Chapter Five

Marianne

“M arianne! Look who is here!” Lady Barrington called up the stairs.

Marianne left her packing and ran to the entrance hall. “Edmund! I am afraid you find us in chaos.”

“I heard of your predicament,” he said, “and came to ask if you would like me to accompany you to Clifton. ’Tis not a journey for a young lady to make on her own, especially as you have to pass through Bristol. I am ready to leave whenever you want. We could go on horseback.”

Horseback! What a wild idea. Dear Edmund!

“That is very thoughtful,” Marianne said, “but there is no need.”

“She will not be travelling alone,” Lady Barrington said, “for I will be going with her in my carriage– but I am concerned about highway men.”

“Highway men?” Edmund said. “I think that danger has now passed.”

“You cannot be too careful,” Lady Barrington insisted.

“Indeed,” Edmund said. “And I can offer my protection to both of you during your journey– if you would like it.”

“I think we would feel more confident on the road with a man with us.” Suddenly, Lady Barrington swayed on her feet .

“Please, Aunt, come back into the parlor and sit down,” Marianne said, offering an arm for her to lean on. “It has been such a shock.”

Edmund followed the ladies into the parlor.

“My poor, dear sister,” Lady Barrington said. “Why, I remember how I used to look after her when she was tiny. I taught her to read, you know. And now, to think that she is so gravely ill– I cannot take it in.”

“Here, Aunt.” Marianne passed Lady Barrington her vinaigrette. “Perhaps a little sniff?”

Lady Barrington bent her head and inhaled deeply– then burst into tears. “’Tis not working! I am still worried to death about my poor sister. Oh dear! I did not mean to mention the word death .”

“I think you should sit down as well, Marianne,” Edmund said. “You look exhausted. Please, allow me to help. What if I run to the stables now and ask the men to have the carriage and horses ready a good half hour before first light tomorrow?”

“But we should leave now!” Lady Barrington said. “Time is of the essence.”

“’Tis too dark a night for the carriage.” Marianne stroked her aunt’s hand.

“Ah, yes,” Lady Barrington said. “I scarce know what time of day ’tis. Thank the Lord, Marianne, for your common sense and steady temperament. And thank you, Mr. Templeton, for your offer of assistance.”

If only my aunt knew how wildly my heart is beating, and how violently myriad dark fears are gripping my soul!

“I am going to the stable now and will return to you directly,” Edmund said.

“And as for you, dear Aunt,” Marianne said, “let me take you upstairs.”

“I fear I am too weak!” Lady Barrington moaned. “My knee hurts, too, and I cannot put my weight upon it.”

“We will rest awhile here in the parlor, then,” Marianne said. After some time, she tried again. “Shall we make our way upstairs, dearest Aunt? Jane has already packed a few things for you in case you need to stay overnight.”

“What about your packing?” Lady Barrington said.

“Jane is busy helping with my trunk.”

“Your trunk?”

“Yes. I anticipate my stay will be for quite a few weeks– whatever happens.”

Perhaps I will not return to Bath and will never see Edmund again! Oh, how can I even think about him when Mama is so gravely ill?

Edmund reappeared just as Marianne had managed to help Lady Barrington to reach the foot of the stairs.

“All is settled,” he said, “and I will be here well before first light, ready to go with you to Clifton.”

“I thank you,” Marianne said. “Until tomorrow, then.”

Edmund is warm-hearted– how many others would have offered to help in this way?

Marianne managed to support Lady Barrington up to her bedroom. Another application from the vinaigrette was needed before Lady Barrington’s maid was allowed to help her undress, then Marianne went to her own chamber where Jane was closing the lid of her trunk.

“You have everything you need now, Madam.”

“Thank you. Did you pack my mourning dresses? I will have little need for my newer, more colorful ones.”

“I remembered,” Jane said, “and packed your toiletries too. Oh, and I took the liberty of adding a few extra items to your luggage– nothing of much importance.”

“Thank you, Jane.” Marianne stifled a yawn. “I am sure I have forgotten half the things I should have put aside, therefore I am grateful for your additions– whatever they are.”

I expect I have forgotten some undergarments or personal items that Jane is too shy to mention .

“Will there be anything else?” Jane said. “Should I help you undress?”

“I can manage by myself, but thank you. You have been a great help; now, please take some well-earned rest.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Pembroke. And good night.”

Marianne got ready for bed and lay under the thick covers, grateful that Jane had prepared the sheets with a warming pan. She did not anticipate that she would get much sleep; her heart was pounding relentlessly as her mind became increasingly unsettled by the knowledge that her dear mama was dangerously ill. How could this have happened so quickly?

Mama has often suffered from various minor ailments– and has been a little frail in the past year or so– but I never expected anything like this. Not a sudden, dangerous condition, whose nature is as yet unknown.

Tears started to pour down Marianne’s cheeks, the floodgates opening at last. Until now, it had not been possible to give way to her emotions, so busy had she been planning for her trip and trying to cope with Lady Barrington. But now she could vent her feelings without the fear of letting anyone down.

After the storm of weeping had subsided, Marianne got out of her bed and knelt to say a fervent prayer, begging that her mama’s life might be spared.

“I will do anything you want,” Marianne promised her creator, “anything at all, if you will only restore Mama to health. I promise to put aside all selfish thoughts in return for your mercy. Tell me the nature of the sacrifice you wish me to make.”

As Marianne climbed back into bed, she wondered whether her determination to remain unwed could be considered a selfish thought, since it went directly against the advice of both her parents and Lady Barrington. Perhaps she should give up her ambition to become a governess and marry instead? Would a second marriage be a suitable sacrifice?

Would it be a sacrifice to marry Edmund? Marianne recollected the exquisite kiss they had shared; it had promised so much, and yet he had immediately said he had been acting. Ah, now she knew the answer to this last question; yes, it would be a very great sacrifice to marry Edmund, for marrying a man who did not love her would make her life a living hell. Especially after she had been married, however briefly, to a man who had fully reciprocated her love.

Perchance my logic is a little twisted– Mama says I have a tendency to over examine, thus making a situation more knotted than it need be. Oh, Mama! Will I ever hear your voice again?

Marianne then fell into a fitful sleep disturbed by bleak thoughts of loss.

An hour before dawn, Jane knocked gently at her door, but when she came into the chamber, Marianne was already dressed in a gray gown, putting the finishing touches to a simple hairstyle.

“I have bought you some tea, Madam– and a slice of bread and butter.”

“Thank you,” Marianne said automatically.

Although I do not think I could eat a thing.

“Lady Barrington asked me to tell you she will see you downstairs directly.”

Suddenly, the door swung open and Nelson bounded into the room. Marianne buried her face in his neck to hide her tears.

“I am going to miss you, little one. Look after him, will you not, Jane?”

Jane nodded. “Do not worry. Nelson will be having tidbits morning, noon, and night from Cook, and I will make sure he has plenty of walks. And we all hope that your mother... that is, I mean, we trust that things are not as bad as you think.” Tears filled the maid’s eyes.

Marianne touched Jane gently on her shoulder. “Thank you. Your words are treasured.”

“There you are,” Lady Barrington said as Marianne came downstairs. “The carriage is waiting, and we can leave forthwith. I have already seen Mr. Templeton out of the parlor window; he is waiting on the pavement.”

“’Tis very kind of him to accompany us,” Marianne said.

’Tis particularly thoughtful– heroic, even– when everyone knows he is not a natural early riser.

Before long the carriage was travelling along the Crescent pulled by six horses, with Marianne sitting next to her aunt and Edmund facing them. His expression was that of warm compassion and sympathy.

How I wish there was no need for him to look at me like that– and that my mother were not in this dangerous situation. However, since this is what we have to deal with– the real world– then I am grateful for his reassuring presence.

They followed a route through the city, with streetlamps lighting the roads. Then they crossed the river and took the Bristol Road through the countryside.

“Perfect timing,” Edmund said, “for dawn is breaking just as we require illumination.”

Lady Barrington had already closed her eyes, and Marianne too felt drowsy with the rhythm of the carriage. Perhaps ten minutes of sleep would not hurt? As she drifted off, she was conscious of her fingers loosening their grip on her reticule, which then slid gently to the floor, scattering its contents.

“Allow me.” Edmund bent down to pick up the various items that were rolling around haphazardly, replaced them in the reticule, and returned it to Marianne with a smile.

“Thank you,” she said sleepily and tucked her bag under her skirt for safety. “I would not wish to lose my possessions, for one in particular is very precious.”

Her dreams were vivid– her mother playing with her as a small child, her father swinging her round in a circle and making her squeal for joy, meeting Richard for the first time at a ball when she was Miss Marianne Oakley– and laughing with Edmund at the first line of Pride and Prejudice .

There came a gentle tap on her shoulder– and she awoke in an instant. It was full daylight and they were in the city of Bristol. How had she slept for so long?

“We are nearly in Clifton,” Lady Barrington said, “and I pray God we are not too late.”

Marianne retrieved her reticule from under her skirt and clung to it as if her life depended on it. She was conscious of Edmund’s scrutiny. Had he been watching her the whole time she slept? How embarrassing that would be. She looked up– and their eyes locked together. For a brief moment, she felt she could transfer all her anxiety and worry to him– he would shoulder her burden.

For his manly shoulders are surely wide enough; oh, how I wish he had not been acting when we kissed.

“Thank you for accompanying us here,” Marianne said. “I hope we have not disturbed your plans for the day too much.”

“Yes, we are very grateful, Mr. Templeton,” Lady Barrington said. “And you say you are happy to return by stagecoach if I wish to stay on in Clifton?”

“I am,” Edmund said. “’Twill be no bother at all. I will rather enjoy travelling by coach.”

I cannot believe Edmund has ever been on a public coach before. I hope he is not in for too much of a shock.

“You must come into the house first for refreshment,” Lady Barrington said.

The carriage was now weaving through residential streets and soon stopped outside a terraced house on Sion Hill near the river.

As soon as she was able, Marianne leapt from the carriage and rushed up the path, then knocked furiously on the door of her family home.

“Mama!” she whispered. “Mama! I love you so much.”

The door opened and there was her papa. Marianne flung herself into his arms .

“Come inside!” he said. “We must go upstairs– at once.”

Papa has tears in his eyes– and he looks completely exhausted.

*

Edmund

Lady Barrington hobbled up the path behind Marianne, muttering about her back aching after the tedious journey, while Edmund stood by the carriage, reluctant to go into the house yet.

“Should I take the luggage in, sir?” the driver asked.

“I think ’twill just be Mrs. Pembroke’s for now, for we do not yet know whether Lady Barrington will be staying overnight.”

Should I go into the house too? I do not wish to intrude upon a family matter, especially if the news is dire, and yet how I long to fold Marianne in my arms and take away her pain– and if the news is of the worst kind, to help mend her broken heart. She has already had to cope with unendurable loss not so long ago. How cruel life can be.

Then Edmund took Marianne’s trunk from the driver and insisted upon carrying it in himself. ’Twas the least he could do– and it meant he did not feel quite so awkward entering the house.

Once inside, he heard murmuring from upstairs.

And is someone crying?

“Pray, sit down in the parlor, sir.” A maid indicated the room on the left of the entrance hall. “I will take the luggage.”

“I thank you– but are you sure you can manage?”

“I can, sir.”

“And pray, what is your name?”

“Betsy.”

“Have you been with the Oakleys long?”

“I have been with the family since I was little more than a girl– and Miss Marianne was but a babe in arms.”

A loyal servant, indeed .

“Will you be requiring refreshment, sir?”

Edmund shook his head. “No, nothing, thank you. I will wait here till Lady Barrington and Mrs. Pembroke come downstairs.”

“Very good, sir.”

The parlor was charmingly yet modestly furnished; Edmund sat alone, listening to the quiet tick tock of the mantlepiece clock.

So this was Marianne’s childhood home– and the house she returned to after losing her husband.

An image of the contents of Marianne’s reticule scattered about the floor of the carriage appeared in Edmund’s mind. He had tried not to scrutinize the objects as he had been retrieving them, for Selina had always impressed upon him that the contents of a lady’s bag were highly personal– and yet his attention had been riveted by a miniature of a very young, red headed infant. He looked about the room. Were there any family portraits here that might give a clue as to the identity of the child? Perchance Marianne was an aunt– did she have a brother or sister? Wait! She had already told him that she was an only child. So was the tiny painting a representation of Marianne herself in her younger years?

But would it not be odd to carry a self-portrait about with one? Ah, what a strange line of thought I am pursuing. My concern should be for the poor lady lying gravely ill upstairs– or has she already departed this life?

Ten minutes went past, then fifteen. Edmund drummed his fingers on his knees before walking around the room, staring at the ceiling. Just as he was deciding a brisk march outside was in order, the door to the parlor opened and Marianne appeared, with her father and Lady Barrington.

And Marianne is smiling!

Then Edmund frowned, noticing the tears in her eyes. Had it been her sobs he had heard?

“Mama is recovering!” Marianne said. “She turned a corner in her illness as we were travelling here. The doctor is with her now and says we may go to see her again in a little while. The important thing is, she is out of danger.”

“How relieved I am to hear this,” Edmund said.

And how I long to kiss away your tears.

Marianne then made all necessary introductions and invited everyone to sit.

“Now the crisis is over,” Marianne’s father, Mr. Oakley, said, “I do not mind saying that ’twas touch and go in the night.”

Lady Barrington whipped out her lace handkerchief and applied it to her eyes.

“My poor sister! She looks so frail.”

“She will do for some time, according to the doctor,” Mr. Oakley said, “but the fever has broken and she will recover a little more every day.”

“’Tis her determined spirit that has helped her,” Lady Barrington said. “She gets that from our blood.”

Marianne squeezed her father’s hand. “Your devoted nursing has been invaluable.”

“The doctor’s skill saved her,” Mr. Oakley said. “The illness came upon her rapidly, like an enemy attack. For a few days, ’twas merely a sore throat, then suddenly, in the early morning of yesterday, she was fighting for breath, with every joint in her body aching painfully. The doctor was very concerned about her heart and lungs, and diagnosed rheumatic fever.”

“I have had similar symptoms myself, many times,” Lady Barrington said. “Only last week I was struck down with a mysterious affliction. ’Twas was like a bolt of lightning from a clear blue sky– extremely dangerous, and very unexpected. But you will be pleased to learn I made a rapid recovery, such is the strength of my constitution.”

Ah! Marianne has told me of Lady Barrington’s famous affliction– hypochondria. I believe ’tis a persistent disease and one often detected at highly inappropriate moments when others are ill and thus have attention on them.

“How terrible,” Edmund murmured, while Marianne and her father exchanged glances whose meaning could only be guessed at .

“And now I must apologize,” Mr. Oakley said, “because I feel I have dragged you all here under false pretenses, yet the doctor’s advice yesterday was clear– the family had to be alerted, as the situation was dire and could have gone either way.”

“Do not worry, Papa,” Marianne said. “I am happy to be in attendance, and anxious to help nurse Mama back to full health.”

“You cannot know how grateful I am for this,” Mr. Oakley said, “for your mama will be weak for some time and your presence in the house will help her immeasurably.”

“I fear I will not be much good at helping,” Lady Barrington said. “I suppose I should book myself into a hotel and see to the driver outside. He will be wondering what our plans are. Mr. Templeton– might you be able to assist me?”

“Certainly,” Edmund said. “I will do whatever you want.”

“There is no need for you to stay in a hotel, Aunt,” Marianne said. “You must stay here with us.”

“Absolutely not!” Lady Barrington said. “I can see you will have enough on your plate nursing an invalid in a tiny house with only one servant who is no longer in the first flush of youth. I will stay in a hotel nearby for two or three weeks– and visit for the whole of every day.”

Marianne looked a trifle dismayed to hear this news.

Lady Barrington intends to be helpful, but perchance looking after the sick is not what she is best at. I will make a suggestion.

“Lady Barrington, if I might be so bold,” Edmund began, “I wondered if you would like me to escort you back to Bath this very afternoon? I can sort everything out with the driver, and there will be plenty of time for you to sit with your beloved sister for a while. If we left in the early afternoon, we would be home within daylight. What do you think?”

“Well– I would not wish to let anyone down.”

“You would not be letting anyone down,” Marianne said quickly. “’Tis fitting that you came here with me, but we have found that things are different from our darkest fears and for this we thank God. Mama mostly needs to sleep and rest.”

“Yes,” Marianne’s father said, “and once she is recovered, we could perchance travel over to Bath and bring Marianne back to you.”

Lady Barrington tilted her head to one side. “I suppose ’tis an interesting and sensible possibility– and would mean I would get back to Nelson this evening. Also, I do find your stairs rather steep and narrow, which is a little trying on my knee– and oft on my back. And, of course, I do not wish to be a burden to anyone.”

“That is settled, then,” Edmund said. “You and I will travel back this afternoon.”

“And I will go to the kitchen and ask Betsy to prepare some refreshments,” Marianne said. “You must be tired after the journey.”

“I am incredibly weary,” Lady Barrington said. “I hardly had any sleep last night, consumed as I was with worry for my dear sister. I had to wake Jane many times in the night to help me find my smelling salts, and after that, I suffered the most ghastly palpitations.”

The corners of Edmund’s mouth twitched, and he could see a faint smile on Marianne’s face as she left the room.

“I will let the driver know what is to happen,” Edmund said, “and ask him to make the necessary arrangements for our return journey.”

“I will come with you,” Mr. Oakley said. “I can direct him to stables nearby where there will be everything he needs.”

Lady Barrington stood up. “I should come outside with you– however, I fear the chill wind will do my lumbago no good at all.”

“You must rest, then,” Mr. Oakley said, and the two men walked out of the house together.

Once they had sorted the necessary arrangements, Mr. Oakley said to Edmund, “I must thank you again for your very great kindness in acting as an escort. Thank God the situation was not as grave as I had feared yesterday when I sent the note, but I know now, even on a short acquaintance, that whatever you had found here this morning, you would have been able to offer Marianne the support she needed. In short, you are a young gentleman who can be relied on.”

I do not believe anyone has ever expressed this sentiment to me before.

“’Twas no trouble, sir,” Edmund said. “Your daughter and I have become firm friends in the short time she has been in Bath– and friends always make themselves available to help each other.”

I will not talk of what it is that Marianne and I have in common– namely, our mutual wish to remain unwed. This is neither the time nor the place.

“I must also thank you for offering to escort Lady Barrington home,” Mr. Oakley said. “’Twas right and proper that she attended her sister’s bedside; however, I would not wish to put her to any inconvenience.”

“I understand completely,” Edmund replied. “And I would not dream of letting her make the journey back alone, for apart from it not being seemly, she is scared of highway men.”

“She still talks of highway men? There are none in this neighborhood now, although when I was young, the roads between Bristol and Bath could be dangerous places.”

“So I have heard. ’Twas another world entirely.”

“Well, things do sometimes change for the better.”

“Yes,” Edmund said. “For instance, I know we are all pleased the Napoleonic Wars are over.”

Mr. Oakley bit his lip.

“I do beg your pardon,” Edmund said. “I know the distress Waterloo brought to your family.”

“’Twas not only the loss of Marianne’s dear husband, but also the loss of her hopes for the future. She took it very badly– and is still recovering.”

I feel mortified at my blunder. How can the thought of the Wars be anything but horrific to this poor family?

Just then, two women walked past on the other side of Sion Hill.

Edmund frowned.

One of them looks familiar. Where have I seen her before?

He shook his head .

I cannot quite place her– for I had only a fleeting glance of her face– and yet for some peculiar reason, I feel uneasy.

*

Marianne

The following afternoon, Marianne sat by her mother’s bedside holding her hand.

“I still cannot believe you are here, my dear,” Mrs. Oakley said.

“Well, I am– and I do not intend to leave till you are fully restored to health.”

Mrs. Oakley smiled. “It might take many months. I sincerely hope you will be back in Bath before then.”

“We will see.”

And maybe once Mama is well enough for me to leave, I shall not return to Bath, but will take a post as a governess.

“Now, my dear, you must tell me more about how you have been getting on with my sister.”

“’Twas quite a change at first, getting used to her many social engagements and to the luxuriousness of her lifestyle. And I must say, Nelson is quite a handful; he is so fond of running off when I take him for a walk. I fear he is a little indulged.”

“Your fear is justified; my sister spoils that dog as if he were a sickly child. Does he still sit on a silken cushion in front of the fire?”

“He does,” Marianne said. “And mostly he is very well behaved when Lady Barrington is around, although a few days ago he attacked Edmund’s evening shoes and scratched them quite badly.”

“I see ’tis Edmund now, not Mr. Templeton.”

Marianne flushed. “We are friends. That is all.”

“He is an exceedingly good friend to have escorted you here,” Mrs. Oakley said. “How glad I am that I was able to meet him before he left yesterday. ”

Before Edmund had taken his leave to escort Lady Barrington back to Bath, Mr. Oakley had taken him up to the doorway of his wife’s chamber– at her insistence.

“Here he is, my dear,” Mr. Oakley had said. “Here is the fine young gentleman who has been so kind to Marianne and your dear sister, offering them his support and protection. He is to make the return journey very soon.”

“I am delighted to make your acquaintance, Mrs. Oakley,” Edmund had said, “and I wish you a very speedy recovery.”

The whole encounter was over in seconds, for the doctor’s instructions were clear; there was to be no overexcitement. But no one wanted to deny Mrs. Oakley her wish to meet Edmund.

“He seems an admirable man,” Mrs. Oakley said, “and very dashing, too. Fancy! He lives only a few houses away from you.”

“’Tis almost as if the two households are connected,” Marianne said, “for the maids communicate on a daily basis. Nothing is private.”

“This is what ’tis like in the grander houses. I believe the more servants you have, the less privacy you enjoy. Thank goodness we only have one. Betsy would never talk about our family business to those outside.”

“I wish you and Papa could afford more help, as you used to.”

If I married, then I could help Mama and Papa with their finances, for sadly their investments have not proven to be as secure as they thought. Could it therefore be considered my duty to marry– and marry well?

“However,” Marianne continued, “now I am here, I will be able to do so much to help in the house.”

“Ah, but I do not want you to spend your days doing chores,” Mrs. Oakley said.

“I am happy to, Mama.”

“You are indeed a kind and thoughtful daughter. Now, please tell me more about your Edmund.”

“There is nothing else to say, save that I am good friends with his sister Selina. And he is not my Edmund! ”

“He seems an eligible young man,” Mrs. Oakley persisted.

“There is more to life than getting married, Mama.”

“Maybe, but I do worry about what you will do when we are gone. You know there will not be much left to pass on to you. How I wish that we had been able to have more children, for if you had been blessed with brothers, then I could die happy, knowing I was leaving you under their protection. But that is not the situation we find ourselves in. I know you do not like me talking of this, but your best option is to marry well.”

Marianne closed her eyes.

“You know this is partly why we sent you to Bath, and that your aunt is in full agreement with us.”

“I could still become a governess,” Marianne whispered.

Why must the plan of my life be decided by others? I will not be married just for the sake of it, as a business deal, in order to avoid a life in which I might only have one servant, or perhaps none.

Marianne shifted in her chair. How could she explain her feelings to her mother, especially at a time like this when she was so frail?

“I will not press you on this,” Mrs. Oakley said, “for I see you are upset and I am sorry for it. But believe me when I say that I have your best interests at heart. Now, tell me more about your stay in Bath. Have you perchance visited Charlotte’s parents?”

“Not yet, but I have spoken to her brother, Captain Wyndham. Oh, Mama! Please do not look at me like that. I have no intention of marrying Frederick, any more than Edmund.”

Mrs. Oakley clasped Marianne’s hand. “You will find it passes, my dear.”

“What passes?”

“Your sorrow at losing your husband and unborn child. There will be another future for you– I know it. Are you worried that you will feel as if you are betraying Richard if you marry again?”

“Not exactly. I will always love Richard, until the day I die, but I fully understand that he is gone. ’Tis more that I find it hard to think of loving another, when I know the pain love has brought me. I do not have the necessary courage.”

And I am afraid that my heart bears so many scars, I will not be able to truly love another man– or babe– again.

Marianne cleared her throat. “Besides, I am very interested in helping young children to learn. Selina has asked me if I would like to assist her with the work she does with the local boys and girls, and I think this would help prepare me for life as a governess.”

“But how would you find a post?” Mrs. Oakley said. “And how could you be sure you were going to a good family?”

“I am going to write to Charlotte. She might know a neighboring family looking for someone now she is settled in the Lake District.”

“The Lake District? Heavens! That is so far away. We would hardly ever see you.” A tear trickled down Mrs. Oakley’s cheek. “I had hoped you might settle nearer us. Would it not be better if you married a man who lived in Bath– or one whose family oft goes there for the season?”

“I long to be near you and Papa, with all my heart, yet you know I must make my way in the world as best I can, considering my circumstances and opportunities. But Mama, we can talk of this another time, for I see that I, in my turn, have upset you, and for this I apologize. Now, let me rearrange your pillows to make you more comfortable as you recline in bed. Or would you care to sleep a little?”

“I have slept too much recently. Maybe you could read to me?”

“Gladly! What about Pride and Prejudice? Aunt was kind enough to buy this for me, and ’tis so amusing. I know you will enjoy it.”

Mrs. Oakley nodded. But before Marianne had read more than a couple of pages, her mama was fast asleep.

Over the next few weeks, Mrs. Oakley slowly regained her color and strength, until one day she actually left her bed and walked to the withdrawing room. Then the next, she managed to go downstairs to the parlor for breakfast.

“This is tremendous, my dear,” Mr. Oakley said. “You are returning to us! ’Twill not be long ere you can walk outside again.”

“I look forward to that greatly,” Mrs. Oakley said. “I have missed my morning walks along the Avon Gorge.”

“But you must not venture outside till the doctor gives his blessing,” Marianne said.

“You are sounding like the mother– with me the child,” her mama said.

“Well, the doctor did say that rheumatic fever is usually a disease of childhood,” Mr. Oakley said. “’Tis unusual that you were afflicted in this way.”

“Indeed,” his wife replied. “I had thought I was far too old.”

“It must be your youthful spirit that caused it, my dear,” Mr. Oakley said gallantly.

“The post has arrived.” Betsy placed a large bundle of letters upon the table.

“Good heavens!” Mrs. Oakley said. “Thank you, Betsy.” She opened the top one. “Ah! ’Tis from my sister. She says she hopes I am recovering well, for she longs for you to return to Bath, Marianne. Apparently Nelson misses you quite dreadfully. And listen to this!

I must get Marianne engaged by the spring and then married before the summer is out, for I will be very busy with my grandchildren later in the year. ”

“Your sister was never one to hold back from expressing her opinions,” Mr. Oakley remarked. “She likes the world to dance to her tune.”

And she is not the only one! For Mama will not stop fretting till I am married again.

“A letter for you, my dear,” Mrs. Oakley said to her husband. “Here.”

“Thank you.” He perused the contents. “Ah! I have here an invitation for you, Marianne, from our good friends and neighbors Mr. and Mrs. Radcliffe. They would be honored if you could join them at a ball in Bristol tomorrow evening, and they propose to collect and return you in their carriage. They apologize for the very short notice, but they have heard that your mama is on the mend and thought you might enjoy an evening out.”

“Oh!” Mrs. Oakley clapped her hands. “How kind of the Radcliffes. They are a thoughtful couple– and truly Christian; I have never heard them speak ill of anyone.”

“I am not convinced I should go,” Marianne said. “How can I leave you on your own, Mama?”

“I will be here to look after Mama,” Mr. Oakley said, “and ’tis high time you had some fun, my dear.”

“Well, maybe it would be possible, Papa, if you are quite sure? And you, Mama?”

After many assurances from her parents, Marianne was at last satisfied that the world would not come to an end if she went out for the evening.

“But I beg you to send a message straight away if Mama is taken ill again,” Marianne said to her father.

“I promise,” Mr. Oakley replied.

Mrs. Oakley shuffled the pile of letters in front of her. “How thoughtful all my friends are. I have already received quantities of good wishes in past days, and doubtless these missives contain more. Oh, and here amongst them are two for you, Marianne.”

“The first is from Charlotte,” Marianne said.

“Another piece of toast, dearest?” Mr. Oakley asked his wife.

“Do you know what, I think I will indulge. Thank you.”

“What a joy ’tis to see your appetite returning,” Mr. Oakley said, his eyes quite moist with emotion.

Marianne’s father went in search of Betsy to ask her to prepare another slice of toast, Mrs. Oakley read further messages from her many well-wishers, and Marianne started to read Charlotte’s words .

My dear Marianne,

I do hope all is well with you and your dear mama.

Frederick remains in Bath, and I know he hopes very much that you will be back soon. He told me, and not for the first time, how overjoyed he was to have seen you shortly before you left for Clifton.

My time is soon, and I am looking forward so much to the arrival of my baby– your godchild.

Marianne decided to read the rest of Charlotte’s letter later, for she could see the next letter was from Selina, who had been a frequent and cheerful correspondent since Marianne’s arrival in Clifton. She soon became absorbed in the tales of goings on in the heart of Bath, seen through the amusing lens of Selina’s unique perception of the world– and started giggling.

“I am guessing that one is from Selina,” Mrs. Oakley said.

“It is. She has been telling me about Nelson’s antics and says that he has taken against Edmund again. The other day on the Crescent Fields, the little pug jumped up and covered Edmund’s cream pantaloons with mud. He was not best pleased.”

“I can imagine! Why my sister must allow that dog to be so wild, I do not know.”

Marianne continued reading.

…and so I must away, Marianne, for I am due to visit Kitty and play with little Isabella. But there is someone here who wishes to pen a line to you and I have said he can write it here at the end of my letter, seal it and then give to the servants to send .

Yours affectionately,

Selina.

The next section was written in a different hand entirely.

I hope ’twill not be long before you return. If you want me to collect you, I will be happy to do so. You only have to say the word .

Yours,

Edmund.

PS Know that you are missed.

Mr. Oakley came back into the room with fresh toast.

“Wait,” Mrs. Oakley said. “There is another letter here for you, Marianne. It was hidden, right at the bottom of the pile. I wonder who this is from?”

“Perhaps you have an admirer we have not yet heard about?” Mr. Oakley said, a twinkle in his eye.

Marianne opened the letter and looked at the end. “Why, ’tis from Charlotte’s brother.”

How unexpected!

“Charlotte is such a special friend of yours,” Mrs. Oakley said, “and I will always be grateful to her family for having you to stay after dear Richard...”

But Marianne did not listen to the end of her mother’s sentence; instead, she forced herself to concentrate on her letter.

My dear Marianne,

I trust this finds you well.

Please forgive my boldness in writing to you, but there is something I must address urgently. I know that my sister Charlotte has mentioned a certain possibility to you; in short, that she thinks we would be a good match.

Marianne put the letter down with a gasp of astonishment. She would never have expected to be addressed thus.

“Is everything all right,” Mrs. Oakley said.

“I, I think so.” Marianne continued reading. “Ah! Yes. I see how things are now.”

Frederick finished by saying:

When we next meet again, I hope to be assured that I have not offended you by explaining my feelings in this way.

Yours affectionately,

Frederick.

Marianne sighed, folded the paper and gently tucked it under her other letters. She would not be sharing the contents with her parents yet. But she would be answering Frederick’s letter tonight.