Expectations of Happiness (4 page)

“And yet you said nothing?” Edward could scarcely credit it.

She nodded. “Because nothing I said would have made a jot of difference to my mother, who saw Colonel Brandon as the only man who could save Marianne from wasting away. He had become her new hero; having had her favourite dethroned, she had placed Colonel Brandon on a pedestal as some kind of noble knight, who had remained in the background, loving Marianne throughout her affair with Willoughby, knowing all the time that he was not a man to be trusted, stepping in to rescue and preserve her at the end. Can you imagine how she would have welcomed any dissenting opinion from me? As for saying anything to Marianne, I did not dare. I, who had defended Colonel Brandon against criticism and ridicule from Marianne and Willoughby often enough, what would she say if I decided to caution her against accepting him too hastily? She could claim that she had come around to seeing in him the very things I had always valued. There was nothing I could do, save pray that it would work out well in the end,” she said.

“And you are not confident that it has?” her husband asked, and her answer astonished him.

“Sadly I am not; indeed I would go further—I fear that while in the most obvious sense, they may appear happily married, there are some things that have caused me much anxiety. They have no children, and I know that causes Marianne and my mother much pain; I can see it in my sister's eyes when our boys are around. She would have loved to have had children on whom to lavish the kind of warmth and affection she has so much of. What must make matters even worse is the fact that Colonel Brandon pays a great deal of attention to Eliza Williams's daughter, who is really Willoughby's illegitimate child. It is a further grievance that Marianne must carry. Can you not imagine how she must feel?”

Edward agreed that it was indeed a most unhappy situation, but pointed out quite reasonably that all these circumstances were known to her sister and their mother before Marianne accepted Colonel Brandon—with Mrs Dashwood's blessing. Elinor conceded that this was true, but contended that neither her mother nor Marianne had paid much attention to it at the time.

“The child had just been born, and Miss Williams, who Mrs Jennings had assured everybody was Colonel Brandon's natural daughter, was just a name. No one had met her—we knew nothing of her, nor did they expect to meet her in the future,” she explained.

“Apart from that obvious and continuing problem, are there other reasons that cause you to doubt your sister's contentment?” Edward asked, trying not to pry, yet wanting desperately to alleviate his wife's anguish. To his astonishment, she admitted that indeed there were.

“I do believe that Marianne is bored; she has little to do at the manor house, which is exceedingly well staffed and efficiently run; she does not become deeply involved in parish or council matters, preferring to leave those to the colonel, and in addition, he has, during the last two years, had to make several visits to his estates in Ireland, leaving her mostly alone. Marianne doesn't make friends easily; she is wary of people whom she doesn't know well, and since Margaret went away to study at the seminary in Oxford, she has not even the consolation of her company. Oh, Edward, forgive me, I should not burden you with what may seem like my silly fears, but I cannot help worrying, especially now that you say that Willoughby is back in Somerset and visiting relatives but a few miles from Delaford.”

He would not let her continue. “Elinor, dearest, of course these are not silly fears, I know you well enough to believe that they are legitimate concerns that trouble you and of course you must tell me about them; but you cannot be suggesting that there is any danger for Marianne from Willoughby? Was he not thoroughly exposed as a dissembler? Did not your sister and all her family and friends come to understand what a blackguard he was?”

Elinor nodded. “Oh yes, they did, and heaped a great deal of opprobrium upon him at first; but, as the months and years have passed, I have noticed that he has undergone a degree of gradual rehabilitation—certainly in my mother's eyes and perhaps in Marianne's as well, although she has not spoken of it to me, except just once or twice while she was still recovering from her illness. But I believe Marianne and my mother have come to blame Willoughby's domineering aunt Mrs Smith, who, by his account, was solely responsible for his betrayal of Marianne. He blamed his new, wealthy fiancée, Miss Grey, for his vile treatment of my sister when they met in town. I believe that Mama and Marianne wish to ignore that he knew all the time, while he was courting Marianne in Devonshire, that Mrs Smith would never countenance a match between them. As for his appalling behaviour towards Eliza Williams, it is as though they wish to turn a blind eye to it.”

Edward was shocked, not only because his own values were affronted by what he had heard, but because until today, Elinor had not spoken of her fears to him. He felt deeply for her, because clearly she had concealed her fears out of loyalty to her family.

However, the news he had brought of the arrival of Willoughby in the neighbouring county of Somerset, and his imminent visit to relatives near Delaford in Dorset, had brought all her anxieties to the surface.

Margaret Dashwood had lived most of her young life in the shadow of her two elder sisters, Elinor and Marianne.

A bright, articulate little girl with a degree of intellectual curiosity almost approaching precociousness, she had long been interested in study and travel. While the modest pecuniary circumstances of their family had seriously circumscribed her ability to follow her dreams of journeying to exotic places, she had succeeded in improving her mind and her knowledge by extensive reading over many years. She had also the example of her sisters, Elinor in particular, for whom learning had a very special value.

Following the marriages of her sisters, Margaret, dissatisfied with the type of education she could achieve at home, had begged to be allowed to attend what she called “a proper school with real teachers,” but in vain, until Elinor's husband, Edward Ferrars, became involved. Through the good offices of a friend at Oxford, he had obtained for Margaret a place as a scholar in a ladies' seminary situated just outside the university town. Edward had always appreciated young Margaret's intelligence, and she would be forever grateful to her brother-in-law for the opportunity that opened for her the doors to an entirely new life.

Margaret applied herself so assiduously to her studies and acquitted herself so well at the seminary that she soon caught the attention of the ladies who ran the establishment. They saw in her a potential teacher and sent her on a scholarship to a school in France to improve her knowledge of French language and literature. During her sojourn there, not only did Margaret improve her skill in the French language but she added to her list of friends a young woman named Claire Jones, some five years older than herself, of French and Welsh descent. Being a fluent French speaker, and a woman of some sophistication, Miss Jones was not only of considerable assistance to Margaret in learning the language and culture of France, but the two also became good companions as they studied and travelled together. Despite the difference in their backgrounds and upbringing—Miss Jones was considerably more worldly-wise than her young friend—they found they had many interests in common, and on returning to England, they shared accommodation in a small country cottage they leased, within walking distance from the seminary, where Margaret began her employment as a teacher, while Miss Jones obtained work reading proofs for an academic publisher in Oxford. It was a situation that suited both young women well, providing each with as much congenial company or solitude as they desired.

***

It was to the cottage and her friend Claire Jones that Margaret returned following her visit to Barton Park. Still feeling disconsolate that she had upset her sister Elinor by not attending Lady Middleton's funeral, nor providing her with a logical explanation for not doing so, Margaret found a sympathetic listener in Miss Jones, who had toasted muffins and a large pot of tea ready before the fire, when Margaret, having changed out of her travelling clothes, came downstairs.

“I can see that you are not happy, Margaret,” Claire began. “It cannot have been as bad as that. I had not thought that Lady Middleton was such a favourite of yours.”

The lightness of her tone implied that she did not expect to be taken seriously, which was probably why Margaret was at first reluctant to reveal the reason for her discomposure. She tried at first to respond lightly, denying that she would miss Lady Middleton at all, although she had the grace to add, “No doubt her children will miss her; she was devoted to them and inclined to spoil them. As for Sir John, he certainly seemed very shocked by her sudden demise, but I doubt that his grief will last beyond the next shooting season. I gathered that his stewards were already planning for their next shoot.”

Claire smiled and nodded. “And yet I see you looking particularly downcast; was the funeral a dreary one? Country parsons have a reputation for droning on…”

Margaret interrupted her to say briefly, “I did not attend the funeral, Claire; I never intended to. I went to Barton Park to please my mother and sister and to demonstrate my gratitude for the hospitality Sir John had extended to us when Papa died and Fanny took over Norland Park, leaving us practically homeless. But I did not wish to attend the funeral.”

“Why ever not?” asked Claire, puzzled at this admission; her friend had said not a word of this before departing for Dorsetshire.

Margaret accepted a cup of tea and a muffin and settled herself into a corner of the deep sofa, tucking her bare feet under her skirts, before saying quietly, “There was someone I did not wish to meet, who was certain to be there. I decided, well before I reached Barton Park, that I would not attend the funeral; it would be simpler than trying to avoid him amidst all the relatives and friends.”

Her friend's curiosity knew no bounds. There was no way in which Margaret, having tossed in such a lure, could avoid further explanation. Claire insisted, and as she pressed and persuaded, the story had to be told.

As Margaret told it, she made light of the circumstances, trying not to add more gravity to the tale than it deserved, but Claire was not fooled. Determined to discover what had so troubled her friend that she, having travelled to Dorset, had merely called on the family at Barton Park and left the following day in order to avoid a meeting with someone, Claire would not be denied. And Margaret soon realised that she could not avoid providing an explanation for her unusual behaviour.

Which is how the story came to be told of a gentleman named Andrew Barton, a cousin of Sir John Middleton, whom she had met at the London residence of the Middletons two years ago. The second son of a titled family, with an income of over five thousand a year and houses in both London and Bath, he had been touted as an eminently eligible suitor for her, promoted as such by both Sir John and his indomitable mother-in-law, Mrs Jennings.

Claire was smiling as she listened. “But you did not agree?” she queried, and was unsurprised when Margaret replied, “I most certainly did not.”

“Why? Was he plain? Were his manners revolting?” her friend joked.

“Neither was the case—he is reasonably good-looking, and his manners are impeccable, if you like that sort of thing, although I admit I find all that bowing and scraping irritating. But, Claire, I have absolutely no interest in marrying anyone like him—indeed I have no interest in marrying anyone at this time. I have far too much to do before I settle into dull domesticity—if I ever do. Doubtless he would expect any wife of his to set up house in one of his elegant residences and play the lady of leisure—hostessing coffee parties and soirees and things. Can you imagine me in that role?”

Claire laughed merrily. “I confess I cannot. Has Mr Andrew Barton addressed himself to you—I mean, has he proposed?”

“He has not, thank goodness; although I did fear on one occasion, when we were dancing together in London, that he was about to do so. Thereafter, when I have met him at Barton Park, I have made every effort to avoid giving him any encouragement. I do not intend to give him the opportunity to propose or do anything of the sort, because there would be a big to-do if he were to speak to my mother and get her blessing as well. I know that Sir John has suggested that he should speak to Mama—he thinks she likes him. I begged him last summer to desist, but neither he nor Mrs Jennings have any idea how I feel; they think I am being silly—passing up such a chance to be so advantageously married! Besides, I have another objection to him, which I think you should hear,” she declared and, as her friend looked all agog for a new revelation, Margaret added, “Mr Barton is a most devoted follower of the Prince of Wales.”

At that Claire burst into laughter and clapped her hands. “Oh, my dear friend, now
that
I cannot forgive. He may or may not be plain or handsome, stylish or simple, rich or poor—none of these things would rule him out in my eyes—but a devout follower of the Prince of Wales! I sympathise with you completely; nothing can be so totally objectionable in a prospective suitor as being a supporter of the Regent!”

Margaret put down her cup, snuggled into the cushions, and heaved a sigh of relief. “Thank you, Claire, I knew you would understand. I just could not explain to Elinor and Edward, or to my mother—they simply would not see it as you do, although I will admit that Edward is frequently critical of the Regent and his courtiers. But I cannot see that having any influence upon Mama and Sir John and Mrs Jennings, who will probably point out that Andrew Barton is nothing like the Regent and he is Sir John's cousin!”

Despite the levity in her tone, Margaret was being completely serious; she, like many other men and women of intelligence, had long formed an adverse opinion about the Prince of Wales. It was based mainly upon the accounts of extravagance and riotous behaviour at court since his appointment in the year 1811 as Regent of Britain to rule the kingdom in place of his deranged, though much loved father, George the Third.

The Prince Regent—though educated in the classics, well versed in the arts, and a keen sportsman—appeared not to have any notion of the living conditions of the majority of his subjects. Their trials and tribulations seemed not to concern him, and he was frequently astonished when they complained at the profligate waste of public money that went to accommodate the style and taste of the prince and his courtiers.

In addition, the Regent and his merry men were equally renowned for their cavalier disregard for decorum in their private lives; the prince made no secret that he detested his wife—the rather plain and unloved Princess Caroline of Brunswick—from whom he separated, having formed an attachment to a certain Mrs Fitzherbert. Their quite open liaison continued for many years, setting the worst possible example to others in court circles and causing a great scandal among the populace to which the prince seemed completely immune.

Claire Jones, who had spent the first part of the Regency in France, had only heard accounts of these happenings until her return to England, when she, having spent some time in London, was soon exposed to the very worst excesses of the Regency Court.

With the end of the Napoleonic wars, the Regent felt free to indulge in even greater levels of extravagance, with triumphal declarations and self-congratulatory celebrations, spending even more of the nation's wealth and squandering what was left of his own goodwill.

It had been a wonderfully fruitful period for satirists, but they needed to be careful, for it was still a time when one could be jailed for sedition. Claire and Margaret had met again in London, where the Dashwoods had been invited to spend Christmas with the Middletons, and the two friends had spent much of that season together before repairing to their haven of peace and common sense in Oxfordshire. They had shared a mutual disdain for the behaviour of the Regency Court, and despite the best efforts of the Middletons, who had several useful social contacts to whom they offered to introduce them, the young ladies had preferred to leave London and return to the country.

Mrs Jennings, in particular, had bemoaned the fact that young women these days had no notion of how best to advance their prospects of getting a good husband. “Two pretty girls, turning their backs on London and returning to the wilds of Oxfordshire! If they had stayed with me, I'd have had them both engaged before the end of the season,” she had boasted. Claire was entirely in sympathy with Margaret's reservations about Mr Andrew Barton, as she explained, “I had no wish to give him any encouragement at all, which is why I had to leave before the funeral, and of course, I upset everyone—except Sir John, bless him!”

Claire was still not entirely convinced that such drastic action had been necessary. “Do you believe he would have approached you at the funeral? Would he not have thought it indelicate?” she asked.

“Not if Sir John had already suggested that he speak with Mama. I could not risk it; I decided to absent myself and thwart their plans. After all, if I wasn't there, he could hardly make the offer to my mother!”

“Hardly,” Claire retorted, and both young women laughed as Margaret, feeling somewhat happier than she had done an hour or two ago, relaxed and proceeded to tell her friend of other, pleasanter plans she was making for their next vacation.

“I do believe it would be nice to travel to the south of France this autumn—do you not agree?” she suggested, and found her friend in complete agreement.

Having grown up mainly in France with her mother, Claire was accustomed to a far freer culture, with less intrusive social scrutiny than existed in rural English communities, of which she complained constantly.

“Oh yes indeed, I should enjoy that very much. My friend Mr Wilcox visits the south of France often and claims it is a paradise on earth. Not only is it beautiful in scenic terms, there is so much to see and experience, and one can do it with the greatest ease, since one is not harried by nosey, gossiping women at every turn, as we are here. The French really do mind their own business,” she said and smiling, added “I think, my dear Margaret, the south of France in autumn will be the very thing after a long English summer.”

Margaret was pleased; “I had hoped you would say that. I have read about these places and always longed to visit them. I am sure we will not be disappointed,” she said and soon they were drawn into discussions of places to stay and sites to visit, which kept them agreeably occupied all evening.