"I suppose we must dress up for the dinner." Margret mused.
Mary glanced up from untangling her pearl hairnet. "I suppose, though it's not as if it's any different from any other night. After all, we've had to dress up for every dinner while the officers are here."
"True."
But both girls knew it wouldn't be the same. They were dressing for the dinner at Sir Merryweather's estate, and it was quite different from dressing for dinner as they did every night. There was a tingle of apprehension in the air as they selected garments and hair decorations. Mary was thinking of how poor Margret would fare at Sir Merryweather's.
Margret was also thinking of how poor Margret would fare at Sir Merryweather's, except, added to her worries, was what to say, and how not to make a fool of herself. She supposed she had already insulted him enough to last a lifetime, and that was not the path she wanted to continue down. After all, he had saved Mary's life, and had been quite gracious about it. (The truth is, however, much less chivalrous: Sir Arthur was so stunned at himself and his knight-in-shining-armor-rescue, that he couldn't think of anything to say, and as such, hadn't been able to claim to the girls his part in the rescue).
Speaking of Sir Arthur, he was feeling the same nervousness and apprehension as Margret, except he was able to voice them to his man-servant as he was dressed. "You don't think she'll mention my accidental rescue will you? Grateful maidens are apt to gush about such things, though I'd rather keep it private."
His man-servant never answered, of course, but he never expected him to.
"I do hope Miss Yancey's father won't go on about it either. Fathers are almost as bad as grateful maidens when it comes to gushing, except you can't get by with a simple, 'You're welcome'."
His man-servant presented him with two dinner jackets and that set him off again.
"I wonder what she'll be wearing. I suppose she'd think it a great lark if she arrived in a simple gown or an elaborate one, but I doubt she'd go through with such a thing. She's too ladylike. Got too many rules of decorum drilled into her, I suppose."
He grimaced. "Lord, society ruins the minds of so many brilliant young ladies, but despite all her training, Miss Dashwood seems to have retained her wit. She's not dull like all the other powdered young women nowadays. Not that Miss Yancey isn't smart, or pretty. I'm just saying most girls are dull, boring, and lifeless, while Miss Dashwood has so much wit, you could turn her into a philosopher. You know what I'm talking about, don't you, Jackson?"
Mr. Jackson was not sure he did know, but he didn't think it was his place to agree or disagree with his master, and so, let him rattle on until the dinner. Margret would have been surprised and bored out of her wonderful wits if she had heard Sir Arthur carry on the way he did. There seemed to be no end to his nervous prattling and Mr. Jackson was quite relieved when the servant announced that his guests had arrived.
Both Captain Margret and Sir Arthur were almost jittery with nerves when the dinner guests were shown into the formal dining room. Margret occupied herself with memorizing her surroundings, while Sir Merryweather was helplessly left to entertain his other guests.
There was a crystal chandelier dangling high above their heads, and what seemed to be almost matching crystal table-ware. Both were beautiful and reflected the happy glow of the candles in a sparkling dazzle. The table cloth was completely white, with not a stain to be seen, and of the finest linen possible, and the napkins were in the same impeccable condition. All the silverware was polished so that you could see your face if you just happened to glance at the shiny surface of your spoon. The table wine was being poured by expressionless footmen and their twins in the background stood to attention, prepared to serve the courses at any moment.
In a word, everything was: Perfect.
Too perfect for Margret's tastes.
Where was the disorder?
The chaos that comes with hosting a dinner party…?
At any rate, the meal was lovely, the conversation polite, and both Margret and Sir Merryweather managed to be civil and did not make fools of themselves. Everyone adjourned to the large parlor, where coffee and tea were served. Margret had never encountered coffee before, and, on learning that it was from faraway places, instantly took a liking to it. It was rich and dark, and Margret discovered that she liked hers with minimal cream and very little sugar. She was the only one besides Sir Merryweather to take it that way, and it was rather alarming to find that they shared something in common— for both of them.
Immediately after this disconcerting discovery, and remembering that coffee production relied heavily on slave labor, Miss Dashwood promptly asked for a cup of tea. (I should mention that tea production also relies heavily on slave labor, but the English had become so accustomed to their daily "cuppa" without giving it another political thought, that this fact was often "forgotten").
The refreshment had a calming effect on her, that was only broken when Sir Merryweather "cornered" her for polite conversation. "Miss, Dashwood, how are your family?"
"All well, I suppose, though we do not see much of Elinor and Marianne now that they're married. My mother is in good health, I know for sure. I'm quite under the impression that getting me out from under her toes has put her in a happy disposition nowadays, or, so I gather from her letters."
"And your family friend, Mrs. Jennings, I believe it was?"
"I'm sure she and my mother are enjoying themselves in London without having to look after me all the time. Goodness knows they need a rest from me every once in a while."
"Wonderful, wonderful."
There was an awkward pause, before Sir Merryweather made another attempt. "The weather has been pleasantly warm lately."
"Yes, it's perfect for the seaside. I imagine it's a bit more disagreeable in the winter, with its ocean wind."
"Yes, I imagine so."
Margret looked at him in surprise. "Well, don't you know? I would think you would, what with your estate being rather close to the ocean."
He looked uncomfortable. "Well, you see, I'm not here all that much in the winter. I have, er, another estate, closer inland that I stay at in the winter and shoot at in the fall."
"Oh, I see."
Margret surprised them both by picking up the polite conversation and running with it. "Do you have any close family, Sir Merryweather?"
"Well, my parents passed away when I was rather young, and I don't have any siblings, but I do have a plentiful supply of cousins, second cousins, third cousins and great-aunts."
"It must be marvelous having all that family. I wish I had a great-aunt. All I've got is step-sister-in-law, and she's a bit of a piece of work. Oh, well, Mrs. Jennings is like a great-aunt, Colonel Brandon and Edward make good brothers-in-law, and I suppose Sir John is like a jolly old uncle."
"Sir John?"
Margret nodded happily. "He let us rent the cottage back when we couldn't afford anything else. He's very generous, and he and his mother—that's Mrs. Jennings— are wonderful people to talk to."
"You lived in a cottage?"
The shock in his voice was apparent, and Captain Margret narrowed her eyes in disapproval. "And still do. It's very cozy and beautiful, and it's not as if we needed anything more, with only mother and me at home."
"Oh, yes, of course. Believe me, I meant no offense."
"I know you didn't. What was it you said about not conversing easily with strangers? Well, I am no stranger, and yet you seem to have unintentionally blundered. What would you think if, upon seeing that you live here in this large estate all on your own, I expressed the same repulsion you have on finding that I live in a cottage? Hardly polite conversation, is it?"
"No, I suppose not."
Captain Margret had not been expecting him to agree with her, but was pleasantly surprised by it. The conversation went smoothly from then on, and each of the two discovered new things about the other. I will not go too deeply into the contents of their conversation, but I suppose I can reveal one or two things.
Margret was wonderfully surprised to find that Sir Merryweather had gotten an honorable discharge from the militia with a medal, enjoyed horseback riding (along with puff-pastries), and could paint passably. Sir Merryweather was amazed to find that, along with riding, fencing, camping outdoors, fishing, swimming, diving, and training dogs, Margret also knew how to and enjoyed shooting a bow and arrow, and playing cricket. She had an incredible mind, as he already knew, and he had a fairly tolerable sense of philosophy, as she soon found out.
At any rate, it went well, and Margret left with the feeling that he wasn't as bad as he seemed, though he did have his faults, and Sir Arthur was left with the feeling that she was everything he had imagined and more. Neither one felt as if they had been cheated out of a lovely dinner at home, both were quite content, and only slightly unsettled at the fast pace of their relationship. I hope the general idea of cordial behavior is apparent to the reader, for that was exactly the nature of their growing friendship— no more, no less; in the way you might behave with someone you're not acquainted with, but mildly want to get to know better.
Margret went to bed that night thinking of what Sir Merryweather might do if he suddenly found himself riding bareback on a horse, as she often secretly loved to do.
Sir Merryweather went to bed thinking of Miss Dashwood playing cricket, and I will not hesitate to add that he also imagined her swimming, and that he was blushing fairly hard into the dark as he did so.
Mary went to bed thinking of how well Margret and Sir Merryweather had seemed to be getting on, and hoped that, perhaps, her accident and rescue might have been the cause.
ooOoo
When he went to bed, he imagined his beautiful Margret as the goddess he revered her to be. Her image was clad in a toga, such as the ancient Grecian women wore, and her feet were bare, with anklets dangling from them.
Obviously Margret was not a goddess, but that was the way he imagined her.
Obviously she would never wear such things, but that was the way she appeared to him.
Obviously he had an overactive imagination.
But, they do say if it can be imagined, it can be done.
And, even if it killed him, he would make sure it was.