“A sensible course, certainly, but I still do not know how Bingley intends to respond,” she complained.
Darcy indicated that Bingley had only praise for James Wilson, and if Emma wished to accept him, he could see no objection to the match. He imagined the reply to Wilson would be in similar vein.
“I cannot believe that either Bingley or Jane would wish to thwart Emma’s wishes if she wants to marry him, not after what she has endured.”
“Nor can I. But, from a purely practical standpoint, too, it would be an excellent thing for Emma and the girls, would it not?” Elizabeth asked.
Darcy agreed, “Certainly, especially since it is unlikely that there would have been much left for Emma and the children after all David Wilson’s debts and liabilities were cleared.”
Darcy further pointed out the generosity of Mrs Wilson and her elder son in offering to share a substantial part of their own inheritance in order to make provision for Emma and her daughters. “It indicates that they take their duty to her and the children seriously and are unwilling to let her fall back on her parents for support.”
His tone indicated his approval, and Elizabeth was sure he would have said as much to Bingley.
“Do you know when Bingley will reply?” she asked.
Darcy had no idea but said he imagined it would be soon. “I am sure he realises that Emma’s happiness and the future of her daughters depend upon it. He is unlikely to delay longer than is necessary to acquaint your sister of the content of James’s letter.”
Elizabeth asserted with confidence that Jane was unlikely to lodge any objection, having always expressed a preference for James over his brother David.
“Jane indicated to me at least six months before Emma’s wedding that it was James, not David, who was the better of the two Wilsons. She went so far as to declare that he was the best man she had met since Bingley first came to Netherfield all those years ago!” she explained. “It made me wonder whether Emma was marrying the wrong man, which, clearly, she was.”
Darcy’s face was grave again. “It is such a pity that Emma had to endure so much unhappiness before it was put right. Worse still, she suffered mostly alone. I know Bingley knew very little of the parlous state of Emma’s marriage until it was all revealed at the end. He still feels guilty about it. It is, without doubt, a terrible situation for a parent to face!” he declared.
Elizabeth sighed. “Poor Emma,” she said. “Have we not been very fortunate with Cassy and Richard?”
Darcy agreed. He had never doubted that Richard would be a good husband to his daughter; it had been an added joy to discover that they appeared to have found true happiness together. “Yes, you are quite right, Lizzie,” he said, “they are indeed blessed. We can only pray that Emma’s second chance at happiness will be as good. James is a thoroughly decent and honourable man, and I am sure if she accepts him, she will do so because she loves and trusts him.”
***
Spring had well and truly arrived in the Weald of Kent, with its rich pastures, orchards, woodlands, and many splendid country estates, when Emma wrote to Emily Courtney.
Dear Emily, she wrote:
I gather from Sophie’s letter, which arrived last week, that Spring has not quite reached the Midlands.
In Kent, we have been blessed with truly perfect Spring weather—of the kind that makes one’s spirit soar!
Except for the threat of an occasional seasonal downpour, for which one must always go well prepared, it is ideal for walking, being uniformly soft and subtle, without the heat of Summer or the chill of Winter to complain about.
I have taken to indulging in my favourite pastime of reading out of doors rather than in the library or the living room. The girls and I have been walking all over the park and occasionally down to the village, which lies at the bottom of the valley. There are always plenty of excellent spots in the woods, which are beautiful now, and in the meadows beside the many streams, where we enjoy a quiet rest and read.
Last Saturday, we had gone out on just such a venture, enjoying the fresh air and exercise, when the sound of horses alerted us to the arrival of visitors, who turned out to be none other than Jonathan who had come down from London with James.
So enamoured were they of the pretty spot we had chosen for our “reading place” that they were loathe to leave and stayed with us until it was time to return to the house.
Victoria and Stephanie were a little weary and wanted to be lifted onto the horses, which the gentlemen then carefully guided home while I walked with them. We walked along the lanes and across the meadows, strewn with wild flowers, all in soft sunshine and a gentle breeze.
Can you not imagine, dear Emily, what a happy afternoon it made—for all of us and especially for my dear daughters?
Emily could certainly see that it would have made a very pleasant afternoon, but reading between and betwixt the lines, she could also sense the delight in her cousin’s words.
They had spent several hours during the last few months, sharing their experience and understanding of the sorrows that life had dealt them. Here for the first time, Emily was being given a glimpse of the effect that a healthy dose of happiness could have on Emma’s life.
She read on to learn that preparations were afoot at Standish Park for their journey to Canterbury, which was to be undertaken over a period of a week, for there was much to be seen both in the ancient cathedral city and on the way. It was natural that they would all be very excited.
Emma wrote that Mrs Wilson had asked to be excused:
Her health has improved somewhat since we have been here, but she has been advised not to risk its deterioration by undertaking a journey at this time. I was concerned about leaving her behind, but she assures me that with her maid and the two excellent nurses, who care for her day and night, she will be well looked after.
Our party will therefore consist of Mrs Elliot, myself and the two girls, James, his manservant, and my maid Sally—apart from the coachman and groom, of course. We are all looking forward to it very much, indeed. Stephanie and Victoria can hardly sleep for the excitement, and try as I might to remain calm, I am being drawn into the whirlpool, too.
When I next write I promise I shall tell you all about Canterbury, Chilham, and the other interesting places I am assured we are going to see.
God bless you.
Your loving cousin,
Emma.
On the morning on which they were to leave, the post brought several letters for James and one for Emma. Seeing it was from her mother, she tucked it into her pocket book, while James took his into the study, where he spent but a short time before emerging, apparently pleased with his correspondence, smiling and eager to set off for Canterbury.
The children were agog with excitement, and everything they would need on their journey had already been packed; all that remained was to take their leave of Mrs Wilson and be gone.
It was a fair distance to Canterbury, and they broke journey twice on the way. They visited the great estate and mansion at Godmersham and the neighbouring village of Chilham, some five miles from Canterbury, where a unique castle had been built in Jacobean times on a spot where Julius Caesar was supposed to have camped when he invaded England.
Its present owners had obtained the services of “Capability Brown,” England’s most celebrated landscape gardener, to create a romantic retreat. James was full of information about its history, and while Emma could appreciate the design and artistry of the place, Chilham did not really appeal to her.
She reluctantly admitted that, except for the lovely vistas of the gardens, she was not greatly attracted to Chilham. James pretended at first to be very disappointed, but when she was immediately contrite he laughed and confessed that he was teasing her. “It would not distress me unduly if you were not to like Chilham, Emma, but Canterbury, now that would be quite another matt
er.”
Emma promised to make every effort to like Canterbury, asking to be guided on its most remarkable features so she could properly appreciate them. James, thereafter, spent the rest of their journey telling them all there was to know about the ancient cathedral city.
Emma and Mrs Elliot had asked many questions and were both quite amazed at the depth of his knowledge until he confessed to having spent several years of his boyhood at the home of his uncle, a former warden at the cathedral, from whom he had learnt most of the history of this great medieval place of pilgrimage.
Emma was familiar with the story of Thomas à Becket, but both her daughters were wide eyed as James told the terrible tale of his murder in the cathedral.
On reaching the town, they went first to their lodgings, which were not far from the cathedral precinct. Later, they would walk about the town and savour its historic atmosphere as well as its fine Georgian architecture. They planned to spend the following day at the cathedral.
That night, Emma and her daughters, despite being weary from travelling, sat down before going to bed and wrote in her diary an account of their journey and the many things they had learned.
Later, in a letter to Emily, she recounted the experience:
I am continually astonished at his knowledge and interest in so many subjects. I could scarcely have conducted a conversation of the most trivial nature on any of these topics with David, so little interest did he display in them, yet with James, there is no end of matters to talk about.
Furthermore, he surprises me daily with his kindness and consideration—not just to me and the children but to Mrs Elliot and Sally, as well.
Nothing seems to be too much trouble if it will enhance our comfort or improve our conditions. Unaccustomed as I am to all this attention, I have to confess that it is exceedingly pleasurable and I certainly do not complain of it.
Emma had become increasingly aware in the past few days of the particular attention that James paid to her—his customary consideration seemed to be enhanced by a degree of tender concern.
Whether it was in a look or a touch of his hand upon her arm, or a particular expression on his face as she caught him watching her in an unguarded moment, she could not exactly tell. She was certain, however, that their relationship had deepened almost imperceptibly from a general warm friendliness to a level that had struck a new chord in her heart.
She did not stop to question whether her own feelings were deeply involved. There was no need to do so, she told herself—James was her brother-in-law and she had always loved him for his kindness to her and her children.
Now, however, a new emotion was confronting her and demanding attention. She was not uncomfortable with it, but wished she had someone, a sister or a friend, to confide in. She longed for Emily, sure that from her she would receive both understanding and wise counsel.
Emma, unlike her mother at an earlier age, was neither naïve nor unsophisticated in her understanding of social relationships. Spending most of her ten years of marriage to David Wilson in London had considerably sharpened her perceptive faculties.
Each night after dinner, James would inquire after their comfort and well-being, before planning the program for the morrow. Were they tired of ancient historical sites? Would they prefer a drive up into the downs where there were several pretty villages to be seen? “There is nowhere else in England quite like Kent,” he said, as they planned another excursion. “Almost every fold of the downs holds a hidden piece of history or some beautiful old village.”
Mrs Elliot had a strong constitution and appeared to suffer not at all from all the exertion, and the girls seemed quite tireless and were eager to set off on yet another expedition. Emma, however, had wearied after days of sight-seeing and asked if she could stay in and write her letters—all of which were overdue—while the others went into town.
Resting in the cool parlour, where their host had provided her with tea, she had been working industriously when James returned in the middle of the morning, having left the others visiting the ancient abbey of St Augustine.
She was reading again the letter from her mother, which she had received on the day they had set out on their journey. She put it aside when James walked in, apologising for interrupting her.
He sat down beside her and, remarking that she looked rather pale, asked if he could bring her some refreshment.
Emma protested that she was quite well. “It is just that I was a little tired from too much walking yesterday, and I thought I should rest today and write my letters,” she said.
“Of course, you must,” he said and then, seeing the letter lying on the table, asked in a tone that was meant to sound light-hearted, “No doubt your parents are missing you and wanting you back?”
Emma smiled and James seemed to believe that it implied confirmation of his remark. Yet, when she spoke, her reply was ambivalent. “Mother has her days full with my two sisters and Jonathan’s little ones whenever he and Amelia are in London. I do not believe she has had time to miss me—yet. In a month or two, perhaps…”
“Does that mean we shall have the pleasure of your company for a while longer?” he asked, and when she replied that she had not decided when they would be going home, he was unable to contain his anguish.
“Emma, but Standish Park is your home. You must not speak as if you are mere visitors there.”
There was something in the altered tone of his voice that prompted her to look up at him, and she saw in his countenance, and particularly in the expression of his eyes, what she recognised as the change in the relationship between them. While nothing had been said, she could not fail to be aware of a distinct deepening of their feelings towards one another. It was clear to her that James was aware of it, also.
Emma had already acknowledged to herself a subtle change in her own attitude towards him. It had altered her view of life as she realised that she was no longer looking forward to going “home” to her parents. Instead, she found herself anticipating the evenings they spent together at Standish Park, which was—as James had pointed out—her home and that of her children.
During the weeks since she had returned to Kent, she had become more involved with running the household on account of Mrs Wilson’s ill health. She had known several of the staff for many years, and they accepted her as the mistress of Standish Park with ease. James had begun to consult her on decisions concerning the house and grounds. It gave her a new dignity, which she was enjoying very much.
There had been days on which they spent many pleasant hours discussing the changes that were being made at Standish Park, changes that were to improve the property or the lives of the people who lived and worked on the estate.
While James did not press her further, she felt obliged to make it clear to him that she had, at this time, no plans to return to Ashford Park.
The smile that lit up his face was sufficient to express his feelings, but he had to say, “I am very happy to hear it, Emma. No one wants you to leave here—we would all miss you very much, and the children, of course. I know my mother would be particularly sad and so, indeed, would I.”
The sounds of the others returning interrupted their conversation, but Emma was very glad they had spoken.
Returning to Standish Park the following night, they were very tired, but wanted to talk about their wonderful week at Canterbury.
Victoria and Stephanie had so much to tell their grandmother, Emma was afraid they would weary her. But Mrs Wilson enjoyed it all. “It is so good having you all home again,” she said at breakfast the next morning as she looked around the table at her family, “I missed you very much, especially you, Emma—no one can sing for me as you do.”
Emma looked across at James and, catching his eye, she smiled, remembering their conversation. He had been quite sincere when he had said how sad they would all be had she decided to return to Leicestershire.
Some days later, the post brought some sad news. Mrs Elliot had an urgent letter from her sister in London. Her mother was ill and was asking to see her.
She was anxious to go to her. “Of course, you must go,” said Emma, and she went immediately to find James and arrange for transport to take her to meet the coach.
She left soon afterwards to get the coach to Rochester, where she would change for London. The girls were tearful, pleading with her to write soon. They would miss her terribly. Emma and Sally made sure they were bathed and in bed early.
Later, Emma came downstairs to find James alone in the sitting room. He was standing at the end of the room, looking out of the big bay windows and turned as she entered. It was a truly perfect late Spring evening.
When he spoke, she responded naturally, almost without thinking. “It is such a beautiful evening Emma, will you take a turn in the garden with me?” he asked.
There was no need for words. She smiled and took his arm as they went out onto the terrace and down the steps.
They walked along a familiar path, between the rose garden and the shrubbery. Very little of any substance was said by either, as they watched the birds fly in from the distant fields to rest in the trees around the grounds, and yet they were clearly in harmony as they walked together, turning away from the house towards the grove of fine old oaks that shaded its western face from the afternoon sun.
Hearing church bells in the distance, James broke the silence, reminding her that the bell ringers were practising for the wedding of Claire Greenacre, the daughter of a neighbouring family.
“Tomorrow she will marry her childhood sweetheart; I have known them both all our lives. We played together as children,” he said.
“Do you think they will be happy, James?” Emma asked. She knew Claire very slightly but had no knowledge of her bridegroom.
He smiled and nodded, but he did not exactly answer her question. Instead, he turned and, looking directly at her with a very purposeful expression, said, “Emma, forgive me. I know I have not said anything to prepare you for this, but please, let me tell you now how much you are appreciated and loved, and how happy you would make me if you stayed on with us at Standish Park permanently.”
The Women of Pemberley Page 10