28 June
It was a horrible trip. Four days in the carriage, road full of bumps and dips, irritable sisters, a tearful mother. Mama finally confessed John had offered nothing to assist us financially and it felt like a fist clenched around my stomach. He is just another man to fail us. How can he abide himself? And Fanny looked so arrogant as we pulled away from Norland I wanted to reach out and tweak her nose in retribution. My rebellion must have shown on my face because Elinor cleared her throat in warning against poor behavior. I realize I am seventeen and supposed to be a lady but since Father died I feel more like Margaret's twelve-year-old contemporary than ever.
Elinor pretended disinterest as we left but she could not hide the one last look she gave Edward. From my seat I could see in that glance that both their hearts were breaking. I cannot comprehend that man! Why will he not fight for my sister? Marianne and Margaret began immediately speaking of how they knew Edward was going to visit soon and even Mama smiled at the thought and encouraged Elinor not to fret about the separation. I knew then Ellie had not told anyone about that last confusing conversation and decided, as it was her secret to keep, I would not speak of it.
Our new house is dreadfully small after Norland. We have to share rooms – Mama and Margaret in one and us three grown girls in another. That leaves us with a room for guests and a room for Tom and Betsy. Elinor and I are quiet women; I know we will be able to live in harmony, but I have so little patience for Marianne's dramatics that I am sure our close proximity will cause difficulties. I do not know how we can be twins – we are so different in every single way.
Oh, the most peculiar thing happened when we arrived late this afternoon; our landlord descended amid a flurry of dogs and demanded we come up to the big house for dinner! He is Mama's cousin, Sir John Middleton, and such a strange man. We tried to beg off but he would not hear of it. It seems the Dashwood women have just been elected as entertainment for the evening.
Bother! Marianne is calling me to help unpack. That means she could not escape and will not let me either. Tomorrow I am going to explore this wild place we've been sent to live. I will describe it more sufficiently then.
29 June
I cannot even begin to describe how I feel at this moment. Perhaps I will explain everything but the issue and come back to it after I have distracted myself a bit.
Dinner last night was a new experience for us Dashwoods. To begin, Sir John is so jovial he is often forward and I, for one, do not know how to react to him. Marianne was positively abhorrent of him and, in her usual abrupt way, demonstrated it by not being nearly as polite and ladylike as Mama and Elinore would have preferred. Not that she was blatantly rude. She just refused to sit and listen to the ridiculous conversation after she had eaten her final bite of dinner. Once she had escaped the table she seated herself at the pianoforte and attempted drowned out all further annoying conversation with music.
Lady Middleton's mother, Mrs. Jennings, happened to arrive shortly before dinner and what a garrulous old lady she is! Heavy and self-satisfied, all she could speak of was marrying us Dashwoods off! It was most horrifying, I can assure you. And in all honesty, after what we were subjected to at dinner I truly do not blame Marianne for her brusque behavior once it was completed.
Sir John's family was also rather confusing. Lady Middleton is polite as society dictates but once we had covered all available topics of weather and the ages of her children there was quite literally nothing left to discuss. How I abhor useless conversationalists. Why bother having guests if you are incapable of dialoguing with them?
How ironic that this is the thing that irritated me most about the evening! I, who am most known for finding a corner and curling up with a good book so as to discourage dialogue of any kind! And truthfully I did not attempt much conversation myself but watching Mama and Elinor struggle so was quite enough discomfort for me to simply observe.
The food was delicious and Barton Park a lovely home. I have high hopes of getting a peek at a library there someday soon, once I have ingratiated myself to Sir John sufficiently. It would have been forward to ask about it our first day here, would it not? That is why I did not.
Well, I have circled the thing which has me completely befuddled and now I am going to force myself to write about it. Well, it is not an it; rather, it's a HIM. There was one other guest at dinner last night, an old friend of Sir John's although the basis for their friendship had me puzzled until I learned they had served in the military together. I have read that war can unite men who otherwise would have no common ground. But I am stalling, am I not?
His name is Colonel Brandon. He has honey-colored hair, dark brown eyes, and the most beautiful speaking voice I have ever heard on a man. I seated myself near enough to Mama and Mrs. Jennings to catch the telling of his life's story last night so I feel I know a few pertinent things about him. He is older than I – thirty-five years and has never married. He is not an outright handsome man but his face has character and experience. Mrs. Jennings told Mama that Colonel Brandon suffered a romantic tragedy in his youth and has never recovered from it, hence the unmarried status. Mrs. Jennings also informed Mama that Colonel Brandon is rich and would be quite a catch for one of her girls. What a repulsive attitude to take when speaking of a person's life!
I had opportunity to observe him while Marianne played and sang, for he sat and observed her most intently for the duration of her performance. I do not know if he was truly enraptured or merely just very polite but it was clear his whole attention was focused on Marianne. Admitting such a thing makes my heart ache, just a bit.
I know I am a silly girl with a foolish attraction to a man I have only just met. I have no basis for anything with him and yet…
He possesses great knowledge; this is obvious. Margaret asked a multitude of questions about his experience in the military and he was generous with his conversation. So few grown men will give a little girl a moment of their time. His kind and considerate heart showed through in his treatment of my little sister. And the stories he told – oh yes, I was listening. I am not sure if he realized how big his audience was but it thrilled me to hear him speak of India, of the heat, the constant scent of spiced air, the strange people and creatures he encountered. He certainly charmed Margaret so thoroughly she insisted she was going to join the army when she grew up so he dubbed her "General" and proceeded to call her by that name the rest of the evening. This compassion to my sister won my heart without his realizing. Additionally my mind is starving for some intelligent conversation and I believe a discussion with him would be much like the talks Father and I used to have.
But I fear he noticed me very little. I am not outspoken and prone to perform, like Marianne. I avoid the spotlight and I do not resemble an angel the way she does. There is little to draw the eye to me, the way eyes have always been drawn to Marianne. It has caused so much conflict between us, my envying her the attention and she taking delight in my envy.
Father loved to show her talents off to guests. He was proud of the image she projected: golden curls, golden voice, talented fingers. But when he was sick he admitted to me that he preferred my soft, gentle songs to sooth him over her dramatic theatrics and I'm the one who was most often requested in the sick room to sing or read when Father needed comfort. I try to console myself in this knowledge, to ease the sting of truth that Colonel Brandon's eye was drawn to the angel last night.
And she cannot even see the value in him! She was making fun at breakfast this morning of his age and assumed infirmity. I was offended for him but dared not speak up lest she choose to pick at me next. The last thing I need is Marianne and Margaret teasing me. Fortunately Mama and Elinor both corrected her assumption that a man of 35 was well beyond his prime, so then she took the tack of complaining that he was too reserved, too sensible for her tastes.
I know how Marianne's tastes run. My twin is of the belief that romance, for it to be true, must be full of fire and passion and that a lover must appreciate the arts with as much ardor as he appreciates her. I am of the opinion that Marianne reads too much Shakespeare but I shan't tell her that out loud. No, those conversations are best held within my journal where I can always get the last word.
I have digressed, have I not? In final conclusion, last night I met a delightful man who was courteous to my mother, respectful to my elder sister, admiring of my twin, and engaging to my younger sister. Of me he appeared to take little notice.
During the evening Mrs. Jennings began to sort out all our ages and went into a near fit to learn Marianne and I are twins. She even forced me onto the bench beside Marianne so she might evaluate us side by side. It was certainly one of the more awkward comparisons I have endured in years, since we have been old enough to clearly present ourselves as individuals who just happened to be born of the same woman in the same moment. Mrs. Jennings eventually declared to all company that she could find no similarities between us other than the curliness of our hair and therefore she could not believe we were twins. I was simply glad to escape the piano bench before someone thought to presume I could play like my sister and demand it of me.
I have found a delightful spot beyond the cottage where I can sit and write out of reach of the wind. It is my intent to begin exploring the vast wilderness that seems to surround our new cottage, to see what fun might be gotten up in a place where the nearest neighbor is a mile and the nearest village five. Mama will not have to worry about making a lady out of any of us, for who shall ever find us all the way out here?
Heaven help me, I can see Sir John and Colonel Brandon approaching from the direction of Barton Park. I have to fix my hair and warn Mama!
12 July
I am astounded by how much time has passed since I last wrote. It seems remarkable that we could actually be busy way out here in the middle of nowhere.
We have had near daily visitors, mostly Sir John and often Mrs. Jennings but rather frequently Colonel Brandon has come with Sir John and once or twice on his own. Sir John and Mrs. Jennings do keep things lively but they also make my head pound when they are together so I usually try to slip away when I can. People rarely notice my absence, it would seem.
When Sir John and Colonel Brandon visit together I certainly do remain present. I have considered carefully and believe that, using what I learned from conversations with Father, I will present myself to these two gentlemen as a woman who knows what men like to talk about. I will make our conversation so interesting to them they will delight in visiting with me. I have learned to bide my time, waiting for a lull in the standard, boring pleasantries of the visit, but before Mama can suggest Marianne play something, because there will be no conversation once the music begins.
I had my first success at my ploy nearly a week ago when I happened to casually inquire of Sir John the lineage of his pointer bitch. I commented she appeared to have many positive Combermere characteristics and stated I was particularly impressed with her height while wondering if it truly did improve her ability to scent. Colonel Brandon's reaction to my query was most acceptable! He clearly forgot for the moment he was a gentleman because his head spun around (sadly, from where he was studying Marianne) to stare at me as though I had suddenly sprouted feathers. It obviously never occurred to him that a woman, especially one as invisible as I am, could possibly have anything of interest to discuss with grown men. Sir John was, of course, delighted to launch into one of his favorite subjects and was thrilled when he realized that not only could I ask intelligent questions, but I could follow up with intelligent conversation. Colonel Brandon even abandoned his observation of my sister to join our dialogue when urged by Sir John. I must confess I felt quite the victor to successfully engage both men for the majority of their visit.
Mama and Elinore were obviously rather embarrassed for me to reveal my boyish ways but could scarcely say anything when both men declared a thorough enjoyment of the conversation when they took their leave. Ellie did scold me later for being so bold but I reminded her that Father was always proud of my ability to debate with him so why should I be afraid to utilize it in entertaining our guests? She merely shook her head and stated she despaired of me to ever become a lady. The older I get the more doubtful I am that I actually WANT to be a lady.
Since that day I have consistently and successfully conversed with both Colonel Brandon and Sir John on a multitude of subjects and have found they now approach me for new conversation. They were astonished to learn I can capably discuss religion, understand the workings and shortcomings of parliament, and can keep up in a debate about politics. And in turn, I have obtained access to the Barton Park library, which turned out to be rather a disappointment as it is poorly stocked and maintained. Clearly, the Middletons have rare use for such a commodity and have put little effort into creating and utilizing it. And yet I dare not complain as it is a sight better than no books at all.
Colonel Brandon, despite his willingness to emerge from his usual silence to debate with me, is clearly more smitten with Marianne than ever. When he visits he often brings gifts, most usually new music from his home for Marianne to play. While the colonel does little to stir Marianne's blood, even she does not refuse new music so while she plays he sits and listens intently, watching her every move. When she ceases playing he will sometimes initiate conversation with her about poetry, which is her primary passion and she will half-heartedly engage with him for a few moments before lapsing off into uncomfortable silence. It is at these times he will either turn to me to discuss a book we have both read or will excuse himself and leave. It is obvious he comes only for Marianne, who, clearly, is not interested.
Mrs. Jennings, of course, has picked up on his interest and cannot contain her glee at the thought of marrying off the pair of them. She is so single-minded in her teasing that I have begun to flee the moment I catch sight of her approach. Neither will I sit anywhere near her in our frequent visits to Barton Park because when we are there she picks at the poor colonel unmercifully. And he, ever the gentleman, endures with little more than a grimace on his face. He is indeed long-suffering. I simply cannot bear to hear one more time how my dear sister is going to make the loveliest mistress of Delaford. If I do, I promise that I shall scream and be unable to contain it.
And yet, my twin sister has just this day managed to attract the admiring attention of a latecomer to the area, one Mr. John Willoughby of Allenham Court, a near neighbor. He is visiting his aunt and happened to witness Marianne's most unfortunate fall in the rain yesterday, which left her with a twisted ankle and a susceptible heart. Willoughby checked her ankle for a break, hoisted her into his arms, and carried her home like the true hero Marianne, Mama, and Margaret are wont to imagine him as. Even I cannot deny he is comely and dashing. But, alas, he is merely one more lover for Marianne. They are beginning to pile up around our door these days.
This morning the admirers began arriving shortly after breakfast. I could hear Sir John's dogs approaching so I took myself to the garden, not that there's work to be done there this late in the season, but simply to extract myself from the fawning that was about to ensue. I could hear his exclamations of concern from every window in the house and shortly after, from my vantage, I saw the colonel arrive bearing the most beautiful bouquet of hothouse flowers I have seen in a long time. He clearly retrieved them this morning from Delaford, a special trip made just for my sister. He spied me sitting on the hill as he approached the cottage, tipped his hat to me, and went inside.
I was amusing myself with a new story I have been writing (about a child who refuses to grow up and all the ways he invents to avoid the distasteful event) for a scant hour before our next guest arrived with a fist full of wild flowers and nearly drove the previous company off with his presence: Marianne's new favorite, Willoughby. I clearly heard Sir John through the window, announcing to poor Colonel Brandon that their presence was no longer preferred so they might as well be on their way. I flushed with embarrassment for his sake and wished, not for the first time, that our dear relatives and neighbors had more tact and consideration. The two gentlemen walked away together planning the rest of their leisurely day and I found myself longing to be a boy so that even if I could not attract the attentions of Colonel Brandon I might at least be invited to join in the fun that men are allowed but from which women are spurned.
Willoughby remained the rest of the day and when I ventured to return to the house I was surprised to find his company entertaining, his manner pleasing, and his thoughts insightful. He appears to love all things which Marianne loves (whether by sincerity or by design I cannot determine) and she is clearly delighted with him. I see exactly that which concerns Elinor so about Marianne – there is no discretion. Her every thought, every emotion is prominently displayed either by her face or her words. Even I, with my boyish ways know better than to let everyone know what I think and feel at every moment. However, Willoughby seems entirely satisfied with her and I can already see Mama planning their wedding. Something tells me Marianne won't object to speculation of such an event with him the way she did with Colonel Brandon.
I was interested to note Willoughby's flowers prominently displayed in a vase by Marianne's chaise while the delicious flowers brought by the colonel were abandoned in a corner of the hall. I quietly moved them to the dining table where I, at least, would enjoy them at every possible opportunity.