My dear Emma, he wrote:
I would have dearly liked to commence this letter with the good news I know both you and James expect to receive from me.
Unhappily, that news must be delayed. I have today returned from Haye Park, having dined with Anna Faulkner and her mother (Dr Faulkner is from home visiting a colleague in Watford). Prior to this very pleasant meal, I was given a rare opportunity of spending some time alone with Miss Faulkner, which I used to tell her of my feelings and ask her to marry me.
Emma, she has assured me of her regard and affection, but she will have us wait some weeks, while she delves into her own heart and decides if we may or may not marry!
Her reasons, my dear sister, which I will not weary you by quoting here, were all reasonable and impossible to fault. I had no option but to agree and must now consume my soul in patience, though I am deeply disappointed at not knowing my fate, as it were.
I doubt if either you or James would have disagreed with the logic and wisdom of her arguments. One in particular, relating to the children and the loss of their mother, shows a genuine goodness of heart, I think. I could not help but agree and admire her selflessness.
And yet, my dear sister, I feel so alone tonight, not knowing if the woman I love, who assures me that I am the man she most admires and esteems of all her acquaintances, will actually agree to be my wife.
Or will she, if some remarkable stranger crosses her path and declares undying love, depart and leave me bereft? (I do jest, of course, but I think you will understand how I feel.)
The next few weeks will move exceedingly slow for me, dear Emma, but I shall try to endure it with cheerful fortitude.
Your loving brother etc.
***
Jonathan’s mother Jane was not privy to any of these developments when, driven only by maternal affection, she decided to approach her son about the same subject.
They met, fortuitously, after the recital given by William Courtney and his fellow students at St John’s Chapel, Oxford, whither several members of the family had travelled.
The recital over, many of the guests were invited to the Grantleys’ house, where Dr Grantley and Georgiana were hosting a supper party. Light rain was falling, and Jonathan, who had intended to walk to the Grantleys’ place, was taking shelter outside the chapel when the carriage bearing his parents approached and his father invited him to jump in.
He did, glad to be out of the rain, and when they reached the house, found that several guests had arrived already and there was quite a buzz of conversation in the parlour.
Young William and his parents were being congratulated, and there were requests for more music, which gave Jane an opportunity to take Jonathan aside into Dr Grantley’s study, where they were sure to be undisturbed.
Jonathan assumed his mother had had some information from his sister. He was annoyed with himself for not insisting upon secrecy. But, as it turned out, it was not Emma but Charlotte Collins who had been Jane’s informant.
Charlotte, whose letter was produced for his perusal, had written with the best of intentions. A couple of paragraphs on page three were drawn to his attention …
I hope, dear Jane, that I do not upset you by recalling unhappy memories of things past, when I say how pleased I have been to see the growing friendship between Jonathan and my niece Anna Faulkner. I know they met several times in London, before and after the dreadful days following Amelia-Jane’s death, but in more recent times they seem to have been often together. I am aware that they are frequently in each other’s company and, though my sister Maria says very little, I do believe she has hopes in this regard.
The other day, she was at Longbourn, the day after Jonathan had dined with them, and she seemed a little disappointed that nothing was said by either Anna or Jonathan that would give her any indication of their intentions.
“I can get nothing from Anna, sister,” she said and added that she hoped “Anna would not be hurt again as she was some years ago.”
I assured her then and there, dear Jane, that Jonathan Bingley, who was my own son-in-law, and a man of utmost integrity, would never deliberately hurt anyone, least of all a fine young woman like her Anna.
“He is an honourable and sincere gentleman,” I said, “and I am sure if he has any intentions, he will acquaint you and Dr Faulkner with them very soon.”
I hope, dear Jane, you will agree that I have been fair to your son, for whom I have great respect and affection. I know he has suffered a great deal of aggravation and misery, some of it on account of my poor foolish Amelia-Jane, who was so cruelly misled by her false friends, and I am sorry for all of that. But, Jane, neither you nor I could have foreseen what happened and I sincerely hope that this time, he will be truly happy, for Anna is a remarkable young woman, with quite the most charming disposition of anyone I know.
Jonathan read and returned the letter to his mother. He looked thoughtful and concerned. Sitting beside her, he took her hand in his.
“Mama, has this letter upset you? Have you been unhappy about the prospect of Anna and I …” She put a hand up to his lips to hush him.
“No, Jonathan my dear, it is not a matter of being upset or unhappy about you and Anna. Why would I be? She is accomplished and handsome and of impeccable character. Her parents are respectable and have been our friends for many years.”
He was bewildered. “What then? What objection could you possibly have?”
“None,” she replied, but then, she looked at him and sighed. “But, I will admit I have been concerned that in your sorrow and loneliness, you will rush into a marriage without giving it much thought. Jonathan, I could not bear the thought of you being miserable again. All I ask is that you give yourself sufficient time to consider your future. There is really no need to make a hurried decision, is there?”
She even had a practical proposition for him. “If you are anxious about the girls, perhaps I could stay with you a while at Netherfield until they settle in.”
Jonathan was both relieved and touched. Relieved, because he knew his mother was not implacably opposed to Anna, and touched by her genuine concern for his happiness. He hastened to reassure her.
“Dear Mama, you need have no fears at all. There is not going to be another precipitate proposal this time, nor a hasty marriage. I confess I was both precipitate and hasty the last time, but in my defence, I was young and we were all suffering the effects of a terrible tragedy. I do not say this to excuse my failure of judgment, merely to explain it. But, Mama, it is almost twenty-five years later; I am no callow youth and Anna is a mature and intelligent young woman. You have no cause for anxiety.”
“But Jonathan, tell me, is it true? Is Charlotte right? Have you been courting her?” she asked, searching his face for the truth.
He smiled. “Well, it is and it isn’t,” he said, and to allay her fears, explained some of what had passed between Anna and himself.
She listened, her face reflecting her changing response from surprise to relief.
“So you see, there is no reason to worry. I do believe I love her, very much. When you know her better, I know you will, too. I have asked her to marry me and I have written to ask her father’s permission, but the lady herself wishes to have a little more time to be quite sure of her feelings and mine.”
At that point, his mother bridled, outraged that any young woman could doubt her son, but was appeased when he assured her that Anna had a very high opinion of him. All the same, she smiled and remarked, “Of course she has. Why should she not?”
“Trust me, Mama,” he said, putting his arms around her, knowing that her affection would always win out in the end, “When you come to us at Easter, you will meet Anna again and I hope we shall have settled all this business by then. I know you will agree that she is a most engaging and intelligent young woman,” he said as they went to rejoin the rest of the party,
taking comfort from the fact that his mother was smiling and content again, much more like her usual self.
***
Returning home from Oxford, the Darcys and Bingleys travelled through Warwickshire, breaking journey at Leamington Spa, where the gentlemen had an appointment with a business acquaintance, who had recently shown an interest in the trade in Tea and Spices. Since Mr Gardiner’s recent illness, which prevented him from travelling far from home, Bingley had taken on some of the work of dealing with clients and, with Darcy’s prestige to substantiate his own claims, was making a very good fist of it.
Travelling at a leisurely pace, stopping to enjoy the singular beauty of tiny Warwickshire villages, of stone and thatch cottages, and neat lanes edged with a profusion of wild flowers, they reached the inn where they were to stay by late afternoon. The gentlemen were keen to be gone to their meeting at the Pump Room of the Spa, while their wives, disinclined to squander an evening, decided instead to take advantage of a well-appointed room with a blazing fire that the landlady put at their disposal.
Despatching the servants, who had never visited the town before and were eager to see the sights, the two sisters settled down to enjoy the evening. It had been a while since they had had time to themselves.
Elizabeth knew that Jane had intended to speak with Jonathan. Since receiving Charlotte Collins’ letter, she had been impatient to discover how things stood with her son and Miss Faulkner. With all three daughters now happily settled, she worried only about the happiness of Jonathan and the well-being of his children.
“Well, Jane,” said Elizabeth, “I know you have had your little talk with Jonathan, because I saw you come out of Dr Grantley’s study together; indeed, I remarked to Darcy that it must have gone well, since you were both smiling. Are you going to tell me about it?”
Jane, who had never been able to keep anything from her dearest sister and best friend, blushed as she recalled how she had decided that Jonathan’s private life was to be protected from idle gossip. Indeed, she had resolved not to discuss it with anyone, not even Bingley, until Jonathan had declared his intentions. But with Lizzie, it was different.
“Lizzie, of course I am going to tell you about it. But you must promise to keep Jonathan’s secret, though I suppose you may tell Mr Darcy. I do not believe Jonathan would mind at all if Darcy were to know.”
Elizabeth knew her sister well. She knew she would not have to press her for the details, but only if Jonathan had not asked that it be kept secret, for so delicate was Jane’s sense of honour, she would not dream of breaking a confidence, even to discuss it with her sister.
Fortunately, this was not necessary, and soon, Elizabeth had heard all the circumstances that Jonathan had recounted to his mother regarding his friendship with Anna Faulkner.
“Lizzie, he says he loves her and has proposed to her; he has written to Dr Faulkner as well, so he does seem to have made up his mind quite some time ago,” said Jane.
Elizabeth was eager for news; having had her own discussion with Darcy on the prospect of such a match, she was impatient to discover how the matter had progressed.
“And Anna, how did she respond? Has she accepted him?” she asked, expecting an affirmative answer, for it did not seem possible that her favourite nephew, her godson, Jonathan Bingley, once regarded as the most eligible bachelor in two or three counties, could be turned down.
When Jane revealed that Anna had insisted they wait a few more weeks, Elizabeth was totally perplexed.
“What has possessed the girl?” she asked, expressing her frustration and impatience, ahead of discovering the reason for Anna’s request.
However, when Jane revealed her reasons, as Jonathan had explained them to her, including Miss Faulkner’s commendable concern for the feelings of Jonathan’s daughters, Elizabeth was immediately contrite and praised her sensitivity.
Jane’s own opinion, quietly but firmly expressed, underlined her own satisfaction with the manner in which Jonathan and Miss Faulkner had arranged their affairs.
“I think, Lizzie, it reveals a most unselfish and thoughtful nature, to have persuaded a man as ardent as Jonathan to wait while she examines the strength of her own feelings and allows time for the children to overcome the shock of losing their mother. Of his own attachment, he has left her in no doubt, and Lizzie, I am sure that once she discovers her true feelings, they will soon be engaged,” she declared.
Elizabeth had to agree, and she congratulated her sister on the imminent prospect of acquiring a most amiable and accomplished daughter-in-law.
Jane was more cautious. She had known disappointment before.
“Oh I do hope you are right, Lizzie, for I have no doubt at all that Jonathan is very much in love with her, and it would break my heart to see his hopes dashed. He has a tender heart, and I know how much mortification he suffered when Amelia-Jane turned against him. He has, for the sake of his children, shown such courage and forbearance, it is surely time he found some happiness. I wish there was something I could do to help.”
Elizabeth put an arm around her sister, whose gentle nature and kind heart often caused her to suffer on behalf of others.
“Dear Jane, pray do not upset yourself, both Jonathan and Anna are mature adults and are surely not unaware of what marriage to each other can mean for both of them. I realise Jonathan has suffered greatly, and that is all the more reason why he will be especially circumspect.
“Anna has clearly wished to consult her own feelings more deeply before committing herself to a completely new life, with a husband and children, two of whom are close enough to her own age to be her siblings,” she explained, adding, “You need not worry about them, Jane. Do you recall how concerned I was when Julian became engaged to Josie Tate?”
Jane recalled very well her sister’s anxiety on that score.
“I do; you thought she was too young, not mature enough to appreciate his work at Cambridge or his future role at Pemberley,” she said.
“Indeed, and Darcy convinced me that an intelligent young woman like Josie would learn, as she grew into her marriage, what her responsibilities were. I am sure he will be proved right. Julian seems very happy and they are both looking forward to their first child,” said Elizabeth.
Jane smiled, a sad little smile, remembering her own reservations about Amelia-Jane, who had not been more than sixteen when she became engaged to Jonathan. Jane’s initial anxiety had been soon pushed aside on seeing how much in love they were. Yet, as things had turned out, she had been justified to fear for her son’s happiness.
“I suppose, Lizzie, the difference between Julian’s situation and Jonathan’s was that Josie Tate is an educated and intelligent young person, whereas poor Amelia-Jane remained as immature as she had been when he married her, with very little to recommend her except her beauty. I do hope you are right, Lizzie, for he surely deserves to be happy again.”
The return of the gentlemen in time for supper brought their discussions to a close, for they wisely assumed that after an hour or more of business dealings, neither of their husbands would be in a mood to contemplate the complexities of Jonathan’s love life.
Instead, they anticipated the delights of a day to be spent at Stratford upon Avon before returning to Ashford Park and Pemberley. The problems of today would be set aside while they enjoyed the drama and romance of the past. It was an experience they looked forward to with pleasure.
***
When Emma Wilson received her brother’s letter and read the first two lines, she was saddened and shocked, thinking he had been turned down by Anna Faulkner.
But, reading on, she was delighted with the news and left the breakfast table to find her husband, who was in his study composing a speech.
James, seeing her expression, assumed she’d had good news from Jonathan.
“Are congratulations in order?” he asked and, even when she re
ad out the parts of his letter explaining what had transpired, James remained optimistic.
“My dear Emma, Jonathan is a persistent young man, I am confident he will have her agreement by Easter,” he said and, noticing that she seemed rather doubtful, added, “Now Emma, you are not going to fret about your brother, are you? Believe me, he is well placed in this matter. Miss Faulkner already admits to admiration and esteem, he is easily the most eligible man in the county; if she will not marry him, she must be more foolish than I had thought her to be.”
His wife protested that Anna Faulkner was not at all foolish.
“Aunt Lizzie believes her to be very intelligent and sensible and my own knowledge of her confirms it,” she said.
James smiled rather smugly, as if she had proved his case.
“Well then, your worries will soon be over, for I cannot believe an intelligent and sensible young woman would turn down a proposal from Jonathan Bingley,” he said confidently.
Returning to Netherfield from Oxford, Jonathan found, among the letters waiting for him, one from his sister. Emma, having received his letter, which had conveyed an impression of dejection, had hastened to reply, urging him to regard the waiting time as a period in which he could perhaps prepare himself and his children for what Emma felt was his inevitable engagement to Miss Faulkner.
My dear brother, she wrote:
We were delighted to hear that you had found an appropriate opportunity to approach Miss Faulkner.
As for the rather delicate situation in which you find yourself, it is at least not one of hopelessness. I cannot believe that the conclusion to this story is going to be other than happy, for everything I know of you and Anna, as well as my understanding of the circumstances you have described, leads me to believe that she is being careful, cautious, perhaps, but nothing else.
Generally speaking, this suggests a prudent sensibility and a greatness of mind that does her credit. There is no hint of evasiveness or pretence, which requires to be persuaded with gifts and flattery etc.
Netherfield Park Revisited Page 28