She was at once surprised and flattered, but she seemed also a little puzzled, not quite comprehending his meaning.
“Thank you, James, you are very kind. I have no intention of leaving, at least not in the near future. Do you mean…?”
He interrupted her, realising that he had to speak clearly now, lest his words were completely misconstrued and the opportunity lost. “I mean, my dearest Emma, that I love you dearly and would be honoured if you would agree to be my wife,” he said and, seeing her eyes widen with astonishment, he went on very quickly, “Please, do not say no at once. Take some time to think about it. But I do ask you, most earnestly, to believe that it will make me the happiest of men, and I would do everything in my power to look after you and the girls and make you truly happy.”
She looked at him and was surprised at what seemed to be a look of genuine apprehension upon his face.
He was about to tell her of his affection for Victoria and Stephanie when she gently took his hand in hers and said quietly, “James, thank you. I am truly honoured, but…”
But he interrupted her again, afraid she was about to refuse him. “Emma, please, there is no hurry; you can take all the time you want.”
“I don’t need any more time, James—and you are right, I was unprepared for this, so I have not got a pretty speech ready for you, but may I say…would it be acceptable if I just said thank you and yes?”
She was watching his face as his expression changed from slight bewilderment to alarm and then to complete heartfelt delight as he embraced her and thanked her from the bottom of his heart.
“My darling Emma,” he began, but neither of them would remember how he ended as he told her in many sincere and loving words how deeply he cared and how much joy she had given him.
He had dared, he said, to hope, but he had been afraid to ask too soon. “I was terrified you would refuse my love,” he confessed, and Emma smiled and set his heart at rest.
“Dear James, there was never any danger of that; because, you see, I already knew I loved you. You have been so good to me…”
But he would not let her continue. “Hush, my love, please do not speak of that, for I have done little more than I—my whole family—owed you for the intolerable mistreatment you endured at the hands of my brother for years. My love for you, which has grown upon me gradually, has taken over all my waking hours. Emma, my dearest, I give you my word; you will never regret your decision today,” he said with so much warmth and sincerity that she was overwhelmed.
Her certainty not only of his love but of her own deep feelings, which had come rushing to the surface as he spoke, prevented her from saying very much more. Yet, her face was suffused with an expression of such sweetness as left James in no doubt of her state of mind. There was surely, in their case, the happiest coincidence of feelings.
As they went indoors, the candles were being lit, and James suggested that it would be best to tell his mother their news tonight and the children tomorrow. Emma said she would write to her parents immediately. “I do not need their permission, but I would like to have their blessing,” she said.
“You have that already, Emma,” said James, taking her father’s letter from his pocket. “This arrived on the morning we left for Canterbury; I have been carrying it around like a talisman all this time, waiting for the right moment to approach you.”
She read it quickly. Bingley’s letter was brief but quite clear. He thanked James for his letter, pointed out that his daughter was certainly entitled to marry whomever she chose, but that he and Mrs Bingley would be delighted to give them their blessing if she accepted his proposal of marriage. He added that if he was accepted, James should consider himself the most fortunate of men.
“Of that there is no question,” said James.
“Dear Papa,” she sighed, “he believes that the entire world shares his high opinion of his daughters.”
“Well, I have not met a single soul who thought differently,” James countered, and Emma smiled as she also noted the reference by her father to the trust arrangements for herself and her daughters, suggested by James. She asked him what they were meant to accomplish.
“That, my dearest, was signed and sealed before our attorneys more than two weeks ago,” he said, reminding her of Jonathan’s visit.
“That was when it was arranged,” he explained. “The reason it was put in place was simply this—we felt, Mother and I, that the trust would give you independence. It was the right thing to do because, had you decided against me, it would have been unthinkable that you should remain financially dependent upon my mother and myself. As it is, the arrangement stands; whatever happens to us, your income and the children’s future can be assured.”
Emma was so touched by the generosity of this gesture that she pulled him closer and hugged him affectionately, careless of who might see them.
“Dear, dear James, how much kinder or more generous can you be? I am seriously concerned that I shall never be able to match your goodness.” And when he tried to hush her, for his natural modesty was outraged, she turned to him with tears in her eyes and said, “No, James, let me say it, now that I have a right to do so. I have not known such kindness outside of my own dear family. I shall not only be happy but proud, indeed, to be your wife.”
Later she would write to Emily in similar vein:
He is, in truth, such a genuinely good man, Emily, that I am concerned that I shall never attain a similar level of virtue.
It is impossible to believe that he is of the same blood family as David, for how could one brother be so morally reprehensible and the other so imbued with goodness? I can honestly say that in all of my life, I have met no one who has inspired similar feelings in me.
Forgive me for being so free with the superlatives. It is not my usual way, but what I say is true—believe me, Emily. When you know him better, I have no doubt at all that you will agree with me.
Mrs Wilson was so pleased when they told her that she enfolded Emma in her arms, declaring that she was certain James would make her very happy.
After dinner, she produced a ring, a family heirloom, which she asked James to present to Emma, causing even more happiness—if that was possible on such a day filled with so much joy.
Later in the week, James asked Emma when she would like to visit her family. “I know they must be impatient to see you,” he said.
Emma was overjoyed; she longed to see her parents.
Since Mrs Elliot had returned, there was no reason why they should not go forthwith. Having first sent an express to announce their plans to the Bingleys, they set off for Leicestershire.
Victoria and Stephanie had been told gently by their mother that “Uncle James was going to marry Mama” and look after all of them. It was clearly a proposition that held no fears for them, for they were more anxious to have permission to attend the Spring Fair in the village, which promised much fun and games, complete with clowns and dancing bears.
Consequently, the newly engaged pair were left mostly to themselves, and, as if this were insufficient deprivation, it seemed they were to have only each other’s company on the journey north. Strangely, this appeared to cause them no unhappiness at all.
The Bingleys, on receiving Emma’s letter, followed by the express advising of their visit, were so overjoyed that they had to share their good news with the rest of their family and friends.
So it was that after the first day, during which they kept Emma and James to themselves, Bingley and Jane gave a dinner party, at which the couple were the centre of attention. Not everyone had anticipated the engagement—apart from their closest relations and friends—but seeing them together, noting especially Emma’s almost ineffable happiness, no one could be other than delighted.
Emma and her mother were inseparable as they shared their joy.
“Oh dear Mama, I am too happy, I know it,�
� she said. “James loves me and I do not know if I deserve him; he is such a good man.”
“Hush, Emma. There is no one in the whole world who deserves a better husband than you do,” said Jane.
Elizabeth and her sister embraced before they parted. “Lizzie, I cannot tell you how much it means to me to know that my Emma is happy at last,” said Jane, who had for years shared the strain of her daughter’s unhappy marriage.
Elizabeth could only concur. At last, it seemed Emma—gentle, kind Emma—had found the happiness she so richly deserved.
***
It was agreed that the wedding would take place in October, at the church in Ashford Park. Sophie and Louisa were bridesmaids.
Despite her affectionate heart, which would have liked to have her daughter settled closer to her family, Jane was pleased to see Emma as mistress of Standish Park, presiding over such an elegant home.
Of her husband’s devotion to her, there was never a question, and his care of her children was exemplary.
Emma herself maintained the closest connections with her immediate family, but her most intimate friendship continued to be with Emily Courtney, to whom she felt she owed a debt of gratitude for her friendship during unbearably painful times.
Her letter to Emily some months after her marriage provided the clearest insight into her present frame of mind. Written shortly after Christmas—spent at Standish Park, where her parents and sisters had joined them—Emma’s letter reached Emily on a cold, January morning. Yet the warmth and happiness her words conveyed seemed to flow from the closely written pages and envelop Emily as she read it.
Dearest Emily,
Thank you for your kind letter and Christmas greetings.
You have wished us happiness. I wish I were cleverer with words. I would have given anything to be able express my deepest feelings as felicitously as a writer like Charlotte Brontë would. But I am not Miss Brontë, so you must bear with me as I try to find the words to tell you how remarkably, utterly, and unbelievably my life has changed.
Emily, if anyone had told me a year or more ago that I could be in such a situation, I think I would have laughed them to scorn. I had reached the very nadir of existence, with little or no hope of liberation from a life steeped, for the most part, in deep despair.
Yet today, by the intervention of Fate and the love of my dear husband, my position is totally reversed. From a situation fraught with fear and shame, I have been transported to a state of happiness that I could not have imagined before.
As you, who have been twice blessed, will acknowledge, marriage with a loving partner is a blissful state. For me, this time, with a husband whose love is of the deepest and most devoted kind, it is indeed the happiest experience of my life.
With him it is possible to share the deepest and most passionate feelings, knowing that esteem and honesty are the bedrock upon which they rise.
Dear Emily, I thank God each day for my present happiness and thank you for your prayers.
We both look forward to seeing you in the Spring when we have been invited to Pemberley for the Festival of Music, where I know your William will be playing for us.
James sends his love and asks to be remembered to your James (is this not the most charming coincidence?), and the children both send love and kisses.
Thank you again, my dearest friend.
Your loving cousin,
Emma Wilson.
Emily Courtney put down her letter and smiled. Her husband, James, looking up from his breakfast, noted that it was a particularly happy smile and said, “My dear, you have quite clearly had some very pleasing news from your cousin.”
Emily confirmed that it was indeed pleasing to learn that her cousin Emma was so happy in her marriage. “She writes of being transported from a situation fraught with fear and shame to a state of genuine happiness. It is truly amazing that she could have been through so much and remain unembittered,” said Emily, handing the letter to her husband while she poured out another cup of tea. Persuading her son, William, to finish his breakfast, she picked up little Jessica and took her upstairs.
Emily had no difficulty understanding her cousin’s feelings. The comfortable domesticity of her own life, as the wife of the rector of Kympton, was in stark contrast to the years that had preceded her marriage to James Courtney. She was no stranger to suffering, having nursed her first husband, Paul Antoine, through his illness. Following his untimely death from tuberculosis, Emily had devoted her life almost entirely to the study of music and service to the community.
While she lived at Pemberley with the family she loved as dearly as her own, she had gradually come to terms with her own loss and, in doing so, helped Elizabeth and Darcy bear the dreadful sorrow of the death of their son, William. It was at Pemberley that she had met James Courtney, first as a young theology scholar, using the vast resources of the Pemberley library, and later when he returned as rector to the living of Kympton.
Their association had continued for many years, during which they had worked together on the hospital, school, and parish councils and on many charitable projects, helping the growing numbers of destitute families in the area. Sharing a passionate commitment to the poor and dispossessed, both James Courtney and Emily were determined to do more than pay lip service to the concept of charity preached in church. They had initiated several schemes to help, especially the children of the rural poor, who, bereft of their homes and land, mostly begged or stole for a living.
With the willing and generous support of Mr and Mrs Darcy, her own parents, and the help of a bevy of young cousins and friends, they ran community cottages and soup kitchens, providing shelter and food to many who would otherwise have starved or been incarcerated in the poor house.
Drawn together by their shared commitment and genuine sense of Christian charity, they had quite naturally reached a point when James, who had concealed his feelings for some time, finally proposed, and Emily was happy to accept him.
In James Courtney, Emily recognised the same goodness of heart that had endeared Paul Antoine to her. Though he had neither the good looks nor the style of her young Frenchman, the Reverend Courtney had a sense of humour which lightened her life considerably.
Their marriage had delighted her family. Mr Darcy immediately increased the stipend of the Rector of Kympton to acknowledge his elevation to the married state, while Mr and Mrs Gardiner spared no expense to redecorate and furnish the modest house that came with the living.
Emily, accustomed to gracious living at both Pemberley and Oakleigh, made no complaint about the proportions or style of the Kympton rectory; indeed, she set about making it as comfortable and pleasing a home as was possible.
Childless in her first marriage, Emily then went on to have three children—Elizabeth, William, and Jessica—and seemed remarkably content with her situation in life.
Writing to her sister Jane, Elizabeth had observed of Emily:
I have never ceased to be astounded at her energy and determination.
Her ability to undertake more and more work in the community while continuing to be a most devoted and loving mother is quite amazing.
Visit Kympton rectory at any time and you will find the place is spotless, even with less than half the domestic help one would normally expect to have. Call at any hour and the children are clean and contented—Elizabeth engaged in study or drawing or some such activity, while young William practises his piano constantly and with so little prompting that he puts the rest of us to shame.
Just last Sunday, we called in on our way to the Gardiners and there, in the middle of the kitchen, was Emily with two young ones from the parish whose unhappy, deserted mother had left them at the church while she went to work at the inn as a scullery maid!
Emily had no idea when the mother would return, except that the poor woman had left the little ones a scrap or two of stale bread an
d cheese tied up in a handkerchief for their dinner. Needless to say, Emily had flung out the pathetic little crumbs and was feeding them a hot meal of soup, potatoes, and freshly baked bread.
It is an example, dearest Jane, of the kind of thing she does as a matter of course, a sign of her willingness to travel that extra mile to help someone who needs her. Some may call it Christian charity, but I am inclined to believe there is more to Emily’s compassionate heart than charity.
She is, of all the women I know, the most selfless. I am sure you agree.
Elizabeth had concluded her letter with the hope that Emily’s service to the community would be appreciated and recognised, even though it was the last thing Emily herself would have sought.
Returning to the dining room with Jessica, Emily explained to her husband that she was expected at Pemberley. “I am to meet Lizzie and Jane at Pemberley to decide on arrangements for the music festival. Papa is to call for me—he has business with Mr Darcy. I thought I should take Emma’s letter along. I am sure it will please cousin Jane…”
She was interrupted by a great commotion in the kitchen, which caused her to rush out of the room.
When she returned, having settled satisfactorily some minor domestic drama involving the cook and a couple of runaway chickens, Emily found her husband folding up her letter, which he handed to her saying philosophically, “Your cousin appears to have a found a great degree of felicity in her marriage. I believe her character, which is both generous and affectionate, has enabled her to deal with disappointment and sorrow better than most. You are quite right to take it along to your meeting. I am sure Mrs Bingley will appreciate it very much, especially if it is true that she always preferred the elder Mr Wilson,” he added with a twinkle in his eye. Emily smiled as she picked up the letter, “Well, yes it does seem as if she was right from the start. Pity poor Emma made the wrong choice the first time around.”
The Women of Pemberley Page 11
