It should have been a balmy evening filled with the fragrance of late spring flowers. There should have been a warm, gentle wind in the trees and the occasional stirrings of night insects and confused birds in the air.
But that was not to be. Instead, it was a silent and chilly evening, the smoky scent of burning wood in the still, frozen air. What should have been a June wedding would now be a December one. Catherine Morland and Henry Tilney would finally be wed, in less than a day's time.
Catherine had suffered acutely during the months of separation from her beloved Henry. Weeks turned into months, Spring turned into Summer, and Summer turned into Autumn. Every few days she would receive a new letter from Woodston and write one in return, the two of them sharing news about siblings and neighbors and parishioners and mending and novels and dogs and rectory improvements and parents and undying affection and other assorted nonsense. Sometimes Catherine would perch on a chair in the drawing room and spend hours pretending to concentrate on embroidery, mending, or sewing, all the while imagining him as he was last April, sitting across from her in that very room.
Mrs. Morland would find her this way, a dreamy look on her face and her work on the floor beside her where it had fallen, forgotten and barely touched. But not today, for today's work marked the end of preparations for her wedding on the morrow. After spending the vast majority of nearly eight months apart, Catherine was determined to make sure nothing would separate them ever again - certainly not the last bit of whitework on her fine muslin wedding gown.
In the afternoon on the eve of the wedding, an excited flock of younger Morlands gathered at the drawing room window, calling attention to a new arrival. Catherine hopped out of her seat, passing the gown to her sister Sarah as she ran for the door sans cloak, pelisse, or even a shawl. "Sally! Take this into the other room!" she instructed in an agitated tone. "Mr. Tilney isn't to see this until tomorrow!"
The younger children followed their sister into the front garden like a line of overexcited goslings, squawking excitedly and tumbling over each other in their haste to watch her reunited with her husband-to-be.
They weren't disappointed. Catherine was barely aware of their giggles and whispers as she nearly attacked Henry with a kiss that lingered much too long. He pulled away first, resting his forehead against hers for a brief moment before resigning himself to the fact that her parents were lurking about somewhere, and wouldn't find their amorous embraces nearly as amusing as Catherine's siblings had.
"Patience is a virtue, Miss Morland," Henry teased her, silently thanking God he could blame his flushed cheeks on the cold. "I trust you can survive one more day."
"If you can manage it, Mr. Tilney, then I can too, I suppose." Catherine glanced about before taking his gloved hand. "Now come inside, please - I am quite frozen," she added, bidding one of her brothers to manage Henry's horse as they moved to take refuge from the chilly air.
Catherine expected to find Sarah and her mother lurking about the main rooms of the parsonage, but returned to find no sign of any of her family save the odd creak of furniture elsewhere in the house. "Strange," she whispered to Henry as she assisted him with his greatcoat. "The house has never been this quiet in my whole life."
"Indeed, I expected the usual convergence of Morlands from all sides," he responded conspiratorially, in a mock-hushed tone. "To gape at us at least, if not to keep us on our best behavior."
"Henry!" Catherine admonished between stifled giggles, assuming - correctly - that Mrs. Morland intended for them to have a few moments alone before being inundated. "Don't tempt them in. Now come sit with me."
Finally hatless and no longer greatcoated, Henry allowed himself to be led to a nearby sopha in the drawing room, where Catherine proceeded to peel his gloves from his fingers. "Your hands are like ice, Catherine - much worse than mine. Where have you been keeping them?" He took both of them between his own, attempting to warm her as well as he could.
"Nowhere out of the ordinary." Catherine smiled up at him, grateful for her first chance in months to study his face without interference from the presence of others. He was very much the same Henry as ever, his dark eyes focused on her while he caressed her hands with purpose. "In fact, until this moment I never realized quite how cold they truly were."
There was a fire blazing cheerfully in the fireplace not eight feet away from them, but that had very little to do with the hot flush that returned to his cheeks. He brought her hands to his lips and kissed them before clasping them against his heart.
Catherine continued to stare at him in wonder, in part because she could not believe he was really there, nor that they were to be married in less than a day's time. But there was also the fact that Henry Tilney was very rarely this bereft of words.
Before she could consider the thought any longer, Catherine perceived his face moving very close to hers. Preparing for the incoming kiss, she lifted her chin to meet him.
Alas, at the very same moment, Sarah stomped into the room, coughing and making a very noisy spectacle of herself in order to clear the room of any nonsense before Mrs. Morland's arrival. Catherine's mother entered directly behind Sarah, ignoring their hasty rearrangement of faces and hands as she welcomed Henry very warmly. Not long after, they were joined by Mr. Morland and, soon after that, several more straggling Morland siblings.
And so Catherine and Henry passed the rest of the afternoon in the drawing room of Fullerton parsonage with her family, fielding questions and trading memories in anticipation of the next day's event.
When the gray winter light faded and the Dinner hour approached, Henry rose to take his leave. Mrs. Morland invited him to stay for the meal, and Catherine begged him piteously to acquiesce, but, as he explained, his sister and brother-in-law would be expecting him back at their shared lodgings very soon.
Catherine accompanied Henry to the small stable adjoining the parsonage to retrieve his horse, this time more sensibly attired in her favorite red cloak. "We will see her tomorrow, but…you could have brought Eleanor with you today, you know," she informed him good-naturedly. "It is nothing compared to her new home, or to Northanger, but Her Ladyship knows that she and His Lordship are always very welcome at Fullerton parsonage."
"I did ask her," Henry admitted as they walked, placing Catherine's hand in the warm crook of his greatcoated arm. "But she informed me I might regret making myself responsible for them should the opportunity arise to be alone with you."
"Like this?" Catherine laughed, pausing to face him as they reached their destination.
Henry found himself wishing for one of his father's expensive oil lamps at that moment, so he might see her better. It was dark by this time, but he could still make out her features by a combination of rising moonlight and the soft glow of the candles placed in the dining parlor windows nearby.
"Like this," he assented, a bit more quietly. Catherine shivered at the implication, prompting Henry to briskly struggle out of his greatcoat to wrap it around her shoulders.
"Thank you, Henry," she whispered, looking up at him with the same endearing, slightly ridiculous, worshipful expression as she had earlier that afternoon. "But I do not tremble because of the cold."
Catherine was not a short person, but the greatcoat - and Henry's being rather tall himself - made her look and feel very small and very young indeed.
He gazed at her for a few beats longer, as if memorizing every feature, then moved to kiss her. He slipped his arms inside the voluminous cocoon formed around her by his greatcoat and her cloak, to draw her closer to him.
Catherine rested her hands on his chest as their lips finally met. She felt something inexplicable stirring inside her this evening, much moreso than any other time they had embraced thus. "I wish you could stay with me," she murmured as they paused to take breath.
That earned a tiny snort of amusement from Henry. "Your parents would murder me, and then your father would have my miserable corpse expelled from the ministry, perhaps from the Church entirely." He pulled off his right glove, removing the now bare hand from the warmth of her back so he could touch her cheek. "It would be a very romantic way to die, but hardly worth the trouble considering the circumstances. Barring some very literary catastrophe, Catherine, we shall be married in less than - " He eyed his watch in the dimness. "- fifteen hours."
Catherine sighed in resignation, leaning her head against his shoulder. "But I still cannot do without you." They stood huddled together this way for several silent minutes, Catherine watching their breath rising in the cold air. "I wish it were June. We could sit in the orchard indefinitely and not worry about freezing or becoming ill."
"Perhaps it is best that it is not June," he replied, only too aware of how much easier it would be to succumb to impropriety. "I fear your very good parents are too indulgent with us as it is."
Henry knew that wherever he led, Catherine would enthusiastically follow. This was very gratifying to a point, but it was also sobering. She was still very young, and the responsibility he felt for her well-being was very heavy indeed.
"As loath as I am to part with you, Miss Morland, I must relinquish you to your family for tonight and return to my sister," he murmured against her temple.
"So formal, sir," Catherine responded, amused. "You know you never need to 'Miss Morland' me when we are alone."
"It may be the last opportunity I have to address you as such, Miss Morland," Henry continued, proceeding only partly in jest. "For tomorrow you will be Mrs. Tilney, and my dearest Miss Morland will be no more."
"Certainly Mrs. Tilney is preferable to Miss Morland," Catherine countered, pulling her head back slightly to search his face. "Is she not?"
"Certainly," he confirmed, touching her cheek again with his ungloved hand, allowing his fingers to slide down to her neck and even lower still. "But let me stay with Miss Morland for a few moments longer - let me commit her to memory. Soon we will be very old married people, longing for the way things once were."
Catherine stifled a titter. "Henry..."
"Yes, Miss Morland?" He struggled not to smile.
"You are so strange." She placed her hand over his, which had settled on her chest, over her...heart.
"Don't forget half-witted…" Henry murmured.
"I love you, Mr. Tilney."
"And I love you, Miss Morland…Mrs. Tilney…my sweet Catherine…" he whispered breathlessly into her ear, squeezing her gently as they came together for their last kiss of the evening.