Expectations of Happiness

by Rebecca Ann Collins

  There were many other questions to which Elinor wanted answers, but she knew the colonel was unlikely to have them. Clearly his sympathies were with his longtime friend Sir John, and he was not willing to query the basis of an arrangement that could offer some relief to him in the awkward situation in which he found himself. He assured them also that they could use his carriage to return to Delaford, while he would follow on horseback not long afterward.

  Handing over a sealed envelope addressed to his wife, which he begged Elinor to convey to her sister, he left them to return to Barton Park.

  The conversation that followed between Edward and Elinor revealed as much of their own deep understanding of each other as it did of their tolerance of the frequently odd and occasionally bizarre behaviour of both her mother and Sir John Middleton.

  Mrs Dashwood’s letter was brief.

  Dearest Elinor, she wrote:

  As I am sure Colonel Brandon will explain, Sir John has asked if I could stay on at Barton Park for a while, and in view of the dire situation in which they are placed, with Mrs Jennings being so poorly, I feel it is the least I can do to help.

  I know you were hoping that we could have a talk about future plans, but I fear that will have to wait. I shall write as soon as I can find some time—which may not be soon, for there seems to be a great deal to be done here. Apart from Mrs Williams, the housekeeper, there is no one who seems to understand what needs be done, and even she waits upon my instructions at every turn.

  It was clear to Edward that his wife was uneasy with her mother’s decision to remain at Barton Park; he tried to forestall her expressions of concern with some comforting speculation.

  “Perhaps, my dear, your mother means only to demonstrate her appreciation for the generosity of Sir John Middleton, by assisting him. It is a particularly difficult time for Sir John, especially with Mrs Jennings being unwell, and no doubt your mama wishes to help.”

  Elinor turned and he could see tears in her eyes. “Edward, dearest, of course Mama is grateful and wants to help Sir John, but I have considerable reservations about this decision. Mama, as you well know, is not some well-organised manager, experienced in running a large household; she has little knowledge of the requirements of Barton Park and is unfamiliar with the staff. She has probably agreed on impulse with only the best intentions, but, Edward, if this were to lead to friction and muddle, I fear she will have done more harm than good.”

  Edward felt this was a somewhat harsh judgement and said so, but his wife would not be comforted and they talked late into the night, trying to comprehend the reasons for Mrs Dashwood’s action and wondering how things might turn out.

  “How do you suppose Marianne will feel about it?” he asked.

  “Marianne will probably accept it without argument; she, like Mama, is given to sudden impulses; they both love to make grand gestures without first working out the consequences. But I doubt if Margaret will,” Elinor predicted, before putting out the candle and pulling up the eider down. She was both weary and worried. “Oh Edward, this is such a mess. I had hoped that Mama would be here and we could reach some agreement as to her future, and now here we are, with so many uncertainties, leaving with no resolution at all. I cannot help feeling quite apprehensive about this situation.”

  “Come now, dearest, there’s no need to be so dispirited,” said Edward, trying to provide some consolation. “At the very least, we can be assured that your mama is happy with the decision she has made, and we know it is a temporary arrangement to assist her cousin over a difficult patch. I am quite certain that within the month, we will see her back home and possibly even settled at Delaford.”

  “Do you really believe that?” she asked, solemnly regarding his face. “I am not as certain as you are, but I know you mean to comfort me and I shall pray you are right,” she said and snuggled down beside him, enjoying the reassuring warmth of his presence.

  For Elinor, one thing had changed materially with her marriage: While she could feel some anxiety about the conduct of her mother or sisters, she no longer spent lonely, sleepless nights pondering the whys and wherefores of every difficult situation they faced. The intimacy they shared, together with Edward’s willingness to listen, analyse, and occasionally argue away her fears, had rendered her life considerably more tranquil than before, while the warmth of his affection had brought genuine contentment.

  What had begun as a dutiful visit to attend the funeral of Lady Middleton had, without warning, given rise to an uncomfortable situation that could become a continuing source of aggravation. Her husband, aware there was little he could do to change the circumstances, put a comforting arm around her and was pleased to be rewarded with an affectionate if somewhat sleepy response.

  Chapter Two

  Since coming to live at the parsonage in the parish of Delaford, the living gifted to Edward by Colonel Brandon, Elinor had become acquainted with a number of families, some of whom, by dint of their long residence in the district, felt able to dispense information and advice on just about anyone and anything under the sun.

  While, as the wife of the Reverend Edward Ferrars, Elinor wished to maintain good relations with all of his parishioners, there were those among them in whose company she was more—and others with whom she was distinctly less—comfortable.

  Among the former group was Dr Bradley King—doctor not of medicine but of philosophy—lately retired from one of the Oxford Colleges, his wife, and daughter. Dr King had been a tutor to Edward Ferrars at Oxford, and when the pair met again by chance in Dorchester, both men had been delighted to discover that they were living within a few miles of each other. Upon being invited to meet Dr King’s family, Edward and Elinor had been easily drawn into their very friendly circle, in which, after the obligatory praise of their historic cottage situated on a site overlooking the confluence of two rivers, their discourse was all of subjects that interested and enthused them both.

  Like Edward Ferrars, Dr King was a man of learning and culture, with a special fascination for medieval archaeology, while Mrs King, who insisted that Elinor must call her Helen, found in her new acquaintance a rare companion who could share her love of reading and music, and enjoy thoughtful conversations during long walks in the woods. Not surprisingly, the two couples had, over the next few years, become firm friends.

  The Kings’ daughter, Dorothea, was a pretty, amiable young woman with a penchant for everything French—despite her passionate dislike of the former emperor, Napoleon. Her mother had confided to Elinor that this abhorrence of Bonaparte was chiefly based upon the circumstance that a young guardsman she had admired had gone to fight in France and been so grievously wounded in the war against Bonaparte that he had returned embittered and unable to propose marriage to the young lady he had courted through the previous summer.

  Helen King and Elinor Ferrars, both coming into the county recently, and having few other intimate friends, soon formed a natural bond; although Mrs King was almost ten years older than Elinor, neither felt the difference in their ages impeded the development of a warm friendship between them.

  On returning to Delaford, Elinor went first to the manor house, where she found Marianne still keeping mainly to her apartments upstairs, where she would read and draw and entertain herself by attempting to copy the works of artists she admired, in a studio specially fitted out for her at her husband’s behest. Elinor handed over Colonel Brandon’s letter, which Marianne put aside unopened and continued with her drawing. She was somewhat less communicative than usual, asking only a few perfunctory questions about Lady Middleton’s sudden demise and showing no interest at all in her funeral. “I suppose the Palmers were there; had I been well enough, I may have been better able to put up with Charlotte Palmer, but believe me, Elinor, I was in no state to endure her witless chatter.”

  Surprised at the sharpness of her sister’s remark, Elinor believed she was still feeling unwell, and
chose not to mention her concerns about their mother’s decision to remain at Barton Park. Marianne herself made no comment on the matter and, urging her sister to take good care of herself, Elinor left to visit her friend Mrs King.

  She meant to acquaint her with some of the extraordinary things that had occurred at Barton Park and her own disquiet on the matter. She was sure Helen King, who was of a practical disposition, would have a sensible explanation that would help allay her anxiety.

  But, while Mrs King did indeed welcome her friend warmly, she appeared rather distressed herself and, after they’d taken tea, suggested a walk out on the path that ran along the edge of the bluff upon which their cottage was situated. It afforded not only a most picturesque view of the valley and river below, but guaranteed the privacy that both women clearly desired.

  Mrs King spoke first, explaining that she had been worried all week about her daughter. Dorothea had met her young guardsman again at a dinner party in the home of mutual friends. The young man, now sadly retired from his regiment and unable, on account of his injuries, to obtain other work, had treated her rather coldly, and Dorothea had been very distressed, Mrs King confided. “She still loves him, Elinor, and though Dr King and I have tried tactfully and gently to suggest that all may not be lost—they are both quite young and the young man may yet overcome his disability—Dorothea is not hopeful. We worry that she, while unlikely to go into a melancholy decline—it is not in her nature—has nonetheless decided that love and marriage are out of her reach, and, Elinor, she is only twenty-three!” she cried.

  Understanding her friend’s concern, Elinor confessed that she had once held similar fears for her young sister Marianne, now Mrs Brandon, when she was but seventeen. But she was happy to report that things had taken a turn for the better, when Marianne had decided, some months after a particularly unhappy experience, to accept Colonel Brandon.

  “As you can see, they are now quite happily settled at Delaford,” she added. Elinor had not mentioned the man concerned by name at all, referring instead to a disappointment in love sustained at an impressionable age, from which Marianne, being passionate and sincere as well as very young at the time, had suffered very badly. Which was why Elinor was astonished to hear Mrs King say in a confidential sort of voice that yes, she had heard about young Mrs Brandon’s unhappy love affair with a certain Mr Willoughby of Somersetshire.

  Turning immediately to face her companion, Elinor, startled and disconcerted, asked how she had come by that information, to be told that it was generally known among some of the ladies in the district. Her own informant had been a Miss Henrietta Clift, who claimed to know both Mr Willoughby and his late aunt, Mrs Smith, the former owner of Allenham, a fine estate in the county of Devon. Miss Clift, said Mrs King, had claimed therefore to be well acquainted with the facts of the case.

  Unwilling to allow the subject of her sister’s past to be trawled further, Elinor stated with great conviction that all of their friends and family had been delighted when Marianne had accepted Colonel Brandon, who was universally liked and respected, and Mrs King concurred, adding that she was sure Mrs Brandon must have completely recovered from her youthful infatuation.

  Their conversation continued thereafter along different, less contentious lines, but it left Elinor disturbed and troubled. She had no knowledge at all of this Miss Henrietta Clift and wondered by what means she had acquired the information she seemed to have passed on to others in the district. Furthermore, she knew not if Miss Clift was well regarded by Helen King and was therefore constrained in her ability to question or contradict her motives and assertions. Yet, she felt keenly the need to do so, for it would not do to have her sister’s reputation gossiped about in and around Delaford.

  Determined, however, not to reveal her disquiet to her friend, lest it signify a level of concern it did not warrant, Elinor remained silent on the matter until she returned to the parsonage, where with their two sons out walking in the park with their governess, she had more time to worry before her husband arrived home.

  Unaccustomed to finding his wife in a state of agitation—for Elinor, of all the women he knew, was by far the least likely to give way to such moods—Edward Ferrars was concerned, more so because he was privy to some information with which he had not wished to trouble her, fearing that she may be unduly upset. He wondered whether the same news may have reached her by some other route and sought to discover the cause of her concern. When they had dined and the maid had cleared the table, he asked, “Elinor, dearest, has there been any news from Barton Park? Have you heard from your mother?”

  Elinor looked up and indicated that she would prefer to continue this conversation in the parlour, into which they withdrew with their tea tray. Edward set about drawing the fire into a good blaze, while his wife poured out tea, and as soon as they were seated, she said, “I have had no further news from my mother, but Helen King said something that has disturbed me, Edward. I cannot explain it and I have been worrying about it ever since,” and when he looked at her, clearly puzzled, she continued quickly, “She says that many of the women in the district are already aware of the affair of Willoughby and Marianne. How can this be? Indeed, a Miss Henrietta Clift, who I suspect is the main source of the tale, has claimed that she has had the information from Willoughby himself and his late aunt, Mrs Smith of Allenham, whom she knew intimately. Edward, should this be gossiped about around the district, should it reach either Colonel Brandon or Marianne, can you imagine the damage it will do?”

  The arrival of their two sons with their dog, all determined to attract maximum attention, meant that Edward had not the opportunity to answer her query, for which he was somewhat grateful, for it would give him sufficient time to contemplate and decide if he should acquaint his wife with the information he had heard that afternoon. He loved her dearly and was loathe to add to her troubles, but at the same time it seemed to him, in the light of what she had just said, that it was imperative Elinor should know all the facts.

  After young Harry and John had been bathed and sent to bed, Elinor returned to the subject, and Edward decided he had to speak. She was wondering aloud who Henrietta Clift might be and how she had come by the information, when Edward said quietly, “I believe they are relatives of his—Mr Willoughby’s—and have recently moved to live here.”

  Elinor, who was braiding her hair in front of her mirror, swung round. “What? How do you know this?” she asked in a voice that betrayed her anxiety, and her husband came to her side and said in a quiet, matter-of-fact tone, “I am sorry, my love. I have been meaning to tell you, but I did not wish to add to your present worries. The family has been living in Somerset for some time, but have recently moved to Wareham—not within my parish, but near enough. I was introduced to Mr and Mrs Clift yesterday and heard them mention in conversation that their cousin, a Mr Willoughby, had a place in Somersetshire and was a particular friend of their elder daughter. I knew then it had to be the same man, but I was reluctant to ask too many questions.”

  Elinor’s countenance was pale as she gazed at him. “Did they say if he was in the area—I mean, did they mention if he came into Somerset often?” she asked, adding, “I had understood that he lives mainly in London.” Edward nodded and took her hands in his before saying, “Please do not upset yourself, my love, it may not mean anything at all, but I believe he is in Somerset already and intends to spend the rest of the season in the county. The Clifts were looking forward to his visiting them soon.”

  Elinor covered her face with her hands, and nothing he said would comfort her. Ever since he had become acquainted with the Dashwoods—initially when his sister, Fanny, had married John Dashwood, and later when he had met the family again at Norland, their family home in Sussex—Edward had become aware of Elinor’s strong sense of responsibility toward her younger sister, Marianne, and to a lesser degree, her mother. The intensity of her concern had at first surprised him, but he had soon re
alised that it was a consequence of the value she placed on sound judgment and understanding, qualities in which they were somewhat lacking, and she possessed in full measure. This had been amply demonstrated during the period of Marianne’s amorous liaison with Mr Willoughby and its inevitable unhappy consequences. While Mrs Dashwood had indulged and defended both Marianne and Willoughby, Elinor alone had counselled caution. As he had come to admire and love her dearly, Edward had noted many examples of Elinor’s selfless devotion to her family and in particular Marianne, of whom she seemed especially protective.

  Once again, he was witnessing her excessive unease and on this occasion decided to question whether it was warranted. When she was a little calmer, he asked gently, “While I do understand your general concern, my love, I wonder whether you are not being unduly pessimistic about Mr Willoughby. Do you not think your sister, after almost seven years of marriage, is far less likely to be affected by recollections of her youthful association with him? After all, everyone knows she is now happily married to Colonel Brandon…”

  He was not ready for Elinor’s interruption. “Is she? Do you know that for certain, Edward?” she asked. Shocked, Edward was silent for a moment before he found his voice and said, “Is she not? Have you any evidence that their marriage is not happy? For I have seen none.”

  This time, Elinor struggled to respond, unable or perhaps unwilling to put into words the niggling doubts that had troubled her over the last year as she watched her sister grow restless and bored with her role as Lady of the Manor at Delaford.

  As her husband listened, amazed by the extent of her distress, she detailed her concerns. Some she had held without speaking of them to anyone, from the very first months of Colonel Brandon’s courtship of Marianne and their mother’s enthusiastic encouragement of it.