Expectations of Happiness

by Rebecca Ann Collins

  Greeting her with his usual lack of warmth, he claimed he had called on Sir John Middleton to pay his respects, and had been very surprised to find Mrs Dashwood still at Barton Park. He wondered if Elinor could enlighten him as to her mother’s reasons for being there and her plans for the future.

  Taken aback by his sudden interest in her mother’s forthcoming plans, Elinor took some delight in denying him the information he sought. “I am sorry, John, but Mama has not made any decisions about her future plans yet; for the present, she has agreed to help her cousin Sir John Middleton care for his mother-in-law, Mrs Jennings. She has been very poorly since Lady Middleton’s death, and is unable to travel to join her daughter, Mrs Palmer, whose family is presently at Ramsgate. As to what Mama will do thereafter,” she shrugged her shoulders and added, “you will need to ask her; she has certainly not confided in me.”

  John Dashwood seemed very put out. “Ah!” said he, and continued in a voice that suggested he was less than satisfied with her answer, “I had very much hoped you might know, Elinor. You see, Fanny was wondering about Barton Cottage; there is a person, a former housekeeper of her mother’s, who is in need of a place to stay, and Fanny thinks that Barton Cottage might be the very thing—especially since the rent is reasonable—if Mrs Dashwood were to vacate it. She particularly asked that I ascertain what plans Mrs Dashwood may have, and it is rather awkward that I cannot take back an answer. Perhaps Marianne may know… I could call on her at Delaford Manor later today,” he mused.

  His motives being exposed clearly now, Elinor felt a particular pleasure that she had not been able to satisfy him. She had no wish to be disagreeable, but, assisting Fanny and her mother, Mrs Ferrars, to accommodate a retired housekeeper, whom they no longer wished to shelter, was not high on Elinor’s list of priorities.

  Knowing she was adding to his discomfort, she said, “Marianne knows no more than I do of Mama’s plans, but, at least on the question of Barton Cottage, I can certainly assure you that Mama has no intention whatsoever of quitting it. While she is happy to spend some part of her time with Marianne and me, she greatly values her independence and has said on many occasions that she so enjoys the cottage, she will never give it up.”

  Looking decidedly crestfallen, John Dashwood had to admit defeat and stayed only to finish his tea. A weak, selfish man who was continually pandering to the high notion that his wife and mother-in-law had of themselves and their place in society, his paltry treatment of his stepmother and stepsisters after their father’s death had greatly reduced him in Elinor’s estimation. The further humiliation they had been allowed to suffer at the hands of his wife, Fanny, had consolidated her contempt for all of them—save Edward, Fanny’s brother, in whom she had found a man of many virtues and a gentle temperament quite unlike his relatives.

  Elinor was sure Edward would enjoy the tale of John Dashwood’s disappointment with which she hoped to entertain him on their journey to Weymouth.

  ***

  Their fortnight away proved to be a great success.

  Though principally a seaside resort, Weymouth offered many other possibilities for the enterprising traveller, and since neither Edward nor Elinor wished merely to sit in the sun on the beach, they found several interesting things to do.

  Edward’s friend, Dr Trelawney, a retired Oxford don, was writing a book about the many ancient abbeys and churches, mostly in a sad state of disrepair, that were scattered around the county. He encouraged them to accompany him on his visits and proved to be a most knowledgeable guide. On his recommendation, too, in the second week of their stay, they moved from their hotel in Melcombe to comfortable lodgings in the charming village of Sutton Poyntz. Their hosts were a friendly pair of sisters, who welcomed them warmly and opened up their best room for their use. The Misses Jane and Elfrida Dunkley attended to their every need with the particular care one usually reserves for very dear friends.

  The weather was kind for most of their stay, and even when it was not, the company was excellent, for Dr Trelawney introduced them to his family and invited them to dine at his home, while Mrs Trelawney, a woman of many talents and a fine sense of humour, was excellent company for Elinor. The four of them spent their days in travel and exploration and their evenings in intelligent and diverting discourse.

  The fortnight passed far too quickly, and when it was time to return to Delaford, Elinor could not help the sigh that escaped her lips as she packed their trunk. Thanks to Dr Trelawney, who was travelling in his own vehicle to Dorchester, their homeward journey was more swiftly and comfortably accomplished, and they reached the parsonage on Saturday afternoon. Having taken tea and dealt with the demands of her two sons, who were eager to be told everything about Weymouth at once, Elinor went upstairs to rest, while Edward went to open up the church and read his accumulated mail.

  It was in her bedroom that she found, propped up on her dressing table, a hand-delivered note from Marianne. Opening it up immediately, Elinor read it quickly through. She was concerned because their last meeting had not been a propitious one.

  Marianne wrote:

  Dearest Elinor,

  I trust Edward and you are safely home after a restful holiday at Weymouth.

  This is only a brief note, written in a great hurry. It has been such a busy time with Robert and Lucy here this last week, although they have not spent all their time at Delaford Manor. They’ve been visiting friends in the area too, and we have had some of them here to tea, which was good fun.

  We have gone twice into Dorchester and once to Wareham to see the deep pool, which is such a beautiful sight—Robert and Lucy had heard it was not to be missed, and they did not believe that I had not been there before, having lived in Dorset these many years.

  Truly, Elinor, Robert and Lucy are much improved since we saw them last, I have so enjoyed having them to stay.

  On Saturday, we are to join a party of Robert’s friends to drive into Somerset; I do so long to see Somerset, which I know to be especially beautiful at this time of year.

  Thereafter the letter ended abruptly, with the words:

  Lucy and Robert are back—I can hear their carriage in the drive. I must go downstairs directly.

  Your loving sister,

  Marianne

  Elinor’s response to her sister’s note was one of intense anxiety and bewilderment. She was bewildered by Marianne’s cavalier acceptance of Robert and Lucy as “much improved” when she knew that neither had shown, in the years since her marriage to Edward, that they had changed either in inclination or demeanour. He had, for the most part, remained selfish and supercilious, while she had made no attempt at all to improve her disposition or her understanding, continuing to indulge in the type of shallow, mindless gossip that was her stock in trade. Neither by an improvement of mind or manners or by any worthwhile accomplishments had they distinguished themselves from what they had been when Elinor had first met them several years ago.

  Marianne’s mention of a journey into Somerset with them had increased Elinor’s apprehension. For it was there, she had recently learned, that Willoughby was spending the summer. Questions flooded her mind—what if he were to encounter their party? How would it be if they were to meet? Recalling Willoughby’s infamous protestations of love, she wondered, would he approach Marianne? Knowing Marianne’s predisposition, Elinor was concerned that in the company of two people as irresponsible as Robert and Lucy Ferrars, her sister might not be able to resist the type of impulsive behaviour that had, on previous occasions, led to embarrassment and distress.

  When her husband returned, she was in two minds as to whether she should tell him of her fears; to do so, she would have to reveal her knowledge of the visit of Robert and Lucy, but she was forestalled when he announced that he’d had a letter from his brother Robert.

  He held up a note. “It seems they’ve been here while we were away, staying at Delaford Manor and visi
ting friends in the area! Isn’t that a surprise?” and then seeing that Elinor was clearly not particularly surprised, asked, “Have you heard already?”

  Marianne’s note, lying on the bedside table, provided a clue, and he assumed she had just heard the news from her sister, but Elinor could no longer carry on the deception; she had to reveal the fact that she had known of the visit well before they left for Weymouth. She was very contrite. “I’m sorry, dearest, I can give you no logical explanation, except that I was so completely disconcerted by Marianne’s revelation that she had invited them to stay. I could not understand it; she has never liked Lucy and has nothing in common with her. Besides, Marianne has not the patience to put up with Lucy as I do. I found her change of heart inexplicable; it upset me and I just decided not to trouble you with the news. I am sorry.”

  Edward was his usual gentle, understanding self, if a little confused by her confession. He simply shrugged his shoulders and said, “It matters little, my love, it would have made no difference to our plans—no doubt they had plenty to occupy them… Robert says they enjoyed their stay—their friends the Percevals live not far from Delaford and they spent most of their time with them. He says they were sorry to have missed us, but he is probably just being civil.”

  Elinor handed him her sister’s note and watched him as he read it.

  “Hmm, it certainly looks like Marianne has been enjoying the company too,” he said and was surprised when Elinor said softly, “That is exactly what concerns me; these friends of Robert’s that she speaks of, who are they and why was she going into Somerset with them?”

  Edward raised his eyebrows. “You believe there is still some danger lurking in Somerset for Marianne?” he asked.

  “I do. You told me that Willoughby was spending the summer there. It probably sounds silly, and perhaps I am being over-anxious, but, Edward, you did not see Marianne when she was in love with Willoughby. I can only describe it as being besotted; she believed he was a prince among men who could do no wrong and would never betray her. She was unwilling to allow that she could be wrong in her estimation of him, and I don’t know if Marianne is strong enough to resist him now. Were they to meet again, at a time when the colonel is away and she is bored and susceptible to flattery, one cannot predict what consequences might follow.”

  Edward, who had been considering the possibility that his wife was being overprotective of her sister, hearing the apprehension in her voice, began to take her concerns more seriously. His brother had mentioned the Percevals—Edward recalled them vaguely as a wealthy family of young men and women whose main pastimes were entertainment and fun.

  “Are you certain, Elinor? Marianne has been married for some years now; is it not more likely that she will be able to deal with any such meeting—were it to occur—with greater confidence than before?” he asked, keen to reassure her.

  But Elinor was not comforted. “I wish I could be as confident as you are, dearest, but I’m afraid I cannot.” She recalled how easily Marianne, having recovered from her illness and expressed deep remorse for her undisciplined displays of affection for Willoughby and contempt for the opinions of others of their acquaintance, had persuaded herself that she had forgiven him. Convinced that Willoughby genuinely loved her, she had been prepared to lay the guilt for his behaviour principally upon his aunt and Miss Grey, the wealthy, unloved wife he had acquired. Remembering with great clarity Marianne’s response to her account of Willoughby’s visit and his protestations of remorse, Elinor could not regard with any degree of complaisance the prospect of a meeting between them. In her mind it was fraught with danger to her sister and ought be avoided.

  If Elinor could have known Marianne’s own thoughts and the content of her conversations with Lucy Ferrars, it is likely that she would have been a good deal more concerned.

  ***

  Once Robert and Lucy Ferrars had departed for Dawlish, Marianne had little to occupy her. Seated at her desk, at the window in the studio she used but rarely for the purpose for which it had been intended, she looked out on the familiar prospect of the grounds of Delaford Manor. It was not one that inspired her at all, being simply a view of green lawns and stands of old trees that she found singularly unexciting. It had neither the romantic quality of her memories of Norland Park, nor the immediate appeal of Somerset, which she had enjoyed more recently on her visit to that county with Lucy and Robert and their friends the Percevals.

  Thoughts of Exmoor and the Somerset woodlands quickly aroused pictures in her mind, and she turned to the diary she had recently begun to keep, to record her thoughts and observations.

  After a few prosaic entries of ordinary activities on the manor, it made interesting reading…

  Lucy and Robert Ferrars are here; and though I knew little of Robert, and had not a very high opinion of Lucy, on account of her dealings with Edward and Elinor in the past, I confess that I have enjoyed their company on this visit. I cannot say that either has acquired a better understanding of art or music—they appeared equally bored by both—but they have lots of stories to tell of London life and are constantly engaged with friends all over the country. Lucy declares that she is glad to have a good ladies’ maid, since they are always travelling about, leaving at a moment’s notice to visit friends. She claims she would be lost without her maid, and she is clearly very happy with Robert’s friends.

  One such family, the Percevals, live here in Dorset not ten miles from Delaford, and when I was introduced to them, they were astonished that we had not met before, seeing I had lived in Dorset for several years.

  They are a large, engaging family of six or seven, with two young girls and a boy still at home, while two older sons are in the navy and their eldest girl is married and settled in Somersetshire. Mr Perceval is a retired ship’s captain who took up a business as a chandler and is said to have made his money victualling the navy during the wars with France. Mrs Perceval is a quiet woman with a partiality for odd-looking lace caps. However, the Percevals are all very cheerful and hospitable and very polite to me at all times.

  I am to accompany them on a visit to Somerset next Saturday; I have heard so much of the beauty of Somerset—I look forward to seeing it.

  Some days later, she had written in glowing terms of their visit to Somerset.

  Our journey to Somerset was unforgettable. I did recall some of what I had been told—it was many years ago, but as we drove through the lovely landscape, I remembered it all as one does a dream. Oh why is Dorset so dull, so lacking in features that inspire me, compared to this enchanting county?

  We drove first through acres of farmland and orchard, with wildflowers in profusion everywhere, and stopped to climb a little hill overlooking a valley through which flowed one of the many rivers of Somerset. The Percevals’ daughter lives in the peaceful little town of Langport, on the east bank of one such river; her husband is the rector there of a very old church. The Rectory overlooks the river and has a view of the distant hills. What a joy it must be to awaken to such a prospect each morning!

  They welcomed us and treated us to luncheon, after which Robert insisted that we must drive forth and take a look at Exmoor—which was rather chilling, being all dark and mysterious. The Percevals were all for staying on and exploring, but Lucy and Robert thought that was not a good idea. Lucy claimed her shoes were not suitable for exploring Exmoor, and we had to agree, for they did look rather too dainty for walking on the moor.

  The Perceval girls have vowed to go back again—the mystery of the moor has gripped their imagination, as it has mine. I have read a great deal about the moors and their appeal to poetic souls, but have never actually walked upon one before. It could be a very exciting experience.

  On our return to Delaford, Robert went out again with friends, leaving Lucy and me together for the evening, and she took the opportunity to ask if I had heard anything of Mr Willoughby in the last year or two. She was careful to
beg my pardon for asking first, but said she thought I must have heard that he was at present living at his place in Somerset. When I looked surprised, even as I tried not to appear interested, she revealed that it was now generally known in town that Willoughby and his wife, Sophia, lived mostly apart. When she was in London, he moved to the country and vice versa. I did not wish to appear curious, but I had to ask if that meant that she came down to Somerset when he went up to London, but Lucy said, “Oh no, she has an extensive property in Essex, which she inherited from her mother, and that is her family home.”

  I confess I did not wish to ask any more questions, but Lucy, probably because she has so little to offer as conversation, continued with various bits of information. It appears Mrs Smith, his aunt, died, but Willoughby did not inherit all of her estate because she never forgave him for his misdemeanours in the matter of Eliza Williams, and Lucy says Willoughby still believes it was Colonel Brandon who advised his aunt of that episode in his past.

  When she said this, I was so astonished I protested that it could not be true—it cannot have been my husband—but Lucy herself is convinced it was—she claims that Lady Middleton told her Colonel Brandon was so incensed when he discovered Eliza and her child had been abandoned by Willoughby, he wrote to Mrs Smith apprising her of the circumstances. Lucy declares that Lady Middleton had it from her mother, Mrs Jennings, who was very close to Colonel Brandon.

  And thereby hangs a tale…

  End of Part One

  Part Two

  Chapter Six

  Autumn 1819

  Margaret Dashwood and her friend Claire Jones had planned to leave for their holiday in Europe before the end of summer; but, as often happens with the best-laid plans, their departure was delayed by the necessities of business, when Miss Jones’s employer discovered an urgent assignment that could not be postponed. However, the setback did allow Margaret a fortnight in which she could visit her mother and sisters before leaving for France and acquaint them with her plans.