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It was an unfortunate circumstance that, even as the happiness of her beloved sister rose, Elinor’s own contentment faded; threadbare and worn despite all her best efforts.
In the two years following Marianne’s recovery at Cleveland, and the final removal of Willougby from their circle of acquaintance, Colonel Brandon provided the Dashwoods with excellent companionship despite also being the well-meaning reason for Elinor’s lack of joy in her own situation.
Edmund and Lucy were settled at the Delaford Parsonage in Dorsetshire and had been readily accepted into the neighbouring society. Their presence was difficult to avoid, even in Devonshire; the many miles between providing small barrier to travel. Every invitation to Barton Park was met with dread, for Lucy was very much favoured by Lady Middleton and often visiting with the family. Colonel Brandon, in his courtship of Marianne and friendship with Elinor, had noted the discordancies in these meetings and those near Delaford, showing increased attentiveness where he might diffuse tension. While Lucy was very charming and clever with words, ready to please their patron, Colonel Brandon was too steady and calm to be easily swayed. No doubt Marianne’s barely concealed disdain for Lucy had some influence as well.
He remained on excellent terms with Edmund, however, which Elinor could not fault. How could she fault him, when all was done as it should have been, with her heart being so minor a casualty?
After Marianne had given her heart over and accepted Colonel Brandon’s proposal, Elinor had resigned herself to never truly escaping Lucy Ferrars, for she would not forsake her sister. She did not pine; her love for Edmund had faded, starved of hope as it was. But what Lucy’s victory made painfully plain was Elinor’s solitude. Her unwillingness to be more like Lucy, and perhaps her inability to be more like Marianne, kept Elinor from the likeliest methods of overcoming her lack of fortune and family connections. She struggled with melancholy and, if she were honest, some measure of bitterness. Watching Lucy’s unremitting and unscrupulous efforts, more often than not, bring her exactly what she wished was painful; what irony there was, seeing her in place as the wife of a clergyman.
For now, however, Elinor could revel in the distance between them, sitting as she was in the fashionable house that the Brandons had let in London. For a month or two, London would be a welcome change. After so long a bachelor, Nicholas, as her new brother now bade her call him, recognized his own lack. Marianne had much to do in her new role as mistress of the estate, rooms to update, connections to make. So they had chosen to make a longer stay with only Elinor accompanying them.
John and Fanny had briefly visited them already, though Elinor knew that a dinner invitation was beyond expectation, and several old friends of Colonel Brandon had emerged with warm greetings and appeals for his time.
“Brandon! I am glad to see you,” Colonel Fitzwilliam shook hands vigorously with Nicholas. “Never have I missed a man more than when you left us.”
Nicholas welcomed his friend and, only then, did it occur to Elinor that he might have enjoyed some part of his previous occupation, even whilst suffering a broken heart.
“Not that I begrudge you the slightest. We second sons must often go where fate sends us.”
“I cannot argue with you there. Come now, let me introduce you,” the master of the house ushered him forward.
Colonel Fitzwilliam was well-mannered and amiable. A second son, noble by birth but clearly not content with being idle, both Elinor and Marianne were much pleased by him. By the end of their visit, he had elicited a promise from Nicholas to join him at his club, which, in the way of things, led to many further introductions.
This was how Elinor and Marianne found themselves at a ball hosted by the Earl of ---------.
Elinor had been concerned at the lack of acquaintances they had in this circle, but a whirlwind of introductions very quickly left them in excellent company. Indeed, Elinor was surprised at her enjoyment of the evening. Mrs. Darcy, in particular, was delightful and happy to guide them, having, by her own admission, been thrown into a similar experience when she herself had married. There were no shortage of amiable partners, and though the whispers of two years past seemed to have been drowned by the many subsequent scandals that followed, none of the gentlemen were interested in Elinor beyond the momentary diversion of a new dance partner. Her brother John would have pressed her to find some respectable fellow to set her cap at or perhaps urged her not to waste the opportunity that Colonel Fitzwilliam’s frequent presence in their circle offered, heedless of the fact that they were ill-matched where rank and fortune were concerned.
Tired in mind and body, Elinor retreated to a seat at the edge of the room. Marianne danced on, light in her manner and on her feet, while her husband watched in admiration from where he and various officers in attendance conversed.
“Your sister has a remarkable energy about her.” Mrs. Darcy joined her, commenting upon Marianne’s never-ending passion for music and dancing when in the company of like-minded people.
“I often wish I had half so much to sustain me through the evening.”
“It does rather seem to be the fortune of younger sisters to be so. I enjoy a dance, truly, but as good as the company is, the crush of such large balls makes conversation unmanageable. A ballroom is a terrible place to form friendships, and I should like to get to know both you and your sister better.”
“I should very much like the same,” Elinor returned the sentiment, her hopes kindled by the potential intimacy.
Mrs. Darcy, Elizabeth as she would soon insist, was as eager for friendship as they were and united in their preferences for less gossip and more music; great longings for quiet countryside walks were discussed at length between them. Elizabeth confessed her appreciation for their company as she missed her own sisters, most particularly her elder sister who was away visiting her husband’s family until after the new year. As such, some weeks of visits and luncheons had made them fast friends; Marianne and Georgiana, the Darcys' younger sister, were nearly inseparable. Certainly, there was no shortage of excellent music when they were in company. Elinor had found great amusement in hearing Marianne extolling her husband’s musical taste and insisting that Georgiana should visit them in Delaford. Her sister’s happiness rarely failed to lift Elinor’s own spirits.
The third time they arrived to join the Darcys, however, was an evening of surprising introductions.
“I am happy to see you and hope you will forgive me.” Elizabeth’s odd greeting only served to intrigue them.
Dinner conversation quickly revealed to Elinor the reason for Elizabeth’s half-amused apology. The party for the evening included the Bingleys and the Hursts, who were all well-mannered and fashionable, but there the resemblance ended. The table was not large, with less than twelve of them all together. Across the table, Miss Bingely and her sister, Mrs. Hurst, were exactly as the Ton might expect them to be, of elegant dress and form, witty and sharp in their gossip, and very conscious of wealth, rank, and reputation. Elinor was sure that if they were aware of the events of Marianne’s previous stay in London and her connection with Willoughby, they would have been pointed in their disdain. More perplexing was their lack of fondness for Mrs. Darcy.
And yet, even as they sat, the candlelight making their jewels gleam, it was their brother whose elegant and unpretentious figure drew Elinor’s attention. Seated to her right, smiling and agreeable, he seemed a jaunty daisy amidst hot-house flowers.
“Are you enjoying your time in London, Miss Dashwood?” Mr. Bingley.
“Yes, though I must confess to some fatigue. We have had such gracious hosts and good friends, but I am unused to the busy calendar of the season.”
“Ah. Do you spend more of your time in the country, then? I cannot say that I blame you. I much prefer it myself, though my sisters will argue otherwise. Do you reside in Dorsetshire? I gather from Colonel Fitzwilliam that Colonel Brandon has a pretty estate there.”
“He does, and my sister is quite in agreement with Colonel Fitzwilliam. I reside with my mother and younger sister in Devonshire, though my time in Dorsetshire has significantly increased of late.”
“Yes, of course!” Marianne exclaimed. “What should I do without you, Elinor? Barton Cottage is too far. Mama has been considering a move closer to Delaford and I cannot express how dearly I wish for it.” Elinor was aware of her mother’s plans and not entirely sure of her place in them. Nearing twenty-two, with no dowry of significance or likely connections, being shuffled between the homes of her mother and sister, circulating around Delaford Parsonage, was a dreadful prospect; perhaps when there were nieces and nephews to be doted on, the situation would be more tolerable.
“A cottage. How cosy you must all be,” Miss Bingley’s condescension was not lost on her, but Elinor had too great an experience with Lucy to fall prey to Miss Bingley’s poor attempt at wounding her pride.
“We are, indeed, Miss Bingely. I thank you.” Elinor maintained her mild countenance as the pause in conversation stretched and Miss Bingley was left with no option but to silently accept her thanks.
“Well,” Mr. Bingley began, “I must own that I myself have never taken a residence and wished for more room. One is always trying to find the right room for the right purpose. Quite frankly, I’d rather have a single cozy sitting room than a dozen parlors.”
“Yes, but you spend more time outside than in, when in the country.” The warmth of the statement from Mr. Darcy indicated a clear friendship between the two men in spite of the difference in their dispositions.
Mr. Bingely nodded agreeably, “Yes, and yet here I am in London, discussing sitting rooms and parlours of all things.” This provoked a few chuckles from the table. “I do enjoy the pleasures London affords as much as any other gentleman. I have become very fond of the theatre, something I have no choice but to venture into town and brave the crowds for.”
“I cannot say I have much experience with plays.” The performances Elinor had attended so far had been musical, including an opera that had sent Mariane into raptures while only giving Elinor a headache.
“Why, that cannot stand! Have you all not been to the theatre this season? I would be most happy to procure a box when you have a night free.”
“Oh yes,” Miss Bingley cut across her brother’s speech. “Charles is quite enamoured with Shakespeare as of late. Though I suppose sonnets and soliloquies are an improvement on pastures, plantings, and the quality of the local tenantry.”
“Those are not unfamiliar concerns,” Nicholas said, turning his attention to Mr. Bingely. “Where is your estate located?”
“Nowhere as of yet. I am, however, looking at two current prospects. One in Wiltshire, not twenty miles from Bath, and another near Kenilworth in Warwickshire. My attempt to judge both options fairly and make a decision has taken the better part of my time for the past month.”
“I can’t imagine why. You know the Wiltshire estate is too far south to be a reasonable choice.” Miss Bingley’s tart rejoinder was met with ready agreement from her sister.
“Oh, but what of the sitting rooms, Miss Bingley?” Their hostess arched an eyebrow from her end of the table. “You would not curse your poor brother to wander his own manor, through poorly lit parlours and unused libraries, unable to find his cozy sitting room, would you?”
The party descended into laughter, save for Miss Bingley, who seemed determined to remain sour on the subject. It was Mr. Darcy who recovered first.
“While I do not have the ability to discern whether such a sitting room exists, having visited the estates I believe both are fair prospects. However, it is Bingely’s opinion that truly matters.” Mr. Darcy tilted his head towards his friend, who nodded agreeably.
“I should like to return to Mr. Bingley’s earlier suggestion,” announced Elizabeth. “I think the theatre is a delightful idea.”
“I agree. We have been to partake in several musical performances, but have quite neglected Shakespeare! I should very much like to attend a proper performance, given so few people can do justice to his prose.” Marianne’s enthusiasm did not surprise Elinor and she happily acknowledged her own.
“Excellent.” Mr. Bingley beamed. Elinor could not help but be infected by his delight and found herself smiling in turn while he and Nicholas attempted to fix upon a date.
The evening continued to be congenial, with Elizabeth proving to be adept at managing the turns of conversation. Elinor envied her manner, witty and warm, even as Miss Bingely offered the barest of civilities to her while the men and women were separated.
When they came together, Elinor scarcely had time to sit before Mr. Bingley addressed her again.
“Miss Dashwood,” he took the chair beside her. “The Colonel and I have settled on Thursday for our trip to the theatre.”
“Charles, you cannot go on Thursday!” Miss Bingely contradicted him severely. “We are already engaged to spend the evening with the Cavendish family.”
“Yes, but that engagement is yours, not mine, is it not? I can hardly recall meeting Sir Cavendish. And did you not insist upon how tiresome Shakespeare had become only yesterday?” Miss Bingely owned that she had. “Then I think it an ideal arrangement.”
Mr. Bingely seemed entirely unmoved by Miss Bingely’s displeasure. Elinor thought she would have objected again, but calls for Marianne and Georgiana to play saved them from further discussion of the matter.
When it was Miss Bingley’s turn at the pianoforte, Mr. Bingley asked if Elinor played and she was forced to confess that she did not. Returning to sit, Marianne was happy to offer her opinion.
“Elinor will not tell of it, but she is excellent at drawing.”
“Marianne-” Elinor did her best not to colour at Marianne’s enthusiastic promotion of her abilities.
“You see? She will say she is perhaps only a little good, and own to some small skill, as if even Fanny did not hang Elinor’s paintings on the walls of her drawing-room.”
“I think I should like to see such drawings myself,” Mr. Bingely said, hesitating ever so briefly before turning to her. “Perhaps… I might call on you tomorrow?”
Marianne, exceedingly pleased with herself, beamed at Elinor over Mr. Bingely’s head.
Elinor nodded, “Yes. We shall look forward to it.”
They had little time to speak after that, as Miss Bingely’s performance continued and the party broke up soon afterwards. It was late and would have been later still if she and Marianne shared a room; her sister was sure to have fanciful thoughts about Mr. Bingley’s coming visit.
Upon leaving, Elinor shook hands with Mr. Bingley, whose gentle hold on her fingers lingered ever so slightly.
“I shall see you tomorrow, then, yes?” Elinor nodded in return, doing her best not to see more than there was in his eagerness.
“Charles!” The shrill call of Miss Bingely carried well into the hall.
“Ah. Yes,” he released her and hurriedly put on his hat. “Good night, Miss Dashwood.”
“Good night, Mr. Bingley.”
He walked to the doorway and turned, eyes finding hers. “Tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow.” He tipped his hat, a small smile on his lips.
“Until then.”