Expectations of Happiness (28 page)

The timing was perfect and Margaret conveyed the message to him at once, obtaining an immediate acceptance. “Please thank your sister and brother-in-law and say I am delighted to accept,” he said, and they arranged to meet and travel down to Dorset together on the following Saturday. When he left her, reluctantly and after much affectionate leave-taking, Margaret wrote to her sister to advise her of their visit. She was feeling a good deal more confident now of her situation. The days spent at the cottage had not only confirmed her strong feelings for him, they had demonstrated how completely she trusted him and how entirely worthy he was of that trust.

As for Daniel, she had not failed to notice that much of the strain that had marked his countenance, when he had first returned from France, had faded over the past three days.

***

Margaret decided to wear the same outfit she'd worn to meet her publisher, and Daniel's delight with her pretty new bonnet was particularly pleasing. They took the morning coach and arrived in the early afternoon, just in time to see Edward and Elinor waving off the Palmers and Mrs Jennings, who together with their entire entourage had called in at the parsonage on their way back into town. Of course, when Charlotte Palmer saw Margaret, whom she had not met in many months, she had to scream for the carriage to be halted and for Margaret to come to the door to be kissed and hugged and told how very pretty she looked.

Nor could Mrs Jennings resist joining in with a little speculation about the handsome gentleman with a beard, who had been seen alighting from the hired vehicle. “And who is that handsome person you've been hiding from us all, Miss Margaret? Does your dear mama know about him? Come along now, tell me, I promise I shall not say a word,” and hearing a loud snort emanating from her son-in-law, she added indignantly, “Nor shall I, I give you my word, my dear—I believe young women are entitled to make their own choices. Tell me, is he your latest beau?”

Margaret shook her head. “No, Mrs Jennings, he is a friend of Edward's from Oxford; we travelled down together.”

Poor Mrs Jennings looked rather deflated, but Charlotte Palmer was not to be denied her fun. “But that is ideal, Miss Margaret, a friend of your brother-in-law—just the ticket, do you not agree, Mama?”

Margaret was beginning to think she was never going to get away, when Mr Palmer growled that Miss Margaret was probably going to catch her death of cold if they kept her standing out there, and ordered that the carriage move on. With much waving and cries of goodbye, they were finally gone and Margaret escaped indoors, where she found Edward had already placed their guest in the best seat by the fire with a drink in his hand, and the maid had brought in a large tray of refreshments.

Elinor embraced her sister. “It is so good to see you, Margaret—and looking so well, isn't she, Edward?” she asked, to which her husband agreed, but urged her to get closer to the fire and keep warm, after standing out in the cold so long. “I thought they would never leave; you know how it is with Mrs Jennings and Charlotte,” said Margaret, making herself comfortable on the sofa, “they have no conception of time at all.” Elinor remarked that it was a good thing they were to break journey at Barton Park. “No doubt Sir John and Mama will enjoy all the news.”

It seemed to Margaret that her brother-in-law and Daniel Brooke had a lot to talk about; their mutual friend Dr Grantley provided an excellent link, since the three men were keenly interested in similar subjects, albeit in differing ways. Daniel's study was mainly historical, while both Edward Ferrars and Dr Grantley, being clergymen, had a theological interest as well. Edward and his friend Dr Bradley King had very recently visited Dr Grantley at his college in Oxford, Elinor said, and Margaret heard Edward say, “Yes, we were fortunate to catch him, he was preparing to leave for Derbyshire that very day, where, I understand, his wife's family has a great estate.” To which Daniel replied, “Indeed, she was a Miss Darcy, and I believe the Darcys of Pemberley are one of the most highly respected families in the county. Francis Grantley is recently married to Mr Darcy's sister, Georgiana, a very handsome and accomplished lady, I am told,” he explained.

“Have you not met her?” asked Elinor, to which he replied, “No indeed, Mrs Ferrars, I was in France at the time of the wedding and have not called on them at home since my return.” Then, turning to Edward, he asked, “Was Dr Grantley able to assist your friend with his enquiry?” Edward shook his head and said, “Sadly, he did not have the information to hand. Dr Bradley King was interested in some historical information about the old priory at Burford—and here's the coincidence,” Edward added with a smile. “Dr Grantley declared that he knew one man who would have all the information we need, but he was away—probably, he said, at his cottage in the Cotswolds. Now, can you ladies possibly guess who that knowledgeable man might be?” and as all their eyes met, Daniel broke into a laugh, as Edward continued, “He sits right there by the fire. Now what do you say to that?”

Elinor was laughing, but Margaret had her eyes fixed on Daniel as her sister asked, “And was Dr Grantley right? Were you at your cottage in the Cotswolds, Mr Brooke?” to which Daniel, who carefully avoided meeting Margaret's eyes, laughed and said, “Indeed I was, and Dr Grantley is perhaps the only one of my colleagues who knew where I was.” Thereafter Margaret had to make some excuse to get out of the room and go upstairs; she prayed they would pursue the matter of the cottage no further, for she feared her flushed face would soon betray her.

By the time they were sitting down to dinner, the conversation had veered around to the serious subject of the historical research that Dr Bradley King was involved in, and Edward had succeeded in persuading Daniel Brooke to meet with his friend and help him discover the information he sought. It was, thought Margaret, a most auspicious beginning and the very best way for Daniel to be introduced into her family.

Then, there was the exciting story of Margaret's book to be told, which brought many congratulations, taking up more of the evening. Mr Brooke stayed the night at the parsonage and on the morrow, after church, they went over to call on the Kings, whose delight at seeing Margaret again was doubled when it turned out that Edward had brought along the very man who could assist Dr King with his study. The three men spent the rest of the morning in Dr King's workroom, while the ladies wandered around the house and garden and admired Mrs King's beautiful collection of porcelain miniatures, before sitting down to dinner.

Returning to the parsonage in the afternoon, it was quite clear that it was too late for the travellers to leave. The night coach was not to be recommended for ladies, Edward said—not only would it be freezing cold, there were too many inebriated travellers aboard—so they were easily persuaded to stay over and take the coach in the morning.

That night, Elinor went to her sister's room, and to Margaret's surprise she had tears in her eyes. “Oh my dear Margaret, he is such a wonderful man; I hope and pray that it comes right for you. I can see that you love him and best of all, he loves you dearly—it's very plain to see, even Edward saw it as soon as you arrived. Can you tell me how things are?” she asked.

Margaret wept as she told her how things stood now and what the future might hold for them. “But Daniel knows I love him and will not leave him, no matter what happens. He is a good man, Elinor, I cannot leave him,” she said.

Elinor could not hold back her tears as she held her sister close, understanding how she must feel and willing her to find the happiness she deserved. Elinor knew that Margaret's youth and inexperience of the world would make it hard for her to accept that pain, in one guise or another, was always a part of loving. She would pray that this young sister of hers would be spared the anguish that had afflicted and almost destroyed Marianne.

Spring 1820

With the arrival of spring, Margaret went back to teaching at the school, and Daniel returned to his rooms at his college in Oxford. His sabbatical year was almost coming to a close, and he had hoped for some degree of certainty in his life, which might enable him to complete work on his book. Margaret's interest and encouragement had increased his desire to bring it to a conclusion, but he had felt neither the imperative nor the will to do so.

With the warmer weather, the pace of life quickened in the woods and fields of England, as well as in the towns and villages, as new crops were planted and the cycle of country life began anew.

In London, only one notable event had occurred; at the end of January, the old king, George the Third, delusional and sad, had finally died at Windsor, leaving his son the Regent ready to assume the throne. However, a coronation was not immediately forthcoming, because the new king refused to be crowned together with his legal wife, Caroline, and months of machination and bitterness followed. While the antics of the king, his wife and mistresses, together with the wasteful expenses of his court, continued apace, the people of Britain were to suffer a good deal more scandal and stupidity before that particular question was resolved.

Meanwhile, Claire Jones and Nicholas Wilcox were married in Oxford and left to spend their honeymoon in France, whither Colonel Brandon—well recovered from his accident—and his wife had gone also, persuaded by Sir John Middleton that nothing could surpass the pleasures of Paris in the spring.

Short letters had arrived for Mrs Dashwood at Barton Park and the parsonage at Delaford, in which Marianne enthused in glowing terms about all the “exciting places” they had visited and the “beautiful things” her loving husband had showered upon her, in gratitude for her devoted care during his weeks of enforced inactivity following his accident. Marianne, clearly bewitched by the beauty and spirit of Paris in the spring, appreciated his generosity in taking her there.

Perhaps as an even more significant consequence of those momentous events, Colonel Brandon had taken Sir John's advice and appointed a manager to overlook his Irish estates, so he would have more time to spend at Delaford, keeping his wife happy and contented—a development that brought Elinor considerable relief.

Letters from Mrs Dashwood also reported that Eliza Williams and her daughter had been satisfactorily settled at Barton Cottage, and the young woman had shown an interest in needlecraft and tapestry, in which she was acquiring some skills. She wrote:

I intend to ask Sir John if Eliza may be permitted to practice her craft by restoring some of the worn pieces of tapestry around Barton Park; if she could master it, it would prove a useful occupation, which could allow her to earn some money as well. I have also persuaded Eliza to let Alice help in the school room, when the new governess Miss Dalton takes the children through their lessons. I think it may create an interest in the girl for learning her letters and numbers and surely, that can do no harm.

Both Edward and Elinor thought these were exceedingly sound propositions, and Elinor wrote to congratulate her mother on her plans. At the same time, she suggested that Mrs Dashwood might like to join them for a fortnight in summer when they travelled to Weymouth again. She wrote:

We had such an enjoyable fortnight there last year, but it was all too short, and both Edward and I would like to make a return trip. If you should care to join us, I am sure you will enjoy it just as well.

Daniel and Margaret's friendship continued, free of some of the constraints of concealment, now that her sister Elinor and their friends Claire and Nicholas Wilcox were privy to their secret, even though Margaret had said nothing to her friend about Helène. Margaret's own fears were gradually eroded by the gentle tenderness of Daniel's affection, letting her enjoy the mature relationship that had developed between them, despite the ever present anxiety of Helene's deteriorating health.

The publishers had already begun the process of production that was to bring to fulfilment Margaret's childhood dream. Mr Mark Armitage had arranged regular meetings to which he would bring along the designs for her book and its covers and spend time discussing the progress of what he called “my most favourite project.” Naturally, Margaret was exceedingly gratified, pleased with his diligence and the quality of the work.

***

As the reach of spring extended deeper into the valley of the Windrush, Daniel and Margaret spent more time at the cottage, enjoying the return of the birds and blossoms and attending to the maintenance of the cottage and its garden. Here, in the quiet tranquillity of the Cotswolds, they found their deepest levels of contentment together.

Walking in the woods among the great trees now clad in bright spring garb, many carrying scarves of fine green vines, their roots deep in the rich soil from which rose clumps of crisp white meadowsweet and blue geranium, Margaret could scarcely believe the change that the new season had wrought here. She would have wished, if Daniel would let her, to collect wildflowers until her arms were full and bring them into the house. But he would caution that they would only last a day or less, since their best would be past even before she got them home. “They are best left and loved in the woods, where they grow as they please. Pick the daisies or roses if you will; they are cultivated plants and their blooms will last longer indoors,” he counselled, and she, having once tested his thesis and found it to be sound, did as he advised. There were plenty of roses and daisies in the cottage garden at the front of the house and she loved to fill a vase or two and carry them into the parlour or her bedroom, where their scent would fill the room. Clearly, he enjoyed seeing her performing these little chores, for she often caught him watching her with a thoughtful smile.

Since the night of the storm, whenever they had been at the cottage she had slept in her bedroom, parting from him each night with such affection that concealed little of their feelings but allowed the lines of decorum to be drawn. Margaret had resolved that though she loved Daniel dearly, she would not sleep with him while his wife still lived, and he had accepted her unspoken decision without question. While they enjoyed the many pleasures of an affectionate and companionable relationship, neither moved to invoke the more passionate indulgence of feelings that lay beneath its surface.

Should situations arise that could have taken them down such a path, they were adroitly circumvented. Margaret was very clever at anticipating them and avoiding the consequences.

One such event took them completely unawares, when they were caught in a sudden shower while walking in the woods and she was drenched. Returning to the cottage, Margaret knew she should change out of her clothes immediately, else she would catch a chill. Practical as always, she used the laundry, adjacent to the kitchen, while he went to fetch towels and a robe from her room. When he returned he found her still struggling to get out of her long cotton petticoat, which, with the water, mud, and forest litter that adhered to it, was heavier and more unwieldy than when she had put it on.

Perhaps it was the exigency of the moment, but the swiftness of his response in helping her out of it and wrapping a large towel around her alleviated her embarrassment and allowed her to regain her composure. By the time she emerged, modestly robed, towelling her wet hair, he had lit the fire and made a pot of tea. She thanked him then and reached for her tea, grateful indeed for his sensibility.

A practical consequence of the incident followed that afternoon, when the sun came out and Margaret washed her muddied clothes and hung them out to dry. Daniel was standing in the garden, watching her, and she said very casually, “A thought occurred to me today, whilst I was in the laundry; why do I not take my bath in there every evening?” and when he looked surprised, she added, “It would mean that you do not have to carry hot water up to my room; I feel very guilty letting you do that. Using the laundry instead would make it so much simpler, would it not?”

Daniel seemed astonished; he had not known a woman who would choose to have a bath in a cold laundry instead of her own warm bedroom or dressing room. “Will you not be very cold?” he asked, and she smiled and said, “Not if I had plenty of hot water and nice warm towels.” He laughed then and said that would not pose a problem and added, “Perhaps we should convert the laundry into a proper bathroom, with a boiler for heating the water. That would keep the room warm, too. What do you think?” When she declared it an excellent scheme, he promised to start work on it directly. He would need to engage a tradesman for some of the work, he explained, but it seemed he was quite amenable to the idea.

***

It was not long after Easter, which they had spent at the cottage enjoying the bounty of spring, that the message came; it had been both expected and dreaded. Helène had died, peacefully, in her sleep. Daniel came to the house to tell Margaret he was leaving directly for France and would probably be away for some weeks. She had wept, and though he wanted very much to hold her and comfort her, and she would have wished to do likewise, neither seemed to know what to do, and in the end, he had left her, having held both her hands in his for a while and gently kissing her cheek.

Before leaving, he gave her a key to the cottage, saying she should feel free to use it while he was away, if she wished to be on her own. They had talked often of the need for her to find lodgings in the village so she could move out of her present accommodation when Claire and Mr Wilcox returned, but there being no urgency with the Wilcoxes away, Margaret had given the matter little serious thought.

Closing the door after him, she went to her room, lay on the bed, and wept inconsolably, unable to explain even to herself why the news they had both known was coming had hurt so deeply when it came. She had seen the agony in his eyes as he told her and knew that he had loved Helène and had suffered as she did, more especially because he could do nothing to help her. Margaret loved his honesty and longed for the time when she could ease his pain.

She awoke the following morning and, seeing her red eyes and pale face in the mirror, decided she could not possibly face the pupils and teachers at school. She sent a hurried note to her superior claiming she had just received information of a sudden illness in her family, dressed quickly, walked into town to catch the coach to Dorchester, and arrived at the parsonage in Delaford late that afternoon.

With Edward away on parish duties, Elinor was reading in the front room when she heard the hired pony cart stopping at the gate. Seeing Margaret alight, she knew right away that something was amiss and rushed out to meet her. The sisters embraced as Margaret wept, and they went quickly indoors. Elinor asked for tea to be brought upstairs as they repaired to the relative privacy of the spare room, which was always kept ready for Margaret.

Elinor did not need to ask; it was clear to her from Margaret's distress that Daniel's wife had died and he had gone to France—that much was obvious. However, since this tragic event had been long anticipated, ever since Daniel had returned from France, she wondered what could have precipitated such a fierce outpouring of grief. A woman of both sensibility and compassion, Elinor did not press her sister for an answer, waiting instead for Margaret to reveal it herself. And when it was told, it was not difficult to comprehend the source of her sorrow.

Through the last six weeks of spring, Margaret had let her mind slip out of its constant awareness of the perilous circumstances in which she and Daniel lived from day to day. It had not seemed right to spend each day contemplating, even anticipating, the death of an innocent if unfortunate young woman, who, through no fault of her own, had been destined never to enjoy the simple pleasures of a happy marriage with a loving husband and children. “Which is why I allowed myself to live each day as it dawned and go to bed each night giving thanks for the day,” she explained, “trying to ignore the melancholy circumstances of our lives, disregarding the fact that I knew the news would come one day and we would have to face it.”

Elinor tried to comfort her. “But, my dearest girl, you had both faced it already; Daniel in explaining it to you when he told you in Provence about Helène, and you when you told him you loved him and would stay with him; you both knew what was to come. Of course when it did happen, it was going to be a shock; but it is not something you were unprepared for.”

Margaret agreed that it was not; yet she could not bring herself to admit that as she had waited these months since he had returned from France, it had been always in the knowledge that no matter how deeply they loved one another, nothing could come of it until Helène was dead. “We never spoke of it, but we both knew it; each time we met, each time we confessed that we loved one another, we knew. The sadness was always there, even on the best days, and though I never met her, I knew he had loved her dearly and it was unbearable to contemplate her death,” she said, and the tears came again.

There was something Elinor needed to know, yet was reluctant to ask. It could account for the inordinate degree of grieving that was afflicting her sister. She feared that asking might distress or even anger her, yet decided she had to know. “Margaret, you may tell me to mind my own business and refuse to answer, but I recall you told me that Daniel had suffered much and needed comfort and that when he returned to England, you would go to him. Did you?”

Margaret did not resile from her words; she looked at Elinor directly and said, “He came to me; and yes, I did tell him I love him and would not leave him—he needed to know that. And, yes, before you ask, we have been to the cottage in the Cotswolds, which I love. But, if you mean have I made love with him, then the answer is no, I have not. I do not say that to pretend that I am some pure spiritual creature, who feels no passion, because I am not. I admit I have desired it, because I love him dearly, but I was not comfortable with it, while his wife lived. And, to be fair to Daniel, he has never attempted to draw me into such a situation, either. Indeed, he has been even more particular about it than I am.”