***
Though long established in London, the family of Jennings was unknown to society, being notable only for happy marriages and a gift for trading. By means of both, they contrived to build up a minor empire, being of such a merry and forthright disposition as to win the good-will of their neighbors, without provoking the envy that wealth often breeds. When Ned Jennings, a man of no little ambition and foresight, took as his bride a robust lass from the house of one of his City competitors, he married for love as well as policy. And it was love, mostly, which compelled Ned, a man of business in death as in life, to advise his wife as he lay expiring, “Wait until war is declared, Nell, and then buy for all you’re worth.”
And so Nell Jennings, widow, poured out ready money on ‘Change at the trough of the stock market drop in 1803, and reaped the dividends when old Boney flouted the Treaty of Amiens in May. The family’s fortune was so firmly established that she could aspire to the pinnacle of parenthood: educating her children to be as decorative and unfunctional as any scion of nobility. Two handsome daughters survived childhood to be delivered to a finishing school, where the daughters of wealthy merchants and impoverished nobility studied French, manners, and each other’s elder brothers. Pretty Charlotte was married just this past winter (and already increasing!) to a political gentleman named Palmer, and they were an oddly-matched couple: she laughing all the day long, like her mother, and he saying nothing except to contradict, which was how you could tell he was in a good humor. Charlotte would have been better paired with jolly Sir John Middleton, but she was too young when he came courting, and and he was not too fine to refuse Mary, who was an uncommonly handsome girl in her way and always the pink of fashion. Her great school had taught her good-breeding and little else, and if she hadn’t much conversation, her manners were bought and paid for.
So Mrs. Dashwood learned from Mrs. Jennings, Sir John’s mother-in-law freshly arrived from her London house, before dinner was even served at Barton Park.
“I depend on seeing Charlotte here before long. Lord, how she will doat on your girls! I went to her as soon as I heard that Barton Cottage was to be settled by Sir John’s cousins, and not an ugly one in the lot, he said, because Mrs. D had been an uncommonly fine girl in her day, and of course her daughters must favor their mother. And so they do, especially the young lady in the worked muslin.”
“That is Marianne, my second daughter,” said Mrs. Dashwood, trying to find her footing in the kindly sea of Mrs. Jennings’s conversation. Mrs. Jennings had neither a malicious nor a discreet bone in her body. She immediately pressed all new acquaintance to her ample bosom, and at the slightest provocation told them her entire history so that they too could participate in the family memory.
“Three daughters to marry, and no father to broker the deal,” Mrs. Jennings sighed, and to Mrs. Dashwood’s alarm, for she could never see the tears of others without being overcome herself, the good lady dabbed at her eyes with a comically small square of linen. “I know how it is, my dear, for I had to provide for my own girls myself, and Ned not there to carry his share. Many’s the night I sat myself down in a chair and told him he ought to be glad he was not there, for I’d give him such a piece of my mind for leaving me right when the work was hardest and his girls needed him most. But then, I told him not to mind me, and that I’d forgive everything if only he’d come back, no hard feelings. There, there, my dear, I have a fresh hankie, and you’re welcome to it, for often’s the time I’ve worn my own out.”
“Thank you,” Mrs. Dashwood murmured, accepting the handkerchief with watery gratitude. She and Mrs. Jennings were alone; Lady Middleton had taken Elinor, Marianne, and Margaret to the nursery to meet her children, and Sir John had practically dragged his visitors upstairs, declaring that he knew the children already loved the Misses Dashwoods because he had already told them what fine ladies they were. The two widows sat in the privacy of a huge windowed nook overlooking Barton Park’s lawn, where a gentleman was walking toward the house.
“There now, that’s Col. Brandon,” Mrs. Jennings exclaimed. “Such a well-mannered, grave man, and you would never take him to be such a particular friend of Sir John, as unlike him as he is. But then, who would have guessed that I would put out a daughter like Lady M., forever being correct? There is no accounting for love or friendship, and opposites attract, they do say. I knew the Colonel would be here, for he suffers from a great disappointment, and comes back to the place where he lost his heart.”
“That is most tragic,” said Mrs. Dashwood, attempting to sound politely aloof and only managing to convey a great curiosity to hear more. “But would it not be more prudent to keep far away to avoid renewing the acquaintance? Surely Lady Middleton, who is such a model of good-breeding, would not encourage his visits?”
“Lord love you, it was never Mary!” Mrs. Jennings rocked with merry horror at the thought of anyone pining for the waxen Lady Middleton. “He was quite taken with my Charlotte when he came back from the East Indies, though he never said anything, for she was still at school and he never saw her above twice, though he did invite us to his estate at Delaford when Sir John and Lady Middleton were coming. He was on the point of making an offer, so I heard from Sir John, who dearly wished the connection, as did Lady M., for they hold the Colonel in such great respect that I daresay they are a bit afraid of him. But I wouldn’t have it, you know.” Mrs. Jennings leaned in toward Mrs. Dashwood and lowered her voice as far as she was capable of doing, and Mrs. Dashwood, to her own shock, found herself leaning in to catch every word of this appalling gossip. “You would never guess it to see him now, for he’s the perfect gentleman, and quite forlorn these days, but he has a natural daughter tucked away somewhere in Dorsetshire, whom he adores. I never met her myself, but she comes every now and then to Delaford, and my maid heard from his cook that Miss Williams is a pretty, flighty little thing — much like her mother, I guess, for no one would describe the Colonel as handsome or bright-eyed. Well, a man is a man, and many’s the mistake repented at leisure, but I could not desire the connection for my Charlotte. She was too young then — though not to put too fine a point on it, the Colonel must have been none too old himself when he knew Miss Williams’s mother, for she’s 16 if she’s a day. But truth to tell, the Colonel and Charlotte don’t suit at all. A man needs a sensible wife if he’s to manage a love-child, and no one has ever accused Charlotte of having the least bit of sense. But it’s all a great secret, so I am resolved never to speak of it to anyone.”
Mrs. Dashwood gazed at the figure on the lawn with fascination. Certainly he did not look a figure of romance. His mild, sun-burnt face was composed more in scholarly preoccupation than along stormy heroic lines. She must remember never to judge by appearances, for if she did she would have relied instantly on his steadiness and character. Her acquaintance with rakes and seducers of women was all but non-existent, but though such villains must win women’s trust with guiles, she felt instantly that this man would merit trust, not compel it.
1 comment:
Sigh! I am so in love with your novel. I am looking forward to seeing how you meet the challenge of writing in the corners of an already written novel because that is one of my favorite things.
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