CHAPTER XIV

fter a proper resistance on the part of Mrs. Ferrars, just so

violent and so steady as to preserve her from that

reproach which she always seemed fearful of incurring,

the reproach of being too amiable, Edward was admitted to her

presence, and pronounced to be again her son.

Her family had of late been exceedingly fluctuating. For many

years of her life she had had two sons; but the crime and

annihilation of Edward a few weeks ago, had robbed her of one;

the similar annihilation of Robert had left her for a fortnight

without any; and now, by the resuscitation of Edward, she had one

again.

In spite of his being allowed once more to live, however, he did

not feel the continuance of his existence secure, till he had

revealed his present engagement; for the publication of that

circumstance, he feared, might give a sudden turn to his

constitution, and carry him off as rapidly as before. With

apprehensive caution therefore it was revealed, and he was

listened to with unexpected calmness. Mrs. Ferrars at first

reasonably endeavoured to dissuade him from marrying Miss

Dashwood, by every argument in her power;―told him, that in

Miss Morton he would have a woman of higher rank and larger

fortune;―and enforced the assertion, by observing that Miss

Morton was the daughter of a nobleman with thirty thousand

pounds, while Miss Dashwood was only the daughter of a private

gentleman with no more than three; but when she found that,

though perfectly admitting the truth of her representation, he was

by no means inclined to be guided by it, she judged it wisest, from

the experience of the past, to submit―and therefore, after such an

ungracious delay as she owed to her own dignity, and as served to

prevent every suspicion of good-will, she issued her decree of

consent to the marriage of Edward and Elinor.

What she would engage to do towards augmenting their income

was next to be considered; and here it plainly appeared, that

though Edward was now her only son, he was by no means her

eldest; for while Robert was inevitably endowed with a thousand

pounds a-year, not the smallest objection was made against

Edward’s taking orders for the sake of two hundred and fifty at the

utmost; nor was anything promised either for the present or in

future, beyond the ten thousand pounds, which had been given

with Fanny.

It was as much, however, as was desired, and more than was

expected, by Edward and Elinor; and Mrs. Ferrars herself, by her

shuffling excuses, seemed the only person surprised at her not

giving more.

With an income quite sufficient to their wants thus secured to

them, they had nothing to wait for after Edward was in possession

of the living, but the readiness of the house, to which Colonel

Brandon, with an eager desire for the accommodation of Elinor,

was making considerable improvements; and after waiting some

time for their completion, after experiencing, as usual, a thousand

disappointments and delays from the unaccountable dilatoriness

of the workmen, Elinor, as usual, broke through the first positive

resolution of not marrying till every thing was ready, and the

ceremony took place in Barton church early in the autumn.

The first month after their marriage was spent with their friend

at the Mansion-house; from whence they could superintend the

progress of the Parsonage, and direct every thing as they liked on

the spot;―could chuse papers, project shrubberies, and invent a

sweep. Mrs. Jennings’s prophecies, though rather jumbled

together, were chiefly fulfilled; for she was able to visit Edward

and his wife in their Parsonage by Michaelmas, and she found in

Elinor and her husband, as she really believed, one of the happiest

couples in the world. They had in fact nothing to wish for, but the

marriage of Colonel Brandon and Marianne, and rather better

pasturage for their cows.

They were visited on their first settling by almost all their

relations and friends. Mrs. Ferrars came to inspect the happiness

which she was almost ashamed of having authorised; and even the

Dashwoods were at the expense of a journey from Sussex to do

them honour.

“I will not say that I am disappointed, my dear sister,” said

John, as they were walking together one morning before the gates

of Delaford House, “that would be saying too much, for certainly

you have been one of the most fortunate young women in the

world, as it is. But, I confess, it would give me great pleasure to

call Colonel Brandon brother. His property here, his place, his

house, every thing is in such respectable and excellent

condition!― and his woods!―I have not seen such timber any

where in Dorsetshire, as there is now standing in Delaford

Hanger!―And though, perhaps, Marianne may not seem exactly

the person to attract him―yet I think it would altogether be

advisable for you to have them now frequently staying with you,

for as Colonel Brandon seems a great deal at home, nobody can

tell what may happen―for, when people are much thrown

together, and see little of anybody else―and it will always be in

your power to set her off to advantage, and so forth;―in short, you

may as well give her a chance―You understand me.”―

But though Mrs. Ferrars did come to see them, and always

treated them with the make-believe of decent affection, they were

never insulted by her real favour and preference. That was due to

the folly of Robert, and the cunning of his wife; and it was earned

by them before many months had passed away. The selfish

sagacity of the latter, which had at first drawn Robert into the

scrape, was the principal instrument of his deliverance from it; for

her respectful humility, assiduous attentions, and endless

flatteries, as soon as the smallest opening was given for their

exercise, reconciled Mrs. Ferrars to his choice, and re-established

him completely in her favour.

The whole of Lucy’s behaviour in the affair, and the prosperity

which crowned it, therefore, may be held forth as a most

encouraging instance of what an earnest, an unceasing attention

to self-interest, however its progress may be apparently

obstructed, will do in securing every advantage of fortune, with no

other sacrifice than that of time and conscience. When Robert first

sought her acquaintance, and privately visited her in Bartlett’s

Buildings, it was only with the view imputed to him by his brother.

He merely meant to persuade her to give up the engagement; and

as there could be nothing to overcome but the affection of both, he

naturally expected that one or two interviews would settle the

matter. In that point, however, and that only, he erred;―for

though Lucy soon gave him hopes that his eloquence would

convince her in time, another visit, another conversation, was

always wanted to produce this conviction. Some doubts always

lingered in her mind when they parted, which could only be

removed by another half hour’s discourse with himself. His

attendance was by this means secured, and the rest followed in

course. Instead of talking of Edward, they came gradually to talk

only of Robert,―a subject on which he had always more to say

than on any other, and in which she soon betrayed an interest

even equal to his own; and in short, it became speedily evident to

both, that he had entirely supplanted his brother. He was proud of

his conquest, proud of tricking Edward, and very proud of

marrying privately without his mother’s consent. What

immediately followed is known. They passed some months in

great happiness at Dawlish; for she had many relations and old

acquaintances to cut―and he drew several plans for magnificent

cottages;―and from thence returning to town, procured the

forgiveness of Mrs. Ferrars, by the simple expedient of asking it,

which, at Lucy’s instigation, was adopted. The forgiveness, at first,

indeed, as was reasonable, comprehended only Robert; and Lucy,

who had owed his mother no duty and therefore could have

transgressed none, still remained some weeks longer unpardoned.

But perseverance in humility of conduct and messages, in self-

condemnation for Robert’s offence, and gratitude for the

unkindness she was treated with, procured her in time the

haughty notice which overcame her by its graciousness, and led

soon afterwards, by rapid degrees, to the highest state of affection

and influence. Lucy became as necessary to Mrs. Ferrars, as either

Robert or Fanny; and while Edward was never cordially forgiven

for having once intended to marry her, and Elinor, though

superior to her in fortune and birth, was spoken of as an intruder,

she was in every thing considered, and always openly

acknowledged, to be a favourite child. They settled in town,

received very liberal assistance from Mrs. Ferrars, were on the

best terms imaginable with the Dashwoods; and setting aside the

jealousies and ill-will continually subsisting between Fanny and

Lucy, in which their husbands of course took a part, as well as the

frequent domestic disagreements between Robert and Lucy

themse lves, nothing could exceed the harmony in which they all

lived together. What Edward had done to forfeit the right of eldest

son, might have puzzled many people to find out; and what Robert

had done to succeed to it, might have puzzled them still more. It

was an arrangement, however, justified in its effects, if not in its

cause; for nothing ever appeared in Robert’s style of living or of

talking to give a suspicion of his regretting the extent of his

income, as either leaving his brother too little, or bringing himself

too much;―and if Edward might be judged from the ready

discharge of his duties in every particular, from an increasing

attachment to his wife and his home, and from the regular

cheerfulness of his spirits, he might be supposed no less contented

with his lot, no less free from every wish of an exchange.

Elinor’s marriage divided her as little from her family as could

well be contrived, without rendering the cottage at Barton entirely

useless, for her mother and sisters spent much more than half

their time with her. Mrs. Dashwood was acting on motives of

policy as well as pleasure in the frequency of her visits at Delaford;

for her wish of bringing Marianne and Colonel Brandon together

was hardly less earnest, though rather more liberal than what

John had expressed. It was now her darling object. Precious as

was the company of her daughter to her, she desired nothing so

much as to give up its constant enjoyment to her valued friend;

and to see Marianne settled at the mansion-house was equally the

wish of Edward and Elinor. They each felt his sorrows, and their

own obligations, and Marianne, by general consent, was to be the

reward of all.

With such a confederacy against her―with a knowledge so

intimate of his goodness―with a conviction of his fond attachment

to herself, which at last, though long after it was observable to

everybody else―burst on her―what could she do?

Marianne Dashwood was born to an extraordinary fate. She

was born to discover the falsehood of her own opinions, and to

counteract, by her conduct, her most favourite maxims. She was

born to overcome an affection formed so late in life as at

seventeen, and with no sentiment superior to strong esteem and

lively friendship, voluntarily to give her hand to another!―and

that other, a man who had suffered no less than herself under the

event of a former attachment, whom, two years before, she had

considered too old to be married,―and who still sought the

constitutional safeguard of a flannel waistcoat!

But so it was. Instead of falling a sacrifice to an irresistible

passion, as once she had fondly flattered herself with expecting,―

instead of remaining even for ever with her mother, and finding

her only pleasures in retirement and study, as afterwards in her

more calm and sober judgment she had determined on,―she

found herself at nineteen, submitting to new attachments,

entering on new duties, placed in a new home, a wife, the mistress

of a family, and the patroness of a village.

Colonel Brandon was now as happy, as all those who best loved

him, believed he deserved to be;―in Marianne he was consoled for

every past affliction;―her regard and her society restored his

mind to animation, and his spirits to cheerfulness; and that

Marianne found her own happiness in forming his, was equally the

persuasion and delight of each observing friend. Marianne could

never love by halves; and her whole heart became, in time, as

much devoted to her husband, as it had once been to Willoughby.

Willoughby could not hear of her marriage without a pang; and

his punishment was soon afterwards complete in the voluntary

forgiveness of Mrs. Smith, who, by stating his marriage with a

woman of character, as the source of her clemency, gave him

reason for believing that had he behaved with honour towards

Marianne, he might at once have been happy and rich. That his

repentance of misconduct, which thus brought its own

punishment, was sincere, need not be doubted;―nor that he long

thought of Colonel Brandon with envy, and of Marianne with

regret. But that he was for ever inconsolable, that he fled from

society, or contracted an habitual gloom of temper, or died of a

broken heart, must not be depended on―for he did neither. He

lived to exert, and frequently to enjoy himself. His wife was not

always out of humour, nor his home always uncomfortable; and in

his breed of horses and dogs, and in sporting of every kind, he

found no inconsiderable degree of domestic felicity.

For Marianne, however―in spite of his incivility in surviving

her loss―he always retained that decided regard which interested

him in every thing that befell her, and made her his secret

standard of perfection in woman;―and many a rising beauty

would be slighted by him in after-days as bearing no comparison

with Mrs. Brandon.

Mrs. Dashwood was prudent enough to remain at the cottage,

without attempting a removal to Delaford; and fortunately for Sir

John and Mrs. Jennings, when Marianne was taken from them,

Margaret had reached an age highly suitable for dancing, and not

very ineligible for being supposed to have a lover.

Between Barton and Delaford, there was that constant

communication which strong family affection would naturally

dictate;―and among the merits and the happiness of Elinor and

Marianne, let it not be ranked as the least considerable, that

though sisters, and living almost within sight of each other, they

could live without disagreement between themselves, or

producing coolness between their husbands.

FINIS

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