Expectations of Happiness

by Rebecca Ann Collins

  Poor Margaret was in such a quandary; events had changed so swiftly, she had no idea how to act. If Willoughby’s party was going to Glastonbury that week, and Marianne’s friends were taking her there also—it was almost inevitable that they would meet; yet how could she tell Elinor, and if she did, what good would it do? It was unlikely that Elinor could stop her sister; indeed she could not even attempt it without revealing what she knew about both Marianne’s and Willoughby’s plans. To reveal that information would certainly open them up to accusations that they were spying on Marianne, which Margaret, who knew her sister’s disposition well, was certain would fix her resolution to defy Elinor’s advice. It was a dreadful dilemma.

  ***

  The need for Edward to accompany Dr Bradley King to a meeting of the anti-slavery campaign in Bridgwater in the county of Somerset, where some of the earliest petitions had begun, kept Elinor at home over the next two days, attending to sundry parish duties. Fearing that Margaret would be bored, she suggested that they ask Marianne to dinner on the Saturday.

  “It would be just the three of us, and with Colonel Brandon away in Ireland, I’m sure she would enjoy the company, especially since you are soon to be going away to France. Don’t you agree?” she asked, and Margaret tried to sound cheerful as she said, “She might, but then she may have visitors at the manor house. Perhaps we should send a note?” Elinor agreed and then had a better idea. “We could walk over to the manor house and ask her; I have a couple of her books I’d like to return, so we may make a virtue of necessity, especially as it’s such a fine afternoon.”

  There was no escape now. Margaret realised she had to go along with the scheme else Elinor would become suspicious. Putting on their bonnets, they set out walking through the copse that separated the grounds of the parsonage from the more extensive park that surrounded Delaford Manor, where the trees, still in full summer leaf, afforded them shade from the warm afternoon sun. As they emerged from the wood and took the path leading to the side entrance of the manor house, they saw a carriage leaving the main gates and turning onto the road that led out of the property toward the village and thence to Dorchester.

  It was a fine vehicle, drawn by a pair of handsome horses, and Margaret recognised it immediately as the carriage in which the Misses Perceval had arrived while she was visiting Marianne a few days ago. “I wonder who that can be…” Elinor mused. “I can’t say I have seen that carriage in this area before. You were right, Margaret, Marianne has had visitors.” Margaret said nothing, not wanting to upset her sister, but when they reached the manor house, the news could not be avoided.

  The servant who let them into the hall informed them that her mistress had just left, but a few minutes ago, with the Misses Perceval.

  “Left?” said Elinor, as though she could not comprehend the word. “Left to go where?” The girl apologised and said she wasn’t exactly sure, but she thought they were planning to visit Glastonbury on the morrow, and Mrs Brandon had said she would be staying over at the Percevals’ and would return home on Sunday.

  Elinor said in a strained voice, “Glastonbury—in Somerset?” as though she had not heard right, and when the maid replied, “Yes, ma’am,” Margaret saw her sister turn pale, as she looked at her, disbelieving, and reached for her hand.

  “Will you not come in and take some tea, ma’am?” the girl asked, and Elinor shook her head and made to leave. Margaret could see from her countenance that she was thoroughly discomposed and very close to tears. As they walked back, Elinor grasped her sister’s hand and held it very tight, but she said little. It was as though the shock had unsettled her and she was unsure what to do or say.

  Then as they approached the parsonage, she spoke, “Oh Margaret, what is to be done? I am at a loss… I do not know what to think… these Perceval girls… I know nothing of them, except they are friends of Robert and Lucy, and I don’t know if that is much of a recommendation.”

  “It is no great endorsement of their good sense,” said Margaret, and then realising that such a remark would only increase her sister’s discomfort, she added quickly, “but at least they have no connection to Willoughby.”

  “That is true,” said Elinor in a dull voice, “but they are young and bent on having fun; who knows where they might go and whom they might meet? If they are all going to Glastonbury—on the same day—it seems inevitable that the parties will meet. Oh dear God, I pray they do not, because if they do, I know enough of Willoughby’s recklessness to believe that he will feel no compunction at all about presenting himself to Marianne again, and I cannot bear to think that he will again have the opportunity to use the power he once had over her, to entice her into an association that can only end in tears.”

  Margaret was incredulous. “Elinor, you cannot really believe that—surely even if Willoughby cannot be relied upon to act with honour, Marianne will not be as vulnerable as she was those many years ago. Surely she is older and—”

  Her sister interrupted her. “Wiser? Were you about to say older and wiser, Margaret? Because if you were, then I have bad news for you. Our sister was hurt, badly hurt by what happened between her and Willoughby some years ago, and yes, she did agree that he had been wrong to deceive her and all of us at the time, but as you pointed out when we spoke earlier of this matter, both Marianne and Mama were ready, nay eager, to find reasons to forgive him, to lay the blame for his conduct at the feet of his aunt or his wife—so who can tell if Marianne may not see him in a different light now. Oh dear, I wish Edward were here…” She sounded so forlorn, Margaret said, “I can stay another day or two—at least until Edward returns on Sunday night. I had meant to take the coach on Monday morning, but I will send an express instead, telling Claire I have been delayed. It will not signify, we are due to leave for Plymouth on Friday and sail on Saturday morning for Marseilles.”

  Elinor was very touched and hugged her young sister, marvelling at how mature she had become. “Thank you, Margaret, you are very kind; Edward will be home on Sunday night, but I don’t think I will trouble him with these matters—he will be tired from the journey. But I am happy to have you with me to help me think things through; else I cannot imagine what I should have done.”

  They dined alone that evening, and afterward, Margaret tried to cheer her sister up by playing some of their favourite music on the pianoforte, but it was easy to see that Elinor, while she made a valiant attempt to be cheerful, could not shake off the fears that assailed her.

  Chapter Seven

  Meanwhile, Marianne, oblivious of the concerns of both her sisters and in complete ignorance of the presence of Mr Willoughby in the neighbourhood, prepared to enjoy the expedition to Glastonbury.

  Marianne never did anything by halves; it was in her nature to commit as much enthusiasm as she could muster to any activity or emotion that possessed her. The library at Delaford, though it had nothing like the impressive collection she’d had available to her at Norland, did have a considerable array of publications, most of which had been accumulated by Colonel Brandon’s parents. His mother, in particular, had been a keen reader of historical and travel tales; consequently, while there may have been a paucity of romantic novels and poetry of the type that had captivated Marianne in her younger days, there were sufficient books, maps, and journals to satisfy the appetite of the adventurous traveller.

  These had never interested Marianne much before, but, since hearing of the Percevals’ planned expedition to Glastonbury, she had spent many hours opening up the old cabinets and taking out a large number of books in which she hoped to find some interesting information that she could share with her new friends. She did not expect that the two Misses Perceval would have done much reading about Somerset or Glastonbury; they were far more interested in discussing what they would wear and how much food and lemonade they would need to help them survive the rigours of the day.

  Perusing the books and journals, Marianne was disappo
inted that while most gave adequate accounts of the towns and villages of Somerset, and others noted the many ruined abbeys and monasteries in the county, only one work provided her with a satisfactory description of Glastonbury, with its ancient history going back to the seventh century and suggestions that it was a site linked to the romantic tales of King Arthur and his knights of the Round Table. She also found references in both fiction and poetry to the Arthurian legends and read them avidly. Absorbed for the first time by something outside of what she considered to be her somewhat humdrum life at Delaford, Marianne read eagerly and made copious notes.

  Determined to discover more, she sent a note to Margaret at the parsonage, requesting that she should seek information in the libraries to which she had access in Oxford. Clearly the excitement generated by her forthcoming journey to Glastonbury had driven all Margaret’s travel plans out of her mind; Marianne had quite forgotten that her sister was leaving for France at the end of the week.

  ***

  Arriving at the home of the Percevals on Friday afternoon, Marianne was pleasantly surprised. The house was a spacious and comfortable if rather nondescript residence, with few of the distinguishing features of places like Norland or even Barton Park, but it had been furnished with some style, and the Perceval family paid her a great deal of courtesy, ensuring she was comfortable and complimenting her on her appearance, her hair, her gown, and her singing, and persuading her to entertain them after dinner, which Marianne did gladly. Though she did not count them her equals in either elegance or erudition, she clearly appreciated their praise, which transported her once more to the days when she, talented and beautiful, had been the centre of attention in their social circle.

  The Percevals, as a family, were a somewhat diverse lot; the parents appeared to be old-fashioned people such as one might meet in any English country community, hospitable and good-natured, but not greatly interested in matters that did not directly concern their lives, while their children seemed to be of a different bent altogether. Their elder brother, it was said, had enlisted in the navy, inspired by Admiral Nelson, and his family were excessively proud of him on this account, but no one was certain if he had or had not seen action in the war with Bonaparte. At the end of that conflict, he had attached himself quite firmly to the social circle of the officers and their followers in London and rarely ventured into the West Country. As for the two youngest—Misses Maria and Eugenie Perceval—they had little formal education but had acquired sufficient information from their string of governesses to engage in wide-ranging social chatter and would profess themselves keenly interested in anything new or fashionable.

  Marianne’s account of the history and legends of Glastonbury had been heard without interruption for scarcely ten minutes, before the mention of the romance of Guinevere and Lancelot distracted them from the realm of history and plunged the conversation into a romantic fantasy. Each of the girls had her own personal preference as to how King Arthur should have dealt with the matter of his betrayal by his dearest friend and his loving wife—and there was no bringing them back to mundane matters of archaeological evidence and historical fact. Despite her devotion to the philosophy of passionate love, Marianne was irritated by their inability to concentrate upon her recital of the story of Glastonbury. Deciding to hold back on some of the more interesting information she had discovered, she hoped there would be someone in their party who would appreciate it more than Maria and Eugenie, once they had actually visited the site.

  After supper, the two sisters escorted her to her bedroom, smiled roguishly, and wished her “sweet dreams,” and when Marianne looked a little bemused, they giggled and said, “Well, don’t you want to dream of one of those handsome Knights of the Round Table sweeping you up onto a beautiful white horse? We certainly do!” and fled down the corridor, giggling uncontrollably as they went.

  ***

  Waking early the following day to a crisp autumn morning, Marianne experienced a distinct feeling of excitement stirring in her. For the first time in her life, she was away from home—alone, without any member of her family beside her to watch or to counsel. She had an intoxicating sense of freedom as she dressed and went down to breakfast. She found only Mr and Mrs Perceval in the breakfast room and learned from them that Maria and Eugenie had been up and about even earlier, had breakfasted already, and taken the carriage round to collect two more members of their picnic party from a house just two miles away.

  “The four young Hawthornes are joining our party, Mrs Brandon,” Mrs Perceval revealed as she buttered her toast. “Their father is a most distinguished gentleman, a former commander under Lord Nelson,” she proclaimed, adding, “I think our son Stephen once served under him, but alas, Commander Hawthorne suffered an injury that renders walking or sitting for long periods most painful, so he is unable to join us, but I am sure you will find the two girls and their brothers very agreeable companions. They are very fond of society, and the girls have been out a few years, although neither is as yet engaged to be married.”

  Marianne heard all this information, agreed that she was sure she would, and went on to say what a good day it was for the expedition, seeing the weather was so fine, but her hosts had returned to their breakfast and made no reply. She then finished hers and was about to excuse herself and leave the room when the carriage arrived, with Maria and Eugenie and their guests—the two Misses Hawthorne, Hannah and Harriet. Their brothers, they said, were riding and would arrive soon. They appeared a little older than the Perceval girls, but, to Marianne’s eyes, seemed to have a very similar disposition to their friends, in that they were eager, keen, and wild for fun. No sooner were they introduced to Marianne, they began to quiz her about Glastonbury—“Mrs Brandon, we hear you are a veritable font of knowledge on Glastonbury and King Arthur’s Knights of the Round Table! Maria and Eugenie have been telling us about it, but pray do tell us more…” they pleaded, and Marianne, who had been a little put out by the lack of attention from the Misses Perceval, was pleased to be able to oblige, as they waited for the rest of their party to assemble.

  When the two gentlemen—Andrew and Joseph Hawthorne—arrived, they were introduced, and though formally courteous and correct, they paid very little attention to Marianne thereafter and seemed completely dedicated to the task of teasing and entertaining Maria and Eugenie Perceval. Marianne was quite glad that they would be travelling in two vehicles—she with Mr and Mrs Perceval, a cousin of Mrs Perceval named Miss Peabody, a maid, and a manservant in the large carriage, while the rest of the party were to pack into the smaller brougham.

  This arrangement had clearly been planned so all the young people could be together and maximise opportunities for fun. Marianne, who thought them all a little lacking in understanding and well below her level of erudition, did not regret that she had been placed with the older members of the party. She did not expect that they would have much to say to her, and this would afford her time to think and enjoy the sights and sounds they would encounter, as the carriages rolled out onto the main road to Somerset. There was something profoundly stirring about the thought of going to Glastonbury, and she wanted the time alone to experience the excitement.

  As the horses drew the vehicle over the old stone bridge with three high arches that carried the road into town, Marianne could not resist a feeling of exhilaration, as though she was on an adventure into the unknown. Though she had been married some seven years, she was still a very young woman and, having no children, felt none of the physical strain or the emotional pressure that customarily constrained women in her situation. Her tastes and inclinations had remained much the same as they had been when she was seventeen, save for the fact that she claimed to have extended them by further reading over the intervening years. However, her reading had not become more discriminating; rather it had, being more extensive, allowed her to indulge even more deeply in the type of literature that had always brought her the greatest satisfaction. Her life,
sheltered by the circumstances of her marriage to Colonel Brandon, whose affection and care had cherished and protected her from every possible peril and aggravation, had afforded few opportunities for learning from experience, unless it was of comfort and pleasure.

  As they drove through the villages and ancient market towns of Somerset, Marianne absorbed the beauty of the surrounding countryside, while her companions’ talk of family and friends was of little interest to her. Content to let her thoughts wander, as the movement of the carriage gently rocked her body, she was only roused from her reverie when they stopped to water the horses at Yeovil, where the entire party alighted and went across to sample the refreshment at the coaching inn.

  Back on the road, her hosts were solicitous and keen to assure themselves that Marianne was enjoying the journey. “Are you familiar with this part of the country, Mrs Brandon?” asked Mr Perceval, and when she said she was not, but was prepared to be enthusiastic about everything she had seen thus far, he sat opposite her and proceeded, strangely, to tell her all about his travels in Scotland. “The Scottish highlands are a magnificent experience, I can assure you, Mrs Brandon, and there is nothing here in the West Country to rival the great mountains of Scotland. Mind you, I travelled there as a young man, I daresay I would not be confident that I could do it now. But, when friends in Somerset and Oxfordshire boast of the beauty of the Cotswolds or the Mendip Hills, I find I must restrain myself, for while they are pretty enough, they are as nothing when compared to the grandeur of the Grampians.”

  Marianne, who had never been to Scotland, smiled and acknowledged that she had been told the Scottish highlands were remarkably beautiful, but added quickly that from her somewhat limited experience, based upon a family holiday spent in the Cotswolds, she could say she had found them very pleasing and was looking forward to her first sight of the Mendip Hills and Glastonbury Tor.