And Who Can Be In Doubt Of What Followed

by Alexa Adams

  “Then Worthing it shall be. How soon can you speak to Mr. Perry? It is very likely that he shall be here in the morning, and I would not like Papa to consult him before we have our say.”

  “I shall send him a note immediately, if you will be so kind as to supply me with writing materials.”

  “I am at your beck and call, Mr. Kni – George, I mean to say.”

  “Much better, my dear. It shall be rolling off your tongue in no time.”

  Emma laughed. “Do not presume too much, Mr. Knightley, lest you see my tongue regress.”

  The dinner that evening found everyone at Hartfield in high spirits except Mr. Woodhouse. The fright of morning had left him shaken, but none of his fidgets and worries could dampen the atmosphere, no matter how acute Emma’s guilty feelings regarding her happiness at his expense. The Knightleys, both present and future, did not openly gloat over the setting of a wedding date, but having the matter finally resolved, and so conveniently for all involved, left them feeling both satisfied and agreeable. Even Mr. John Knightley showed unusual patience with his father-in-law, going so far as to suggest a game of backgammon to him, an occupation he cheerfully kept up until Mr. Woodhouse had his fill, and Isabella, catching her husband's good humor, never once showed the slightest concern for the health and well-being of any member of her brood. All this goodwill eventually had its effect on Mr. Woodhouse, and he too began to forget his fears. Those of us who know the players involved cannot expect that such a happy family party could become the norm, but a stranger looking in on that evening would never have guessed that peace and harmony did not always reign amongst those gathered together.

  **********

  It has been said that when any two young people take it into their heads to marry, they are pretty sure by perseverance to carry their point, particularly when the couple in question is so lucky as to be possessed of two independent fortunes between them, with no familial obstacles to overcome. Once Mr. Woodhouse threw his rather urgent support behind the notion of Emma's marriage, what remained to be done other than make haste to the altar? In a very few weeks the town of Highbury was gratified by the marriage of two of its most prominent citizens: the lady whose example set the fashions, and the gentleman whose counsel and support ensured both their well-being and prosperity. Few were not gratified. Though Mrs. Elton felt some personal chagrin at this consolidation of power, her better judgment (and personal ambition) told her to confine her more adamant criticisms to the parsonage. Within the security of her own home, her irritation was profusely expressed, yet no amount of vexation would have hindered her from accepting an invitation to the ceremony, had she been so fortunate as to receive one. Instead she had to watch her friends, the Bateses, set forth to the church without her, leaving her behind to ponder the injustice of her exclusion.

  The sun shown warmly upon the attendees that October morning, as if the heavens were determined to share their approbation for the blessed event. The closest friends and family of the bride and groom gathered within the church, while a great deal of the townspeople assembled outside, excitedly awaiting their first glimpse of the married couple. Mrs. Bates was happily ensconced next to her old friend, Mr. Woodhouse, while her daughter happily chatted away to all who would listen about how very pleased she was with the match, and share her enthusiasm for her dear Jane's upcoming nuptials, which the present occasion could not help but inflame. Mr. and Mrs. Martin sat behind these ladies, Harriet all aglow with contentment. Clearly her former infatuation for the groom was long forgotten. The Weston's, of course, were also in attendance, and though Mrs. Weston had left little Anna in the care of her nurse, she had her hands full with the young Knightleys, each of whom was determined to play an instrumental role in the day’s festivities, except the still mute baby, who had fortunately not yet found a voice with which to demand her rights. The marriage of an aunt to an uncle was no ordinary occasion, and it took all of Mrs. Westons' notable skills to contain their enthusiasm. The Perrys, invited at Mr. Woodhouse's insistence, and a stern looking William Larkins, intent on displaying his sense of the moment's gravity, completed the party. Mr. and Mrs. John Knightley attended the bride and groom. Overall, it was a convivial gathering, as befit the occasion, and if the Rector did not officiate with as much zeal as might have been desired, no one, least of all the happy couple, took notice.

  Truth be told, Mr. Elton could not be happy about his task that day. He had long since purged his heart of any lingering affection it once harbored towards Miss Woodhouse, wounded pride having served as a useful aid in converting professed ardor into resentment, yet the same pained dignity that had proven so beneficial now caused chagrin, for he could not see the man whom the lady deemed worthy of her hand without acknowledging that his own person did not quite measure up. As the possessor of a respectable living, an independent property, and no small quantity of personal charm, he had fancied himself the equal of the local heiress, but when compared to the worldly position of Mr. Knightley, owner of Donwell Abbey and all its attendant honors, even he had to admit that this was a more appropriate choice of groom for a lady of 30,000 pounds. He did not share his thoughts with his wife, who, perhaps sensing his hidden humiliation, talked at great length about the disadvantages of the marriage, but he did regale Augusta with many a detail of dress and decoration, knowing that her disdain for the proceedings would help to assuage his troubled sensibilities.

  After the ceremony concluded and Emma signed the registry, using her maiden name one last time, the guests repaired to Hartfield for the wedding breakfast. In keeping with his sense of hospitality, Mr. Woodhouse had instructed Serle to provided all the delicacies the occasion required, including the essential cake, though its presence caused him no small amount of anxiety. The overall consensus of the guests was that “nothing could be more complete, everything the best of its kind, the hospitality of Hartfield always surpassing one's expectations.” Despite the host’s best efforts to urge attendees towards more wholesome fare, the cake somehow managed to be entirely consumed, thanks in no small part to Mr. John Knightley's determined efforts to keep his brood well supplied with the delicacy.

  Soon the new Mr. and Mrs. Knightley took their leave, it being their intention to travel as far as Horsham that evening. The couple had enjoyed their day and appreciated the well-wishes of their friends and family, but the luxury of finally being alone, ensconced in the privacy of the new carriage with which Mr. Knightley surprised his bride, was temptingly beckoning them both. Mr. Woodhouse showed some agitation upon the leave taking, he not being accustomed to parting with his dear Emma, but the notion that the sooner she left, the sooner she would return, was found efficacious in comforting his distress.

  Emma was happy for once to leave the task of alleviating his nerves to Isabella, and only allowed her mind to passingly hope that John would not prove a barrier to his wife's efforts. Waving goodbye as long as Hartfield remained in sight, the married couple finally turned to each other, an unaccustomed sense of shyness pervading the carriage as the reality of their new relationship sunk in. Mr. Knightley cleared his throat and, not knowing what else to do, spoke in such a way as to restore their normal banter. “Well Mrs. Knightley, am I not to hear of your approbation for this very proper conveyance? I did not think you would approve of us journeying on horseback.”

  “Certainly no mode of transport so properly suits a Mrs. Knightley. Could that really be my name? It all seems so odd and unaccustomed.”

  “Then I will just have to remind you of it often by using it with the utmost frequency, Mrs. Knightley.”

  “Very good, as it gives me an excellent excuse to continue referring to you as Mr. Knightley.”

  “Now that will not do at all. I shall have to rely on innkeepers and my fellow travelers to enforce your new title. You must remain Emma to me.”

  “Certainly, Mr. Knightley. I fancy I am rather like my father, in that I cling to old ways.”

  Though the couple temporarily left Highbury
behind, their names remained the most often spoken for weeks to come. Mrs. Elton’s verdict of the wedding proved precisely what her husband predicted: “Very little white satin, very few lace veils; a most pitiful business! Selina would stare when she heard of it.” Such sentiments were quickly conveyed to the mistress of Maple Grove, whose approval or disapproval must have been engaged in one direction or the other, though to little effect, for the catalogue of fanfare deficiency proved no barrier to the perfect happiness of the union, which proved just what Emma and Mr. Knightley’s true friends most hoped. It should be further noted that, despite Mrs. Elton's disdain, the material used for Emma's wedding gown, proudly displayed to the neighborhood by Mrs. Ford, was declared to be the best selling fabric that notable shop had ever stocked.

  Persuasion

  "You wished to speak with me, Captain Wentworth?"

  It took all of the ingrained inscrutability of nine years in command to maintain his composure. “Indeed I do, Sir Walter. I have something of great importance to lay before you.”

  “Yes. Anne suggested you might call today. You do understand that I am escorting my cousin, Lady Dalrymple, and Miss Elliot to a card party this evening and have only limited time to spare before I must attend to my preparations. However, as Anne was insistent, I made sure to lay aside a quarter of an hour for you.” The impecunious baronet's smile was intended to convey the full honor of such condescension, but Frederick only perceived its absurdity.

  “Then you know my reasons for requesting an audience?”

  “I do, and let me assure you that I feel quite confident bestowing my youngest daughter's hand on you. When we last discussed such an arrangement, it was, of course, out of the question, but I am not blind to how you have distinguished yourself. Why, Lady Dalrymple herself commented on your fine appearance.” It was of some chagrin to Sir Walter that the younger man seemed totally insensible to the magnitude of such a compliment, but as he supposed him already overwhelmed by the honor of marrying an Elliot of Somersetshire, he overlooked the offense. “Of course, you do understand that current circumstances might render it inconvenient for the estate to part with the entirety of Anne's portion, ten thousand pounds, at this time. I will write to my lawyer, Mr. Shepherd, and he will advise me as to what can be done.”

  With that, Sir Walter felt he had covered the salient points of interests, and all while behaving exceedingly handsomely throughout the interview. It was unfortunate his future son-in-law did not share this opinion. Frederick Wentworth felt all that remained unsaid. What did it matter if Sir Walter Elliot no longer deemed him beneath his notice? With five-and-twenty thousand pounds, and as high in his profession as merit and activity could place him, should he be thankful that he was now deemed quite worthy to address the daughter of a foolish, spendthrift baronet, who had not had principle or sense enough to maintain himself in the situation in which Providence had placed him? He felt nothing but scorn for the pompous man before him, but love for his daughter, a woman of such perfections that her paternity was astonishing, held his tongue. He bowed so curtly that Sir Walter was left in wonder, bemused by the odd manner in which some men respond to good fortune, and exited the room, pausing just long enough to bow in response to Elizabeth's acknowledgment when he encountered her in the passageway before departing Camden-place.

  “Captain Wentworth left rather abruptly, Father,” she commented upon entered the smaller drawing room, gracing a particularly elegant chair with her equally elegant self.

  “Poor man! He was overwhelmed by my generosity, no doubt, and quite wisely removed himself from my presence. Few things are more diminishing to a man's person than an excessive display of emotion, and the morning light is particularly unfavorable. I had wondered that Anne should not have thought to arrange for me to speak with Captain Wentworth one evening when we are at home, but now that I have seen him in broad daylight, I find his complexion perhaps the most impressive I have encountered amongst our naval man. As Bath has given me ample opportunity to observe the race, I feel I speak with some claim to expertise in the matter.”

  “Certainly, Father.”

  “The concern must be for what the future will bring. Having already been so exposed to the elements, and very likely to be so again, I think I can do no better service for him than to recommend the constant use of Gowland. I shall do so when we next meet.”

  “I am sure he will receive your advice just as he ought. Captain Wentworth has an unusual degree of countenance for a man of his station. His presence will be an asset to my drawing rooms.”

  “I agree. A very acceptable match for Anne, all considered. A captain is certainly better than a mere mister, and I do believe there might be some connection to the Strafford family after all, though it be distant and possibly unknown. It would not do for Captain Wentworth to pursue the acquaintance, of course, but the name sounds rather well, do you not think? Anne Wentworth. Married Captain Wentworth. It will do for the Baronetage.”

  Elizabeth could not summon her father’s enthusiasm, the notion of being Miss Elliot not because she was the eldest but the only unmarried sister was far from felicitous, but she found some consolation in believing Anne's ineligibility would restore Mr. Elliot's attentions to their proper quarter.

  **********

  Lady Russell sat in her drawing room blinking.

  “Ma’am? Are you alright?” asked a concerned Anne.

  “Yes. Excuse me, my dear, but I think I did not hear you right. Who is it that has proposed?”

  “Captain Wentworth.”

  “Not Mr. Elliot?”

  Anne smiled. “Not Mr. Elliot.”

  “Oh dear!” Lady Russell exclaimed, suddenly feeling more embarrassed than she had since her school days.

  Anne rose and took a chair closer to her godmother, clasping her hand warmly. “I could not marry Mr. Elliot, even if he had asked me. There are things you do not know about his character. We could not be happy together. I will tell you all.”

  And so she did. Anne revealed the entirety of Mrs. Smith's disclosures regarding Mr. Elliot to Lady Russell. His ill-usage of those who had been true friends and irreverence for the Elliot name predictably shocked the upright lady, but nothing was more unsettling than the knowledge of intimacy shared with a man of such improper feeling and insincerity. To have been so blinded by pleasing manners and desirable connections! Lady Russell was shaken to her core.

  She recalled her own bad advice to Anne on the subject: "A most suitable connection everybody must consider it – but I think it might be a very happy one" Now she said a silent prayer of thanks it was ignored. Here sat Anne beside her, sparkling and glowing with a healthy radiance presumed long lost to age and sorrow, and the man who inspired her dear girl's happy countenance was the very same man she had once advised her against! How very wrong she had been in all her efforts on behalf of Anne!

  They sat for several moments in silence, Lady Russell contemplating her many blunders, while Anne continued to caress her hand affectionately. Finally, the elder lady spoke, containing her feelings as much as possible: "I know not how you can ever forgive my interference all those years ago."

  "I do not blame you, no more than I blame myself for being guided by you. You have stood in place of a mother to me, for which I am immeasurably grateful. I know you only acted as you thought best."

  "But what of Captain Wentworth? He has no ties of affection to me, nothing but you to help secure my forgiveness. He must resent me terribly."

  Anne worded her response carefully. "I believe he did, but recent events help negate the past. It will take time, but I have great hopes that you will be friends before long."

  “I could not bear to lose your company, Anne.”

  “There is no fear of that. Soon you will learn to love him, I am sure. We shall have wonderful times together at Kellynch.”

  Lady Russell managed a weak smile. It would be awkward, but she would humble herself. She would do anything for Anne.

  *******
***

  Captain Wentworth restlessly paced the stairs leading up to the gravel-walk as he waited for Anne, his temper still disordered from his meeting with Sir Walter. Valiantly did he struggle to bring himself to order before Anne arrived, but all was in vain. His mind would not be quieted.

  “How dare the pompous fool, blessed with ready-made reputation, which he did nothing to earn, condescend to me? Captain of the Laconia! Had his parents sent him to sea, I would have cleansed the self-satisfaction from Sir Walter Elliot's soul, if I had to scrub it myself! How am I to bear him? I swore to myself eight years ago that I would never allow him to treat me like an inferior again, but the man knows no other means of proceeding! If I hadn't seen him kowtow to his great cousins with my own eyes, I would think he ranked himself royalty.”

  So his mind raved on, his thoughts only interrupted when a gentle, “Ahem,” caught his ear, followed by a musical laugh that drove the severe countenance from his mien, revealing the sentimental smile that was only for Anne. Without a word he took her hand and, placing it securely upon his arm, led his betrothed back to the gravel-walk, where they had enjoyed their first moments of true understanding.