Netherfield Park Revisited (32 page)

“Let us not speak too generally, Jonathan,” said his sister. “How do you think Miss Faulkner may respond, should you ask her? Have you spoken of this to her?” she asked.

“No, I have not. But Emma, I will be honest with you, I do admire and respect her very much and so do the girls. She is, without any doubt, the most amiable and intelligent young woman I have met in years. She is probably aware of my appreciation—I have certainly not hidden it—but I have not mentioned any of this to her simply because it may have seemed indelicate, being too soon after …”

Emma was sympathetic.

“I understand. But if it were possible, would you wish to?”

“If I thought she loved me, yes, I would,” he confessed, a little reluctant to admit to her what he had not as yet admitted to himself.

“Well, Jonathan, there is only one way to find out. You must ask her.”

“And, does that mean I have your blessing?” he asked.

Emma smiled and nodded.

“If you love her, of course. Anna is a most affectionate and generous hearted woman, and if she agrees to marry you, she will be a wonderful influence upon your daughters, and I believe she will make you very happy. Are you certain of your feelings?” she asked.

He responded sincerely, “I am, Emma; I think I have known it for many months now.”

They spoke together of love and marriage and their own experience of both. Emma recalled their mother telling her of their Aunt Lizzie's determination that “nothing but the deepest love will ever persuade me to marry.”

“It is a good philosophy,” she declared, adding, “I think you will find Anna willing to listen to you.”

The sound of James returning brought their conversation to an end.

James Wilson greeted his brother-in-law cheerfully, very glad to see him again. They always had a great deal to discuss, and their conversations usually went late into the night.

After dinner, Emma left them together, knowing Jonathan needed time to tell his brother-in-law of his decision.

Jonathan had expected it would be a difficult undertaking, but strangely, it turned out very different indeed. James was disappointed, of course, but he comprehended and sympathised with Jonathan's grave concerns. He realised, he said, that the death of his wife and the subsequent move to Netherfield Park had materially altered Jonathan's circumstances.

Nor did he argue with the need for a father to put the interest of his young daughters first.

“I will not try to hide my disappointment, Jonathan,” he said, after he had listened to his reasons. “I had hoped we would have your voice to support our push for further electoral reform. Lord Russell is eager, but Palmerston is not. Darcy is quite right, he is very much the Tory he was in matters of electoral reform. And of course, we intend to work for a policy on Public Education, including education for girls. We have the Prince Consort's support on this, but nothing worthwhile is being done.” James seemed very frustrated.

“Then there is the matter of Lord Shaftesbury's Bill—yes I know he is a Tory, but he alone has fought for laws against the exploitation of children. I understand he plans another assault on the chimney sweeps—he wants to outlaw their use of children as young as four and five to clear chimneys and put out fires! It is a subject very close to Emma's heart. The charity she works with in the east end of London can produce dozens of cases of children hurt or even killed by this reprehensible practice. It is truly appalling that we permit it to go on in England, yet the only person who has shown an interest in stopping them is Shaftesbury. I have promised him my full support.

“I should have liked very much to have you on our side in the Parliament, but I cannot cavil at your desire to devote your time to your daughters; they probably need you even more than the little chimney sweeps,” he said.

Jonathan protested that he would not turn his back on the little chimney sweeps or any of these causes; they were far too dear to his heart.

“James, I give you my word, I shall work outside the Parliament, in the councils and the community, wherever I can, to make people aware of these dreadful injustices. I shall not abandon you and my friends in the Reform Group, I promise.”

James Wilson was very touched and thanked him, but then asked, “And does Miss Faulkner share your enthusiasm for reform?”

Jonathan responded, without stopping to think, “Indeed, she does, James, very much so,” realising only after the words were spoken the true import of his reply.

His stumbling efforts to correct the impression he may have given of an unusual level of familiarity with the views of the lady amused his brother-in-law. But James was kind in his response.

“My dear fellow, you do not have to explain, I am not entitled to question you about your private life. Your sister Emma and I have wondered, for some time now, when you and Miss Faulkner would come to a realisation that you are well suited and, if you loved each other of course, would make an excellent match.”

Jonathan tried once more to explain that while he had always admired the lady, he had not approached her with any proposal.

James smiled and said, “Perhaps you should, Jonathan; do not leave it too long, she is a very attractive and accomplished young woman.”

And with that he rose and they moved into the drawing room, where Emma joined them for coffee.

She was eager to discover more about Netherfield and how his daughters were settling in. Jonathan was beginning to feel very tired. He had done a great deal of travelling in the last few days, and it was taking its toll upon him. Emotionally, he felt drained and exhausted.

Fond though he was of his sister and happy to answer all her questions, he was very glad when James, who had returned from London just that afternoon, suggested they could all benefit from an early night.

***

Waking up the next morning, Jonathan Bingley went for a long walk in the park before breakfast. It was cold and the leafless trees were stark against the sky, but even in this bleak wood, a dawn chorus of birds had begun as the first rays of the sun lit the horizon. Jonathan had always preferred living in the country, enjoying its changing moods and colours, as well as the variety of work the different seasons brought. It had held, for him, a far greater appeal and a more interesting challenge than the prospect of an office in town.

At no time, however prosperous the business, had he considered going to work for the Commercial Trading Company, in which the Bingleys had a lucrative interest. At first, his parents had been disappointed, but they had never attempted to compel him to take it up.

Here in Kent, as in Hertfordshire, the land had a gentler profile, clothed in softer woods and pastures than the rugged Midlands with which he was familiar. It was a landscape in which he was always comfortable, with a rural charm that had persisted through many centuries. He had been surprised at the ease with which he had slipped into his role at Netherfield Park and the extent of his enjoyment of it.

After his conversations with his sister and her husband, Jonathan had decided that he would, on returning to Netherfield, call on Anna Faulkner. He was keen to discover what her feelings were, since he now had no doubts at all about his own.

The weather in Hertfordshire was still wintry when Jonathan returned to Netherfield, but a few green buds had begun to burst upon the grey boughs of the old trees in the park. The early rain had soaked into the earth, and the fields looked ready for the plough in Spring, he thought, as the carriage approached the house. Mrs Perrot greeted him in the hall and informed him that Teresa and Cathy had gone with Miss Faulkner to Longbourn.

It was a windy afternoon with occasional gusts bringing more spattering rain. Riding out was not an attractive prospect, and Jonathan decided to stay in and await their return.

They came in time for afternoon tea, and Anna, seeing him in the hallway as they entered, was clearly pleased. He went forward to greet them, first the girls who embraced their father before running upstairs to change their shoes and then Anna, who followed him into the sitting room, where a fire had been lit and tea would soon be served.

They exchanged the usual pleasantries as the servants brought in the tea things. She asked after his sister at Standish Park, and he inquired if her parents were well and if the ladies at Longbourn were in good health. But, even as they talked of such inconsequential matters, seeing her there in the warm fire-light, knowing how easily she seemed to fit into his home, he knew that he loved her and had to know her mind.

Now, he needed only an opportunity to ask her.

Teresa and Cathy returned and were full of questions all through tea. How was their aunt Emma? Did Anne-Marie reach Harwood House safely? Did their father see anything of their cousins, Victoria and Stephanie? And a myriad others, besides!

Anna and Jonathan had little opportunity for private conversation before it was time for her to leave. She was alone and eager to be home before dark. Escorting her to the carriage, Jonathan asked if he may call on her the following day. He told her of some sheet music he had purchased in London and asked if she would like to try it.

She was immediately agreeable, and a time was arranged, convenient to both of them. He noted with pleasure that she had agreed with some enthusiasm, almost as if she had anticipated his request.

This, he thought, was a good sign.

That night, after an early dinner, when the girls had gone to bed, Jonathan planned what he would say to Miss Faulkner.

Best not to be too startling, he decided. She was not the sort of silly woman who would be impressed by dramatic gestures and extravagant compliments. That was not her at all.

Simple, sincere words were best, he thought.

Should he ask her father's permission first? he wondered.

Perhaps he should write to him … he pondered the question a while before deciding he would follow his brother-in-law's advice and ask the lady first.

The sheet music he had bought had been recommended by Emma, who declared it to be one of the loveliest compositions she had heard in recent days. Her own daughter Victoria had practised long and hard to master it, she had said. She was sure Anna would enjoy it, too.

It would certainly provide him with a good reason to spend some time with her, Emma had said, thoughtfully. He smiled as he recalled her words.

Jonathan spent a restless night, wondering how he would be received, but finally fell into a deep sleep—the result of physical tiredness rather than mental serenity.

When he awoke early on the morrow, he had been unable to resolve the questions that had engrossed his mind before he fell asleep. What manner of approach should he make to Miss Faulkner? How direct should he be? How much of his deeply felt attachment must he declare? Most pressing of all, how would she respond?

Looking out of the window, however, he found the rain had ceased and the wind had blown most of the clouds away, leaving a startlingly blue sky. He was eager to be on his way.

To Haye Park he would go, soon after breakfast, in much the same way as his father had gone to Longbourn to propose to the lovely Miss Jane Bennet, all those years ago. The romantic story of that proposal was a legend in their family.

At Haye Park, Anna Faulkner had been preparing for her visitor.

She had, when he asked permission to visit, agreed at once, because she had been genuinely pleased to see him after several days and always enjoyed his company.

Indeed, she was beginning to believe that, of all the men she knew and all those she had met over the last few years, Jonathan Bingley was the one gentleman whose company had given her the most pleasure.

With him, each conversation was as interesting as the last. Their mutual enjoyment of the Arts and his particular appreciation of fine music had set him apart in their circle of acquaintances.

The friendship that had developed between herself and his sister Emma, in the course of the previous Summer, had served to enhance their own understanding. It had become clear to Anna that Emma Wilson was sufficiently concerned for her brother's future happiness to hope that he would make a more felicitous marriage soon. She had as good as admitted to having had her doubts about the maturity and suitability of his late wife, Amelia-Jane, as a partner for her brother.

If Anna had been looking for encouragement, it was there to be found in the praise and affection she had received from his family. Since Christmas and the arrival at Netherfield of his daughters, there had developed a degree of closeness between herself and the girls, which was bound to increase as a result of her agreeing to teach them Art and Music.

As for the man himself, she had few reservations, particularly since observing his attentive and gracious hospitality to her friends Monsieur and Madame Armande. They had met with increasing frequency and on many pleasant occasions, before and after his move to Netherfield. Each time, he had been very gentlemanly and friendly towards her, often favouring her with special attention, yet maintaining a most particular decorum, while extending to the Armandes every courtesy.

This had delighted them and pleased her very much.

Still, as she waited for him to arrive at the appointed time, she experienced an unfamiliar sense of excitement and heightened expectation, which she could not entirely comprehend. It was as though she did not quite know what to expect from him and was therefore rather discomposed.

Anna was watching from the window of the upstairs sitting room, which afforded her a clear view of the park and the lane beyond, when the carriage swung into the drive leading to the house. She was halfway down the stairs before she realised she may need a handkerchief and sped back to her room to fetch one. The delay meant she was barely at the foot of the stairs, and was somewhat breathless from hurrying, when the bell rang and he was admitted into the hall.

As they greeted one another, a trifle more formally than usual, it was apparent that he was somewhat less at ease, too. Anna was very grateful that her mother, who had been reading in the parlour, was on hand to engage him in conversation upon some mundane matter, giving her time to compose herself.