Author's Notes: Wow. Just wow. I am truly overwhelmed by the amount of response, (overwhelmingly positive response!) that the last chapter garnered. I'm sure that many other writers will join me in saying how humbling a feeling it is to know that other people enjoy the words that live in your head. I also am thoroughly enjoying the questions being posed, the different theories you all have! You've given me a lot to think about, and I'm going to do my best to give you all the answers throughout the story.
Question for my readers: This chapter is very short. As in, less than half of the previous posting. I have started on the next chapter, which was going to originally be the 2nd half of this. I'm just having a hard time finding the flow and balance between the two scenes I want to portray. Would you guys rather see shorter updates with more frequent postings, or longer chapters that you can really sink your teeth into? I didn't want to make you guys wait another week while I hammered out the rest of the chapter, especially since this scene has a strong finish. If you have an opinion, feel free to share it.
Thanks so much!
"Adelaide, hold your pose." The words were quick and sharp, said as a command and not as a suggestion.
The maestro was sketching furiously at his easel, scraps of parchment littering the floor around him. Adelaide bristled with annoyance, trying to refrain from releasing an exasperated sigh. Benito Forelli was the dearest person in the world to her, indeed, the only person she could truly call dear left to her; however that did not mean that he never tried her nerves. He knew very well how exhausting it was to put on the little display she had done for the Matlocks, and he must have heard her complain of her stays enough to know she longed to escape the confines of her finery to something far more comfortable. Yet when inspiration struck, no reasonable argument could deter the artist. She had placed herself into his power as his model, she was not within her rights to deny him. Yet, she truly was very tired, physically as well as emotionally. Working for one's living did not come free of tribulation.
"Padre" She said with gentle resignation, "perhaps we should post-pone until morning, when you have the light."
The artist did not look away from his work. "The light?" He snapped, "what use have I for light? No little dove, it shall not do! The morning sun drowns out even the brightest of stars of the night sky with it's amber glow. I can not risk that it will erase the glitter of sorrow in your eyes at this very moment. No, no, only now will do. Now hold still, keep those fine eyes to the window pane."
"Very well," she answered in a clipped tone. "Shall we stay up until dawn, do you think?"
The wizened head of the Italian raised, and his liquid black eyes glittered mockingly in the candlelight. "Perhaps you and I shall stay in this room until this painting is complete - we shall not sleep, eat, or drink until I have a masterpiece in front of me. You may wither away in my pursuit of beauty, but you will be immortalized forever in such a piece of art. I can already see the mountains of ticket sales that such a grand exhibit would garner from the Ton."
She laughed aloud then, a sound that always delighted Forelli for it's pleasant resonance, but this evening it was another source of vexation. He was generally a soft-hearted man, but not when it came to his work. He was renowned artist after all - and that came with an artist's sensibilities and eccentricities.
"You, Miss Bernard, are the only creature alive that can laugh so freely through a heart filled with pain. Until I discover the mystery behind that ability, until I unravel the dark secrets of the eyes that have enraptured the nation, little else will sustain me. You must have known this would happen the moment you were handed into the carriage this evening. You may conceal from others what can never be kept from he who knows you best! Was it the Matlocks who discomposed you so? Or was it the good Colonel and all the memories that come attached with him? You began the evening in tolerably good spirits and ended it quite differently. Did you think you could hide such a thing from me? Those eyes are your undoing once more! Such sad, frightened eyes child. And yet, you laugh! I must capture you in such a moment! "
Adelaide could not hold her pose when presented with such a stinging truth. She turned toward her mentor, those speaking eyes glistening with tears that would remain unshed. "Please, darling Padre, I beg of you…" She choked back a sob, always determined to retain her dignity, to keep her privacy.
His head was bent toward his work once more. "My poor little dove," he tutted gently, eyes fixated on the paper before him. "it must be a very weary life, carrying a burden such as yours. I wonder that it must be yours to carry alone."
Adelaide was a passionate creature. Her very real and rational fear of secrets uncovered, in combination with the wearing act of courting her social superiors for small favors meant she had little room in her heart left for patience or civility, especially at such an unseemly hour. It was not the first, nor would it be the last, time that Forelli had prodded into her past. He had never been fully satisfied with the tale of an orphan of a large family who had been taken advantage of by a local man and then cast from her home in shame.
Adelaide hated that he was right. She hated that her story was too dark to tell, too complicated for an outsider to understand. In that moment she hated darling Forelli for never letting her past remain buried. What other choice did she have now? A woman such as herself had no resources to pursue justice, and no power to enact vengeance. All she could do was escape - to carve out a new life for herself, and patiently wait for the day she reached her majority and the bonds of her past life were severed forever. If only her heart could acquiesce to the demands of her mind! No matter how deeply she delved into the life of Adelaide Bernard, thespian and artistic muse, the memories of her youth haunted her at every turn.
It had been almost seven years, and the pain of separation was as poignant as the day she had left. She had learned to ignore the stirrings of her heart strings, to set aside her unpleasant youth and look unblinkingly into the future. Yet those memories always simmered, just beneath the surface, ready to boil over whenever she was willing to call them forward.
Oh, how she longed for them! Her dear mother, who had always been a flighty creature, and impossibly indulgent. The little boy that had taken her with him to the grave, the boy who might have saved them all! Darling Papa! Papa with his bright blue eyes, always twinkling with some little piece of mischief, his dry wit and sly smiles. Everyday she wished to be a girl again, when her family had been hale and whole, to sit with her father in his study and breathe in the familiar scents of home and security.
Her younger sisters had been so small when she left home…did they remember her at all? Sweet, rambunctious Lydia with her golden curls and honey eyes was a young woman now, older even than Adelaide had been when she left them all. Was she out in society? Did she still giggle as had as a girl at six, or was she a serious young lady now? Little Kitty, always so wide-eyed and quiet, small for her age yet with eyes that seemed older, what had those eyes seen by now? Pedantic Mary, perpetually stuck in the middle of all the happy chaos of so large a family, seeking refuge in music. Did she still play with such passion? Had she improved since those days?
All her memories of her family pained her, but none as much as thoughts of Jane. Jane, the eldest, the bravest, the best of them all. Jane who had done the impossible to keep her family together; Jane who had given up all thoughts of herself and her own future for the security of her sisters. Jane who Adelaide had betrayed when she carried another name, in another life. Jane who had put herself in the power of a monster - not a man, to keep her sisters together. Gentle Jane who had received abuse and punishment for Adelaide's own transactions. Was she well? Did she suffer at the hands of the animal that was her husband? Did she still have any of her soft-hearted kindness left? Was she a mother now? Was there any respite from her misery? Could she forgive her?
Adelaide looked toward the man who protected her from the harsh realities of a penniless orphan's life in London. There were so many different paths a story such as hers could have taken. Her life of art, music, glittering parties, and tedious company seemed the most unlikely story of them all, and yet there she sat, posing for her artist. Tears smattered at her thick lashes, but she would not allow them to fall. She squared her shoulders, tilted her head just-so toward the window and stared out toward the night sky, knowing that some miles away, sat the home of her youth, her estranged sisters within it. "I do not carry my burden alone." she whispered.
Forelli's charcoal stilled in his hand. He drank in the site of her, his English rose, and felt all the brutishness of his artistic passion. She was a young woman now, cradling the weight of the child she never had the chance to be. The velvet caress of moonlight slipping across her profile accentuated every tired nuance of her countenance in a silver glow.
"Go to bed." He said gruffly, shame filling his breast.
She rose with quiet elegance, her skirts rustling softly. "Thank you Signore." She said with a gentle touch to his shoulder.
He looked up and met the eyes that arrested him so. Such sad eyes, but they looked on him with warmth now.
"Thank you, for…" Adelaide took in a deep breathe, gesturing listlessly toward the dark expanse of the studio. "… simply everything."
Benito Forelli had no wife, and no children. He'd known many women in his youth, but had remained as discrete as possible in order to preserve the reputations of all involved. If any progeny of his existed, no one had seen fit to inform him of it. He had spent most of youth so devoted to his craft that he had little time for any other pursuit, and now in the twilight of his life, Adelaide was the only family he had. Every night, he felt the day past lay upon his shoulders, adding another layer of time to his heavy funeral shroud. He was an old man. He was Adelaide's family as much as she was his, and thought of leaving her alone in such a world were insupportable.
"My dear child," He said softly, grasping the soft hands hanging before him, "Never thank me - the trials of your life, whatever misery you have endured, well…they have been the Almighty's greatest blessing in mine. I should not be so thankful that Providence brought you to me, I should have been asking the Lord to let his prodigal daughter return to her home."
A sob caught in Adelaide's throat, and she grasped the hands of the dear old man tightly. She opened her mouth to speak, but the artist continued saying, "I am not a young man, my dear. In fact, I was an old man when you were a child. You do not live as many years as I do, you can not make a living of studying the faces of others, and remain unable to read the face of a child. Precocious as you were, my dear, I have always known that the day you arrived on my doorstep, you fed me a series of lies. I have no way of knowing what the truth of your story is, only you can reveal such a secret. I have never begrudged you this fiction for my own sake, I only worry for you. It was always very clear to me that before me was an extraordinarily frightened child. Not just defiantly angry, not just trapped in mourning, but truly afraid. I could not help but wish to protect you, but I can not protect you from your own heart."
Adelaide always knew that Forelli was skeptical of her tale of woe - but she had always assumed him to simply be a cynic. Instead, he was perhaps the most adroitly empathetic man she would ever know. He was an angel on Earth to her. With his words, Adelaide's resolve began to crumble. She was so very tired. Her heart lost itself in her memories, and she could no longer bare to support herself on her own. She leaned into the man that had raised her from girl to woman, and allowed herself the comfort of fatherly embrace. It had become too much - the anniversary of her father's death, so recently past, accentuated with the knowledge that Mr. Darcy resided just a few short miles from her childhood home! Her eyes burned, and her dark lashes glittered as they bristled against the current of tears that threatened to spill. The old man gathered her in his arms, murmuring softly as one would to a small child.
Time faded away in the security of a loving embrace. Adelaide steadied herself with deep breaths as the Italian cooed to her in his home tongue. The angry beating of her heart began to calm with each breath. Her birthday was just a few short months away. She was so very close to reaching her majority, and then she could truly live free. Mr. Darcy being in Hertfordshire was a frightening prospect, but was she truly not made of sterner stuff than this? She had spent six long years as a pillar of strength, the marble cast of her resolve standing rigid and proud. Mr. Darcy had discomposed her once with his offer of marriage to someone as "lowly' as herself - she could not allow him to rattle her nerves again! Whatever he discovered in the quiet town of Meryton, whatever family he may visit with…it was none of her concern. Adelaide Bernard was not known to the inhabits of that little slice of country. If he was to discover the truth - what would it be to him? Their connection had been severed for close to two years.
Her musings were interrupted as the artist pulled the girl away. "My sweet little dove." He said softly. "I know that you will not confide in me. I have always known it, however it was my dearest wish that you will find someone to share your heart with. You are not meant for the isolation you have entombed yourself in."
"One day," she said softly, "I promise you…I will tell you all. The whole truth of it."
"Yes," he replied, a tired sadness in his voice, "one day you may." He stood, giving Adelaide his arm. The hour was truly very late, the young and the old both needed their rest.
He escorted her down the hall, walking together in companionable silence. When they reached the door of her chambers, he paused and said with a sigh. "I know your name is not Adelaide Bernard."
The actress squared her shoulders, and looked at her mentor unblinkingly. "I realized long ago that you suspected as much, but you have never pried."
"I believe each man has a right to his own destiny. The Almighty in his wisdom gave us free will, did he not? However, my solicitor does not agree."
"Your solicitor, Signore?"
"Such complicated matters. He tells me there is a very real possibility that my will could be over-turned in court as it is written. There is very little precedent to leaving one's bequests to a stage name after all."
A small gasp escaped Adelaide before she could gain her control. "You must not speak so! And you must not think of leaving anything to me! You have many years left, Padre. When you pass, I will be very well established and able to care for myself, you have seen to that! I am no mercenary, I have never desired your fortune, just the opportunity to find my way in the world."
He chuckled lightly and patted her hand. "Such an easy confidence in your future! I have always admired your optimistic spirit, my dear. Life has been very cruel to you, and yet you are determined that the future shall bend to your whims despite all the evidence to the contrary. We both know that there is no telling what fate may have in store for us. I have every faith in your abilities to see you through any hardship. If you could survive the streets of London alone barely out of the school room, you will surely manage the tribulations of adulthood with aplomb. However, my fortune is mine to do with what I will. The choice is mine to make, and while you may attempt to deny me this right by denying me your name…you would be doing me a grave injustice."
She was very quiet, and very grave when she replied. "It is a name I have not uttered in more than six years."
Forelli smiled wryly. "Yet it still belongs to you, even after all this time."
The actress took a fortifying breath. Forelli watched her eyes as she rapidly debated her options. It was a long moment, one that seemed to stretch out over days and into weeks, but as time came back into focus, Adelaide met his steady gaze with eyes as bright and clear as any he'd ever seen.
"Bennet." She stumbled somewhat on the first syllable, but recovered with a pointed strength. "My name is Elizabeth Bennet."
Forelli bowed his head in acknowledgement. "Good evening to you, Miss Bennet. May you rest easy."
Elizabeth smiled then, and a small piece of weight began to lift away from her. She let the contentment sharing her name raised flow through her. She had forgotten how comforting it was to trust her burdens into the care of a loved one. She had been alone for so long. Looking at the old man, a warm affection washed over her. She kissed his brow with a daughter's tenderness. "My family has always called me Lizzy."
The artist smiled back. "It suits you, little Lizzy."
Author's Notes: Not exactly a shocking revelation, since you guys seemed to figure it out pretty quick. But I promise, that's just the first part of of the tale ;)