A Clandestine Correspondence
Epilogue
Woodston Parsonage
6 February, 1799
My dearest wife,
I find myself unable to sleep tonight, and I hereby resort to that device which comforted my unease during the period in which I remained unsure that we would ever wed. In that bleak time, expressing my feelings in the written word provided great consolation, only surpassed by the reception of your own epistles, full of unaffected girlish life.
I left the bed-curtains partly open; it is moonlight, and your sweet face is illuminated, surrounded by your lovely dark hair, spread across the pillow like a halo. I am glad that my small candle does not disturb your slumber. I can write and observe you at the same time. I must be the happiest, and most fortunate, man in Gloucestershire.
Do you realize, my sweet, that we met one year ago tonight? Of course you do, for you wrote about it in your journal, did you not? We must return to Bath someday, present ourselves to Mr. King, and tell him what a successful introduction he made that night at the Lower Rooms! Luckily you were not frightened away by my nonsensical flirting; it was your first test, of course, since a parson's wife must be able to stomach a great deal of such absurdity, both from the parson and from his parishioners. I also remember having a very earnest conversation about muslin with Mrs. Allen. I am afraid that the dear woman took me seriously. You knew better, my Catherine, did you not?
When I think back to that time, I wonder that I did not know immediately that you were meant to be my wife. I hope that it does not disappoint you if I tell you that I did not fall desperately in love with you that first night. That occurred later, but I am unsure when it began; perhaps when we met at the theatre, and you exerted yourself so to convince me that our missed walk was a mistake, rumpling poor Mrs. Allen's dress in the process. Perhaps it was when John Thorpe tried to lure you away while you were dancing with me; I know that I felt a twinge of jealousy, and was delighted when you declared so emphatically that you preferred my company. I wish that I could fix the moment when you became more to me than just another sweet, engaging, lovely girl amongst the multitudes in Bath. But perhaps it is best that there was no one moment; I have observed that the strongest connections are those that are built over a period, rather than formed on first sight. All I can tell you is that by the time I teased you about the horrors awaiting you at Northanger Abbey, you had become very special to me, my love, and not because my father directed me to gain your affection. For once his desires and mine were the same, and never have I obeyed a parental command with more alacrity.
You murmur and stir; I hope that your dreams are sweet, Catherine. I hope that they do not hearken back to the unfortunate incident that ended your stay at the Abbey. It is sometimes fantastic to me that you overlooked my father's abominable behaviour and connected yourself to my family. But it should not surprise me. Your heart is steadfast and warm, and I thank God daily that you condescended to give it to me. The first few months of our marriage have been wonderful, and they are even more precious to me when I consider that a less generous woman would have gone back to Wiltshire and refused to have any further dealings with me.
And now you have told me of your suspicion, the possibility that you bear a child. I suspect that is the real root of my wakefulness. I did not think it was possible for me to be more joyful than I have been since we married, but I was mistaken. We shall have a child, Catherine! A life to guide and direct! I cannot think of anyone worthier to be a mother than you, with your directness and innate goodness. Our child--our children--shall have an advantage from the very beginning: their mother.
I must end this, my love; suddenly my fatigue has returned, and I feel that I can sleep. I will return to our bed, and take you in my arms, and know that my life is complete, one year after that night in Bath. As I hold you in my arms tonight, I hold you in my heart at all times, my dearest wife, and I am ever,
your loving husband,
Henry
finis
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