Chapter 22

CHAPTER 22

T he morning before their removal to town, Margaret stepped out alone to walk to the village, to perform an errand for Fanny. Fanny's card party had been most enjoyable, and she smiled now as she walked toward town, thinking over the previous evening and Fanny's reluctance to have her spend too much time in conversation with the Edwins. She could tell that Fanny disapproved of her growing familiarity with the family, she supposed because they ranked too low in Fanny's eyes.

Other thoughts occupied her too, as she walked. The strange disappointment in Captain Edwin's countenance when he realised that she was to remove to town very soon, she puzzled on. It was true that she had come to appreciate his good qualities, and if she were to be quite truthful, she found his company just as engaging as she did his daughter's. But she was so much younger than he, and Miss Edwin herself had said that he had never expressed an interest in marrying again, after Mrs Edwin had died. She had not enough experience with which to judge such matters, and she decided that she must have been confusing kindness with interest of another kind.

It was not, after all, as if his kindness was not completely disinterested, only what he would show to any female who declared herself interested in the navy. She had no idea of his preferring her company over that of anyone else, and she herself was sure that she had no such notions toward him beyond a desire to hear more of his stories, and to hear his descriptions of sea-faring life. It was just fortunate that his mind was exactly formed to engage hers, since his bright and keen intellect invigorated her own. His frank, open manners, while a little rough, made him easy to converse with.

As for Captain Edwin, apart from his natural disappointment for Emily's sake that Margaret was going away so soon, he had given every proof of his pleasure in their acquaintance, while never once giving her the notion that he had any other scheme in mind than to entertain and bestow the kindness of conversation on willing ears. On their walks he had always been a gentleman, and every meeting only improved her view of him. John Edwin was, she judged, a man of sound mind, well-formed opinions, a lively and open manner, and must be generally pleasing to all who encountered him. But as a beau, she thought with a smile, he would never do, for he was twice her own age, and had she been inclined to think of suitors, she would never think of him first, on that account alone!

Now Margaret jumped a stile and continued along the dusty road. She would be satisfied, she thought, with whatever a visit to town brought her, if she had such a correspondent as Miss Edwin to relate all the details of her visit—someone with whom to make fun of the high manners and fastidious ways of John and Fanny's acquaintance, for she guessed there would be much of it—and if she found new friends and had herself some small adventure to give relief to the mind and heart which desired to know the world better, she would be happy to share that too, with her new friend.

Coming to the edge of the village, she slowed, and looked down the road. The scene grew larger in her eye. A figure, coming toward her, arrested her steps. It was no other than Captain Edwin, alone! She continued on, and within minutes they were reunited on the road, underneath an overhang of oaks, still some way from the straggling cottages which signalled the beginning of town.

‘Good day, Miss Dashwood.' He spoke in a tone rather distracted, as if he was bemused to see her. However, he rallied well enough and said with a smile, ‘It is pleasant to meet with friends unexpectedly, is it not? I had thought last night would be the last time we would meet, but it seems providence has ensured us one last goodbye!'

‘Providence? Or Fanny's determination to get me out of her way?' Margaret laughed.

‘You are on an errand of Mrs Dashwood's then?' he enquired gravely.

‘The errand is Fanny's,' she replied. ‘I have been commissioned to collect the letters from the Post Office, since she claims our own servants are all very much occupied with packing for our removal tomorrow. I rather think I was sent outside to keep me from getting in the way, however.'

She smiled again but he did not share her good humour. He paused, then said in rather a serious tone, ‘I see. I confess I had rather hoped to see you on the road today, knowing that it is a favourite walk with you—and now that you are here, I wonder, Miss Dashwood, if you will stay a moment. I have something to ask you.'

Puzzled, she waited for him to begin. What could Captain Edwin have to say to her which he had not said last night? But he was already speaking. He had removed his hat and now held it in his hands as he spoke and she observed with growing astonishment a hesitancy that she had never yet seen in him.

‘Miss Dashwood, I am not a man to make great speeches, and you may have ascertained that I am a simple fellow. I have not that gift of poetic refrain of which other men might be capable, and of which you are without a doubt fully deserving. Nevertheless, I hope you will forgive me for my oafish ways and allow me to express myself as best I can.'

Here he paused, and Margaret was struck with the thought that she had entirely misunderstood the situation. His words struck a chord in her, and she felt they were an overture to something that she was not ready for. She tried for gaiety and said as airily as her sudden nervousness would allow, ‘You are too kind, Captain, but I am afraid you misjudge me, for I am as undeserving of poetic refrain as anyone, being ignorant about poetry in general! My sister Marianne is the poet of the family, and although I read Shakespeare's sonnets as part of my education, it was with great unwillingness, I assure you!' She laughed, in the hopes of lightening the moment, but he only smiled a little.

It was a gentle, grave smile with more than mere kindness in its depths, and nothing that she had seen in his glances before. She saw this look in him and she did not know where to place her eyes, for although she had seen less of the world than some young ladies, she had not grown up with two older sisters, and watched them court and marry, not to understand what was about to happen. She was now certain that he meant to make love to her, and she found herself entirely without words to repel his sentiments before they could fall from his lips.

He took her silence for interest, perhaps, and continued, still with an unusual hesitancy in his manner. ‘Miss Dashwood, I think—indeed, I hope that I am not wrong in saying—in surmising—that you and I share similar spirits, similar views of the world—we are, perhaps, kindred spirits, if you will. You have appeared to take as much delight in my conversation as I have in yours. I have been, until now, content with Emily's company alone, and she has been a good friend and companion to me. But after having met you, I—I feel a lack in my life that can be filled by one person alone. You must understand to whom I refer. You, Miss Dashwood—Margaret—have surprised me very much, for I find that I have come to have as much affection and devotion for you as I did once a long time ago, for someone else, when I never thought it possible to feel that way again. In short, I have come to—to care for you. Very much, indeed.'

He perhaps mistook her silence for encouragement for he added hastily, ‘I assure you, before I go any further, that I am quite able to keep a full household, and while we live simply, you would never need for anything, for, forgive my bluntness, you must have heard that my fortune is not an insignificant one. In short, I know you must comprehend my meaning. I wish to offer for your hand, Miss Dashwood, if you will have me.'

Margaret's growing agitation, fed at once by both a desire to do no harm, to refrain from wounding where it was necessary, and because she had never been proposed to and hardly knew the proper way to refuse without giving offence, obliged her to silence for a moment or two, while Captain Edwin stood respectfully quiet, awaiting her reply.

At length she spoke. ‘You are so very kind, Captain. Indeed, you have done me a very great honour by comparing your feelings for me to those you once felt for Miss Edwin's mother, and I can only think the better of you for your openness. But I confess myself a little astonished, for you have known me so short a time that I can hardly account for your judging me someone you think worthy of your offer of marriage.'

‘If time were the only factor in a man's choosing of a wife, then I think many a gentleman might have been deprived of a tender and devoted companion, Miss Dashwood,' was his reply, and because the smile he now directed at her was so like his former smiles, open and bright and almost laughing, she felt almost that they had returned to their former comfortable companionship, and she laughed, albeit a little self-consciously, herself.

‘I suspect that it may also be said that if time were more of a factor in the choosing of a spouse, that many a gentleman might have saved himself from forever regretting a hasty and ill-calculated decision,' she countered with a half smile.

‘And yet,' he replied in grave tones, ‘one's liberty to act in affairs of the heart cannot always be dictated by time. Feelings do not subject themselves to time, Miss Dashwood, and I find that although I have known you but a short period, only a few weeks, I feel that I have known you all my life. Were I to wait another six months, I do not doubt that my feelings would be the same. There,' he added self-consciously, ‘I said I should not manage poetry, and now you see how oafish I am in my ideas, but that is as close to elegance of expression as I can manage, I'm afraid. I only hope it is enough to infer from them, the most lofty of feelings—feelings which are most sincere—although I can only utter mere commonplace words to represent those feelings.'

Margaret now saw that he was about to take her hand, and she gently drew it away so that he could not. She was hardly aware of her doing so, in fact, for her emotions were in tumult, sifting through one feeling and another, trying to find her real and true desire within the whirl of agitation and confusion. ‘I thank you,' she said at length, ‘more than I can express, for your great offer. It does me more honour than I deserve.'

‘Pray, do not say that, for I ought to thank you, for hearing me. It gives me hope, at least that perhaps I am not entirely repellent to you.'

‘Oh, no indeed,' she cried, before she could help herself. ‘You could not be repellent, not to me!' Then, a little fluttery, and embarrassed at her outburst, she added hurriedly, ‘I—I am sure that if I were to marry you, my opinion of you would only improve, for you have said and done everything to recommend you already. It is rather the reverse, I collect, that I fear you would be disappointed in me !'

‘I flatter myself that I know you well enough to understand that your words are not spoken out of a false modesty, for you are not like other women, and it is one of the things I find charming about you,' he replied disconcertingly, while she blushed. ‘As for my being disappointed—I wish you would give me leave to discover that for myself. I do not think you could ever disappoint me.'

He said it simply, and she was struck very much by his sincerity, which was most attractive. She almost unbent. But the feeling of liking him, as a man, and the warmth which spread through her at this unexpected thought, was so disconcerting to her that to cover it she said agitatedly, ‘You do not know enough of me to own such feelings, and yet I would not for the world make you regret having asked me!' she told him. ‘But if you hardly know me, I know even less of you!—and I must be very honest with you, for I can be nothing but—I hardly know myself, just yet. How can you think of me, when I can hardly think of myself?'

‘You are eighteen years old—for many females, that is an age which is commonly thought of as marriageable,' replied he, ‘and you have not been living in a convent, I think!'

‘I am not yet nineteen, Sir, and I suppose for many females that is more than enough time, but you see, I have been brought up the youngest, and living in what you might call seclusion for these five years, and I have yearned, how I have yearned!—to get free and to learn a little of the world, and yes, to know myself a little better. I cannot accept an offer of marriage, even from the kindest man in the world, before I have seen more of it myself!'

His look, of the keenest disappointment, and something more, which she attributed to hurt pride, stung her heart, for she had not desired to do harm by her declining his offer. But she had not really thought of marriage, and at the very least, not at this part of her life when there was so much more to do than to have babies and keep a house!

The Captain had, however, collected himself and presently said, ‘I cannot but thank you, Miss Dashwood, for so kindly hearing me out. Perhaps I was foolish to think of you in that way. You are young and beautiful—too beautiful for the world, I suspect, and certainly too beautiful for a sailor who has seen his salad days, although I am not done yet! You must think me an old man, perhaps, beyond the years of vigour, and beyond the ability to lead a life of adventure. And yet, in my defence, I remind you that at five-and-thirty, my sea-faring days are hardly over, and—if you might permit me the presumption—there is always room for the Captain's wife aboard his ship. But I see you are stung by my remarks, and I did not mean to make you blush or feel sorry for what you have said in honesty. You have spoken your truth and I would expect nothing less of you. You have honoured me by your friendship and I shall continue to value it. I hope—I hope you shall continue to feel that we are friends, Miss Dashwood.'

When he had reminded her that a Captain's wife may often travel with her husband, she had for a moment felt that she had been hasty, and yet, she had never thought of marriage, and hardly knew how she ought to judge when an offer ought to be accepted, or declined. How indeed did one know what ought to be done when she had never been in love, let alone had the honour of rejecting a proposal? Her agitation was written upon her expressive face, and she said very haltingly, ‘I am sorry Captain. Your offer is more than I deserve, and yet I have never sought more than friendship from you. If I have given you to think that I was seeking more, it was unconsciously done. I would not for the world hurt you deliberately. I hope I cannot be accused of that!'

‘Indeed, I never thought it! But I can see the preference is all on my own side, as these things so often are. Perhaps I am a silly old man, after all.'

His looks now were more melancholy and yet more disappointed than ever, and she felt that she had given him the cruellest cut. She said as gently as she could, ‘I don't think of you as an old man at all. I assure you, Captain, my answer was given, not because of the difference in our ages—indeed, my sister married a man more than twice her age and is happier than she could have been with anyone younger—' Here, she stopped, wondering if that was as true as she once thought, for she had grave fears for her sister's marriage at present. She continued, ‘But I have hardly known the world, and I yearn so much to know more of it, to try myself in the world—or how can I have the character needed to become a wife? I would be a dull wife indeed, having little knowledge to share, nothing of interest of which to talk about and no notion of how others live or how they conduct themselves, so that I might be a better person for it. Do you see?'

‘I do. And you are to be commended for it. I hope that your sojourn in town will bring you the adventure and experience that you seek. I wish you a good journey. God keep you, Miss Dashwood!'

He turned away, and hastened up the road, leaving her staring into his wake, assailed by the most powerful feelings of disappointment and emptiness, and not able to make sense of her emotions at all!