The Watsons: Beginnings - Chapter 5
- Erin H
- Aug 16
- 9 min read
Reflections and Resolutions
That night, Cassandra lay awake for hours, her mind turning over memories of Robert and her late husband—comparing them, weighing them, trying to reason with herself.
Robert was kind. He was thoughtful. He listened to her, not just out of politeness, but because he valued her thoughts. He sought out her company, not to control her, but because he enjoyed it. She never felt afraid of what he might say or do. If she disagreed with him, he debated with her, never dismissing her words. If she was upset, he noticed. He did not push, only offered comfort in whatever way she would allow.
Her husband had known how to act kind, too. In public, he had been charming, affable—even doting. But she had learned quickly how little that meant once they were alone. He drank too much. Gambled away money they didn’t have. Lied so effortlessly she had often doubted her own mind. And when he was in a temper, she had known better than to speak. Better than to look at him the wrong way. Better than to hope for gentleness.
Cassandra curled into herself, the old fear twisting in her stomach. She had been so young then. She had not known how to protect herself—she had had no power to do so. And in the end, when he had died, people had pitied her for being left alone, as if that had been the tragedy. They had never understood that his death had been her only freedom.
She pressed a hand over her mouth, swallowing the sob that rose in her throat.
Robert was not that man. He would never be that man. She knew this. She knew it. But how could she ever trust a man again? How could she be certain?
And even if she could—if she dared to hope for happiness—what of him? He deserved a wife who could give him everything: security, love, children. She could give him nothing but herself, and she feared that, in the end, it would not be enough.
It was fortunate that Elizabeth had pointed out the nearness of Mr Watson’s proposal, giving Cassandra time to think and make her decision before it actually happened, for it was only one week later that she found herself once again in Robert’s company. Two days after that fateful conversation, she had resolved to avoid him by following through on a months-old promise to visit the Hodgsons, who lived very near to York.
As it happened, Robert and Mr Turner were in the city around the same time, and they diverted their trip home to call at the Hodgsons. This was easily done, as Mr Hodgson had long since offered Mr Watson a standing invitation, hoping to converse with him again. Cassandra was shocked to see her plan to escape him turn so completely against her.
Cassandra was exhausted from the haunting nightmares of her past relationship. Therefore, she could not muster the same energy to speak with him. Robert asked about her health and encouraged her to rest indoors, but she had insisted on taking a walk which led to her accompanying her sister in giving him a tour of the rectory’s gardens.
Soon after their walk began, the Hodgsons’ housekeeper appeared and called her sister away, leaving Cassandra alone with Mr Watson. She felt both nervous and excited, and began to shake as fear overcame her. She had tried to prepare herself for this moment, but now that it was here, she felt her heart waver.
He did not comment on her trembling—if indeed he noticed it—and began, “While I know it is improper for us to be alone together, I cannot let such a chance pass me by. Mrs Beauclerk, you must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you. It has been some time since I became enamoured with your mind and your opinions. While it was your beauty that first attracted me, it was our diverting conversations and shared views that made me realise how strong my attachment had become.”
Cassandra listened but could not respond, and he continued with hope in his eyes.
“Mrs Beauclerk—Cassandra, if you will allow me to call you that—I would be the happiest man on earth if you would accept my feelings and agree to become my wife and best friend, that we might spend the rest of our lives sharing our thoughts and opinions together. While I cannot offer you much, I have just over three thousand pounds—closer to thirty-five hundred, in fact—and my present living provides another one hundred and fifty pounds per annum on top of the interest. While I know you are accustomed to a less humble lifestyle, I hope you will at least consider the happiness I can bring you.”
He had been fumbling with his hat in his hands for some time, and she feared he might tear through it entirely. The thought was oddly calming, and she found her voice at last.
“Mr Watson,” she began quietly, “I thank you for your honesty, and I am humbled by your affections for me.”
She saw his smile fade into confusion, and turned her eyes just past him so she would not have to watch the sadness she was about to cause.
“I am afraid that my previous experience in marriage has left me with no love for the institution. I have no intention of ever remarrying. While I deeply respect you and have greatly enjoyed all our conversations and debates, and would be happy to keep up a friendship if you are willing, I have no interest or intention of marrying anyone. It is not about your fortune—though mine is part of the problem. My late husband left me with nothing, and the little I have now was a gift from my siblings to give me some small independence. I cannot bring a fortune into our marriage, nor the connections that might aid you in the church, nor can I provide you with children, for in my previous marriage I never once felt the quickening. Because I care for you and respect you, I wish you to have the chance to find someone who can give you everything you deserve in life.”
He tried to interrupt and tell her he did not need any of that—that he wished only for her companionship—but she held up her hand to stop him.
“My answer is final, and I am sorry if it pains you. If we cannot be friends after this, I will understand, but I hope you will also understand my position. I will not again be placed in the power of any man.”
With that, she turned and hastened away. Once she was out of sight, her tears could no longer be held back, and they spilled freely, quickening her steps. She did not hear the sound of pursuit, but wished only to reach her room as soon as possible.
On her way, she passed her sister Emma, who was returning to join them. Emma tried to stop her and ask what was wrong, but Cassandra waved her off and told her to attend to her guests. She reached her room, locked the door, and turned away anyone who came to see her.
Even after she heard the carriage carrying their guests away, she refused to go downstairs. She sent a maid with a note to her sister, asking that supper be sent to her rooms and that she be allowed her isolation for the remainder of the day. If this was acceptable, she promised to explain everything in the morning.
That night, the sleep that should have been restful was anything but. Cassandra tossed and turned in the dark, the images from her dreams a blur of old horrors—he was there again, looming in the shadows. The sound of his voice echoed in her mind, words sharp and filled with disdain, followed by the familiar, hollow thud of her body hitting the floor. The memory of his hands, cold and forceful, haunted her thoughts like a specter she couldn’t shake.
She woke with a jolt, her heart pounding in her chest, drenched in sweat. The room was dark and silent, but the echoes of her past clung to the air. Her breath came in shallow gasps, as though her body could still feel his presence, even now.
The past was never far. Every time she closed her eyes, she could almost hear the drunken slur of his accusations, could feel the weight of his rage bearing down on her, could taste the sharp bitterness of his words. She had wanted to scream, to fight back, but the terror had always frozen her in place. The terror of not knowing when it would stop—or if it ever would.
Her chest ached with the old familiar fear, but she steadied her breathing, as if willing herself to remain grounded in the present. Robert is not that man, she told herself. But the reminder felt too weak, too fragile, against the flood of memories she couldn’t escape.
“What was that all about yesterday, Cassandra?” asked Emma over breakfast the following day. “I thought you enjoyed Mr Watson’s company. Has anything happened that I should know of?”
While she felt guilty about her rejected and subsequent escape from Robert’s company, she couldn’t bear to see his disappointment. She realized just how much time she spent thinking about him and wishing for his company since.
The night before, Cassandra had paced her room—the thought of meeting Robert again made her chest tighten with uncertainty. She had promised herself she would avoid him—she would act as she always had before; however, the thought of him looking at her differently, avoiding her, hating her—she had already begun to miss their camaraderie.
The memories of how, every time they met, his eyes had softened. How, when they had spoken, he had truly listened to her thoughts. How, for the first time in years, she had felt truly seen and appreciated—had come unbidden to her mind whenever she tried not to think of him anymore. She had remembered the way he always smiled without pretence, and how she had laughed freely in his company with no fear that he would suddenly lash out at her.
Robert had seen her—truly seen her, and it had made her feel cherished—yet vulnerable.
With each thought, a weight had settled deeper in her chest. She had squeezed her eyes shut, as if to shut out the memories, but they had only grown clearer in her mind's eye—the warmth of his gaze, the sound of his voice, the tenderness of his touch. She feared it was all just wishful thinking.
Hope was a dangerous thing, was it not?
Back in the present, she felt the tears welling in her eyes and excused herself from the table; leaving a baffled Mr and Mrs Hodgson behind. She burst out of the house and into the gardens where she proceeded to pace about. Her arms moved almost as constantly as her feet; she wrapped them around herself as if she could hold all the emotions inside before flinging them upward to grasp her head—wishing to tear off her bonnet and all these unmanageable thoughts and memories with it.
The thoughts of Robert’s kindness, so different from everything she had experienced before, felt like both an invitation and a threat. She loved him, but she was scared. She wanted to be with him, but she craved her independence. Suddenly, an image of their happy future, though childless, passed through her mind. The two of them walking through the autumn leaves to visit the parishioners. Them sitting together by the fireplace, reading to each other in the winter. Robert accompanying her on walks through his uncle’s gardens as their family chatted happily nearby. And summer days much like the ones they had already shared, but the difference was that there would no longer be a need for goodbyes.
It was during this lull in her storm of emotions that she heard her sister’s voice calling her back to reality.
“What on earth has happened, Cassie? You look a sight!” Emma exclaimed as she came upon her and saw the state of Cassandra’s bonnet.
Cassandra could say nothing more that, “Oh, Emma! What have I done?” before throwing herself into her sister’s arms and relating the whole of her ordeal through sobs and tears.
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction unless otherwise indicated. Some names, characters, businesses, places, and events are used in a fictitious manner or inspired by real historical figures. The author does not speak for or represent any real individuals, companies, corporations, or brands mentioned in this book.
Copyright © 2025 Eireanne Michaels (Erin Michelle Harris)
All rights reserved. No part of this book, except for material derived from the original fragment and manuscript, may be reproduced or used in any manner without prior written permission from the copyright owner, except for brief quotations in a review.
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