Expectations of Happiness (30 page)

Running down stairs, she opened the front door and there, coming in the gate, his head bowed against the rain that was heavier now, was Daniel. Margaret called out his name, and as he came up the steps, he looked up, saw her, and dropped his things in the porch.

Stepping inside the door, he reached for her and embraced her as she wept with relief. They said little, but released from the restraints they had placed upon themselves for months, they could at last express their deepest feelings and the sweetness of the moment was beyond imagining.

Daniel had been so astonished to see her in the doorway, he followed her around as though he expected her to vanish from his sight, and each time she stood near him, she would put out her hand and touch him as if to reassure herself he was really there. The rain came down heavily and completely ruined the old straw mat, but no one noticed its untimely demise.

***

That night, as they sat before the fire on the couch, saying all those things that lovers suddenly discover they have to say to one another, things which had been hitherto left unsaid, Margaret's spirits rose to a new level of lightness as she told him of young Mark Armitage and her reason for escaping to the cottage.

He laughed then and teased her. “You could have put him out of his misery. Why did you not tell him you were already spoken for?” he asked, to which she replied quietly, “How could I? I was not sure that I was; we had not spoken of it,” to which he replied, “Because, my darling, I could not speak of it, I could not ask you, not morally, not legally; I had no right while Helène lived to make you an offer of marriage. Nor did I wish to invite you to participate in what would have been an adulterous relationship.” A little startled by his forthright words, she was silent and he thought he saw tears in her eyes, which required some very particular reassurance on his part, reaffirming his love for her, that occupied them for quite some time, albeit very pleasantly.

It wasn't difficult then for him to say what he had meant to ask her later that night, “Margaret, if I were to tell you now how very dearly I love you and ask you to be my wife, what would you say?” She sat up and smiled at him as if she thought he was teasing her, but seeing the serious look in his eyes, she said, “I would have to say, ‘thank you, yes, I think I would like that very much, Daniel.'”

They pledged their love even as the lightning continued to dance on the mountains and the storm raged around the valley.

Later, Daniel asked, “Now, my love, I know you are afraid of storms and dislike sleeping alone in the midst of one. You told me so the last time we had one of these and decided to sleep down here. So where do you propose to sleep tonight?” This leading question she answered without equivocation, “I think I should like to sleep in your room tonight, Daniel, if I may.” There was never any doubt of his response. “Of course you may, if you are quite certain?” he said, to which she replied, “I am, yes, absolutely certain.”

***

In the days that followed, Margaret thought often about the decision she had made that night; a decision she knew would change utterly her life and her relationship with Daniel. Yet, the more she thought about it, the more certain she was of her feelings and the rightness of her judgment, that it was time to let Daniel see how she felt and to learn what his love could mean for her.

Awaking on the morrow and looking at him, she had seen the delight in his eyes as he regarded her. Her vivid recollections of his gentle tenderness as he matched her passion and his strength as he let her feel how deeply he loved her, filled her with a rich sense of sharing love and belonging together; it was an experience such as she had never known nor could have imagined before.

Over the days they spent together, the love they had shared became part of everything they did; as they talked and laughed and loved each other in many tiny ways, Margaret recognised that it had transformed their relationship and enriched her life.

It was time to tell her family, Margaret and Daniel agreed, and decided they would travel to Delaford parsonage on the Friday following. Margaret wrote to her sister to advise her of their visit, but first, she insisted, they must tell Claire and Nicholas. Thereafter, she wished to have Daniel meet her landlady, Mrs Hopkins.

Mr and Mrs Wilcox were delighted with the news that their friends were engaged. They admitted that they had hoped, right from the first days when they had all met in the south of France, but could not be certain. “You were both so good at concealing your feelings; we did suspect something was afoot, and we spoke of it, but we had no notion of your intentions,” Claire complained, and Margaret was quick to explain it away by saying, “That was because we were not quite sure ourselves.” The couple were pleased indeed that their secret had been so well concealed.

While they had not fixed a date for the wedding, since Margaret's family had yet to be consulted, they were already making their plans. Margaret revealed that she had resolved to conclude her teaching at the school by midsummer, and they would take a house on the outskirts of Oxford, which would enable Daniel to work at his college, while she taught pupils privately and continued with her writing. With her first book,
A Country Childhood
, being published at the end of summer, Margaret was already working on a second—about the many pleasures of travelling in Provence.

The Wilcoxes were happy to be assured that these plans would mean that Daniel and Margaret would remain in their neighbourhood and the intimate association between them could continue into the future, of which they were given many assurances, for were it not for Claire and Mr Wilcox, the pair might never have met. “We owe as much of our happiness to you and Nicholas, as we do to the magic of Provence,” said Margaret to her friend, setting a seal upon their friendship.

As to Mr Mark Armitage, he was yet to learn from his sister Mrs Hopkins that Miss Dashwood was engaged to be married to a gentleman from Oxford. Mrs Hopkins appeared both honoured and delighted to meet Daniel Brooke when he called at the house; it was, she insisted, a very special pleasure to have not only a soon-to-be-published writer lodging with her, but to discover that she was engaged to a distinguished gentleman of learning from Oxford. Her pleasure, which extended to inviting both Mr Brooke and Miss Dashwood to take afternoon tea with her in her best parlour, seemed not to be diminished by the possible disappointment that her young brother might suffer on hearing the news of Miss Dashwood's engagement to Daniel Brooke. Doubtless Mrs Hopkins, like Margaret, had assumed that her brother was of an age when the pain of disappointment would not outlast the spring.

While dispensing tea and some small cakes, Mrs Hopkins did manage to extract the information that the wedding was still some months away and likely to be in Dorset, where Miss Dashwood's family lived, and she would continue to lodge with her until the end of the school term, about which she seemed very gratified.

***

When Margaret's letter arrived by express at the parsonage, Elinor's rising excitement prevented her from opening it for a few minutes, whilst she considered what news it might possibly contain. But, when she had it open and read, her pleasure was too much to be contained and she rushed into her husband's study to tell him all about it.

Edward Ferrars took his position as parson at Delaford seriously, but not to the extent of letting the composition of his Sunday sermon get in the way of his wife's desire to communicate what was obviously important news. When Elinor rushed in, her face reflecting the level of excitement she felt, he put down his pen, pushed aside his notes, and leaned back in his chair. “Elinor, my dear, I see you have had a letter and I assume it brings news that cannot wait to be told. Am I right?” he asked, and his wife agreed immediately. “Indeed, Edward, it is from Margaret and she writes that Mr Daniel Brooke and she are coming to visit on Saturday. While she does not say it in so many words, the clear implication is that they are engaged and wish to consult us about arrangements for the wedding.” Seeing his raised eyebrows, she added quickly, “Oh Edward, I am so happy with this news. I have been anxious about Margaret for a little while now…”

“Have you, my dear?” he interrupted. “On what grounds? With your sister Marianne, I know you had quite legitimate concerns, which are thankfully resolved now, but was not young Margaret a rock of virtue and sound common sense?” he asked. Elinor had to explain without giving too much away that Margaret had confessed to falling in love with Mr Brooke during their holiday in Provence, but had not been certain of his feelings. However, now it seemed as though everything was going to be all right, she said.

But Edward had another question; did Elinor not think that it was Mrs Dashwood who should be applied to by Mr Brooke for permission to marry Margaret, he asked, and was quite surprised to hear her say, in a very matter-of-fact voice, “Mama? No indeed, I doubt that Margaret would stand for that. She is almost twenty-two years old, Edward, and entitled to decide whom she will marry. No doubt they will inform Mama, as a matter of courtesy, but I do not believe that Mr Brooke is coming here to ask for my consent; most likely they both wish to ask you to marry them at Delaford church and to fix upon a suitable date.”

Edward was quite incredulous. “Do you really think so? Would not Mr Brooke wish to ask his distinguished friend Dr Grantley to officiate at his wedding? He is, after all, a most eminent theologian and they could be married by him at St John's in Oxford, rather than our little parish church,” he said, but his modesty was misplaced and his wife was to be proved right.

When Margaret and Daniel Brooke arrived, they were received with congratulations and warm affection and, as they celebrated the news of their engagement with a glass of wine, the couple revealed that they did wish to be married at Delaford by Edward, with just a few friends and family around them. Edward, mightily pleased to be so distinguished, declared that he would be more than happy to marry them, and the date was fixed for the last Saturday in July.

“Have you written to Mama? Do you not intend to call on her?” asked Elinor, a little concerned that Mrs Dashwood, when she heard of their plans, might blame her, Elinor, for not keeping her mother informed of developments in Margaret's life. The fact that she had neither met Daniel Brooke nor knew of his intentions might well prove to be a shock, she thought, and advised Margaret to write directly to their mother and possibly arrange to call on her with Daniel without further delay.

“You do not want to upset Mama, which I know she will be, were she to learn of your engagement from someone else,” she warned. But Margaret was quite sanguine about it. “I shall write to Mama right away, Elinor; we have not the time to travel to Devon just now. But, if it were at all possible for you to invite Mama to Delaford, we could certainly call on her here. There's plenty of time, since the wedding is not until the end of July,” she said. Daniel Brooke added that he intended to write to Mrs Dashwood anyway, as was proper, so she would not be left in ignorance. “I had already decided to communicate with Mrs Dashwood, and since I have not had the pleasure of meeting her, I have waited only to ask your counsel, Mrs Ferrars, before putting pen to paper,” he confessed, and Elinor assured him that would be quite appropriate.

It was while they were thus engaged in discussing wedding plans and Elinor made a note of Margaret's favourite hymns, that a large carriage drew up at the gate, and on looking out they saw alighting Mrs Jennings, her daughter Mrs Charlotte Palmer, and her two children, together with their governess and Charlotte's maid. “Good heavens!” Elinor exclaimed. “This is a most unexpected visit. I wonder what on earth could have happened? Something very extraordinary has either occurred or is about to occur. Mrs Jennings and Charlotte look very agitated indeed!”

Before anyone could say anything more, the maid had opened the door and admitted the ladies and their entourage, and Mrs Jennings and her daughter burst into the sitting room in a state of high excitement. Ignoring the presence of Margaret and Mr Brooke, who had withdrawn discreetly to the alcove at the far end of the room, they made straight for the large sofa by the fireplace, and Mrs Jennings announced in strident tones, “Mrs Ferrars, you will not believe a word of this and I shall not blame you if you do not, but I must tell you it is absolutely true, for I have it on the best possible authority: I understand Sir John Middleton is to marry again.”

“What?” Elinor's exclamation did not adequately express the sense of shock she felt at hearing Mrs Jennings's words; she was left speechless because nothing they had heard before or since the death of Lady Middleton had suggested such a possibility. Sir John, a bluff, hearty sportsman with a kindly disposition and a well-known partiality for wine and good company, had no reputation as a ladies' man, nor had any lady been mentioned in that connection, who might be a possible candidate as the next Lady Middleton.

But both Mrs Jennings and Charlotte Palmer were quite adamant. When Edward asked, “How do you know this, Mrs Jennings?” both women answered almost together, “We are absolutely certain, Mr Ferrars,” and Mrs Jennings continued, “We had it from the wife of the clerk of Sir John's lawyer, who has been summoned to Barton Park, presumably, to make changes to Sir John Middleton's will.”

“Mama fears that he may be about to deprive her two dear grandchildren of their inheritance, the poor little things,” said Charlotte, dabbing at her eyes, and Elinor, who had never been able to regard the spoilt Middleton children as “poor little things,” realised what it was that had got Mrs Jennings and her daughter so upset. The prospect of a second Lady Middleton stepping in between Sir John's estate and the two Middleton children must be disturbing to their aunt and grandmother, she thought.

But she was unwilling to enter the controversy, and let Edward carry the argument, which he did, logically and calmly. “But you cannot be certain of that, Mrs Palmer,” he argued reasonably. “Sir John may wish to make some innocuous alterations to his will that have nothing to do with marriage at all. Besides, why would he disadvantage his own children? Come now, Mrs Jennings, if that is all the evidence you have, I for one would be most reluctant to believe that Sir John, who is an exceedingly sensible gentleman, is about to do anything as rash as you suggest.”

“Oh but, Mr Ferrars, I assure you that is not all,” said Mrs Jennings, in the tone and manner of one who is possessed of a trump card and is about to play it. “We have also learned from another source, one who must remain nameless, that Sir John has had all my late daughter's jewellery placed in a safety deposit box at his bank.” Edward laughed, “Has he? Well, I would have to say that is certainly the act of a very sensible man who is conscious of the need to store such valuables in a safe place, do you not agree?”

At this point Elinor found her voice and said, “Mama did say, when we were last there, that Sir John had been very concerned about reports of burglaries in some parts of the county. Perhaps he only wished to ensure that Lady Middleton's jewels were safely stored in the bank and thereby not at any risk from burglars.”

Mrs Jennings harrumphed, clearly unimpressed, and Charlotte Palmer dabbed at her eyes again before declaring, “Mama thinks he is getting all my sister's jewels valued, prior to giving them to his second wife as a bridal gift!”

Edward realised that this was a battle he was not going to win; it was getting far too complicated and the two ladies would produce arguments, however illogical, to counter every sensible proposition he made. He did, however, indicate that nothing he knew of Sir John Middleton's character would indicate that he was likely to act in such a way and urged the ladies not to be overanxious.

Elinor had slipped out to order tea, and only then did Charlotte Palmer stand up and notice Margaret and Daniel seated quietly in the alcove. She gave a little shriek. “Miss Margaret! Oh my Lord, you did give me a start, sitting there so quiet. Why didn't you say something?” and before Margaret could even open her mouth to utter a single word, Mrs Jennings had turned around and, regarding them with a look of astonishment, said, “Miss Margaret? Oh my goodness! I had no idea there was anyone there—you sneaky little thing! Well, I am happy to see you looking so well, and who, pray, is your handsome gentleman friend? You modern young women are quite beyond me!” at which Margaret came forward to greet both women and Edward had the presence of mind to introduce Mr Daniel Brooke as “a friend of mine from Oxford.” The mention of Oxford may have intimidated the ladies somewhat, for they said no more, and when Daniel stepped forward and bowed politely, they looked him over and both ladies appeared to lose interest in him thereafter. Doubtless they did not believe that Margaret could have any connection with a gentleman from Oxford.

Tea was served and, having partaken of it, they left, still shaking their heads about the activities of Sir John Middleton, although just before they entered the carriage, Mrs Palmer did say, in a complaining sort of voice, “I shall tell Mr Palmer that you don't agree with Mama and me, Mr Ferrars; he won't mind, he probably doesn't believe a word of it either, but then he is always so droll about such matters!”

Edward returned wearing a huge smile. “I knew that Mr Palmer had a good deal more sense than his wife or his mother-in-law,” he said, and both Elinor and Margaret said in unison, “But, Edward, he is always so droll!” and they all exploded in laughter.

***

Daniel Brooke had been a little nervous when he approached Elinor the next morning as she sat reading in the sitting room; he had arranged to consult her about the letter he planned to write to Mrs Dashwood, and she had appeared perfectly agreeable. Yet, he could not help a certain degree of discomfort when he went in to see her, even though she looked up and greeted him cordially. “Ah Daniel, do come in,” she said, putting away her book, and added, “Edward and Margaret have gone into the village with a donation of books for the parish school. They do appreciate it very much at this time; they are preparing for the new term.”