I want to arouse her interest in the wider world and to stimulate her intelligence, which must be wasting away with only Sir John and his family, good though they are, for company; I want to discuss with her books she has never thought of, poems she has never discovered; I want to show her places she has never been.
I want to open up the world for her, as her sensibility has opened it up once again for me.
Monday 21 November
I was walking down Bond Street this morning when I saw a familiar face, that of Mrs Jennings’s daughter, Charlotte; Charlotte Palmer as she is now, for of course she has married. After introducing me to her husband, a grave-looking young man of some five or six and twenty, with an air of fashion and sense, she told me that her mother, sister and brother-in-law were well, and that their children were thriving. And then she confounded me by saying:
‘There is a new family come to Barton Cottage, I hear, by the name of Dashwood. Mama sends me word they are very pretty, and that one of them is going to be married to Mr Willoughby, of Combe Magna.’
My spirits sank, and all my ideas of showing Marianne a wider world evaporated like the morning mist.
She was in love with him. She was going to marry him.
There was no hope for me.
Should I have told her? Should I have made her aware of his true character? Should I have prevented her engagement?
I was so lost in my thoughts that I scarcely heard the rest of Mrs Palmer’s speech, though she talked for some time, saying how glad she was to hear of the engagement; how everyone in Devonshire thought Mr Willoughby extremely agreeable; and how nobody was more liked than Mr Willoughby wherever he went.
She paused, and I roused myself, for it was necessary for me to say something, though I scarcely know what I said.
‘There will be another wedding in Barton before long, I dare say,’ she continued, and I forced myself to concentrate on her conversation. ‘Mama says that the Dashwoods have had a young man to stay, a Mr Edward Ferrars, and that he is sweet on Miss Dashwood.’
I remembered Miss Margaret saying that her sister had left someone behind, and that his name began with an F. It seemed likely that the elusive gentleman was Edward Ferrars, and if he was worthy of her, then I was happy for her.
But I could not concentrate for long, and I was glad when the Palmers left me.
Should I have spoken? Should I have said something?
I asked myself the questions again and again.
But it was fruitless to speculate.
Marianne was engaged to Willoughby. My chance to speak had gone.
She was lost to me.
Wednesday 7 December
Eliza is recovering her strength rapidly, and although I have not yet finished my business in London, tomorrow I mean to take her to Delaford. Her spirits are changeable, and I am persuaded that, once she is in the country, they will settle into a cheerful pattern.
Thursday 8 December
We travelled slowly, to make the journey easier for Eliza and the baby, and we both enjoyed the leisurely pace. The weather was fine and bright, with brilliant skies, and the countryside was beautiful in its bareness, with the traceries of small twigs showing up against the sky.
Saturday 10 December
We arrived at Delaford this afternoon, and we were glad to get out of the carriage. Eliza looked at her new home with happiness and walked round the garden, which was brightened by some colourful foliage, before going inside.
She was delighted with the house, and with the nursery, which I had had newly papered, and with her bedroom, which had a large window looking down the valley.
‘I will have to see about finding you a companion, but you have Susan and John to look after you for the moment, and I will be here as often as I can. You will want to rest now, I dare say, but I will call for you in the morning and we can go for a walk, if you are feeling well enough, and then we can go to the mansion house and you can choose some books from the library or whatever you wish.’
She thanked me with a smile and I left her arranging her new home.
And now it only remains for me to see her cheerfully settled and then I can return to London, to see to my unfinished business there.
1797
Tuesday 3 January
London is cold and damp. The sky is grey and the streets are dirty. I have diversion here but my spirits are low. I dined with Leyton this evening, but not even his cheerful company could lift my spirits. To have the hope of a life held out to me and then to have it dashed ... I am sick of the winter, and sick of England. I think I will travel as soon as the spring arrives.
Thursday 5 January
I saw Mrs Palmer this morning in Bond Street. I had no desire to talk to her and to hear about the arrangements for Marianne’s wedding, and so I went into a shop, but something must have delayed her, too, because when I came out again she was just passing the door and she greeted me heartily. I tried to hurry away but it was impossible, and, to my surprise, this turned out to be a good thing, for I discovered that all was not well between Marianne and Willoughby; indeed, Marianne had not seen him for months.
‘Has Willoughby left Barton, then?’ I asked Mrs Palmer in surprise, for, although I had met him in town, I had assumed that he would soon be returning to the country.
‘Oh, yes, he left there in November when Mrs Smith sent him to town on business; and he had to oblige her, or she might have cut him out of her will.’
‘But he must have dealt with her business long ago. And yet he has not returned to Barton?’ I asked.
‘No, not for so much as a day.’
‘That is strange, when he is engaged to Miss Marianne. You did say that they were engaged?’ I enquired.
‘Oh, yes, it is spoken of everywhere. Everyone says how lucky she is, for Willoughby has a handsome face and a handsome fortune; or will have, when Mrs Smith dies, and that cannot be long, you know.’
I began to wonder if the engagement was real or if it was just a rumour, and hope stirred within me.
‘Has their engagement been announced?’ I asked.
‘No, to be sure, there has been no announcement,’ Mrs Palmer admitted, ‘but with Mrs Smith so ill, it was not to be expected. They were waiting for her to recover, or, more likely, die, before they announced it. Mama was certain of it. Poor Marianne! She is monstrous unhappy without him. She is quite cast down by his absence. She cannot eat and cannot sleep, for she has great sensibility, you know. Now if it had happened to Miss Dashwood, I dare say she would have sighed and then got on with her needlework, but Miss Marianne roams around the countryside thinking of him, and plays all his favourite songs, and encourages every melancholy feeling. It has quite broken Mama’s heart to see her. So Mama, knowing he was in town and wanting to be of use to the two young lovers, invited Miss Marianne to stay with her when she comes to London, and of course she invited Miss Dashwood, too; so now Miss Marianne will be able to see Willoughby again, for Mama will be here very soon. And if an engagement is not announced before the month is out, then I will be very much surprised.’
I wondered if it was true or if Mrs Palmer was embellishing the story. Was Marianne really downcast? And if so, was it because of Willoughby? Was she coming to town to see him, or simply to enjoy the shops and entertainments that London had to offer? And was she really engaged, or was it just a mistake on the part of Mrs Jennings?