‘I was deceived in him because I saw what I wanted to see. I used no judgement, no discretion . . . I was so young; I, who thought myself grown up. Willoughby was my idea of perfection, and yet, for all his handsome face, he was nothing but a libertine, concerned with his own pleasure and careless of anything else.’
‘Well!’ said Mrs Jennings.
‘Ay, he was a rogue, for all he had a pretty little bitch of a pointer,’ said Sir John. ‘I wonder if he might sell her?’
‘Never did I think I would see the day when she would speak so of Mr Willoughby,’ said Mrs Jennings, ignoring Sir John. ‘However, it is just as well, for he is not a young man I would like to see attached to one of my family. And now, I have been thinking: Sir John, we must invite Miss Steele to stay, for she is all alone now her sister has married, and as the doctor hasn’t come up to scratch, we must find her another beau.’
He was delighted with the idea and said they must invite her at once.
‘Have you really recovered from Willoughby?’ I asked Marianne as, Sir John and Mrs Jennings departing, we set out for a walk, falling some way behind the others.
‘I am. I feel I can see him now with perfect clarity, and I am ashamed that I almost died because of him. I have matured, I hope, since then, and discovered that unbridled sensibility is not the good I once thought it to be, for it clouds wisdom, judgement and common sense. I allowed myself to fall in love with Willoughby without truly knowing him. And once he left me, I gave way to my sensibility again, making myself ill, so that I almost died. And for whom did I almost die? A man who did not deserve my love.
‘I mean to become more rational in the future; indeed, I have already sketched out a programme of self-improvement. I mean to rise at six and spend my time between music and reading. Our own library is too well known to me to be resorted to for anything beyond mere amusement, but there are many works well worth reading at the Park and you have been kind enough to say that I may borrow some books from your library. By reading only six hours a day, I shall gain in the course of a twelvemonth a great deal of instruction which I now feel myself to want.’
‘It does not all have to be study,’ I said to her. ‘You must have some amusement as well.’
‘I never want to slip back into my old ways, and this is how I mean to avoid it.’
‘You never will. You have experience to temper you, and friends to help you. Keep some of your sensibility, Marianne. Your warm and open nature brings a great deal of pleasure to your friends. You look surprised. But it is not given to everyone to enjoy life as you do. Your vitality lights up the morning as the sun lights up the sky. Where would we be without it?’
‘Willoughby said many pretty things to me but none, I think, as pretty as that,’ she said, looking at me warmly. ‘He recited poetry and so his compliments were other men’s words in his mouth. They could have been said by anyone, to anyone. But your words are about me and me alone. And they are from the heart.’
I was about to speak, but at that moment the others turned back and hailed us, saying, ‘We have walked far enough for one day. Margaret is tired.’
‘I am not!’ said Margaret, though she was dragging her feet.
‘Very well then, I am tired,’ said Elinor.
We fell in with them and returned to the house. I stayed for tea, and then made my way back to the Park.
‘You look cheerful, Brandon,’ said Sir John.
‘I feel cheerful.’
‘Wooing going well, eh?’
‘You should marry her tomorrow, Colonel. What’s to stop you?’ said Mrs Jennings.
‘Nay, never rush your jumps, eh, Brandon?’ said Sir John.
I bore their raillery easily, because for the first time I feel I am certain of success.
Monday 5 June
I set out for home today.
Wednesday 7 June
Edward Ferrars arrived at Delaford this afternoon. He will be staying with me often over the next few months so that he can oversee work on the parsonage.
‘Have you and Elinor set a date for your wedding yet?’ I asked.
‘Not yet. We want to wait until I have been ordained, by which time work on the parsonage should be complete. With luck we will be married by Michaelmas. I was wondering, Brandon, if you would stand up with me? I had always thought I would ask my brother, but as things now stand between us, I cannot bring myself to ask him. He rejoiced in my downfall, and he is not a man I wish to have at my wedding.’
‘I would be honoured,’ I said.
Thursday 8 June
The house is almost ready for my other visitors. Mrs Trent has worked wonders. Rugs have been beaten, curtains washed, mirrors polished and furniture dusted, so that everything shines in a way it has not shone since my mother was alive. The garden, too, has had some much-needed attention, with grass cropped, trees pruned and flowers trimmed.
The recent fine weather has resulted in a profusion of blooms, and everywhere there is scent and colour.
I have sent out invitations to a ball, and I am looking forward to seeing Marianne’s reaction to my home.
Friday 9 June
I went out riding with Ferrars this morning, knowing the Dashwoods would not be arriving until this afternoon or even this evening, but after a cold collation I could not bring myself to leave the house. Ferrars went down to the parsonage to oversee the workmen, and I remained behind to attend to my accounts.
At last their carriage arrived. I heard the wheels crunching on the gravel and the horses’ hoofs, and I ran to the door, then slowed my pace as I went outside.
The carriage rolled to a halt, and I saw Marianne’s face at the window, looking out on to what I hoped would one day be her home. Her face was alight with pleasure, and I knew she approved of the drive, the grove and the edifice. I only hoped she would be as well pleased with the inside.
I opened the door and the coachman let down the step, then I handed Mrs Dashwood and her daughters out. I escorted the ladies inside, where they looked about them with interest.
‘You have a very fine property here, Colonel,’ said Mrs Dashwood. ‘The hall has noble proportions. The staircase reminds me of Norland. Does it not remind you of Norland, Marianne?’
‘Perhaps, but it is not as big. It is lighter, however; the staircase at Norland was always rather dark.’
‘And gloomy,’ said Margaret. ‘I didn’t like the picture of Great-great-grandfather Charles.’
‘Margaret!’
‘Well, I didn’t,’ said Margaret. ‘He always looked very fierce.’
We went into the drawing room and I saw its beauty anew, with the windows cut down to the floor, revealing the gardens and parkland beyond. I saw Marianne’s eyes linger on the fire-place, an ornate piece of marble which I have always admired, and then rove over the console tables, with their vases of fresh flowers, and the damasked sofas, newly covered, and the Aubusson rugs.
‘It is a beautiful room,’ said Marianne. ‘Elegant and refined. ’
‘Yes, indeed,’ said Elinor.
‘But more than that, it has heart,’ said Marianne.
Tea was brought in, and afterwards we walked down to the parsonage, where Elinor and Edward had an affectionate meeting.
The ladies were delighted with the parsonage.
‘It is far bigger than I imagined,’ said Elinor, ‘and the prospect is pleasing.’
‘More than pleasing, it is quite beautiful,’ said Marianne, going over to the window. ‘Look, you can see right down the valley. With the river winding its way through it, it is a lovely sight. It will be equally beautiful in winter, I believe.’
‘It will need new curtains and so forth,’ I said to Elinor, ‘but I am sure you will enjoy choosing them.’
‘Yes, indeed. I think green for the parlour, with gold curtains. Mama, what do you think?’
‘I think that would look very well,’ said Mrs Dashwood. ‘A plain wallpaper or a stripe?’
‘A stripe, I think.’
‘And perhaps I can beg the portrait of Great-great-grandfather Charles to hang in Margaret’s room,’ Elinor teased her.
‘Will we be staying with you?’ asked Margaret eagerly.
‘Often, I hope, when the work is complete.’
‘And until then, you are welcome to stay with me,’ I said. ‘Perhaps you would like to see some more of the estate?’
‘Oh, yes,’ said Margaret. ‘Can we see the mulberry tree?’
‘Of course, if you want to,’ I said, mystified.
‘Mrs Jennings has told me all about it. She said that she and Charlotte stuffed themselves when they came here!’
We all laughed, and I remembered Charlotte and her mother, eating the fruit fresh from the tree, with the juices running down their chins.
‘I am afraid you will not be able to do the same. They will not be ripe until the autumn,’ I told her.
‘We will just have to come back again, then, will we not, Mama?’ she asked her mother. She turned to her sister. ‘Elinor, you must invite us in October. Mrs Jennings says the Delaford mulberries are the best she has ever tasted.’
‘And what else did she tell you?’ I asked Margaret, as we set off towards the walled garden.
‘She told me about the dovecots and the stewponds and the canal. Can we see the canal?’
‘We will go and see it once we have seen the mulberry tree.’
‘And the other fruit trees, too?’
‘Margaret! The Colonel will think you are nothing but a walking stomach!’
‘Well, and perhaps I am. Mrs Jennings says she likes to see a girl with a hearty appetite.’
We came to the door into the walled garden. Once inside, it was hot, for we were sheltered from the breeze. There was the gentle buzzing of bees, and the scent of lavender, and the flutter of colour as butterflies flew from one plant to another, their iridescent wings gleaming in the sunlight.
‘Apple trees,’ said Margaret, ‘and pear trees, and — oh, look, Mama, there is the mulberry tree!’ She ran over to it and examined the fruit. ‘You will have a good crop,’ she said to me. ‘I will have to tell Mrs Jennings.’
‘You must help me to plan the parsonage garden,’ said Elinor to her sister.
Marianne went over to the sundial in the middle of the garden and ran her finger tips over the brass gnomon, letting them run over its filigree before falling to the dial, and tracing the shadow.
‘Five o’clock,’ she said. ‘Is it accurate?’ she asked me.
I took out my watch.
‘Five past five,’ I said.
‘Then it is very near.’
She walked round the garden, taking everything in, as Margaret continued to extol the virtues of apples, pears and plums, and Elinor and Edward talked about their plans for their own garden, whilst Mrs Dashwood sat on a seat in the shade.
We decided, as we left the garden, that we would not venture further, for Mrs Dashwood was tired from the journey.
‘You are here for a month,’ I said. ‘There is plenty of time to explore the estate.’
We returned to the house. I changed quickly and then waited in the drawing room for the ladies.
Marianne entered the room in a white muslin gown whose simplicity showed off her beauty. She wore long white gloves and a simple string of pearls at her neck, and I imagined her portrait hanging in the hall.
‘You are smiling again,’ she said to me teasingly.
‘I have plenty to smile about,’ I returned.
I gave her my arm, and we went into dinner.
Afterwards Marianne played for us, and this time it was no melancholy air but a lively sonata, full of energy and spirit.
Saturday 10 June
I gave a small dinner party for some of my neighbours this evening, ostensibly to introduce Edward to some of his future parishioners but also to introduce Marianne to intelligent people who would stimulate her and provide her with the sort of company she needs. After a winter spent with Mrs Jennings, I delighted in seeing Marianne discover the joys of talking to people who could arouse her interest in the world and enlarge her mind.
Her ideas were questioned and she defended them well, or thought about them and adapted them in the light of new information.
I saw her take a step into a larger world, one not bounded by the garden of Barton Cottage, or the downs beyond, or the drawing rooms of London, but one that opened up new vistas of exploration for her to enjoy.
Afterwards we got up a dance, and Marianne danced with me twice, a fact which delighted me as she favoured the other gentlemen with no more than one dance apiece.
Friday 16 June
Elinor and Edward went down to the parsonage this morning, and we went with them, taking a detour to see the canal. Then Marianne, Margaret, Mrs Dashwood and I returned to the house by way of the stables.
‘There is something I want to show you,’ I said to Marianne, as we outstripped the others. I took her into the stable yard and we stopped by Cinnamon’s stall. The mare nuzzled Marianne, who stripped off her glove and put out a hand to stroke her nose. At the same time I, too, put out my hand to stroke her and our fingers touched. I withdrew my hand at once, and she blushed and took refuge in stroking the mare and fussing over her, but I thought, We will be married soon, and we will be very happy.
‘She is for you to ride whilst you are here,’ I said.
‘For me? Oh, thank you,’ she said, abandoning restraint and putting her arms round Cinnamon’s neck, telling her how beautiful she was and breathing in deeply to catch her smell.
‘How I have missed the stables at Norland,’ she said. ‘Do you have anything I can give her?’
One of the grooms stepped forward with a carrot, and Marianne fed it to the mare whilst the two of them became acquainted.
‘Mama! Mama!’ she said, as soon as Mrs Dashwood and Margaret caught up with us. ‘Look! The Colonel says I may ride her whilst I am here.’
‘Can I go with you?’ asked Margaret.
‘Of course,’ I told her. ‘I have a horse that would suit you, too.’
‘I need you this morning, Margaret,’ said her mother. ‘But that must not stop you,’ she said to Marianne and myself. ‘It is a fine morning for a ride.’
‘I am not dressed for it,’ said Marianne, looking reluctantly at her gown.
‘I am sure the Colonel will not insist on your wearing a habit today,’ said Mrs Dashwood.
Marianne turned to me, and for answer I instructed the grooms to saddle the horses. I helped Marianne to mount, and Mrs Dashwood and Margaret waved us out of the stable yard.
Marianne had a graceful seat and rode well, and soon we were cantering across the fields, sharing the exhilaration of the early summer morning, with its smell of wild flowers and its cooling breeze.
‘I had forgotten how much I loved riding,’ she said, as we came to the road and slowed to a walk. ‘We must do it every day.’
‘I can think of nothing I would like better,’ I told her.
She began to look around her.
‘Is this a turnpike road?’ she asked me.
‘Yes.’
‘And it is very near the house.’
‘About a quarter of a mile, yes.’
‘Then you must always have something to look at. I like seeing the bustle and the activity,’ she said. ‘It is very quiet at Barton, but here there must be carriages passing all the time, and it will be very convenient for travelling.’
‘It is.’
‘Have you ever been to the Lake District?’ she asked me. ‘It is supposed to be very beautiful.’
‘No, I have never been, but I hope to go there one day soon.’
‘So do I. I have seen so little of the world; indeed, I have seen little of my own country. You, on the other hand, have travelled a great deal,’ she said, then she gave a grimace and I looked at her enquiringly.
‘I used to laugh at your experiences,’ she said apologetically. ‘I thought myself so superior, mocking
you for your talk of the heat and the mosquitoes, but in fact it was my own experiences that were paltry, and not yours. I had not even been to London at the time! I knew nothing of the world beyond Norland and Barton, and yet I thought I knew so much. But now I want to know more. I want to go to Scotland, and if peace is declared, I want to travel to the Continent. And I think I would like to see India, too. What was it like?’
I told her of the burning heat and the vivid colours; the shimmer of the air in the morning; the pungent spices, and the exotic scents of jasmine and musk.
She listened intently and said, ‘There is so much of life I have yet to see. I am humbled to think of it. If I had succumbed to melancholy, I would have missed the chance to see all the wonders that life has to offer, but now I hope that one day I may have a chance to experience them all.’
So engrossed were we in our conversation that it was not until I heard the church clock striking that I realized we needed to turn for home.
We followed Mrs Dashwood and Margaret into the house. Hearing our footsteps, Margaret turned round and said, ‘Oh, here is Marianne with her beau.’
‘Hush! Margaret,’ said Marianne blushing.
But she was smiling as she said it.
Friday 11 August
We had a celebratory dinner this evening, for Edward has been ordained.
‘It won’t be long before you move into the parsonage, eh?’ said Sir John, who arrived to stay with us yesterday.
‘We hope to wait until the work is finished before we marry,’ said Elinor.
‘Lord! If you wait for the workmen to finish you will be waiting for ever,’ said Mrs Jennings. ‘There is always some delay. You had better marry at once and have done with it.’
Elinor and Edward exchanged glances, and it was clear to all of us that the same thought had been in both their minds. Before the evening was over, they had decided to marry anyway, saying, ‘I am sure we can tolerate the inconvenience.’