‘Yes,’ said Elinor.

‘Read it to me, would you, Elinor dear?’ she said.

Elinor began to read, and the letter, which a few days before would, I am sure, have caused pain, caused only mirth.

‘What do you think? Lucy has deserted her beau, Edward Ferrars, and has run off with his brother! Poor Mr Edward! I cannot get him out of my head, but you must send for him to Barton, and Miss Marianne must try to comfort him.’

‘I think I will leave the task of comforting him to my sister! ’ said Marianne.

‘And here is another letter,’ said Elinor. ‘It is from John.’

‘Ah! Let us hear what your brother has to say,’ said Mrs Dashwood.

The letter began with salutations, but soon began to talk of Robert Ferrars’s marriage.

‘Mrs Ferrars is the most unfortunate of women,’ read Elinor. ‘Robert’s offence was unpardonable, but Miss Lucy’s was infinitely worse. I have made up my mind not to mention either of them to Mrs Ferrars ever again, and I beg you will do the same; and, even if she might hereafter be induced to forgive Robert, his wife will never be acknowledged as her daughter, nor be permitted to appear in her presence. The secrecy with which everything has been carried on between them only made the crime worse, because had any suspicion of it occurred to the others, proper measures would have been taken to prevent the marriage. I am sure you will join with me, Elinor, in thinking that it would have been better for Lucy to marry Edward, rather than to spread misery farther in the family.’

At this, we all laughed again.

‘But finish the letter,’ said Mrs Dashwood.

‘Mrs Ferrars has never yet mentioned Edward’s name, which does not surprise us; but, to our great astonishment, not a line has been received from him on the occasion. Perhaps, however, he is kept silent by his fear of offending, and I shall therefore give him a hint, by a line to Oxford, that his sister and I both think a letter of proper submission from him, addressed perhaps to his sister Fanny, and by her shown to her mother, might not be taken amiss, for we all know the tenderness of Mrs Ferrars’s heart and that she wishes for nothing so much as to be on good terms with her children. ’

‘A letter of proper submission!’ Edward said. ‘Would they have me beg my mother’s pardon for Robert’s ingratitude to her and breach of honour to me?’

‘You may certainly ask to be forgiven,’ said Elinor, ‘be cause you have offended. And when she has forgiven you, perhaps a little humility may be convenient while acknowledging a second engagement, almost as imprudent in her eyes as the first.’

He had nothing to say against it, but, feeling that it would be easier to make concessions by word of mouth rather than on paper, it was resolved that, instead of writing to his sister, he should go to London, and personally ask for her help.

‘And if they really do interest themselves in bringing about a reconciliation,’ said Marianne, ‘I shall think that even John and his wife are not entirely without merit.’

‘What do you say to the idea of calling in at Delaford on your way to London?’ I said. ‘You can see the parsonage, and we can decide on some improvements. Then I can set the work in hand.’

He agreed to the proposal and then suggested to Elinor that they should resume their rambles around the countryside. Mrs Dashwood having some housekeeping to attend to, and Margaret running out into the garden once again to play, Marianne and I were left alone.

‘And so, Colonel, I find I cannot cling to my belief that second attachments are unpardonable: Edward’s love for Elinor is a second attachment, and if I were to follow my former philosophy, then he would be condemned to a life of misery with Lucy, instead of a life of happiness with Elinor,’ she said thoughtfully. ‘And yet, perhaps in some cases it might not be possible to make a second attachment, if the first was felt too deeply,’ she went on, shaking her head. Then she raised her eyes and looked into mine. ‘You loved deeply once. Do you believe it is possible, after such an attachment, to be happy again?’

‘For a long time I thought not, but now, yes, I do think it is possible,’ I said.

‘I hope you are right,’ she said with a sigh, ‘otherwise I am destined for a lonely life.’

I said gently, ‘I do not believe that that will be your fate.’



Saturday 20 May

Ferrars and I arrived at Delaford this afternoon. He complimented me on the mansion house, and then we walked down the road to the parsonage.

‘This is better than I expected, much better,’ he said. ‘From what you had told me, I was expecting some dilapidated cottage, but it is a house of good proportions and not inconsiderable dimensions.’

‘It can be added to,’ I said. ‘It would be easy to build on at the back and build another room above. The gardens, also, are capable of improvement.’

He cast his eye over the whole, and then we went in.

‘It needs new papers,’ I said, ‘and carpets on the floor.’

‘I am sure Elinor will want to choose those. I will leave it all to her,’ he said. ‘I am a lucky man, Brandon. A few weeks ago I despaired of happiness, but fate has delivered it into my hands. Now all it needs is for my mother to relent, and I will have more happiness than any man has a right to expect. I hope the same good fortune might befall you.’

He looked at me knowingly, and I could not help smiling, and he said that he hoped we would be very happy.

‘Nothing is certain,’ I said.

‘What in life is certain? But that does not mean you cannot hope. Hope is every man’s friend.’

We went out into the garden.

‘I can imagine Elinor here, cutting flowers for the house,’ he said.

‘The wall can be moved to make the garden bigger,’ I said. ‘If you take it out as far as the orchard, it will be a pretty size.’

We went on discussing improvements, and by the time we had done, we both began to feel that the parsonage could be turned into something like a gentleman’s residence without too much trouble or expense.



Tuesday 23 May

Ferrars left for London today. I wished him luck, and I felt he would need it, for a mother who could cast aside her son for so slight a reason was not a mother who could be relied upon to reinstate him in her affections.



Friday 26 May

I spent the morning catching up on estate business, and this afternoon I went to see Eliza. I arrived at the cottage in time to see Robert Lambton leaving it. He asked me if he might come and see me tomorrow morning, and I said yes. It was obvious from his manner that he did not want to talk to me about the farm, and from Eliza’s smiles I am expecting a happy interview.



Saturday 27 May

Robert Lambton came to see me this morning. He was embarrassed, and hummed and hawed, and he obviously did not know how to begin.

He started at last, however, and, haltingly, told me that he had fallen in love with Eliza and asked for her hand in marriage.

‘And what does she say?’ I asked him.

‘I was so bold as to ask her, and she said yes,’ he said.

‘Then it only remains for my to give you my blessing ...’ I said. I was sorry I could not give her a dowry, for although I owned a great deal of land, I had very little in the way of money, the estate not being a wealthy one. And then I realized that it was in my power to give them something after all, and I added ‘... and Four Lanes farm.’

He looked at me in amazement.

‘And Four Lanes farm?’ he asked, stunned.

‘I will have the papers drawn up tomorrow. You will be a landowner, Robert.’

‘I never expected ...’ he began.

‘I know, and that is why I am so happy to give it to you. You are the very man I would have chosen for Eliza. She has had a great deal of unhappiness in her life, but now she has found happiness with you. I am more grateful to you than I can say.’

He thanked me from his heart and went to tell Eliza the good news.

She came to call on me this evening and told me they would be married in the autumn. She asked me if I would give her away, and I told her I would be proud to do so. She has matured a great deal over the last few months and improved in character and spirits, so that I have no doubt that she and Robert will be happy.

Tuesday 30 May

I had hoped to hear something from Ferrars, telling me of his luck in London, but there was still no letter this morning. If I have not heard anything by tomorrow, I think I will go to Barton and make enquiries there. It is as good an excuse as any for seeing Marianne again!

She likes me, I know.

It now remains to be seen if she can ever love me.



Thursday 1 June

Sir John was happy to see me, as always, and laughed at me for my frequent visits. I replied by saying that he must come and visit me soon at Delaford, and he readily agreed. Then I walked down to Barton Cottage.

Margaret was playing in front of the house, whilst Marianne was cutting flowers.

She welcomed me with a smile.

‘I have heard nothing from Mr Ferrars, and I could wait no longer, so I thought I would come and see if you had any news. Has Mrs Ferrars relented towards her son?’ I asked.

‘She has,’ she said, cutting a final bloom. ‘But poor Edward has had to endure a great many lectures in order to bring it about. But will you not come inside? Margaret, run and fetch Elinor and Mama. They have just set out for a walk,’ she explained to me.