The sun climbed higher in the sky, the servants carried out their morning’s work, and Caroline Bingley sat up in bed to think and be miserable. She had visited Miss Darcy the day Charles had left for his short stay in the country. When she arrived, she had been greeted with the smiling faces of two of Miss Darcy’s cousins, one of whom was female. Georgiana had introduced her to Miss Anne de Bourgh, daughter of Lady Catherine de Bourgh. Colonel Fitzwilliam she had met before.
What first struck her was the fact that Mr. Darcy’s mood had been as carefree as Charles’s had been sober. And she, who was used to dominating drawing room conversation, could hardly get a word in. Colonel Fitzwilliam had tried to include her as much as possible, but before long Mr. Darcy or Miss de Bourgh would mention something related to their shared history that Miss Bingley could not appreciate.
When she was able to speak with Miss Darcy a little apart from the others, the young girl told her more about Miss de Bourgh, including a hint at Lady Catherine’s longstanding expectations for uniting Pemberley and Rosings. Miss Bingley had heard it before but had never taken it seriously, as it was rumoured that the young lady in question was too sickly to be considered a suitable bride for anyone. However, her own observation of Miss de Bourgh gave her no comfort. A desperate curiosity overcame her sense of propriety and she plied Georgiana with indelicate questions. The girl seemed hesitant but answered them all. The result was that Miss Bingley came away wondering that she had ever considered poor, impertinent Elizabeth Bennet competition when Mr. Darcy obviously got on well with his elegant cousin who had a fortune of forty thousand pounds to her name, impeccable connections and one of the grandest homes in Kent.
Today she had awakened early enough to hear the last of the commotion as her brother prepared to journey again to the country. As promised, Charles had returned within the week, though apparently there was more to be done at Netherfield. He was leaving again for Hertfordshire this very morning and had not said how long he would be away this time. At least he had not required her presence there. She would rather brave the London heat all summer long than play hostess to that barbarous society.
Charles had taken his leave of her the previous evening knowing she was unlikely to come down to breakfast before he departed. Caroline wished she had got the chance to talk to him about what was troubling her, but he had been so busy these last few days, running off to Mr. Darcy’s house each morning and not returning until very late. She wanted his opinion on whether Mr. Darcy had taken his aunt’s wishes regarding marriage to heart. It certainly seemed so. It was a wretched business, indeed. Such a blow! The image of Mr. Darcy, smiling and laughing as she had never before witnessed, had not left her. Just now it gave her an uneasy feeling in the pit of her stomach. Breakfast would have to wait. She moaned and pulled the covers over her head.
As his carriage stopped in front of an unpretentious home in Gracechurch Street, Fitzwilliam Darcy thought back to the first time he had seen the place. Not during one of the four calls he and Bingley hade made over the last several days, but on that lonely January afternoon when he had given in to curiosity and discovered exactly where Elizabeth Bennet’s unfortunate relations lived. Some days before, Miss Bingley had shown him one of Jane Bennet’s letters. He had denied any wish to read it but had seen the direction and committed it to memory before handing the letter back to her. His mind had been in turmoil knowing that the disturber of Bingley’s brain was so near. Between his concern for his friend and his own inability to regulate his thoughts of Miss Bennet’s sister, he had not breathed a word to Bingley of Jane Bennet’s presence in town. He had found it impossible to forget, however, and in a desperate effort to banish Elizabeth from his mind he had ridden out to look at the place himself. After observing it for ten minutes from a reasonable distance away, he was convinced that he had done the right thing. He had had no wish for any familial connections in this part of town.
That was then. Now he felt only anticipation as he approached the house. Mr. Gardiner, aside from being handsome and gregarious, reminded him very little of Mrs. Bennet. Mrs. Gardiner was equally a surprise: young, elegant, more like an elder sister than a matron aunt to her nieces. Her fondness of Derbyshire only added to his delight in her acquaintance. He and Bingley smiled at each other as he rapped on the door.
After greetings and inquiries as to the details of the journey, the party soon settled into the habitual groupings that had been formed shortly after the gentlemen’s first visit: Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner and Miss Lucas, and sometimes one or more of the children; Bingley and Jane speaking to each other almost exclusively; and Darcy and Elizabeth, talking a little with the Gardiners and Maria or with one another, and happily observing the positive changes in friend and sister.
One by one, the members of the household recalled little tasks and errands that had to be completed before the journey could begin. Mr. Gardiner went to the study to prepare for his workday; he was to leave for the warehouse directly after his nieces’ departure. Mrs. Gardiner went to the kitchen to see about providing refreshments to send with the girls. Bingley offered to escort Miss Bennet and the children for a final turn around the gardens. Maria decided to join them.
Elizabeth lingered inside, not wanting to be too far from Darcy, who was taking a closer look at some paintings that had attracted his attention earlier. He was standing before the likeness of a young woman who reminded him very much of his hostess. “That is Mrs. Dalton when she was still Miss Wainwright, I believe. My aunt’s sister,” Elizabeth explained as she sidled up to him. “Aunt Gardiner used to be quite the artist. Since the birth of her eldest child, however, she has spent very little time on her old hobby.”
“This is Mrs. Gardiner’s handiwork?”
“Yes.”
“She is very good.”
“Yes.” She was not used to being at a loss for words. More and more she found herself in that situation whenever she was in close proximity to Darcy. It was as if she needed to resume an interrupted conversation and did not know how to go about it. She longed to feel the closeness she had felt that day in Hunsford, but that would hardly be appropriate in company. The few times they had been alone together, he had not tried anything too daring, as much as she wished he would. At first she wondered whether he had changed his mind about pursuing her. Then he would look at her with that same passion in his eyes, or hold her hand a little too long at parting, or smilingly make a subtle reference to that magical day, something only she would understand and savour like a rare treat.
If they could not touch then at least they could talk, provided she could find a proper subject. Finally she recalled the portrait gallery at his house. She had seen it when the whole party took tea there on the previous day and stayed for supper as well. The experience had been delightful. Mr. Darcy had given her every personal attention while remaining within the bounds of propriety. He had made an effort to speak a little more with Jane than was his habit and had forwarded conversation between her and Mr. Bingley. In addition he had lost none of his civility towards her aunt and uncle, whose intelligent discourse and elegant manners he had appreciated from his first meeting with them a few days earlier.
In his own home, Darcy was at ease in a way Elizabeth had never before observed him to be. He was a solicitous host. He spoke kindly to his servants. He introduced her to his sister, a shy but friendly girl who showed no romantic inclination whatsoever towards Mr. Bingley (thereby securing both Elizabeth’s and Jane’s approbation). Darcy’s affection for the young girl was as warm as could be. Even his cousin Miss de Bourgh seemed to flourish in his presence.
Miss de Bourgh’s company had been a surprise. Apparently she was not always so quiet and reserved when away from Rosings. Elizabeth was amused to hear that lady’s plans for changing her mother’s mind about her tacit engagement to her cousin. In her letters to Lady Catherine, she had begun to drop hints that while she was very satisfied with Georgiana’s company, her newfound intimacy with Darcy’s ways led her to believe that he would not be the ideal husband for her. While Anne had slyly winked at Elizabeth, causing her to blush furiously, Darcy had laughed and charged his cousin not to ruin his reputation too grievously.
Elizabeth hoped Lady Catherine would take heed for more than Anne’s sake. She was drawn to Darcy more than she liked, though she no longer objected at all to the man who pulled at her heart. It was the pull itself that concerned her. She was not used to needing someone in this way. Was this same need that Darcy had felt when he had met her so often in the groves at Rosings? Was it what had driven him to propose before making certain of her feelings, before fully reconciling himself to his own?
There was substance to his admiration, he had told her as much, and she knew that there was rationality as well as romance in her quickly deepening feelings for him, which boded well for their future. Just the same, affection must have a beginning, and here she feared her suitor had pressed forward under the more noble motivation. Although Elizabeth might say to anyone who dared inquire that she had first come to admire Darcy for his handsome features, excellent character or clever mind, or any of half a dozen valid reasons that would satisfy even had his ten thousand a year been only eight hundred, in her heart she could not deny the true inspiration for her burgeoning love. It was no loftier and of no greater complexity than this: in finding her irresistible, Darcy had become so himself.
“There are far fewer objects to admire here than in your own collection,” she said, bringing her thoughts back to the matter at hand. “Yours is an impressive one.” The walls of Longbourn reflected her mother’s personal tastes; there were no fine specimens to show off to the neighbours, and there were very few portraits at all.
“Thank you.” He thought it strange to accept a compliment from her for something with which he had had so little to do.
“Yet it is not quite perfect,” she ventured to add. “It has no representatives from the current generation, as I recall.” She said this while looking up at Darcy’s profile and imagining how stately his likeness might appear on canvas. “Are all the portraits of Miss Darcy and yourself hidden away at Pemberley?”
“I suppose they are.”
“And do you have plans to bring any of them to town, or to commission one specifically for the house here? Whatever will your children say years from now when they find no likeness of their father on those walls?” She wondered what it must be like to see all those obscure family members looking down on you. At least a mother’s or father’s picture would be reassuring.
“My children?” What made her think of such a thing, he wondered. “They may have very little to say about it. When I was a lad myself, I believe I rarely looked at the portraits, though I do recall running from one end of the gallery to the other as many times as I could without being caught.”
“Oh, my!” She giggled. “You could not have been worse than I.” A picture formed in her mind and she laughed heartily. “What a sight that would be!” She was talking more to herself than to him. “I can see it now – little Fitzwilliam, with his father’s glorious hair and long legs and his mother’s penchant for mischief, chasing his sisters through the gallery and down that grand staircase – or even sliding down the banister! As a girl,” she elucidated, “I chased Mary and Kitty through the halls of Longbourn so frequently in the winter months that Mama was relieved when spring came and she hurried me out of doors at the earliest opportunity.” Her voice faded and her eyes widened as she realised what she had just implied.
“What was it you were saying about my hair, Lizzy?”
Elizabeth was too astonished to respond. It did not help matters that Darcy, with his knowing look, was in the process of pinning her against the wall and pressing his lips to hers in a rather delightful fashion. Since her mouth was otherwise occupied, she answered his question by running her fingers appreciatively through his thick locks.
He pulled back just enough to get a fuller view of her face. He hoped he would see affection written there and he was not disappointed. Her eyes were overflowing with it. Her lips were still parted. She had not offered the slightest resistance to his advances. He kissed the tip of her nose. “Are you truly mine, Love?”
“Of course I am. What choice did you leave me?” She was breathing rapidly. “It appears I am trapped.”
He released her immediately. “I would not wish you to think so.” He feared he had been too bold.
Elizabeth would have none of it. “Let me tell you what I think.” She pulled his face slowly back to hers until they were so close that Darcy could no longer restrain himself. His lips met hers for a moment and then trailed down to her neck and back towards her ear.
“Do you know how much I wanted to do this at the Parsonage that day?”
“I wish you had,” she said, breathing in his scent.
“Did you care for me then? Enough for this?” He nipped at her earlobe.
“I had made a beginning, I believe.”
“And now?” He lifted his head to look at her.
She slowly grinned. “And now, as you see, I have progressed from accusing you of all manner of evil to entertaining thoughts of our children and behaving scandalously in my aunt’s home. Does that not signify some little attachment?”
He hugged her to himself, pressing their cheeks together. “By the way, Lizzy, how soon would you like to…begin working on ‘little Fitzwilliam'? We have,” and he pulled out his pocket watch to look at it, “above twenty minutes until we are to leave for Hertfordshire.” He raised an eyebrow in question and his smile would have rivalled Wickham’s most charming one.
“You rogue!” Elizabeth said and tapped him playfully on the arm. “You are a mischief maker, are you not?” She tried not to look too shocked but was unsuccessful. “I am afraid that is still several weeks away, after the wedding, of course.” She blushed, hardly believing she had spoken of such an intimate thing aloud.
Darcy laughed at his ability to disconcert her with his teasing. “Then I shall have to be content with those delights which are presently within reach,” he replied, stroking her cheek. He kissed her tenderly at first, then more deeply until they both were lost to everything around them.
When Mr. Bingley returned to the Gardiners’ drawing room, he found Darcy and Jane’s sister in a most passionate embrace. He cleared his throat a few times before they even looked up. Miss Elizabeth, to her credit, appeared exceedingly embarrassed. Darcy, however, merely said, “Leave us,” and waved the man away before rejoining his mouth with Elizabeth’s.
Bingley did not have to be asked twice to allow them privacy. He was too sympathetic to their cause and far less shocked than envious. Why was Darcy always one step ahead of him? He was quickly mollified by the realisation that thanks to that same man’s good information, he would have similar opportunities once they all arrived in Hertfordshire. He imagined pleasant walks around Longbourn and Netherfield Park with his sweet Jane. The thought made him smile, and out of charity to his friend he greeted Mrs. Gardiner perhaps a little more loudly than necessary when she approached the room to see how her guests were faring.
As the time for departure drew near and the others trickled into the drawing room, Bingley was unusually silent. He wondered whether he could arrange some time alone with Jane as early as this afternoon. She already had invited both him and Darcy to Longbourn for the evening meal, and it would be marvellous to be able to request Mr. Bennet’s consent as early as tonight! Provided Jane said yes, of course.
Jane was bolder than he had remembered. Days before, when they met for the first time since the twenty-sixth of November and he awkwardly explained his lengthy absence from Hertfordshire and previous ignorance of her presence in town, she did not seem surprised at all. Instead of questioning him about that, she inquired about his plans for Netherfield. He was relieved to tell her of his talk with her father and his hopes for the coming months. She seemed pleased and interested and even asked whether he was determined to settle in Hertfordshire or if he would be amenable to purchasing in another county. She had initiated conversation with him often over the last several days and actually teased him minutes ago as they walked in the garden.
Was it possible Jane felt, as he did, that too much time had been wasted as it was? Whatever the cause, he appreciated both her forgiveness and her forwardness, if it could be called that. He determined that he would walk out with her before sunset tonight or the following day at the latest, preferably in the company of Miss Elizabeth and Darcy, who, in spite of their glaring need for it, from the look of things were unlikely to be too particular about chaperonage.
Bingley was able to talk to Jane sooner than he expected. The travellers stopped at an inn about halfway to Meryton. After some hours of riding, everyone was ready to disembark, or dismount, and walk a little. Elizabeth and Maria had just been discussing Charlotte’s gardens and continued to do so as Mr. Darcy handed them out of the carriage. Bingley took the opportunity to hand Jane out himself and he directed her to a path around the side of the inn.
He escorted her in silence. As they walked, he thought over their acquaintance. He recalled how he had been planning to propose to her in November and regretted the weakness that allowed him to bow to persuasion and to plunge both Jane and himself into acute misery. The more he dwelt on it, the more his confidence waned. At length they reached a spot not easily seen from the inn’s windows or the main road and he turned to her, clearly agitated. “Miss Bennet, I…I know not how to say this, how I dare ask…after what I have done I have no right…”
“Yes.”
His eyes narrowed. “Pardon?”
Jane blushed but she did not look down. “Yes. My answer is ‘yes.’ Is that wrong?” Charles was so obvious. Had he always been this easy to understand? How had she managed to convince herself that he had not truly cared for her?
“No, not at all. That is wonderful! But I have yet to ask the question.”
“Is it an important question?”
“Very much so.”
“A particular question that a man asks a woman? A woman of whom he is very fond, nay, more than fond?”
“Yes, actually, it is. How did you…”
“Because I am more than fond of you,” Jane said before she lost her courage, “and if women asked such questions of men, and if I had anything to offer you at all, I would ask it myself.” She would not lose him again. Some people might call her a fool for making it so easy for Charles, and she would have to agree, but she did not care. More than five months had been insufficient to put him out of her head – five agonising months.
“If you had anything to offer? How can you say such—” He stopped as he comprehended what she had said. “Jane?” Bingley was incredulous. “You are quite serious?”
“Of course!” She hoped he would not delay much longer. Someone might happen upon them before it was all settled.
“Then you love me as I love you? You will marry me?” This was not quite how Bingley had envisioned it.
“I already gave you my answer,” she said without hesitation.
“Give it to me again.” He broke into a smile.
“Yes! I love you and I will marry you, Charles.”
He took both of her hands in his and kissed them the moment she finished saying his name. Tears pooled in Jane's eyes and then slid down her cheeks. Bingley noticed immediately and dried them with his handkerchief. “I will never forget what you have done for me today, Jane,” he said with uncharacteristic solemnity. “You have given me your pledge when I know I have done nothing to gain your trust.”
“But you already have it.”
“It is generous of you to grant me what I have not earned. No, it needs to be said,” he told her, not allowing her to interrupt. “By rights you should have refused me. Of course that presupposes that I actually asked for your hand, which I was attempting, most pitifully, to do when you rescued me in the sweetest manner possible! But I am well aware that my actions have given you good reason to doubt me. You must know that I will make it my aim to prove myself worthy of your faith in me.”
“Oh, Charles...” She was too affected to say more. The tears flowed freely and Bingley handed her the handkerchief.
“I love you, Jane.” His tone was resolute. “I hope I never again give you cause to question that.” He briefly kissed her lips and then drew her closer, pressing her to himself and tucking her head beneath his chin. They embraced until a sound caused them both to start and step back a little.
“Maria would have come in search of the two of you, but I thought it might be better if she remained inside.” Elizabeth said as she came into view. She was elated to see her sister smiling and standing so near to Mr. Bingley. Perhaps something of import had occurred.
“Ah, Miss Elizabeth,” Bingley greeted her. “I see it is my turn now to be caught.”
Jane noticed her sister blush and turn away and wondered what she had missed that Charles had not, but she was too swept up in her own happiness to inquire. The trio walked to the inn’s entrance without further delay.
Mr. Elton sat in his study until very late on the twenty-fourth of December, wondering how so much had gone wrong since his return from London.
He had delivered the framed portrait of Miss Smith within an hour of arriving in Highbury. He had hoped his fortuitous meeting with Perry would result in his pretty compliments making their way back to Hartfield. Perry was not one to hold his tongue, and Mr. Elton had left just enough mystery surrounding the errand to ensure that the good doctor would spread the word in hopes of being further enlightened.
When he had reached Hartfield, he was able to speak with Miss Woodhouse alone. Miss Smith, lately as ubiquitous as a shadow, had been absent for once. Not one to waste an opportunity, Mr. Elton had repeated several of his earlier compliments about Miss Woodhouse’s artistry and slyly added one or two about her person.
The lady’s reaction was not what he had hoped. She seemed shocked at first. Then she thanked him without gushing and denied any claim to superior talent. She was a smooth one, Emma Woodhouse was; no sighs and simpering for her, no false modesty or coy smiles. The only embarrassment he had detected was when she asked him, rather hesitantly, if he had heard about Miss Smith’s engagement. He had not. She informed him of the general details, after which he expressed his good wishes for the couple. He refrained from saying much beyond his expectation of Miss Woodhouse’s pleasure that her friend had made such a good match considering her situation in life. He got the distinct impression that his answer was not at all what she had expected it to be, although he had no idea why. If there had been any reason to think so, he would have said she was offended. Mr. Woodhouse’s entrance soon ended their unsatisfactory tête-à-tête.
Mr. Elton then looked for another opportunity to advance his cause and thought he had found it in this evening’s party at Randalls. He finagled an invitation to dinner from Mr. Weston, not a difficult feat as Weston was a man quite willing to test the capacity of his dinner table for the sake of plentiful company. He was positively jubilant when, during a chance meeting this very morning, Mr. John Knightley gallantly offered to collect him in his carriage.
The evening had begun so well, for he had sat across from Miss Woodhouse on the ride to Randalls, chaperoned by her brother-in-law as was only proper. But later, inside the Westons’ home, he had tried without success to engage her in conversation for more than a few seconds at a time. She seemed to pull others into their discourse at the oddest moments. He had attempted to hide his frustration but feared he had been more transparent than was prudent. Must have been the wine, he thought. The fact that he was prepared to tender a marriage proposal that very evening might have had something to do with his heightened sensibilities as well.
He groaned to think of the proposal that never was. After the snow began to fall and Mr. Woodhouse grew anxious to leave, the party broke up and the carriages were called. He rejoiced to see Mr. John Knightley forget their earlier arrangement and enter the first carriage along with Mrs. Knightley and Mr. Woodhouse. He would have the perfect moment! Then, horror of horrors, the other Knightley climbed into the coach and sat down next to him, stating that he would assume the duty his brother had neglected, that of escorting Emma home.
Mr. Elton knew not what to do. Miss Woodhouse looked perfectly content with the arrangement. He knew he would not recommend himself to her by sulking or by risking a delay in their journey while trying to convince Mr. Knightley to leave them. The situation was insupportable, but he could think of no remedy. He barely heard any of the companionable conversation between the other two and was surprised to find himself in Vicarage Lane in very good time.
Now he sat alone, cold and confused. As he thought back over the evening it occurred to him that Miss Woodhouse had not sought him out once. In fact, she had actively discouraged any private conversation between them. Then she had looked pleased – or was it relieved? – when Mr. Knightley entered the carriage. The seeming futility of his ambitions confounded him.
Perhaps it was time to move on. There was always Bath. His friends there had been asking him to visit for months, and only his courtship of Miss Woodhouse had kept him from accepting their offer of hospitality. Now he had every reason to go. He would plan to join them as soon as the weather improved.
Chapter Ten
"I am going to marry him, Papa. And, please, this time do not tell me you will never see me again if I do!"
Mr. Bennet looked up over the rim of his spectacles at his second eldest and favourite child. He had summoned her to the library after a revealing half hour's conversation with Mr. Darcy. Lizzy's resolve and her repetition of his words on the occasion of Mr. Collins's ill-fated proposal amused him exceedingly. He was glad he had spent much of the day entertaining the idea that she might be leaving Longbourn rather soon, and he was gladder still to find Darcy worthy of her affections. Otherwise he might be more inclined to cry than laugh at this singular spectacle of a lovesick daughter.
"Lizzy, I know all too well how stubborn you can be when you have set your mind on something, so I shall not attempt to sway you. Besides, this gentleman of yours is a quiet, sensible sort. I believe I shall seat him next to me at supper. His sane conversation will no doubt provide welcome relief from your mother's inevitable effusions regarding fine carriages and pin-money." He laughed. "Two daughters spoken for in a single evening! However will her nerves bear the strain? If any young men come tonight for Mary, Kitty or Lydia, they simply will have to return in the morning."
He wondered if Darcy or Lizzy had heard a word he had said, so distracted by one another they appeared to be.
"Well, off with you. Go, go." He shooed them out and got up to follow. "Let us tell everyone the news." As he closed the door on his library it suddenly struck him that, with a few twists and turns and an auspicious change of groom, his wife's pronouncements on the night of the Netherfield Ball regarding the marriages of her two eldest daughters were coming to pass. Was he now forced to revere Mrs. Bennet as a veritable fount of wisdom and insight? He shook his head as if to clear away the errant notion. Perish the thought.
George Wickham had made several friends during his six months in Meryton. Whether they would still consider themselves as such by the time the militia left for Brighton was less certain. It did not help matters that Darcy had returned to Netherfield. When Darcy ran off to London in November, Wickham lost no time spreading his tale of woe all over the small market town. No one was able to refute it then. Now he wondered if anyone would have the daring to approach Darcy for an explanation and whether he would bother to correct their misconceptions. Wickham had the sympathy of some for his loss of Miss King's favour, but he suspected that just as many people were suspicious of his motives now and viewed him as a fortune hunter. Some word of his gambling debts had gotten out, and the local merchants, weary of granting credit to the handsome young soldier, no longer smiled at him when he entered their shops.
Inexplicably, Darcy seemed to be a great favourite with the Bennets. That hurt a bit; he himself had been as welcome at Longbourn as anywhere in the neighbourhood. At least the two youngest girls were unlikely to defect. He would have their undying admiration. Unfortunately that was all he would have, for he noticed that Mr. Bennet had begun to keep a closer eye on them.
Soon none of it would matter. He would be in Brighton, debts and failed courtships behind him. They could declare Darcy the darling of Meryton for all he cared, as long as he would not be there to see it.
Wickham was tempted to take one final swipe at his godfather's heir during the militia's last full day in Hertfordshire. Colonel Forster and some of his officers were invited to Longbourn for dinner and stayed until evening. Both Bingley and Darcy were in attendance as well. Wickham's goal was to show Darcy that his future wife had been susceptible to his charms before and would be again if only he deigned to renew his attentions. He considered it a fitting wedding gift for the man who had snatched Georgiana from his grasp almost a year ago.
He walked up to Miss Elizabeth as soon as she was alone and greeted her in his gallant way. "It has been lovely to see you home again, and I am sorry we are to part once more. Be assured you will be missed."
"I thank you," was the reply. She did not return the compliment and say that he would be missed when the regiment left them.
"I do not believe we have spoken to one another since I heard that you are to be married. May I offer you my most sincere congratulations?"
"Thank you again, Mr. Wickham. You may indeed." She thought that any good wishes he offered were hardly sincere. "The information you imparted to me many months ago at my Aunt Philips's home and repeated on several occasions since - you recall it, do you not? Concerning Mr. Darcy and his sister?" She watched him nod warily. "You will be pleased to know that it has been of the greatest use to me."
"I am happy to hear it," he said cautiously. Perhaps she still believed him and would plague her future husband.
"I have not forgotten it after all this time. Indeed I could not." Her forced smile was nevertheless sweet. "For it has taught me that, contrary to my previous opinion, first impressions can be entirely without merit."
Wickham paled at this and stood speechless for a moment before bowing and walking away.
Two others in the room were watching this exchange with interest. Mr. Bennet was ready to move forward at the first sign of distress, but he soon saw that Lizzy had matters well in hand. Darcy was fuming until he saw her cheeks redden with barely controlled anger while Wickham's face grew white. He wondered what she had said to discompose the man so easily but was glad his intervention did not seem to be required.
Mr. Bennet moved to Darcy's side. "I see all is as it should be," he said, nodding in Lizzy's general direction. "You would think she has no need for fellows like us, eh?" He had come to a much better understanding of Lizzy's future husband over the last fortnight.
Darcy looked fondly at the man who was to be his father-in-law in a matter of weeks. "I am not so sure about that, Sir. We will depend upon your visiting us frequently, I think. Elizabeth may say she loves me now, but perhaps she will change her mind when she discovers exactly how far away from Longbourn and her father's library Pemberley is."
Mr. Bennet laughed and patted Darcy's back. "I hope you will not regret your offer when you see how readily I avail myself of it." The two were soon joined by Elizabeth, who immediately asked what had amused them so.
Emma generally took great pleasure in the company of the Westons, but on the evening before Christmas she heartily wished she had remained at home. Having departed Randalls and having stopped briefly to deposit Mr. Elton at the Vicarage, Emma was relieved to be safe at Hartfield again. Mr. Knightley handed her down, and she was preparing to send the carriage on to Abbey Mill Farm for Harriet, who had spent the evening there, when she heard Mr. Knightley greeting someone and found herself face to face with Robert Martin.
"Mr. Martin! Why, good evening!" She was glad that any redness in her cheeks likely would be attributed to the cold. Why were all her recent blunders converging upon her this night? "What brings you to Hartfield just now, and in this weather? Is Harriet well?"
"Good evening, Miss Woodhouse. I wish I could say Miss Smith is well. I have come to fetch some clothes for her. I see the snow here is about the same as at home, nothing to signify. That is, it would be of no importance at all, but just this afternoon Miss Smith complained of a sore throat and it has since grown worse. My family and I hesitate to expose her to the snow for the sake of travelling even this short distance." He looked at her earnestly. "I do not like to upset your plans, Miss Woodhouse, especially at this time of year, but I much prefer, and my mother insists, that Miss Smith should stay with us until she recovers."
"Oh, no, that is no trouble at all, and quite the sensible thing to do. I shall miss Harriet, of course, but I dare say she will not be disappointed by the change." She reluctantly smiled at the man, who was quite the gentleman in address if not completely so in manner or situation, and perfectly respectable after all. "But poor Harriet! Ill at Christmas! I do wish the circumstances were better."
Mr. Martin smiled in response. "As do I."
"Mr. Martin, let us not stand about in this cold. Come inside and I will see to it."
Emma did see to it, and Mr. Martin, laden with the necessary items for his betrothed, left along with his friend Mr. Knightley.
Later, in her room, Emma pondered the events of the last six hours. The diligent care of both Knightley men had preserved her from a dreadful fate. John had quickly seen the error in offering a seat in his carriage to Mr. Elton; one look at the vicar and back at his sister had convinced him. Emma saw the eloquent apology in his looks and very soon heard it in his valiant attempt to draw their guest's conversation completely to himself for the duration of the ride. She even forgave John his lapse later in the evening as they departed. He had not meant to abandon her to Mr. Elton's company by entering the first carriage; he was only thinking of Isabella, and she could never fault him for that. But if Mr. Knightley had not intervened just then! Had she been left to deal with Mr. Elton by herself, her distress would have been great, for she was convinced the man only wanted opportunity to do or say something highly regrettable. The recollection of it, and all that she felt at the time, when she saw the carriage door opening once more and Mr. Knightley stepping in - such a change! In one moment she went from perfect misery to perfect serenity.
In addition, Mr. Knightley did not reproach her once they were alone. She waited for a glance that said 'I told you so' or a scolding in the manner of 'Silly girl, did you truly believe he could want Miss Smith when Miss Woodhouse is near?' but none came. They talked of nothing out of the ordinary the whole way from Vicarage Lane to Hartfield, as if Mr. Elton had never existed. In fact they settled so quickly into a comfortable chat that she forgot to thank him for what he had done.
On Christmas morning Emma awoke to a delightfully convenient circumstance. Overnight, winter had settled well and truly on Highbury, cloaking it in soft, white silence. The snow kept Emma from church, and consequently from Mr. Elton, that day, and successive mornings of snow, rain and ice kept her safe at home on Sunday as well. That last week of December Emma had the additional pleasure of seeing her father at his cheerful best, for to have those dearest to him stranded at Hartfield and others prevented from intruding on their family party suited Mr. Woodhouse perfectly. Their only caller during these days of confinement was Mr. Knightley, whom no weather could keep entirely from them.
On the first of the year the weather improved enough for those to move who must move, and the next day Mr. and Mrs. John Knightley and their children set off again for London. The three weeks following proved such a mix of clear and cloudy skies as to render plans uncertain and calls few. Emma tried to accustom herself to the resulting quietness. With no Isabella and John, no nephews and nieces, Harriet often with the Martins, and Mr. Knightley inordinately busy with tenant matters, the resulting solitude proved a check to her natural liveliness that was not quickly overcome.
Such a January could not but disappoint. Emma found consolation in visiting Randalls and in dispensing advice and giving aid to Harriet, sometimes in person and often by note. In the tranquility of evenings at home she willed rather than felt herself to be happy. She loved her father dearly but he did not provide the companionship she craved. What a material change Miss Taylor had wrought by becoming Mrs. Weston! Half a mile seemed a world away. Emma's dear friend had a husband to think of now, and should the Westons be blessed with children, their mother's attention would be removed further still from Hartfield's concerns.
Emma whiled away many an idle hour in front of this window or that, looking out towards the place where she had got lost in that strange country. She hoped Miss Bennet and her sister, if they were more than figments of her fancy, had found at least a measure of contentment. She wondered whether, come spring, she would be bold enough to walk that path again and what she would discover if she did.
One particular evening she stood thus, nose pressed against the glass, eyes alighting on nothing for very long. She had just returned from Randalls where Mr. Weston had shown her a recent letter from his son. He was certain Frank would come at last, in a few weeks in fact, and even Mrs. Weston expected him to arrive before many days of February had elapsed. Emma stared out the window, forming and re-forming a picture in her mind of Mr. Churchill with the few details Mr. Weston had provided, when she saw a flicker of light far off in the woods. The sun had set, the sky was clear; she reasoned it could not have been lightning, and no one with any sense would be skulking about on the frozen grounds at this hour. Just as she had dismissed the sighting as the product of a restless imagination, she saw it again. Her curiosity swelled until a sudden coldness came over her. The small light flickered and then glowed steadily, angrily if that were possible, before fading away completely. She left the window at once but the forbidding chill remained with her through the night.
"Lady Catherine, you are correct as always."
Mr. Collins had just arrived and was confirming that her ladyship's most recent words of advice to his dear Charlotte had been of tremendous help.
"Mrs. Collins and I," he continued, "are so very grateful for your generosity and condescension-"
"Yes," Lady Catherine interrupted in her imperious tone. "Yes, that is all very well. Sit down, Mr. Collins. You are most fortunate in your timing. I have just received a letter from my dear friend Lady Cordelia Winston. She writes to me with great regularity of the latest doings in town, and of course she sends word immediately of any new tonics or remedies for Anne. There is much practical good sense in her letters, for she loves to be of use. I shall peruse these few pages for any pertinent information that you will wish to impart to Mrs. Collins."
Mr. Collins had a great deal more to say but knew it would have to wait. Lady Catherine did not countenance any interruptions while reading. That she would deign to share with him information from one of her personal letters and all that the gesture implied of his and Charlotte's intimacy with Rosings Park did much to stem his impatience.
The brief silence (for, truly, how long could Lady Catherine and Mr. Collins hold their tongues in each other's company?) was shattered by a shriek. The letter contained not a word of new medicines to suppress coughs or novel methods for keeping ants out of the kitchen. Not a line was written about long sleeves or which shades of green were most fashionable. One topic only was raised: the engagement of Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy to Miss Elizabeth Bennet. It had been announced in the papers and Lady Catherine now held the clipping, which her friend was kind enough to enclose, in her unsteady hand. Lady Cordelia followed with several impertinent questions which her ladyship barely saw, much less comprehended.
It was well that the mistress of Rosings Park could do no wrong in the eyes of her clergyman, for had Mr. Collins heard anyone else scream and swear as she did that day, he would have been scandalised. As it was, he promptly excused himself from her presence, rethought the necessity of daily visits to the great house as he hurried back to his comfortable Parsonage, and related the whole to his dear Charlotte. He smiled and sighed in gratitude at Charlotte's response to it all, which was to suggest that they travel to Hertfordshire to visit the Lucases until his patroness recovered some of her good humour.
Lady Catherine descended upon London in a rage. Darcy was not at home when she called, being in Hertfordshire at the time. She called next at her brother's house, to which Anne had removed along with Georgiana when Darcy left for Netherfield.
"Have your maid pack your trunks, Anne." She intended to take Anne with her into Hertfordshire to confront Darcy and that scheming Miss Bennet before returning to Kent.
"Mother, please let me stay."
Lady Catherine was struck dumb by the request. Her mousy daughter never, ever expressed a contradictory opinion. Unless one could count her most recent letters - there was the smallest hint of dissention in the last two particularly.
"Cousin Darcy was so lately at Rosings," Anne continued in her quiet, firm voice. She meant to have her way in this. "I can still picture him in the drawing room doing his best to ignore your hints, or sitting at table with us searching for a polite excuse while you encouraged him to pay his addresses to me. You were continually expressing your hopes for the two of us. I cannot imagine you will be soon reconciled to this...Please, mother. I do not wish to return home yet, where I shall be forced to endure your bitter disappointment while I do not share it. There will be no such pall over my visit here. Let me remain with my uncle until it is all over, until the wedding. My aunt will see to whatever I need and Georgiana will keep me company."
This was the longest speech Lady Catherine had heard from Anne in quite some time. Even more shocking was the rejection; she had never borne it from that quarter. Her ire grew and it took considerable effort to subdue it and respond with anything like civility. "You stay, then," she said, finally, in a cracked voice. "You are not needed at home after all. Of what use are you to anyone there?" She turned and walked out of the room without a backward glance. She never saw Anne wiping the tears from her eyes with her small, trembling fingers.
Chapter Eleven
February brought milder weather and uncommon excitement to Highbury. Jane Fairfax came to stay with her aunt and grandmother after two years' absence. Mr. Weston's son, Mr. Frank Churchill, finally made his appearance. A pianoforte mysteriously arrived at the Bates residence for Miss Fairfax. The Coles hosted a dinner party that Miss Woodhouse, despite her initial reservations, condescended to attend.
And Mr. Elton returned to Highbury for the last time as a single man. He stayed long enough to conduct the wedding ceremony of Mr. Robert Martin and Miss Harriet Smith before going away again to celebrate his own marriage to Miss Augusta Hawkins of Bristol. He missed the new arrivals and the dinner party of his dear friend Mr. Cole, but by month's end he was back and he and his new bride were settled comfortably at the Vicarage.
On entering Highbury, Frank Chruchill proceeded directly to Randalls, where he was affectionately welcomed by his father and his father's bride. Neither parent would hear of him bearing any guilt for his absence from the wedding or the lateness of his visit. Mrs. Weston was ready and Mr. Weston eager to be pleased with everything about him.
Mrs. Weston was indeed delighted with her new son. She hoped to introduce him to her dear Emma at the earliest opportunity. Ever since Christmas, she had been most anxious for Frank to come. At dinner Emma had been put upon by Mr. Elton, everyone could see it, and if Mr. Knightley had not been so kind as to shield her from the most irritating of his attentions it would have been a miserable time for her. Now that Mr. Elton had gone away for his wedding and Frank had come, she hoped her ambition would be realised. How could the two young people fail to develop tender feelings for one another? A few evenings together and Frank would be smitten. Emma would, at long last, have a man worthy of her.
The following morning Mr. Churchill was introduced at Hartfield.
"He is just what a young man ought to be," Emma told Mr. Knightley later that day. "Pleasing manners, delightful conversation, not a little handsome, and he admires Mrs. Weston as much as she deserves. I am quite taken with him."
"Hmmph." Knightley did not trust himself to say more on the subject of Frank Churchill.
"If you find my description uninspiring," she said when she saw there would be no further response, "then you will certainly change your mind about him when I tell you this: he called on Miss Bates, her mother and Miss Fairfax immediately afterward. Is that not enough to ensure your eternal admiration and respect?"
"He did only what he should have done; there is nothing praiseworthy in that."
"There is no satisfying you, is there?" With an uneasy smile Emma abandoned her attempt to recommend her new friend to her old one; she thought to save him the trouble of contradicting her. The memory of their last argument two months ago still had the power to give her pain. Let him keep his opinion, she decided. It is nothing to me.
In the ensuing days Emma met frequently with Mr. Churchill: at Randalls; at Hartfield; at Ford's; at the Coles' evening party. She reluctantly forgave him when, not long after he arrived, he wasted a whole morning riding to London and back on the pretense of having his hair cut. (That the cut was flattering she could not deny, but no more than what he might have obtained in the country.) Together with the Westons they inspected the public rooms at the Crown Inn, where Mr. Churchill suggested they give a ball and requested her hand for the first set. They never were short of conversation, speaking often of the Westons and of this neighbour or that. Emma found that his acquaintance with Jane Fairfax at Weymouth was not as slight as the lady had suggested. To her surprise, Mr. Churchill was less flattering in his expressed opinion of Miss Fairfax than even she would dare to be. Miss Fairfax and the Dixons and Campbells, who had also been at Weymouth, were frequently discussed between them.
At the Coles' dinner they had talked over the mystery surrounding the pianoforte.
"So it came from her friends, the Campbells," Emma had observed to Mr. Churchill.
"So they say," he replied.
"Or the Dixons, perhaps."
"Hmm?"
"Did you not say that Mr. Dixon openly admired her playing?" She knew that gentleman admired Miss Fairfax - or at least her performance - yet he had married Miss Campbell, her plainer and less accomplished but well dowered friend. Emma wondered if he had any regrets.
"That is true," said Mr. Churchill with a serious look.
"And he is the one who saved her life - prevented her from falling overboard?" she asked, referring to a harrowing event that had occurred at Weymouth. Miss Bates had informed her of it recently.
"He is indeed. I was there, one of the party. Miss Fairfax was nearly dashed from the vessel and Mr. Dixon caught her. It was the work of a moment, though I believe it was half an hour before any of us were comfortable again."
Emma thought that such an occurrence would likely endear the one to the other, even had there been no prior attachment. In addition there had to be a reason Miss Fairfax had declined to travel to Ireland with her friends and had chosen instead to spend the winter in Highbury.
Emma refused to speak more plainly of her suspicions regarding the nature of Mr. Dixon's admiration for Miss Fairfax or hers for the gentleman, but she was not quite done with the subject. "I see why one would assume the Campbells are responsible for the instrument, for they have taken her so completely into their care and must be as good to her as any natural parents would be. Yet I cannot agree. After all, it is not very practical of the Campbells to send a pianoforte here, without notifying her in advance, when she may have to leave again as early as the summer. Such a gesture has all the markings of a more impractical sentiment than parental affection, I should say." Emma stopped there and sighed. She had meant to give up speculating about matches, but a girl must have something to talk of.
Mr. Churchill was not averse to hearing her thoughts on the subject; nor was he shocked by their content. Furthermore, he was inclined to agree with her, at least on one point, and he said as much. He turned to her with a lazy smile. "You have convinced me, Madam. I can see the gift in no other light than as an offering of love."
She was surprised but pleased by his turn of phrase.
Had she been of a mind to exchange the name of Woodhouse for Churchill, Emma might have been more critical in her analysis of the newcomer's speech and behaviour. As she had formed no such design she was quite satisfied with his attentions and felt no need to subject them to serious scrutiny. He does seem everything one could require in a lover, except he cannot be much in love with me, she mused one evening after they had been walking out with Mrs. Weston. He is all ease and friendliness, and while there is nothing wrong with that, it is not enough. It is perhaps unfortunate that we two, who get on so well together, shall never marry, that our friendship shall never be anything more.
Mrs. Weston was pleased with the progress of their acquaintance, Emma could see that, and Mr. Weston equally so. Emma knew of their hopes for an alliance but would not oblige them when it came to the point. She was too satisfied with Hartfield to covet the delights of Enscombe and required more incentive than a young man's consequence and amiability. She laughed to herself for entertaining thoughts of matrimony at all, resolved as she was to remain at home with her father. As things stood, should Frank Churchill propose, she would refuse him. She was certain of it.
The militia departed, and the month of June saw many a young lady in Meryton walking about with a long face and a despondent air. The longest face perhaps was attached to the person of Lydia Bennet. Colonel and Mrs. Forster had invited her to accompany them to their new post as the latter's particular friend, but her father had withheld his consent. Jane and Lizzy were to be married and Mr. Bennet demanded that she remain at home, though she could not think why. Lydia very much resented having her pleasures curtailed for any reason and was inconsolable for a full week. It actually took that long for some of the local young men to gather the courage to flirt with her again as they had done before the militia ever came to Hertfordshire.
Mrs. Bennet talked of little else besides the wedding. Her two eldest girls would marry in a double ceremony. Meryton was happy for the couples, for Jane and Elizabeth had long been general favourites. Even those who were disposed to be envious gave them grudging respect, the one for retaining the good opinion of her gentleman after so long an absence and the other for effecting so material a change in such a rich and proud man's manners. The girls themselves were as unaffected as ever, and their smiles and blushes in the presence of their young men dispelled any doubts regarding the genuineness of the affection each couple shared.
Mrs. Bennet escorted her eldest daughters to London to order their gowns and procure items for their trousseaux. The girls enjoyed the shopping more than they had anticipated, for although Mrs. Bennet delighted in a profusion of lace and embellishment, she did not force her preferences on her daughters. She knew very well what flattered each of them and encouraged Jane and Lizzy to choose clothing in styles similar to what they usually wore, only in more elegant and fashionable cuts and luxurious fabrics as befitting their consequence as the future Mrs. Bingley and Mrs. Darcy.
"Miss Fairfax has recovered, and just in time." Mr. Knightley had called on the Woodhouses one evening very late in February, as he was accustomed to doing several times a week. He found Emma in the dining room making arrangements for a party to be held two days hence in honour of the Eltons' marriage.
Marrying someone completely unknown in Highbury was the best thing the vicar could have done under the circumstances, Emma believed. Not that he had chosen better for himself than his friends might have chosen for him. Mrs. Elton was not at all superior to Harriet, in her opinion. If not for Mr. Elton's earlier presumption towards herself, she would feel sorry for him as husband to such a vulgar wife. As it was, she had determined to host a celebration for the couple so no one would suspect how little she liked them.
Emma pulled her thoughts away from centerpieces and china and acknowledged Mr. Knightley's comment. "Yes, I heard. Miss Bates and her mother were here for cards last evening. Miss Fairfax stayed behind to rest, but her aunt assured me that her niece's headache had abated, and she had not caught cold after all."
"You sound less than pleased."
And you sound a little too pleased. "I would not wish her to be ill. It is just that I cannot like her. I have tried, truly. I do not know what prevents me."
"What you do not like is that our neighbours consider her the more accomplished musician, and rightly so." Not to mention the attention Frank Churchill pays her from time to time, he supposed. Surely if he noticed it then Emma, with her interest in all things romantic, must have observed it as well. There was nothing overt, but Miss Fairfax and Mr. Churchill interacted in a way that stirred his curiosity. If Mr. Churchill were not so forward in his attentions to Emma, he might be tempted to believe him attached to Miss Fairfax, to believe them mutually attached, in fact. More than once he had caught the gentleman looking wistfully in her direction. He hoped the man was not playing Emma false. Still, whatever the state of affairs between Mr. Churchill and Jane Fairfax, he wished Emma would forgive Miss Fairfax her superiority in the one or two ways in which she was superior. The two ladies would get along rather well if they made the effort, he was certain. "Jealousy does not become you, Emma."
"What loyalty you show to your old friend." Emma had noticed that when she called him 'friend' he became markedly more attentive to her, and she wanted that at the moment, especially while he was holding forth as Jane Fairfax's champion.
"I would not lie to you." He walked up to her and took her hand. "You know very well that, talented as you are, you have not the dedication to excellence for which Miss Fairfax is well known. Nor do you have the uncertain circumstances which must inspire it to some degree. She does not have a Hartfield to fall back on should she not marry." He pressed her fingers before releasing them.
All of Highbury was aware that the elegant, accomplished, orphaned Miss Fairfax had no dowry to inspire young men to show tangible appreciation for her abilities. Consequently, she had been planning for some years to become a governess.
"It is fortunate, then, that the Campbells sent her an instrument on which to perfect her skills."
"I still believe it was unwise to send it anonymously. What could they have meant by it?"
"I heard a rumour that the gift did not come from the Campbells after all. There are some who might be persuaded that you sent the piano to the Bateses' residence."
"What?" He was visibly shocked. "Ridiculous!"
"My thoughts exactly," Emma agreed under her breath, recalling Mrs. Weston's suspicions. Her former governess thought Mr. Knightley was quite taken with Jane Fairfax and had told Emma so. "Mr. Churchill does not believe the Campbells sent it either. Though he does not accuse you of doing the deed, he is inclined to consider it a love offering - yes, 'an offering of love' I believe were his very words." She did not tell him that she had planted that notion in Frank Churchill's mind by speculating about Miss Fairfax and Mr. Dixon.
Knightley did not like what he heard. Neither the idea of Emma's engaging in indelicate gossip with Churchill nor the alarming thought that had just occurred to him - that Churchill himself might have purchased the piano - could give him any pleasure. Yet Emma clearly was not disturbed by similar thoughts. She seemed amused and pleased to be in Mr. Churchill's confidence. Perhaps her affection was already engaged. His question must be unwelcome; nonetheless he asked it. "Are you certain, my dear Emma..." He did not want his interference to cause another rift between them, especially should it prove unnecessary; yet to say nothing would equal neglect. He was willing to sacrifice anything but her welfare. "Are you quite certain that you perfectly comprehend the degree of acquaintance between Mr. Churchill and Miss Fairfax?"
"Yes, perfectly. Why do you doubt it?" What was there to know? He liked her not at all, and she refused to say a word about him.
"Have you never at any time had reason to suspect that he admired her, or that she admired him?"
"Never, never!" she cried with a most open eagerness. "Quite the contrary. Never, for the twentieth part of a moment, did such an idea occur to me. And how could it possibly come into your head?"
"I have lately imagined that I saw symptoms of attachment between them - certain expressive looks, which I did not believe meant to be public."
"Oh! Mr. Knightley, you amuse me excessively. I am delighted to find that you can vouchsafe to let your imagination wander - but it will not do - very sorry to check you-" The amusement had bubbled up inside her until she realised where his questions might lead. "There is no admiration between them. If anything..." What more can I tell you? You are approaching too near the Dixon matter, sir. You will get no confession from me. "I cannot explain it all exactly - there is a good deal of...well, of nonsense, really, in any 'expressive looks,' as you say - but the part that I can explain, which is sense, is that they are as far from any attachment or admiration for one another as any two beings in the world can be. That is, I presume it to be so on her side, and I can answer for its being so on his. I will answer for the gentleman's indifference."
She spoke with a confidence that staggered Knightley. He found that he could not be useful, and his feelings were too much irritated for continuing long on the subject. To put an end to it he said rather hastily and perhaps more in the carelessness of anger than in wisdom, "I shall forget my odd notions, then, Madam. I had better, for I do not know which is worse: that Mr. Churchill should injure Miss Fairfax continually by his pointed attentions to you, or that the lady should have an understanding with the gentleman and wish to conceal it. Neither idea is to my liking, for neither does Miss Fairfax justice. One bodes ill for her feelings, the other for her character."
"And heaven forbid that you should be forced to think ill of Miss Fairfax!" Emma rolled her eyes. "One thing is certain. No one need fear the lady will suffer a moment's injustice while you stand ready to defend her."
I am acting in your defense, Emma. Why can you not see it? Has that man blinded you so completely? He backed away from the looming argument. "You will be sure to make her feel welcome at the Eltons' dinner?" If Emma willingly joined Frank Churchill in whatever game he was playing, he would not vouch for his conduct.
"Must I?" As mistress of Hartfield she would do no less, regardless of her personal feelings, but he should know that.
He merely looked at her in answer. He did not trust himself should he open his mouth.
"Of course Mr. Churchill will come as well," she said, smiling. She knew he was displeased, though not why he persisted in his pointed dislike of the gentleman. Frank Churchill had been nothing but amiable and charming to everybody during his stay in Highbury, and here Mr. Knightley was accusing him of all sorts of impropriety and intrigue.
"Must he?" Knightley wished the boy would run away back to Yorkshire. Even if his suspicions proved groundless, Frank Churchill simply was not good enough for Emma. Knightley hoped rather than believed she would realise that herself before it was too late.
"He will be here, and he is very welcome. Fair is fair, Mr. Knightley."
He wondered if it was.
Chapter Twelve
On the eve of the wedding, Jane and Elizabeth walked out into the garden with their young men. Bingley and Jane went over to the swing while Darcy and Elizabeth continued on the path along the garden border.
"It was on a walk that I first began to see you in a different light, Fitzwilliam." She called him Darcy on most occasions and tended to reserve the use of his given name for contemplative moments.
"I assume you refer to the morning I gave you the letter at Hunsford?"
"Yes, a long letter it was, and likely not written with ease."
The bleak night he had spent tossing in bed after her refusal and the equally bleak morning when he wrote that bitter missive seemed more dream than memory. "I hope you will burn it. My feelings are so different now from what they were then."
For a brief moment they both shivered as they recalled their unexplained encounters in the woods. Each was unaware of the other's thoughts. Elizabeth refrained from touching her shoulder and shut out the image of the pages of her letter scattered in the grass. Similarly, Darcy resisted the temptation to rub his upper arm where something - or someone - had pressed it so many weeks ago. There were parts worth remembering, of course. Elizabeth's attention had been drawn once again to her lover's words. Darcy had been enlightened as to the truth of Miss Bennet's heartbreak, and he was given a second chance with Elizabeth that day. Yet on the whole their memories of the ethereal presence in Rosings Park were far more uncomfortable than not.
"Your feelings are so different?" Elizabeth repeated, determined to leave the experience behind her. "Do you mean to tell me now, when we are to be married in a matter of hours, that you no longer feel the utmost force of passion for your bride? Has your ardour cooled so soon?"
"You know very well that is not what I mean." He was tempted to show her right then and there how wrong she was, though he knew she was only teasing him. One more night, he reminded himself. I can wait one more night.
Her expression grew sober. "I shall burn the letter this night if you wish, but you must make me a promise, Sir."
"Yes, Elizabeth?" He could not imagine what she would ask of him so seriously.
"You must promise to provide me with sufficient proof of your passion so that I will never regret destroying the written confirmation of it."
Darcy forgot his resolution and kissed her, very passionately, right in view of the house.
On the other side of the garden, Bingley and Jane laughed at the couple.
"They did not even bother to scramble out of sight first!" Bingley said. "It is fortunate that the wedding is tomorrow. Do you know, Jane, I found them in a similar state at Mr. Gardiner's house the morning we all left London."
Some of Charles's comments and Lizzy's behaviour that day made sense to her now. That had been the most wonderful day of her life - she and Charles had come to an understanding after months of despair. And they would be married by this time tomorrow, very likely engaging in what her sister and brother-to-be were doing at this moment, and much more. She looked at the couple again before turning back to Charles. "I do wonder sometimes if their more...intimate association began in Hunsford. I am not suggesting that anything too improper occurred; it is just that Lizzy was not very forthcoming with what happened the last time they saw each other there."
"It would not surprise me if it were so."
"Those two are quite a pair. They are both so direct that it is a wonder they ever misunderstood each other so dreadfully before. At least now there can be no confusion as to what the other is thinking."
Bingley looked at her flushed face and smiled a slow smile. He had learnt in the previous weeks to read the subtle signs of true pleasure on his beloved's face. "And what are you thinking, my dear?"
"Would you really like to know?"
"I will venture a guess. Does it bear any resemblance to the display we have been observing?"
"Coincidentally, yes, it does."
"Are you feeling bold tonight, or will you walk with me to that little copse there?"
She looked demurely at him. "The copse, please."
They chuckled and hurried off to begin their own more private celebration.
The wedding was twice as beautiful as weddings usually are, having two such lovely brides and handsome grooms. Mrs. Bennet was beside herself with glee. Two daughters married! Mr. Bennet was of a mind to lock himself in his library for a week after the festivities concluded. He counted the days until it would be acceptable for him to make his first of many appearances at Pemberley.
As Jane's mother had suspected months ago, Bingley had a wide acquaintance. Several young, single men from London and one or two from the north came to celebrate his marriage. Kitty and Lydia were in raptures. Even Mary was distracted from the proceedings more than once by the sight of a handsome stranger, and she later surprised her family by showing no disinclination for having a season in town when Mrs. Bennet raised the subject at the wedding breakfast.
The Hursts and Miss Bingley were there, of course. Caroline was altered in her manner towards everyone, including Darcy. His engagement had crushed her ambitions and given her hope all at once. True, he had not chosen her as his bride, but neither had he chosen his wealthy cousin. It allowed her to believe there might be a man of some consideration in the world who would desire her over other, more eligible women whose fortunes had not been acquired by trade. Perhaps she would not have to rely on snaring whatever rich friends her brother introduced into her company. Perchance this man would seek her out, as Mr. Darcy had Eliza Bennet. She spent most of the ceremony considering her future and did not even notice the many gentlemen who were considering her.
Darcy was not without supporters at the wedding. He had the pleasure of seeing a few of his closest friends from town and from Derbyshire among the guests. His family was represented by Colonel Fitzwilliam, Miss Darcy and Miss de Bourgh. They had arrived in Hertfordshire a few days early to spend time with the brides-to-be, whose company they had enjoyed very much in London. The Colonel also brought with him a congratulatory letter from his mother, though the earl had written already to make their excuses - he and his eldest son claimed to have pressing business in Scotland and afterwards at their country estate. Darcy suspected that the true reasons his uncle and eldest cousin declined the invitation were disappointment in his bride's humble background and the desire to avoid a breach with Lady Catherine. Still, the earl had sent a gift so grand it almost compensated for his absence.
What he lacked in old friends, Darcy made up in new ones. Once again he had discovered that Wickham had left a trail of debts behind him. He took it upon himself one last time, in honour of his late father, to discharge several of them and by so doing he earned the gratitude of many a tradesman in Meryton. As the service concluded and he exited the church with Elizabeth on his arm, he was surprised to find a crowd of friendly faces waiting to offer him and his bride their hearty congratulations.
For weeks afterward, Mrs. Bennet was avoided by every neighbour save her sister. No one wanted to hear the weddings talked over again and again ad nauseam. They preferred to retain their pleasing impressions of Mr. and Mrs. Bingley and Mr. and Mrs. Darcy, and the best way to accomplish that was to stay away from their mother, at least until the master and mistress of Netherfield returned to Hertfordshire and their sister and brother were known to be comfortably settled at Pemberley.
February ended, and March was upon Highbury with the promise of every good thing. Emma, for one, was truly pleased. Her dear friend Harriet had been married about a month and was happily settled. And of course there were the Eltons, but whether that pair was as happy together as the Martins was of less importance to her.
Yet on the morning of this early day in March, Emma was more grateful to Mr. and Mrs. Elton than she had ever expected to be, and not merely because the party had been a success. His self-satisfied posturing and her incessant chatter had conveniently drawn the attention of most in the drawing room last night, masking the discomposure suffered by herself and one of the guests.
Emma closed her eyes and relived the events of the previous evening...
She sat in the drawing room after dinner with the other ladies and tried not to look too terribly bored by Mrs. Elton's constant mention of Maple Grove, her sister's home near Bristol. Relief came in the form of the gentleman who next entered the room.
Frank Churchill immediately approached her. "Miss Woodhouse! May I say that dinner was superb, and the seating arrangements were particularly to my liking?" He had been situated across from her and between Mrs. Weston and Jane Fairfax. Mrs. Weston had more than made up for Miss Fairfax's reserve and she herself had been very attentive to him throughout the meal.
She heard a small gasp covered over by a cough coming from the general direction of Miss Fairfax, though Miss Bates was nearby and could have made the sound just as well. Mr. Churchill took note of it, at first appearing alarmed at being interrupted in such a fashion. Then he turned back to her and redoubled his attentions. "And you simply must entertain us this evening. Your abilities are without parallel, Madam," he said in a voice slightly too loud. He further surprised her by reaching for her hand.
It seemed frivolous, unnecessary gallantry. Puppyish, in a way. Had he not been Mr. Weston's son, would she have allowed it? Still, she indulged him with a smile and did not reclaim her hand, which he had grasped firmly in his own in order to bow over it.
She felt him release her fingertips as he raised his head and she looked up. And that was when she saw it. Huge, clear, as arresting and illuminating as a full moon. So many comments and gestures instantly took on a deeper meaning. So much that had passed between them...The suddenness, the wonder of it took from her the ability to respond even with a look. Too late she saw him turn, his attention demanded by another; too late she realised she had left him without the least intimation of her sentiments.
The room suddenly felt crowded. Nothing less than a tête-à-tête would satisfy her. But the party was only half over, the card tables had not yet been brought out, and there were many guests to whom she must attend. It would not do for either of them to slight their neighbours. She would have to wait until morning and hope that he would speak to her then...
Now morning had come, and she sat, waiting and hoping.
Soon a visitor was announced. She expected it to be a certain gentleman; she had dressed with particular care and was disappointed to look up and find only Mr. Perry entering the drawing room.
"Good morning, good morning! I have just come from calling on the Otways. Miss Otway has a putrid sore throat. But what do you think happened before I could get there, right in High Street, too? A runaway cart almost collided with one of our neighbours!"
Mr. Perry told Miss Woodhouse and her father enough for each to form a vivid mental picture of the scene: The young lady had walked out and was nearly run over by a farmer's cart. The brief rains of early morning had left the roads slick and muddy, and one of the wheels hit a slippery spot. The cart swung to one side, startling the horses. The driver was helpless to prevent the accident though he tried his best. A gentleman approaching from the other direction saw it all. He ran forward and pulled the lady out of danger and into his arms. He held her there in plain view, in the middle of the road. There were other witnesses. One person said he shouted her name. Another heard him threaten to pick her up and carry her all the way to her house. The lady resisted and tried to put some distance between them, but the gentleman would not be dissuaded; in the end she walked home and he escorted her, holding her very close.
Emma was reluctant to credit even half of it, though Mr. Perry's information was generally reliable. Any of those reactions on the part of the gentleman hero would indicate a much closer interest than either party had acknowledged at dinner just the day before, or at any other time she had seen them together. But it was just as likely that he simply forgot himself due to the near-tragic circumstances. Whatever the case, he had certainly caused some talk. And though his 'damsel in distress' might be too grateful for the service he rendered her to hold anything against him, others might not be so willing to forgive his less proper behaviour.
All this led to the natural conclusion: the two would likely marry. Mr. Perry had not a doubt of it. "What else is to be done, when they were embracing in the street for all to see? As if they were already man and wife!"
Mr. Woodhouse was adamantly against it. "To make them marry would be cruel. I cannot see why that should be. I cannot recommend marriage. It would break up her household grievously! How would her dear relatives do without her? They must be sorry to have her taken away from them, and just when she has settled in so well." He was obviously agitated. "Not a day passes that I do not wish my poor Isabella were still with me at Hartfield."
"Oh, Papa!" The report was upsetting enough without adding her father's lament.
"Have we not had our fill of weddings?" Mr. Woodhouse continued. "First our poor Miss Taylor, then little Miss Smith, then Mr. Elton; is that not enough?" He looked truly angry now. "I hope they will not do anything rash. I hope they will take a little time to consider what they are about."
Mr. Woodhouse's temper was perhaps worse than his daughter had ever seen it. No comment from Mr. Perry or Emma could lighten the mood. After a few minutes the doctor took leave and Emma was left to her reflections, as she dared not renew the subject with her father. She could not be happy with what she heard. She did agree that marriage should not be necessary to quiet wagging tongues, especially in a case where there was much to praise in the gentleman's quick actions. Everything she knew about the parties involved, every tender feeling opposed the match.
For the rest of the morning thoughts of the accident, particularly its affect on Hartfield, curbed but did not completely repress Emma's good spirits. She had come to the conclusion that she was in some danger herself, of an entirely different kind. Last night, after examining her own heart, she was convinced that she may yet be as happily settled as her sister. She was in love! Unlikely, unlooked for as it was, it could not be helped. And she felt that he loved her as well - in truth it was the knowledge of his affection that had uncovered her own. She had been quite happy until this morning had revealed difficulties that were not easily conquered and required more patience than she was used to demonstrating. Still, she believed that all would turn out well. It must! It would be cruel if this obstacle proved too much for the strength of their love. Yet how fitting, in light of her meddling in Harriet's affairs, that she should now harbour a tender affection with some doubt, not of a return, but of a proper conclusion and the satisfaction it would bring her.
The morning passed without any further calls, and Emma spent much of it seeing to her father's comfort. In the afternoon an anxious Mr. Weston came to fetch her. Apparently Mrs. Weston wished for her company at tea. As Emma left Hartfield, she put aside her worries for a moment. Thinking of Randalls, she smiled. She was exceedingly glad that Frank Churchill had come to Highbury at last. Had it not been for his attentions, his stepping forward to speak with her after dinner, particularly his boldness in taking her hand last night, she might have gone on interminably in her habitual way, happy but never brilliantly so, clinging to the familiar and not knowing what she truly desired.
He had made it all so very clear.
Miss Bates was as loquacious as ever. Yet even she did not have words enough to express all her gratitude for receiving her niece back safe and sound. After the previous caller had left them, Jane had begged her to refrain from mentioning the ordeal any more that day, claiming it was too fresh in her mind to hear it continually spoken of. Miss Bates was eager to talk of it but she honoured her niece's wishes and dwelt instead on all the kindnesses the neighbouring gentlemen had bestowed upon the members of her household.
"Mr. Churchill frequently calls; I will say no more, just that he calls, and stays a half hour each time, if not longer! Once he even condescended to repair Mother's spectacles himself. So resourceful! Such a fine young man! But - oh!" Jane had given her a look. "Of course he is not the only - there is, well, Mr. Knightley. So generous! Yes. He allowed us the use of his carriage on the night of the Coles' evening party. - You heard about the party at Mr. Cole's, did you not? I wish you could have come. - But then Mr. Knightley is always so gallant towards dear Jane, and all of us, really. The best of men. Some cake?" She gestured towards the platter. "Please, have some. And Mr. Weston, such an amiable man! He never fails to inquire after our health. He remembers Jane's fragile constitution, you see. Very delicate, always has been. It is why I am glad she did not stay out too long this morning, what with the weather being so wet and cold. It was fortunate that," she caught herself before Jane could give her the eye again, "As I was saying, Mr. Weston always has an encouraging word and listens cheerfully to my ramblings. I do tend to run on, you know. Then there is dear, dear Mr. Woodhouse. He often invites mother and me for supper and cards of an evening. And the dinner at Hartfield - everything so delicious! The decorations so cheerful and festive! Very kind of him and Miss Woodhouse to include us, do you not think? It is such a joy to see Mr. Elton married and settled - a worthy young man! And very proper for the Woodhouses, first in consequence among us, to set the example and celebrate his good fortune in grand style! He was such a favourite at Hartfield in the autumn, but then he is a favourite wherever he goes. Of course everyone has been so kind; there is not too much that can be said about it. Have you heard of the Campbells' latest act of generosity? They sent Jane this pianoforte. Or it may have been their daughter, Mrs. Dixon. You must have heard - yes, was it not mentioned at dinner last night? Such a beautiful instrument, and Jane sings and plays like an angel. Good, kind Colonel Campbell! What sort of life would Jane have had without his benevolence? He is as good as a relation, perhaps better. Mother and I unfortunately have little means to contribute to her happiness and comfort."
Here Jane's affectionate heart compelled her to intervene. She reached over and grasped Miss Bates's hand. "You must not say such things, Aunt. Truly I could not wish for a better family."
Miss Bates had been talking to Mrs. Elton, who had taken quite a liking to Jane Fairfax on first meeting her and had called specifically to see her today. The vicar's wife had been sitting with them above a quarter of an hour and hardly had opportunity to say anything beyond her greeting. Her aborted attempts to interrupt the flow of words from the garrulous spinster left her looking as though she were imitating a fish. But now, while Miss Bates composed herself in the wake of this tender moment, Mrs. Elton began an impertinent inquiry into that which was being discussed all over Highbury. Jane quickly turned the subject back to the pianoforte and offered to play for them on the new instrument. As music filled the house, Mrs. Elton nursed her disappointment and Miss Bates sighed in contentment.
Miss Fairfax was happier than she had been in many weeks. She had harboured a great secret since her arrival at her grandmother's house. There was no one in whom to confide her burden and thereby lessen the weight of it. One word to her aunt would have seen the tale spread about Highbury in the course of a day. She would have welcomed a friend she could trust, one her own age who might understand the circumstances that had led to her predicament. It was unfortunate that she and Miss Woodhouse never got on well together. She had found her overbearing in the past, and though Miss Woodhouse had been kind enough at dinner she could still detect disapproval in her looks, as if that lady knew she was hiding something and resented it. But to answer those questions about him? Impossible! She would have given all away in an instant. And the current state of affairs would hardly make for easy conversation between her and Miss Woodhouse, not after his display at Hartfield last night.
Now the need for pretense had been providentially removed. An accident quite as frightening as the one at Weymouth had done the business. Fortunately she had no visible scars, though she would not easily forget the terror of either event. Was she made for misadventures? She had never sought a dramatic life, and yet drama fell right into her lap. Jane was surprised how little the whispers and curious looks disturbed her. They were far better than the pitying, condescending glances she had received before. The best part was now she would not have to mind her speech or behaviour around anyone, and no sensible person could possibly blame her for her part in all this. Everyone, no doubt, had an opinion of what should be done, but most of what she had heard thus far was in her favour. With any luck, few people would ever know the whole story and in due time the situation would be resolved for the best.
Mrs. Weston was not happy. Yet there was hope. After all, things could hardly get worse.
"Well, my dear," said Mr. Weston, "I have brought her, and now I shall leave you together." He walked to the door. "I shall not be far off, if you want me." He left the two of them alone and Mrs. Weston greeted Emma with a kiss on the cheek.
"Welcome, Emma," she said to her guest. "I am sure you have much on your mind." She must have heard something of the business already. She looked quite distracted.
"Oh, yes! There is so much to tell," Emma replied, "or rather for you to tell me, for I am in need of your counsel. But first, what think you of Miss Fairfax? I imagine everyone is talking of it but Papa, of course. I cannot mention it to him again or he might become frightened for James and the horses." And positively indignant on the subject of matrimony, she thought ruefully. "But how do you think it will all turn out? I do hope it does not develop into a regular scandal. Tiresome gossips! No one was injured; why can they not just be thankful for that? They should be congratulating you all instead. We have a genuine hero in our midst."
Before Mrs. Weston could respond to any of her questions, Emma was speaking once again. "But my dear, dear friend, do talk to me and make me comfortable! I am glad we are alone, for there is a personal matter I wish to discuss with you. You may be surprised, though it would take no great imagination to discover...I should just begin and you can make of it what you will." She fidgeted in her chair. "You have often heard me say that I shall never marry, but I believe you never took me very seriously on that point. Am I correct?"
Mrs. Weston tried to remain calm though it appeared her fears were well founded. "Actually, yes, Emma, I did think you might change your mind if ever you met a man worthy of your esteem."
"Yes, exactly! I never thought, that is, until very recently, that I would meet with anyone capable of offering me a happier existence than I now enjoy at Hartfield. Though I must admit he was always there, that is, the idea of him, as a possibility but never a consideration - until now. I cannot even say whether it is truly a consideration because I have not yet been approached by him. We have never discussed it, not in words. There has hardly been time-"
"Emma," Mrs. Weston interrupted, desiring to moderate her hopes, "I would not have you sanguine. The situation...the unique circumstances..."
"The circumstances are against us, I agree, but it is not a hopeless case. Surely some solution might be found! It must! What I need to determine is whether it is best for me to do nothing, which you know I am never good at doing, or to bring up the subject myself. How I love everything that is decided and open! And yet I can understand his hesitation."
"Oh, Emma, there is more to this than you can be aware of. Much more," Mrs. Weston said, very agitated. "If only I could make you understand."
"But what is there to understand? I know I shall have to wait longer than I would wish, but I think I am intimately acquainted with the circumstances, as you call them."
"I think not. Waiting will do you no good. What I am trying to tell you is that," here Mrs. Weston paused and collected herself, "I am trying to tell you that even before the accident today, indeed, before Frank ever came to Highbury, his honour was already engaged. He has told me so himself."
Frank? "Mr. Churchill? You thought I spoke of Mr. Churchill?" Emma stared at her friend and slowly her confusion cleared. With all that had happened last night and this morning, she had forgotten all about the Westons' hopes for her and Frank.
"Of course I meant Frank. Who else? After all his attentions to you! And you seemed pleased enough with his company. Of course I thought you mutually attached." Until today, that is. She was reeling from the revelations of the day.
"I mean no offence," Emma said, recovering from her surprise, "but I have never suspected Mr. Churchill to have serious feelings for me. And I myself truly had no wish to marry until very recently, as I mentioned before. Last night, in fact." She recalled what Mrs. Weston said. "But what do you mean by saying that Mr. Churchill's honour was already engaged before he came here?"
Mrs. Weston closed her eyes and sighed. Opening them, she looked straight at Emma and said, "I must ask you not to reveal this to another soul."
"You may depend upon me."
"Frank has been secretly engaged to Jane Fairfax since October."
Ten seconds passed before Emma could form a reply. "You cannot be serious!"
"I am in earnest, Emma. He told me so this very morning." Mrs. Weston went on to reveal what she had learned of the history of her son's relationship with Miss Fairfax. "That is why he was distraught when she was in harm's way this morning. He says he was so indiscreet that the whole town must know of his feelings now. There is a very real possibility that word will get back to the Churchills. Frank sees it as certain. How that will affect the outcome is anyone's guess. It is of the utmost importance that Mrs. Churchill be told nothing of the secret engagement. Frank is hopeful that he can conceal it, if not forever, at least until things are irrevocably settled between him and Miss Fairfax."
They took a moment to pour the tea and have a bite to eat.
"I wonder if Mr. Knightley knows." Emma realised suddenly that he might be particularly interested in these events. "Have you seen him today? He did not call at Hartfield."
"Mr. Knightley?" Mrs. Weston took a sip of tea. "Mr. Weston went to Donwell today and was informed that Mr. Knightley left this morning for parts unknown. Not even William Larkins knows where he has gone. I suppose it was some very pressing business if he could not stop to take leave of your father." She took another swallow. "Oh, my. I hope he will not be too disappointed to hear that Miss Fairfax is engaged to another."
"You truly believe him attached to her?" Emma gulped down the remainder of her tea.
"I do, Emma. Why do you doubt me?"
"Because I think...I thought..." She had come to Randalls hoping Mrs. Weston could advise her on how to convince her father that marriage was not the evil he often pronounced it to be. Otherwise she would be doomed to wait until her father passed from this earth before she could consider fulfilling what was now her dearest wish. He would never countenance her leaving Hartfield in his current state of mind.
"Emma," Mrs. Weston's voice broke through her musings, "if not Frank, then of whom were you speaking?"
Emma could see comprehension dawning on Mrs. Weston's face and she saw just as clearly that such comprehension brought her friend no relief. "No, never mind," she said, having lost all desire for a confidante. She shook her head. Foolish, foolish girl. She had been so happy, all because of an expression on Mr. Knightley's face that had shocked her for its novelty - he had looked positively jealous last night when Frank Churchill bowed over her hand. If he was in love with her, it made perfect sense that he did not welcome Mr. Churchill's presence in Highbury. But now she had to consider the opinion of her trusted friend. She allowed that there was ample cause for an alternate view of the matter as she recalled how often and how publicly Mr. Knightley had spoken well of Miss Fairfax, how readily he had defended her from every perceived attack.
She had erred in her judgement before. She had mistaken the depth of Harriet's regard, the worthiness of Mr. Martin, the true object of Mr. Elton's suit. She had completely missed any sign between Frank Churchill and Jane Fairfax that would have betrayed to her the nature of their association. Mr. Knightley was not so undiscerning, however. He had seen something between the two lovers. Perhaps he resented Frank's attentions to herself not because of his love for her, but because they were an insult to Miss Fairfax. Even if he suspected Miss Fairfax loved another, even if he believed he would never have her for himself, he would be offended to see her so ill treated. That being the case, the events of this morning would be a bitter draught indeed. Perhaps he had heard Mr. Perry's account, or seen it for himself, and in response had fled Highbury as soon as possible. This new idea so consumed her that she had no leisure to be angry at Frank Churchill for using her as a blind. As Emma contemplated all this, she no longer wondered at Mrs. Weston's seeing too little evidence to support her hopes of having obtained Mr. Knightley's regard, and rather feared she herself might have fancied too much.
"It is best not to talk of it." Emma reached for a slice of cake. "Everything has become undone today."
Mrs. Weston agreed. As their minds could alight on no subject entirely free of association with those matters they had just put aside, the remainder of tea was consumed mostly in silence. Emma departed Randalls shortly thereafter.
Mrs. Weston lamented that her matchmaking attempts had come to naught. There was nothing she could do now; her hands were tied; all was taken out of her power by the bizarre turn of events. She was glad Emma was not heartbroken or even angry, at least over Frank. In fact she was taking everything very well, considering.
The situation was not a comfortable one no matter how she viewed it. Best to think no more on it at present, she decided. Perhaps she should accept defeat and at least be content that Frank's choice, while not whom she would have chosen for him, was in almost every other way satisfactory.
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