Chapter 1 #2
“I’m only sorry John and I won’t be here to give Miss Bates our best wishes, since we leave tomorrow,” Isabella said, making a game attempt at sounding sincere.
Father wrinkled his brow. “I was hoping I could prevail upon you and the children to stay an extra week or so. I know John must get back to London, but surely you will not want to miss the party.”
Isabella and Emma exchanged a perplexed glance.
“What party are you referring to?” Emma asked.
“Did I fail to mention the party?” Father chuckled. “How like me. I’m referring to our betrothal party, naturally. Miss Bates insisted on it, and I didn’t have the heart to deny her. But there mustn’t be any cake, Emma. I hold the line on that point, at least.”
For her father to suggest any sort of large social gathering was unheard of. In fact, it took a great deal of coaxing to persuade him to go even as far as the Westons’ home, Randalls, for a holiday party, or for an outing at Donwell on a sunny day.
“Do you mean something like a dinner party at Hartfield?” she cautiously asked. “I’m sure we can—”
“No, my dear. I mean a proper party, something along the lines of a dance or a ball.”
George’s eyebrows practically shot up into his hairline. “Are you certain you heard Miss Bates correctly, sir? She knows your preferences. Would you not find a dance or a large party inconvenient?”
“I confess that I cannot view such an event without trepidation, but Miss Bates insists on making it a festive occasion. She says it will be a great treat for Highbury after the difficult year we’ve all had.” He fluttered a hand. “With Mrs. Elton, you know. Most distressing for everyone.”
“Especially Mrs. Elton,” John sardonically replied. “But where will you hold this grand event? Surely you don’t wish for all of Highbury to be tromping about Hartfield, dirtying the carpets and causing a grand fuss.”
Emma felt herself go cold at the very idea. “Perhaps you’re thinking of the Crown Inn for a ball? Though I cannot think you would like that very well.”
Father looked horrified. “Emma, inns are such unhealthy, drafty places, especially at this time of year.”
She breathed a sigh of relief. “I so agree. That being the case, I think a nice dinner party at Hartfield—”
“I suppose we could hold a dance at the abbey,” George said, almost to himself.
“What?” Emma exclaimed.
Isabella winced. “Emma, that was right in my ear.”
“I apologize, dear.” Emma glared at her husband. “I was merely surprised.”
“I suppose you could hold it at Donwell,” commented John. “From what George told me, you did manage Mrs. Elton’s funeral reception with quite a large crowd. Smashing success, apparently.”
Emma gazed at him with disbelief. “Funeral receptions are not intended to be smashing successes. And it was a mob scene and an exceedingly troublesome event.”
George smiled at her. “John is correct, though. You managed that affair with great aplomb.”
“Emma, I think George’s idea has great merit,” Father said. “I feel certain Miss Bates would be thrilled with a party at Donwell Abbey.”
“Then we shall be happy to comply.” George gave Emma a pointed look. “Is that not right, my dear?”
Emma took in her father’s hopeful expression. For so many years, the old darling had mourned his wife’s death, retiring from the world to fret about his health and his loved ones. There was no doubt he’d changed in this past year, and for the better. That was obviously down to Miss Bates.
Mentally sighing, she capitulated. “George and I would be happy to host a party for you and Miss Bates at Donwell. When would you like to have it?”
“I thought Saturday, my dear. That should give you ample time to prepare. And that way Isabella will still be here to attend.”
Emma gaped him. “That gives us but six days, and in the middle of winter, too!”
“I’m sure we can manage,” George smoothly interjected. “The roads have been dry, so we can import from Leatherhead any supplies not available in Highbury. It will be fine, my dear.”
With George so obviously in favor of the whole demented project, Emma realized she might as well rip off the bandage and get on with it.
“I’ll call on Miss Bates tomorrow to discuss the arrangements,” she said.
Her father beamed. “There’s no need, since Miss Bates will be visiting Hartfield first thing in the morning. You can have a nice, cozy chat then and make all the plans you like.” He gave Isabella a tentative smile. “And you as well, my dear. I do hope we can persuade you to stay.”
Isabella was spared the need to reply when the clock on the mantle chimed out the hour.
Emma was surprised at the late hour. “Goodness, Father, I really do think you must retire now. Mr. Perry will be cross if you wear yourself out.”
At the alarming prospect of incurring his apothecary’s disapproval, her father responded with alacrity. “Very true, my dear. We should all be abed.”
Emma rose, rang the bell, and then went to her father. “Let me help you up.”
She escorted him to the corridor where Simon, their senior footman, hovered by the door.
“Are you ready to retire, Mr. Woodhouse?” the young man asked.
“I am.” Father gave Emma a smile. “Good night, my dear. Don’t stay up too late.”
After handing her father off to the faithful Simon, she rejoined the group and flopped down in his vacated chair. “This was certainly not how I was expecting the evening to end.”
John crossed to the drinks trolley. “How could you allow this to happen, Emma? Miss Bates as mistress of Hartfield? It’s simply deranged.”
“It’s not as if I planned it,” she defensively replied. “I’d no idea they were anything more than very good friends.”
“And yet, from what George tells me, your father has been giving Miss Bates a singular degree of notice for some months now.”
“But George never suggested that something like this could happen!”
Her husband shrugged. “It never struck me that your father could possibly be amenable to so drastic a change. After all, this is the man who still refers to Mrs. Weston as Miss Taylor.”
John returned to his seat. “I for one do not relish the thought of spending our visits at Hartfield with Miss Bates in charge of domestic matters. It’s a blasted uncomfortable prospect.”
Isabella sighed. “I must agree. In fact, I find it all very daunting. However will we manage it?”
“You’ll manage by staying at Donwell Abbey,” George calmly said.
Startled, Emma peered at him. “We can hardly expect them to stay at the abbey while the rest of us are at Hartfield. It’s in no condition to host anyone.”
“But it will be, once we take up residence there,” he replied.
Her mind couldn’t seem to absorb the words. “I beg your pardon?”
John laughed. “So that’s how it’s to be. Good plan, old man. Surprised I didn’t think of it myself.
“What are you two talking about?” asked Isabella.
“It’s obvious. Now that your father has Miss Bates to look after him and keep him busy, George and Emma can finally move to Donwell. It’s the silver lining to an otherwise ridiculous situation.”
“Hmm,” Emma muttered.
When she and George became betrothed, she’d made it clear that she couldn’t leave her father.
He’d always dreaded the prospect of losing her even to a house less than a mile away and to a man he loved as a son.
Nor could her father have borne a move from his beloved Hartfield, the only place he truly felt safe.
Thankfully, George had solved the problem by proposing that he and Emma live at Hartfield for as long as necessary.
Although getting on in years, her father was no antique nor was he as frail as he supposed himself to be.
He could easily live for many more years, which had meant that Hartfield would remain their home for the foreseeable future—or so, at least, Emma had thought.
Her husband cocked an inquiring eyebrow. “What do you think, my dear?”
“I suppose that makes sense,” she cautiously replied. “I’m not sure Miss Bates is up to running Hartfield, but I can easily help her from Donwell.”
Isabella rested a gentle hand on Emma’s knee. “Are you sure, Emma? Donwell is a very fine house, but you’ve resided at Hartfield your entire life.”
Emma smiled at her sister. “As you know, in the natural order of things wives usually move in with their husbands. Besides, I love Donwell, and it’s past time it receive the attention it deserves.”
She truly did love the gracious old abbey. It wouldn’t be easy to whip it into proper shape, but she would relish the challenge.
John regarded her with a sardonic eye. “Even better, you’ll escape having to live with Miss Bates.”
She wrinkled her nose at him, half in reprimand and half in agreement.
“I suppose that settles it,” Isabella said with a sigh. “Goodness, what an evening!”
Emma held up hand. “There’s one more thing I’d like to discuss.”
“What now?” John groaned.
“This party … ball … or dance that we’re supposed to organize in six days. I don’t see how I can do it without help.”
George frowned. “Emma, you will have my help.”
“Of course, but it’s not the same thing.” She cast a pleading eye at her sister. “It requires a woman’s touch.”
And talents.
Her sister gave her a rueful smile. “You wish me to stay.”
“Yes, please. Besides, you know how much Father would enjoy having you and the children at Hartfield for another week. He never wishes you to leave.”
“And what about my wishes?” asked John. “Don’t they enter into it?”
“Of course they do, my love,” Isabella replied in a gentle voice. “But these are very unusual circumstances. Father and Emma need me, and it will only be for another week or so.”
John blew out an exasperated sigh. “Very well, but only a week. Not a day more.”
Isabella simply shrugged.
John stared at her for a few moments before switching his attention to Emma. “Is there anything else? Are we now allowed to retire? I must be on the road, first thing.”
Emma managed a smile. “Of course.”
“Goodness,” she said, after John and Isabella left the room. “What has come over our family? I hardly recognize anyone.”
“Words fail me,” George dryly replied. “You must admit, though, that life has suddenly become quite interesting. One can only imagine how Highbury will react to the news of your father’s betrothal.”
Ugh.
“The gossip will be utterly gruesome,” she said.
It seemed their welcome spell of peace and quiet was coming to a close.