Expectations of Happiness (32 page)

When Edward returned, she showed him his sister's letter and was gratified to hear him roundly condemn her. “I cannot imagine why Fanny is concerned; Sir John is nothing to them, and whom he chooses to marry is entirely a matter for him. As for trying to get you to discover his secret, I hope, my dear, that you have given her short shrift. It is none of our business, nor should it be of hers,” he said and threw the letter down on the table in the study before going upstairs to change for dinner.

“My sentiments exactly,” said Elinor as she followed him up the stairs, pleased at his response, “and I do not intend to do anything at all about Fanny's request. If she wishes to discover whom Sir John plans to marry—and I suppose there may be some truth to this story, seeing that it is gaining currency in London, where Sir John has many friends—Fanny can ask him herself.”

Edward laughed. “And I must admit that I would not put it past her to do so. Fanny has become so consumed with matters of family prestige and social status, she fails to see how ridiculous she looks. You are right, though, the story, which sounded rather farfetched when Mrs Jennings talked about it the other day, does appear to have gained some ground. I wonder who the lady could be. But, whoever it is, as I said before, it is none of our business,” he concluded.

“Amen to that,” said his wife, and that, they thought, would be that.

On the very next day, however, it became their business in no uncertain terms.

***

Edward Ferrars, when he was a very young man, had often had cause to wonder whether he belonged at all in the strange mix of characters that constituted his family. He'd had very little knowledge of his father, having been sent away to school at a very early age; his mother had always seemed remote and unfeeling; his sister Fanny was recognisably grasping and uncharitable; while his brother Robert had grown up spoilt and selfish.

That Edward had never satisfied his family's ambitions for him, refusing to consider careers in the military or in Parliament and insisting on becoming a clergyman had set him apart from them, and with his marriage to Elinor Dashwood, that separation had been complete.

A letter received from his brother, Robert, was not therefore as astonishing to him as it might have been had their relationship been closer. In it, Robert disclosed that his wife, Lucy, had heard of the imminent remarriage of Sir John Middleton from Mrs Jennings and had been somewhat put out by the news, because there had been plans afoot (Edward assumed these were plans initiated by either Lucy or Mrs Jennings or both) to promote a match between Sir John and Lucy's elder sister, Anne, who was as yet unmarried and well on the way to being a regular old maid. Mrs Jennings had been angling for some time to obtain an invitation for Miss Anne Steele to Barton Park, and while none had been forthcoming, she was hopeful it could still be arranged for next Christmas. Robert asked if Edward knew or could discover through the good offices of his wife or his mother-in-law, Mrs Dashwood, who was Sir John's cousin, whether there was any truth in the rumour. He wrote:

If you could, my dear brother, I would consider it to be a great favour, since it would enable me to extricate myself from the unending chatter that this tale has aroused in the family and enjoy some peace and quiet, which at present I can only find at my club.

Greatly diverted by this request, Edward was about to take his letter out to the garden, where Elinor had spent most of the afternoon, attending to her roses. He was sure she would be as entertained by Robert's concerns as he had been, but before he could share it with her, he saw the carriage from Barton Park coming up the road and stopped to alert Elinor, who stood up and brushed twigs and leaves from her skirts and took off her gardening gloves, as she prepared to receive their welcome though unexpected visitors.

Alighting from the carriage was Sir John Middleton himself, who then assisted Mrs Dashwood out and ordered his servant to attend to the luggage. As Edward and Elinor looked on, uncomprehending, the man unloaded two trunks and carried them into the house, where they were placed in the hall, while Sir John—who seemed to be in remarkably good humour—and Mrs Dashwood greeted them with great affection.

As they went indoors, Elinor was still wondering what it was all about; she'd had no message from her mother about their intention to visit, nor had Edward heard from Sir John. And what of the two trunks? They obviously contained her mother's belongings; could it be that all the stories were true? Sir John
was
getting married and he'd brought Mrs Dashwood back to them, because she was no longer needed to manage his household at Barton Park? As the thought crossed her mind, Elinor glanced at her mother and discarded it instantly, for Mrs Dashwood did not have the appearance of one who had been summarily evicted from her preferred accommodation at all—indeed, she was all smiles.

They had moved into the sitting room, and Elinor was about to send for the maid to order tea, when Sir John said, “I think we must have something a little stronger than tea, Edward—a glass of sherry, perhaps, if you do not have any champagne to hand.”

Edward and Elinor exchanged glances, Sir John laughed heartily, and Mrs Dashwood smiled. There being no champagne to hand at the parsonage, Edward was quick to get out the best sherry, and when they had their glasses filled, Sir John said, “Well now, Edward and Elinor, you are the first to know that my dear cousin Mary, your beautiful mama, has done me the great honour of accepting my proposal to become my wife.”

He smiled and continued, “Needless to say, this has made me very happy indeed, and we thought we had to come over directly and tell you ourselves, because it just would not do if someone read it in
The Times
tomorrow and told you of it. Besides, we had to bring some of her things over, because, as I am sure you would agree, it would not be seemly, now we are engaged, for the lady to remain under my roof, as it were, until we are married.”

Amazed, Elinor hesitated only a minute or two before embracing her mother and turning to Sir John, with whom Edward was shaking hands as though in a dream. “Of course I am delighted, but when did this happen?” she asked, and Sir John laughed and Mrs Dashwood blushed and said it had come about over the last few weeks and they had hardly been aware of it because they had been so busy.

Sir John explained further, “But a few days ago, when we were at dinner, your mama mentioned a letter from you, Elinor, inviting her to travel to Weymouth with you in the summer, and suddenly it struck me that one of these days, she could decide to leave Barton Park altogether and I realised how very much I would miss her if she went. Our lives have been so much more enjoyable with her there; I simply could not imagine how I would get on without her. So, I gave it some thought and I decided to ask her to marry me.” Sir John looked across at the lady then, and it was obvious from her countenance that she was completely satisfied with his version of the events that had led to their engagement. Mrs Dashwood wore the perfectly serene smile of a contented woman.

While neither Elinor nor Edward had much understanding of how this had come about, what was plain was the obvious satisfaction of the couple. Both Sir John and Mrs Dashwood had the look of people who had done exactly as they had pleased.

Later that evening, after they had dined, Sir John left to return to Barton Park, and Elinor took her mother upstairs to the spare room. Believing she was tired and would welcome an early night, Elinor was about to leave, when Mrs Dashwood asked a little tentatively, “You are not displeased with me, are you, my dear?” Elinor swung round, “Displeased with you? Of course not. Mama, what right have I to be displeased with you? You are as entitled to find happiness as Marianne or I have, and I am very pleased for you. But, Mama, are you quite sure this is what you want?” she asked.

Mrs Dashwood smiled and said, “Of course I am. Sir John is a dear, kind, generous man; he is my cousin and I have known him all my life, we get on together like the best of friends. Besides, Marianne and the colonel are happily settled now, and I believe our dear Margaret has had an offer from a very nice gentleman from Oxford—he has written me a most charming letter—and she plans to accept him. So, I did feel it was time I thought of my own future; and Elinor, my dear girl, only think, it will be just like being at dear old Norland again, except of course, I shall be Lady Middleton.”

She said it with such genuine glee that Elinor was startled for a moment, before she laughed and hugged her mother. She could not wait for the morrow, when she would write to John and Fanny and break the news of the impending marriage of Sir John Middleton and Mrs Dashwood.

Despite the fact that the notice would have already appeared in
The Times
, she intended to write to John and Fanny herself. Elinor had but one regret: She would not be present to see Fanny's face when she read the letter.

End of Part Five

Throughout the summer, the consequences of the announcement in
The Times
of the engagement of Sir John Middleton of Barton Park in Devonshire to his widowed cousin, Mrs Mary Dashwood, continued to reverberate like rolling thunder around the various families: the Ferrars, the Steeles, the Dashwoods, Mrs Jennings and Mrs Palmer and their coterie of friends and relations, all of whom felt the need to make some comment, mostly adverse, about the couple.

It caused such a storm in the household of John and Fanny Dashwood, they even attempted to dissuade the pair from proceeding with their marriage plans by suggesting in a most foolhardy manner that they had “rushed into it without due consideration of their responsibilities to look after the interest of the next generation” and warning of the possibility of “bad blood between members of the Middleton clan” were the marriage to take place.

It was clearly Fanny's relentless nagging that had driven her husband to write. While Mrs Dashwood paid very little attention to a note from John, suggesting that she would be blamed by Sir John Middleton's relations for intruding into his family, a similar missive addressed to Sir John himself, pointing out his “responsibilities to his family,” caused him to laugh uproariously and declare in his reply to John Dashwood that “
the next generation of my family is so well looked after that they will soon have forgotten how to look after themselves,”
adding that he was now
“fast approaching that age when a man had to consider how best to ensure that he would be well looked after for the rest of his life.”
To this vital question, he said, he had
“given due consideration and reached the conclusion that marriage to his amiable cousin Mrs Dashwood, whom he had known and had regarded with affection for many years, would best secure that object
.” And he was
“delighted and honoured that she had agreed and accepted his proposal.”
That riposte silenced the glum John Dashwood, but not his loquacious wife, Fanny, who would continue to tell anyone and everyone she met how shocking it was that Sir John had abandoned his duty to his family and married an impoverished widow, who must have taken her chance to get her hands on his money. Between Fanny and her mother, Mrs Ferrars, the reputations of both Sir John Middleton and his prospective bride were well shredded.

Robert and Lucy Ferrars, who had been involved in a plan initiated by Mrs Jennings to ensnare Sir John for Lucy's sister, Anne, were disappointed, more on account of the fact that Lucy and Robert feared they would have to be responsible for looking after Miss Steele into the future, if she remained forever unwed.

For Lucy, there would also have been the advantage of another large country estate to visit, apart from those of her mother-in-law, Mrs Ferrars, and her sister-in-law, Fanny, who never failed to remind her of her great good fortune in marrying Robert Ferrars and thereby getting her feet on the rungs of the social ladder, although she was constantly warned never to assume that she would reach their elevated situation.

As for Miss Anne Steele, she had very little knowledge about Sir John Middleton, and though she would certainly have liked to have the distinction of being “Lady Middleton” and thereby a cut above her sister, Lucy, she had never quite believed that the plan would actually come to pass. She'd seen many similar schemes proposed and fall apart before. Her disappointment was therefore qualified by her lack of confidence in the proposition, and not quite as profound as that of her sister.

The outrage of Mrs Jennings and her daughter Charlotte Palmer was perhaps the most comprehensible; the sudden death of Lady Middleton had deprived them of their place in the world of the titled class, with all the rank and prestige that it added to mere money, of which Mrs Jennings had plenty. If Sir John had remained a widower or married Anne Steele, they would have been guaranteed their share of his hospitality and status, but his marriage to Mrs Dashwood, who was no relation of theirs, would, they feared, rob them of that advantage. It would be a serious blow to their social standing as well as an irritating setback to their plans to spend Christmas in Devonshire that year, enjoying the convivial atmosphere of Barton Park.

Only Mr Palmer, who claimed to have met the happy pair shopping in Exeter, made light of all their complaints and grievances, with the genuinely droll observation that if marriage was an institution meant to make people happy, then it was surely a pleasure to see one in which both parties seemed so thoroughly pleased with each other, their felicity was assured. He reported also that several of Sir John's friends, who had met Mrs Dashwood, had pronounced her to be a most charming and amiable lady, and declared that Sir John had been singularly fortunate in his choice of a second wife.

While the groans of the malcontents resounded through the social scene, the people primarily concerned went on with their lives, unperturbed. Sir John Middleton himself, blissfully ignorant of the machinations of some in his circle, maintained a cheerful countenance whenever he met any of these disgruntled parties, content to bask in the certain pleasure of marriage to a mostly compliant and agreeable woman, whom he had known all his life.

Mrs Dashwood was not only well pleased with her forthcoming union to Sir John, a man she had regarded with gratitude and genuine affection for several years, she was happy too because she no longer feared that in the onset of what might be termed her “advanced years” she would become a burden upon her daughters and their husbands. While she knew well that neither Edward Ferrars nor Colonel Brandon would ever begrudge her any assistance or comfort, nor did she fear any disquiet from her daughters, she did feel a good deal better knowing that she would never have to call on them for such support in the future.

She enjoyed very much making plans for her own wedding but also looked forward to assisting with Margaret's. Once she and Sir John had met Daniel Brooke, neither had any doubt that Margaret, of all the Dashwood girls, would have the most eminent husband, for though neither Sir John nor Mrs Dashwood could boast of any academic achievement, they had great respect for learning, and a learned gentleman from Oxford was worthy of their highest regard.

Margaret, on learning the news of her mother's engagement, had experienced a great sense of relief, for she had always been concerned that her mother might, on an impulse, do something she would later regret Margaret knew her mother would never regret marrying Sir John Middleton; they had a great deal in common, including an ability to live in the present and enjoy its bounty, which their generous natures enabled them to share with others. It was clear to her that her mother was as happy as she had ever been since they lived at Norland Park and a good deal happier than she had been at Barton Cottage, where Mrs Dashwood had struggled to maintain the social position her family had lost with the death of her husband and the loss of his estate.

Now, with the prospect of being the mistress of Barton Park, her dignity and sense of self-worth had been restored, nay enhanced, with the addition of a title as well. Margaret contemplated the prospect of her mama's elevation to being “Lady Middleton” with a good deal of amusement, which she was able to share with Daniel.

A keen observer of the human condition, Daniel had found both Mrs Dashwood and Sir John Middleton quite agreeable, if a little eccentric, while his response to the bizarre behaviour of Mrs Jennings and Charlotte Palmer had been one of complete bewilderment. “I had almost forgotten that people actually held such views,” he had said, and Margaret had laughed and assured him that there were those among her family connections, such as Mrs Ferrars and Fanny Dashwood, whose opinions were far more ludicrous than those of Mrs Jennings. “They are both women with high notions of their own importance and if entertainment is what you wish for, there is much to be had at very little cost, in observing them,” she had said, causing Daniel to declare that he was unsure whether he should look forward to the experience or strive strenuously to avoid it.

***

When, in mid-June, Marianne and Colonel Brandon returned, having heard the happy news from both Sir John and Mrs Dashwood, they persuaded her to move to live with them at Delaford Manor until the wedding, which suited everybody exceedingly well. It meant that Marianne and her mother could share their mutual happiness uninterrupted, while Sir John was free to visit his friend Colonel Brandon, shoot on his manor, and see his bride-to-be at the same time—a most convenient arrangement, indeed. That he could so happily combine his preference for sport and companionship with his romantic inclinations was a matter of great satisfaction to him.

Marianne and the colonel were even more delighted to discover that in their absence, Margaret had become engaged. Although they had no knowledge of Mr Daniel Brooke, when they met him, they approved of him without question. Marianne saw in him the kind of learned intellectual she esteemed, and the colonel found him to be a man he could engage easily in conversation and whose opinions he could respect. Both agreed that Margaret and Daniel, whose intellectual curiosity and love of learning had brought them together, were well suited.

They decreed, therefore, that their wedding, no matter how small their guest list, must be celebrated at the manor house at Delaford and, despite some earlier misgivings, Margaret was persuaded by Elinor to agree.

“It will make Mama and Marianne very happy, Margaret, and just think how pleased Colonel Brandon will be. He is such a warmhearted, generous man, he will enjoy hosting your wedding, as though you were his own daughter,” she had said, and Margaret—who had earlier asked the colonel if he would give her away at the church, and seen the expression of immense satisfaction that had suffused his countenance at her request—had agreed. It meant she could be married from the manor at the Delaford church by her dear brother-in-law Edward. “It was,” she declared, “quite perfect.”

Margaret and Daniel had, in the intervening weeks, set about looking for a suitable house in the environs of Oxford, where she could continue her work on her next book and the instruction of her private pupils, of whom she already had five.

Despite the fact that Daniel had assured her that his income would be quite sufficient for them to live in comfort, Margaret had determined that she would not permit her study and practice of teaching to be wasted by disuse. She pursued various enquiries, was interviewed by the parents of prospective students, and made her plans, so that when they did find a house that suited them, she was able to make the arrangements necessary to begin work with them in the new year.

Margaret had set her heart on a large old house in the village of Kidlington, but Daniel had convinced her that a town house no further than two miles from the university would be more practical, pointing out that her students would also find it more convenient for travelling. Consequently their search continued until a satisfactory house was found, which suited both their purposes. “I know you love the ambience of the countryside, my love, which is why we have the cottage and can always return to the Cotswolds to restore our spirits,” said Daniel, “but we both need a place conveniently situated from which to work.” She agreed, and when they found it, the house they leased had the distinct advantage of a back parlour, which was ideally situated to be used as a school room for her new pupils.

***

If Provence was where their love had begun to grow, the cottage in the Cotswolds was where it was nurtured, blossomed, and matured. The times spent there had brought them a deeper understanding of each other and greater happiness than either had thought possible. For Daniel, Margaret had brought a freshness and vitality that he had thought he had lost forever, while the extent of his learning no less than the depth of his love for her had opened up an entirely new world of experiences for Margaret.

In all of her life so far, no other person had ever unlocked her mind or touched her heart as Daniel had done. He had added a new dimension of intellectual excitement to her existence. Always curious, always eager to learn, she had come recently to understand the kind of knowledge that Daniel could open up for her and she was profoundly grateful for it.

But Margaret had a practical streak too, which served them well. She had insisted that one of the prerequisites to her happiness was an undertaking that Daniel would work seriously on completing his book on the historic abbeys and churches of Provence.

“While I am very confident that we will be happy together, I think I shall not be truly happy, Daniel, unless I know that you intend to complete what is your life's work. Besides, I know it was one of the reasons you were in Provence last autumn, and that is what brought us together. I should like to think we could see the fulfilment of that hope. Will you give me that promise?” she asked seriously, and Daniel's fond response that he would promise her anything she asked did not satisfy her.

“Do be serious, my love, I know how much it means to you and how hard you have worked on collecting the material; I want only to see you fulfil your ambition,” she pleaded.

He surrendered then and produced his plan; they would return to Provence after the wedding and he would work on the final chapters of his book, with her help. “I have the singular advantage now of a published writer to assist me,” he said. When they returned to England, he would present his work to his college for review, and if they approved, it would be submitted for publication.

That seemed to please her more, especially since it was combined with the assurance of that journey by boat down the Rhône from Lyon to Avignon, which he had promised she could take, if she returned to Provence in the summer. “Did you really mean that?” she asked and was reminded that he was a man of his word. Margaret could not think of anything that would give her greater pleasure than the fulfilment of those two promises.