It's an inevitability, universally shared, to eventually misjudge someone.

That is the current condition that Elizabeth Bennet feels when discovering that she believed Mr. Wickham’s lies and now must confront her strong misjudgments toward Mr. Darcy. However, she is not alone. Mr. Darcy must acknowledge his own misjudgments on their relationship.

Mr. Thornton must learn to confront the bad first impression and misjudgments that he gave to Margaret Hale. Margaret Hale must come to terms with the fact that she has a propensity to have a hard time forgiving such misjudgments.

And all the while, they are surrounded by their friends and family who also have to endure their own struggles, and with threats of factory strikes looming over in the distance! Here comes Book II of the Austen Gaskell Series!

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Release Date: February 18, 2022
Genre: Historical Romance | Reimagining

A Pink Satin Romance

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Excerpt

Chapter One:
The Walk

The horror of being so terribly in error!

Followed by the realization of knowing that you had greatly wronged someone. That you had willfully chosen to misunderstand that person. What a blow to my pride, my resolve, and my sense of my own powers of discernment.

I had misjudged Mr. Darcy so terribly! And even worse, I had chosen to do such for Mr. Wickham, for a man who I had been easily deceived by.

Suddenly, under the weight of my own failures of proper deduction, I felt the staleness of the air, the sordidness of the walls, and the shabbiness of my surroundings.

I did not criticize our home, under the bias of its lowness, but rather out of a sudden sense of confinement.

The walls appeared to be closing in, and I was seized by a sudden sense of being trapped in a cage, as if I were a bird that was denied the liberties of the skyway that it belonged to.

‘I cannot get out,’ I cried in my thoughts, ‘I cannot get out, as the starling said.’1

I must get out!

I simply must.

Refusing to blame my home for my bruised feelings, I knew the answer to the problem: I had to walk.

Yes, a walk would be the only thing that would do.

Even though I had just returned from leaving Mr. Darcy’s company, anything was better than sitting still and committing myself to the demons that haunt our conscience when we are alone.

Wrapping my scarf tighter around my neck, I left, locked the door behind me, and walked down Frances Street. As I did so, people of gray and dirty clothing, with dirt or soot on their skin, passed by me. Sometimes, their faces pressed so close to mine that I felt as if they were attempting to make their presence known.

My experience with Milton was so hardened at this point, that I was not afraid of them, and that was enough. Humanity can be like wolves; they smell fear, and it causes them to react in less than sophisticated ways.

Their wretched appearance had now become a part of Milton life in my eyes, and to my surprise, the very sight of them brought comfort. For they were people who did not fear making themselves known to you.

Amongst the passersby, I bumped shoulders with someone. Turning to excuse myself, I saw that it was Mr. Boucher.

“Mr. Boucher,” I began, “excuse me, sir. I was not being mindful.”

“Not yer fault,” he said, his expression deflating, and he took on a humble look. I blinked, wondering what that look was for. For his eyes were heavy, and they said so much. Then again, Boucher’s eyes always said a variation of many things all at once. Misery and embarrassment were the main ones.

“Is something the matter, Boucher?” I asked.

“Nothin’,” he answered hastily. Too hastily.

“Are your wife and children well?” I asked. “We’re bringing some fruit to them in two days, when we get paid.”

“Thank ee’, bu’ they’re well and all. I just…yer safe? Yer and yer sisters are safe, right?”

“Well, yes,” I said, laughing gently. “We are. Why would you ask?”

“No reason,” Boucher responded. “Jus’ wonderin’.” His eyes still looked guilty about something, but I knew that he would remain with a tight lip about it. “Be safe, missus. That’s all I’m sayin’. Good day.”

He bowed his head to me, and even that gesture dripped with insecurity. Whatever he meant, it was probably done kindly, and he probably heard some men talk vulgarly about my sisters and me. Thinking nothing more of it, I continued to walk on.

It was strange. But the mere touch of his arm on mine was enough to bring me back to a semblance of reality. We humans can be so very separate because we are expected to be such. And then, when someone touches you, you find yourself realizing that you can face anything, because we are all on the same road when walking through life: we are all trying to rise above our confusion and face our mistakes.

Now I was prepared to see where it all had begun to go wrong.

Mr. Darcy had slighted me when we first met, and I was resolved to disassemble his character to being insufferably proud. And that opened the door for me to believe Mr. Wickham, who had put himself forward in the most improper of ways.

And so, through the streets, I walked. With the more individuals who I passed, I saw that I had the tendency to make deductions of them each time, without knowing of their true history.

Now I saw the mistake that I made—my flaw was written across each passersby’s face: I judged others based on the first impressions that they presented.

Mr. Darcy warned me about this aspect to my character, but I was heedless to his advice.

Who should suffer more than I?

When I turned around another corner, I entered a main street and beheld the life and vigor around me. On this walk, did anyone around me have that same fault?

I wanted to believe that I was not alone.

 

* * *

When Mr. Darcy arrived at his hotel, he had a change of heart. He ordered his carriage to take him along the river, so that he could see different aspects of scenery.

When he stepped down from the carriage, it was at a place where he saw a wide view of Milton. There it was laid out before him. Telling his driver to wait for him, he walked along the river, seeing the sweeping view of the industrial town.

Here he had run to when all lights seemed to go out. Here, in the gray and clouds, he had found a ray of sunshine. However, that illumination could also be defined by a blinding truth.

He had proposed to Elizabeth.

She had rejected him and that was when he discovered that she did not love him.

That was the first blinding truth that had overwhelmed him. But now that he told Elizabeth the truth about Mr. Wickham, he realized something else that he was altogether wrong about.

She had once said that he had a propensity to hate everybody. Perhaps, for a time, she had been correct in some ways. When meeting new people, he had a very critical eye that could border on incivility and sometimes subtle disdain. He had displayed those things when they first met—and that very disdain led to him doing the worst thing in the world: not communicating.

Elizabeth Bennet fell victim to Mr. Wickham’s schemes and deception—and Mr. Darcy had allowed it. He saw their friendship beginning to be forged. But because of his pride and his stubborn inability to respect others around him, he did not reveal Wickham’s true character to Elizabeth. He could have communicated all those things to her, warning Lizzy, so that she would not fall prey to such lies. But he allowed her to be influenced by the ultimate social seducer.

‘All of this could have been prevented if I had relinquished my stubbornness of the truth and did not expose her to such deceptions,’ he thought to himself.

And now Elizabeth thought she was the one in the wrong. If only he had communicated. If only he had trusted her from the beginning and thus treated her in the correct way.

Now they both were in a state where their relationship did not blossom in the way that he had desired.

Standing by the river and looking up at Milton, he felt as if he was removed from a clear path. Confined to such confusion, Mr. Darcy felt like he was imprisoned in his own shortcomings.

‘I cannot get out,’ he uttered to himself, ‘I cannot get out’.

 

* * *

The workday was ending.

At Marlborough Mills, Mr. Thornton was going over the books and checking all the orders. As he was half-way finished his task, he leaned back and rubbed his temples.

She despises me, Mr. Thornton thought, when considering Margaret Hale, she truly despises me.

How and why could he not release her from his mind. He hurt when she was in his company, and he hurt when she was absent. What did it signify that a person teared up your concentration when she was with you, or not with you?

Although, when you are a manufacturer, time is money, and you learn to analyze things at a quicker rate, rather than lingering on denial. All in good time, he was able to face the truth about himself and his relation to this novelty of a lady.

He didn’t want her to hate him.

For the love of Saint Peter, he did not want that at all! Adding to her exotic appeal of being from the South, her bright features were like a foil that was set off by the environment around them. But whenever they saw each other, it hurt. On both sides, there was mutual discomfort.

Yet, he still wondered about her. Even now, he could not attend to anything else. Rather, he was torn between the apprehension that he faced when in her presence, versus the absence of mind that was seizing him by knowing that they did not get along.

All of a sudden, the room felt confining, and as if the walls were closing in about him, and he needed to move.

Standing up, he put his jacket back on, left his office, and walked around the factory. Moving past all his workers, his presence was like a shadow that oppressed them.

At least, that’s what it felt like to Bessy Higgins, a worker who was tending to her spinning. Stealing a glance at him, she detected that his scowl was even sterner than usual. His nose was as sharp as a hawk, and his gaze was fierce. A mouse could appear on the other side of the room, and she wondered that he perhaps would be able to see it. What occurred, of late, that incurred such an intense reaction from him?

When his eyes fell on Bessy, she turned back to her machine, sharply, and hoped that he didn’t notice her blatant staring at him. When looking away, her younger sister, Mary, was further down the line and she saw this interaction.

Bessy gave her little sister a ‘do not question it’ face, and Mary went back to her work.

On the top stairs, Mrs. Thornton stood, watching the workers. When she did, her attention was directed to her son, who she observed had been a little preoccupied over the last couple of days, and she was not an unobservant woman. She was able to connect his altered state to when he had recently met the Hales—and more particularly, the daughter, Miss Hale. He had been pressing his mother and sister to call on them, and rumors had spread throughout their acquaintances that Miss Margaret Hale was a handsome woman. Even before meeting her, Mrs. Thornton was unaware of the blind prejudice that had been swelling up within her. She could not help but consider this Miss Hale as a threat to her son’s happiness, and as the very symbol of a great change. However little Miss Hale was aware of this herself. After all, Margaret Hale had her own crisis to deal with, to ever be aware of the rising disdain that her presence was bringing.

Further along the lines, Mr. Thornton continued to walk around, overseeing his workers. But even more, he did it because it soothed him. All through the air, there was fluffs of cotton, as if it was a material version of snowflakes, illuminating the labor that was going on everywhere. This was Mr. Thornton’s catharsis. Work, and industry! Here, this is what brought a soothing feel to his mental faculties. The snow white of cotton—of the world he had aspired to create.

He continued to walk through the aisles, remembering himself. And releasing Miss Hale from his mind.

 

* * *

 

And what of Miss Hale!

If a young lady, of serious nature and southern habits, could find and keep her optimism, Margaret Hale was attempting to do such, but she acknowledged that she was not successful at it.

In a sudden burst to walk through something green, she walked to the nearest graveyard. Strolling through it, she took note of the headstones that were of various shapes and sizes. It had been a particularly bleak day, with a gray overcast. With the weather above and the mood of the cemetery below, Margaret wondered at the inhabitants of the people who lay below. Their souls were now free of any worldly cares, and having escaped the confinement of their situation, she wondered at how life was meant to turn out. Did they have good lives, or bad lives? Like her, did they feel a sense of duty, and of being trapped within it?

Suddenly, as if to either mock her, or give her hope, the clouds pulled back, and a bit of sun fell upon the graveyard and augmented the scene. This sudden release of light livened her spirits and she decided to embrace it subtly, rather than allow it to diminish.

Against the gloom, there was hope. It was time for her to release her anguish. Here, she was surrounded by a world she was unfamiliar with, and she did not understand so much of this new way of living. But she would persevere!

Yes, she must, and she would try to avoid complaining about her fate.

For, where there is light, there is a chance.

Elizabeth walked towards the truth of her flaw.

Mr. Darcy walked towards the truth about the errors of his ways.

Mr. Thornton walked towards the truth about his feelings.

Margaret Hale walked towards the fact that her old life was over, and she was stubbornly still clinging to it.

All four were walking further away from each other. And without knowing it, they also were walking in the same direction.

 

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