Like her Aunt Emma Wilson, Anna had provided an example to her, in her moments of greatest sorrow, of what genuine love could achieve. She could not fail to see the intensity of feeling between her father and his wife, and the happiness that flowed from it had engendered an atmosphere of warm affection that enveloped the entire household at Netherfield.
That evening, Anne-Marie dressed with more than usual care and came downstairs well before Mr Elliott was expected. She found her father in his study, reading one of the London newspapers, which was clearly not pleasing him. He looked somewhat exasperated. When she entered the room, however, he put aside his paper, rose, and came towards her.
As they embraced and greeted one another, she said, “You must be relieved, Papa, that Mrs Sutton’s children are safe.”
He sighed, “I am, indeed, very relieved and I understand it was due chiefly to the efforts of a certain gentleman of our acquaintance. What a fortunate fellow he must be. A crisis develops, which he is able to resolve with a little help from his friends and our Mr Bowles, I believe, and he proves himself to a certain young lady and her admiring family! Quite like the knights of old, eh? Except instead of slaying the villain, he hands him over to the local constabulary. Well done, Mr Elliott!”
He was smiling down at her as he spoke, and Anne-Marie knew then that he would not object to her engagement; his gentle, teasing words and manner gave her confidence.
Taking her cue from him, she laughed lightly and said, “Yes, Papa, it will make a very diverting tale to tell around the table at Christmas, I am sure. No doubt my dear brother will find it very droll indeed.” He surprised her then by asking directly, “Do you wish to be married by Christmas, my dear?”
“We have not fixed upon a date, Papa. Mr Elliott wishes to discuss that with you this evening. If we did, would you have any objection?” He took both her hands in his, as he used to when she was a very little girl asking a serious question. “My dear Anne-Marie, why would I object? If I knew it would make you happy, that is all that matters. Elliott is an honourable and apparently brave young man, with excellent prospects. All I want you to tell me is that this time, he is the right man for you. Is he, Anne-Marie? Do you love him enough and will he make you truly happy?”
He looked at her, searching her face for any sign of uncertainty or hesitancy, but found none.
She met his eyes directly and answered him in a firm, though quiet, voice, “I believe he will, Papa. I know I made a bad mistake; it was my fault and I suffered for it. This time, I know it is right, because I feel it is right. I love him dearly and I want to be his wife. I know what marriage means and I long to be married to him. When he was gone last evening to recover Mrs Sutton’s children, I was so afraid; I knew that if anything should happen to him, I should not care to go on living. Papa, I do love him.” Her voice shook and he put his arms around her to comfort her.
Jonathan was sorry; he had not intended to compel her to reveal her deepest feelings, but now she had done so, her commitment was clear. He could not doubt the strength of her feelings for Colin Elliott. All that remained was to await the man himself.
“Very well, my love, you have my blessing,” he said and she smiled, drying her tears. “When he arrives, send Mr Elliott in to see me and we shall see what he has to say for himself. I have already had a letter explaining his intentions and asking for my consent, so there is not a great deal more to discuss, if you are both certain of your feelings. That was my chief concern.”
Anne-Marie hugged her father and flew out of the study and into the hall, almost colliding with Mr Elliott, who had just arrived and was divesting himself of his coat. From the look on her face, he could have judged that she was ecstatic, but the tears in her eyes concerned him.
“Anne-Marie, dearest, is something wrong?” he asked softly.
She shook her head and said, “No, not at all; Papa is waiting for you in his study. You should go to him at once,” she declared and then ran up the stairs to her room, where she had to splash plenty of cool water on her face to help compose herself.
Anna, dressed and ready for dinner, had heard Anne-Marie come upstairs and go into her room. She knocked and on entering, found a young woman so elated, she could hardly believe her eyes. Anne-Marie had always been calm and collected, except on one memorable occasion, following the death of Mr Bradshaw. This time, however, there was certainly no hysteria; only a heightened excitement that surprised even Anna, who could well understand the exhilarating effect of newly discovered emotions, now openly acknowledged for the first time. She went to her at once and, without a word, put her arms around her and held her, feeling the racing of her heart. Anne-Marie tried to speak, but Anna put a finger to her lips.
“You have no need to explain yourself to me. I know how you feel, I know it is a most exalting feeling; treasure it and share it with your Mr Elliott,” she said, gently. Anne-Marie thanked her as they tidied her hair and clothes before they went downstairs.
As if on cue, Mr Elliott and Mr Bingley came out of the study together and met them at the foot of the stairs and they went into the parlour.
“Well, Anne-Marie, Mr Elliott tells me you have accepted him and, in view of your words to me earlier today, I have given you both my blessing.”
After they had exchanged the customary congratulations, Jonathan asked, “Anna, my dear, do you believe we could manage a wedding before Christmas?”
As Anne-Marie went swiftly to his side, Colin Elliott took her hand in his.
Anna had replied that she thought it could be arranged, but they would need to discuss numbers of guests and other matters.
“I think, Papa, Mr Elliott and I would like a quiet family wedding at Netherfield,” said Anne-Marie, and Colin Elliott agreed immediately. Anna asked, “Where will you live, when you are married?”
Jonathan intervened to say, “They will live here, my dear, until Longbourn has been refurbished and made ready for them. I have told Mr Elliott what you already know, that I intend Anne-Marie to inherit Longbourn, the estate, not the school, which remains my wife’s responsibility, of course; in fact the arrangements have all been written into my will,” he explained. “Mr Elliott has an apartment in Knightsbridge and it would serve no useful purpose to purchase or lease another country house, while Longbourn is available. Mrs Collins will continue to live there as our guest and, with Mr Bowles and Miss Greene getting married, they can set the household up for you. You may wish to have some changes made; I shall ask Bowles to get in a builder next week to look at the place.”
Anne-Marie’s pleasure was almost impossible to express. “Why, Papa, that is very generous of you, but what about my sisters?”
Jonathan laughed, “Your sisters are still too young to be concerned about their inheritance, my dear. You can leave that to me. It is, however, imperative that you live within easy distance of the hospital at Bell’s Field, if you are to manage it. When I last visited the site, I was informed it would be ready to furnish and staff in the New Year. Now, Mr Elliott tells me he had intended to look at leasing Ashdown House, which is vacant, but it is more than ten miles from Bell’s Field, whereas Longbourn is a mere ten minutes in the curricle and a pleasant walk across the park on a fine day. Do you not agree?” he asked reasonably and they agreed, of course.
Colin Elliott and Anne-Marie were astonished at the speed with which Mr Bingley had made these decisions. Once having ascertained that they had declared their love and wanted to marry, he had moved swiftly to arrange matters to suit them. Elliott had been overwhelmed by his generosity.
When asked where they proposed to live, he had replied that he had a list of probable houses in the district, knowing Anne-Marie would not wish to settle too far from her family, Ashdown House and Purvis Lodge among them. His prospective father-in-law had intervened to say that it would not be necessary to incur such an expense, since his daughter was to inherit Longbourn anyway.
“You should both talk to Mrs Bingley first; she knows a great dea
l about such matters, advised us on all of the changes we made here,” he had said.
“The rooms downstairs have been recently refurbished, but the bedrooms and private sitting room upstairs could do with some alterations to suit you. Meanwhile, you are very welcome to live here until Longbourn is ready.” Colin Elliott had tried to point out that he had sufficient funds from the sale of some of his father’s shares to lease a property, but Mr Bingley had urged him to save his money.
“If, as I believe you intend to do, you are to leave your party and support the Reform Group, you will need money to help you win the next election. Mark my words, Mr Elliott, the Tories will fight you all the way,” he had said. “It is better that you live in the area and use your own funds. That way, you are not beholden to anyone and can be your own man in Parliament; it is what I have always done,” he had advised.
Mr Bingley’s farsightedness surprised even Colin Elliott, who had heard much about him from his Parliamentary colleagues. His reputation for probity and good sense was well known. Thanking him profusely, he had accepted the generous offer, on condition Anne-Marie agreed. She was equally pleased, knowing how much it meant to her father to have her settled close to Netherfield.
Now all that remained to be done was to consult Anna, whose artistic talent and impeccable taste were apparent in the refurbishment of Netherfield House, and make plans for Longbourn and their wedding, to which exceedingly pleasant tasks they soon addressed themselves. Letters were written to advise family and friends of their engagement and an announcement was placed in The Times.
As the Autumn session of Parliament drew to a close, they travelled down to London to attend the House of Commons and hear Colin Elliott give his final speech as a member of the Tory Party. The family was well represented. Anne-Marie, Anna, and Emma Wilson were seated in the special gallery for ladies, while James Wilson had found accommodation for Jonathan and Charles Bingley among the distinguished visitors.
Anne-Marie was tingling with excitement. She held tight to her aunt’s hand as they waited for Elliott to rise to his feet. When he began to speak however, she became so engrossed, she leaned forward to see him better and take in every word.
Absorbed by his passionate argument for a fairer society, she was drawn inevitably to recollections and comparisons with the past. She could not help contrasting the images of Colin Elliott with those of Mr Bradshaw in church when he had insisted that she sat in the front pew, while he made his pompous little sermons, using the sacred word of God to pontificate upon human frailty, while she knew he never acknowledged his own. She recalled how painful it had been, how she had cringed then; how differently did she feel listening to Mr Elliott. Anne-Marie was so proud of him, she wished she could tell the whole world how she felt.
It was generally agreed that it was an excellent speech; neither too long nor too portentous and self-congratulatory, it was delivered more in sorrow than in anger, stressing his disappointment with the Tories and his own determination to work for reform and the improvement of the lot of the poor, even if it meant he would have fewer chances of preferment himself.
When he finished speaking there was loud applause and Anne-Marie almost cheered, except Emma Wilson had warned her it was not considered proper for visitors, especially ladies, to do so. From the men there was an enthusiastic “Hear, Hear!” as he was surrounded by his colleagues on the floor of the House.
Anne-Marie was near to bursting with impatience and pride, so full of love for him that she thought she would weep and make a fool of herself.
But she did not. When they went down into the lobbies, however, and met him coming out of the chamber, she could not resist going to him and planting a warm, congratulatory kiss on his cheek. Colin Elliott reddened and looked pleased; then taking her by the arm in a rather proprietary manner, he walked out with her to be cheered by the waiting crowd of supporters and the gentlemen of the press. This was not just the day of his declaration of independence from his party; it was also her day to affirm openly her love for him, for all to see.
As they stood on the steps together, she felt his arm tighten around her waist and his hand holding hers firmly, as he whispered his thanks, without turning his head. The colour rose in her cheeks and she longed to be with him alone. Yet, with a crowd watching them, they had to maintain very proper decorum. Any expression of affection had to be postponed for later.
The opportunity would not come for several hours, for they had all been invited to dine with the Wilsons at Grosvenor Street, at a celebration to mark James Wilson’s twentieth year in Parliament, as well as a more recent event, for which he had received most of the credit.
The conversion of young Elliott, whose staunchly Tory antecedents had been so publicly overthrown that afternoon, was a matter of great satisfaction to James and Emma Wilson. Naturally, the function attracted many of their friends and colleagues, eager to congratulate James and meet the new Reformist recruit and his beautiful wife-to-be, whom most members had never seen before.
“I had no idea Jonathan Bingley had such a lovely daughter,” said one MP.
“Clearly he has been hiding her from the likes of you,” said another, while a third wondered whether Elliott’s conversion to Reform politics had been assisted by the presence of the beautiful niece of his mentor and friend, James Wilson.
Overhearing the exchange, Lord Shaftesbury, a friend of the Wilsons, assured them that if Wilson and Bingley needed beautiful women to recruit new members to their cause, there’d be quite a crowd battering at the gates.
“All of the women in this family are not only handsome; they are intelligent and public spirited as well,” he quipped, “a combination irresistible to any selfrespecting Reformist, I am told.”
Anne-Marie, on the advice of her Aunt Emma, renowned for her excellent taste, dressed for the dinner in a simple, elegant gown of lilac silk, but never stopped to think of the impression she was making on the gathering.
She could, however, barely conceal her pride in her Mr Elliott, as she watched him converse easily with men many years his senior in age and political experience; all clearly impressed with his principled stand and his fine speech.
There was even a Tory admirer present; himself a maverick in his party, Lord Shaftesbury, a personal friend of Jonathan Bingley and the Wilsons, took the time to congratulate Elliott and urge him to hold fast to his beliefs. He had himself tried, often without much success, to persuade his party of the need for reform. He was glad, he said, to see Elliott making a stand.
At long last, when the celebrations were over and most of the guests had departed, Colin Elliott and Anne-Marie retreated to Mr Wilson’s study to say their farewells and in those few loving moments made up for their many hours apart. Reluctantly, he left her then; promising to return early the following day, when they would be journeying with the Wilsons to Standish Park, where they had been invited to spend a week or two. It was something they both looked forward to with much pleasure.
Anne-Marie knew all about the enchantment of Standish Park, where Anna had assured her, lovers were guaranteed to fall even deeper in love. “There is something almost magical, about the place” she had said, recalling the days when she and Jonathan had found so much delight and contentment there. Seeing the felicity of Emma and James, Anne-Marie had no reason to doubt it. She knew its many pleasures and looked forward to sharing them with Colin Elliott.
Since their engagement, she had been delighted to find many subjects upon which they agreed; the world of books and music, of which she knew she had a good deal to learn from him, was only just opening up to her. He was an interested and patient teacher and she looked forward to further discoveries in fields where she had not ventured before.
One more important matter remained to be settled, however, before she could face the future with serenity; even though it was a matter of which she had not been much aware in recent times.
After they’d been at Standish Park some two or three days, a carriage arri
ved bearing Emily Courtney and her daughter Eliza Harwood, once Anne-Marie’s confidante and dearest friend. They had, however, not met one another since the funeral of Mr Bradshaw. Eliza had been spending some time with her parents in Derbyshire, following the sad loss of a child, stillborn before its time. Grief stricken and unable to cope alone, she had written to her mother, who had arrived and taken her home to Kympton.
During her time there, Eliza had expressed her desire to meet Anne-Marie and be reconciled with her. Her mother Emily, whose warm friendship with her cousin Emma had continued over many years, had written asking if it might be arranged. Emma Wilson having considered the request and discussed it with her mother, and her Aunt Lizzie had decided to do something about it. The invitation to Anne-Marie and Mr Elliott had gone out on the very day she had received news of their engagement. It was a clever piece of manipulation but, as Emma had explained to her husband, it had been done in a good cause.
“I know Anne-Marie will not begrudge Eliza the consolation of reconciliation with her, now she has found true happiness herself,” she had said, as they sat together at breakfast and James, though a little wary of such contrivances, had agreed that she was probably right. He thought Anne-Marie was not the type of young woman who would bear a grudge.
“But, do you not think you ought to warn her that they are expected tomorrow? And what do you suppose Elliott will make of it all?” he had asked, practical and thoughtful, as ever.
Emma smiled and pressed his hand, gently, “Now, that’s where I need your help, my dear,” she had said, “Do you suppose you could find a reason to invite Colin Elliott to accompany you on your journey to Maidstone tomorrow?”
James laughed; he never failed to be surprised at the ingenious ways by which his wife could draw him into her plans. She made the endearing excuse that she did not want him to feel left out and he almost always acquiesced.
The Ladies of Longbourn Page 31
