3.4.10

May 4, 1842
Now I write by candlelight. If I get caught, Mary will scold. She will tell me how the curtain can catch the flame and cause the whole house to go aflame. But I am careful. Mary will not catch me, and my candle is far from where my curtain resides.
Still, I wonder about my predicament. Mother’s death came as a shock to all of us, especially me. I was there; I should have felt the change in her atmosphere. The doctors don’t know what caused the death. I don’t think they have a clue, though they say they’re getting closer to solving the mystery. She is being buried tomorrow morning in the center of London. It was father’s idea, and I don’t approve. London is far too public. I don’t want my mother buried there.
But my predicament resides in my heart, as well as in my head. James has asked for my hand in marriage yesterday. I don’t know what to say. He knelt to the ground and said “Elizabeth Kingsley, will you be my wife?” in front of a whole party. I told him that I needed time to think, and I would give him an answer the next time I saw him. Unfortunately, that time would be tomorrow at the funeral. I really hope that he doesn’t expect me to answer his question in front of people mourning my mother’s death. I have to say that it would be wrong. James’ family isn’t poor, not at all. Father would have never given his consent for the proposal had it not been for the Bennett’s wealthy background. Sure, they were not kin to the King and Queen, but they were wealthy, and James Bennett was the son of the lord, James Bennett Senior.
I don’t know if I will marry him. I’ve tried to consult Mary, because she knows what it’s like to be married, but every situation is different. She has tried to tell me that being married is the best; that I’ll be able to buy more clothes, have children, and go to fabulous parties and all that goes along with being the wife of a lord. But I don’t know if I want that. I may just want to be myself for a bit longer, to be Elizabeth Kingsley until I have to become Elizabeth Bennett. I’m not sure that one person can exist inside the other.
Father is no help either. I’ve yet to discuss my predicament with him, because I know that his choice would be for me to marry James. Still, I want that feeling. I want to be in love when I get married, and, even though I don’t know what love feels like, I do know that I am not in love with James. James is great, he’s amusing, and he’s quirky, but I just don’t know if he’s the guy for me. I’m not sure that I’m ready to submit myself to a husband that I don’t love. It just doesn’t seem right for me.
Someone is coming down the hall.
I’ve checked, it was just Jane, our housekeeper. She’s a sweet lady. Maybe I should consult her about the proposal, though I don’t think that she’s been married, or even proposed to. Jane is the kind of woman who will work until she is dead, and I have to say, I kind of respect her for that. I’m sure that she thinks about what would have happened if she had gotten married, and sometimes I wonder if she regrets not getting married. Of course, there’s nothing she can do about it. It isn’t her fault she was born into peasantry.
I think the person that I most need to talk to is my mother. She would know exactly what to say, what advice to give. She would know whether I should marry James or not. She would tell me to weigh my options. Do I love James? Do I love someone else besides James? Would I be happy with James? I know the kinds of questions she would ask. I just don’t know how to ask myself these same questions.
Perhaps the person that I should consult is James. Maybe we should talk about whether or not we want to be married, or whether it’s just convenient. I know it’s convenient for him; he gets to marry a girl who is about sixteen, who will have a long life, who has money behind her, and will hopefully produce beautiful children for him. It’s convenient for me; I get to marry a very kind, humorous man who would take care of me and treat me right. He would never do anything to hurt me, or anything that I wouldn’t approve of. He does love me, and maybe I do love him. I’m so unsure right now. I do wish that I could speak to him, right this second. It would make life so much easier. I don’t know if I can go to sleep tonight, knowing that I have to answer him in the morning, as well as be attentive at mother’s funeral. It seems like a lot for a girl of sixteen.
But this is the life I was born into. London has never looked more beautiful than it does tonight, even with enormous decisions and weight hanging on my shoulders. I feel almost at ease, even knowing that I have a huge decision to make, one that could alter the way my life works. Do I want to be married at sixteen? Do I want to be married at all? I do need my mother. I do need James. Good Lord, I think I’ve realized it. I think I do love James. He’s the right man for me, and he most definitely loves me, otherwise he would not have been so keen to let me take my time with my decision. Mature, amusing, good looking, and otherwise supplied with money, he seems to be the choice for me.