for a large Family.

Redford, the second Son,