Chapter Thirty
Jane had another letter from Frank, who promised to return to Highbury on the very day Emma had planned a luncheon for the revelation of their paintings.
He was not present when she arrived at Hartfield, and though he failed to appear at all, Jane’s enjoyment of the afternoon was dampened by her anticipation of his imminent presence.
She had some consolation from Emma, who privately confided that she would have been glad of Frank’s absence if it had not wounded Mr. Weston and Miss Taylor.
“I confess I was a little smitten with him when first we met, but since he has gone away, my enthusiasm for him has rapidly cooled,” Emma said, petting the little spaniel, Miss Chief, in her arms.
“And surely Mr. Bingley has risen in your esteem,” Jane said.
“He has been a faithful ally in all our schemes, but I am still displeased that he should be forced upon me,” Emma huffed. “But perhaps I am not the romantic type – not as concerns myself – for if I were to love anybody, I had always fancied that Frank Churchill would be the man.”
“The idea of him, I suppose, has only made the reality a disappointment,” Jane sighed.
“Quite,” Emma agreed with a merry laugh.
“And the idea of repulsing your betrothed might have held more allure than the reality of rejecting a man so determined to please you?” Jane suggested, giving a subtle nod in Mr. Bingley’s direction.
“Unfortunately – but I am resolved to have my own way.” Emma was content to laugh at herself, and Jane left her to it; she could not bear to think of Frank’s ill-treatment of her for a moment longer.
She found ample sources of consolation, for Jane was always glad to see those she loved making merry. Her mother appeared to be enjoying herself, as she always did in society. Miss Bates had a great deal of praise for all the artwork and even for the very fine frames Mr. Bingley purchased.
“I think your paintings are the best of them all, Jane – but do not tell your sister. Mr. Darcy has certainly praised her pictures a great deal, and the one she made of him surrounded by flowers is very good – I should know it to be her work anywhere, I am sure, for there is something of her humor in it. And what do you make of the happy couple, eh? Mr. Bennet is trying to look so imposing, following them about – what a lark!”
Jane smiled as she glanced in Elizabeth’s direction.
She and Mr. Darcy had been flagrantly obvious in attempting to speak alone together all afternoon, and Mr. Bennet had doggedly followed them about, peppering Mr. Darcy with questions.
The couple exchanged a look of cheerful exasperation before Mr. Darcy stoutly defended Elizabeth’s choice to paint Charlotte with the stuffed peacock in her lap.
“I suppose he does not want to lose Lizzy – he begins to see what life shall be like for him with only Miss Bingley for company,” Jane whispered.
That vain creature had no portrait made of her, and she had been sulking about it all day, though Mr. Bennet was too distracted to notice her pouting and placate her.
“Yes, I believe you are right, Jane, dear,” her mother said with a frown.
“Oh, well, I ought to be merciful on your sister and let her flirt with Mr. Darcy – he is as handsome as anything, now that he smiles sometimes – which is quite Lizzy’s doing, I think!
I shall have to distract Mr. Bennet, and I ought to hear his opinion on whether your sister’s young man is up to snuff! ”
“You must have faith in his opinion, if you would rather not judge for yourself,” Jane said with an insinuating smile.
“Oh! Well, when you put it like that, I can hardly be sure – perhaps he is not the best judge of who one ought to marry – but I have never refrained from setting him straight, you know!” Miss Bates bustled off to speak to Mr. Bennet, whose eyes lit with mirth at her approach.
Jane lingered near the picture of her parents.
She had painted them separately, but in the portrait they appeared together on a blue sofa, posed just as they had appeared in the torn watercolor that had told the truth of their secret.
Emma, Charlotte, Elizabeth, and even Mr. Darcy had all declared it to be their favorite of the paintings, and Jane smiled at her work, feeling tremendously proud of it.
Mr. Knightley came to join her, wearing his usual wry smile. He tipped his head toward her, his voice a whisper. “How goes your little scheme?”
“Mr. Bennet brought Miss Bates flowers yesterday, and they spoke privately for half an hour.”
“A fair beginning,” Mr. Knightley said with a nod of approbation. “But surely that cannot be enough; you must have a great deal yet in mind for them, to encourage affection.”
Jane let out a weary sigh. “The banns shall be read again tomorrow.”
“But I believe we shall all be together a great deal in the coming week. We shall go to Box Hill on Monday and then pick strawberries at Donwell the following day, and on Friday Mr. Bingley will host us all again. I am a great believer in time, Miss Fairfax. There is nothing better to encourage intimacy, I hope.”
“You hope?”
“For your sake, I mean – to unite your parents. But do you not agree, Miss Fairfax, that if a gentleman and a lady are together in company often enough, they may come to look forward to each next occasion of meeting? They may begin to think of one another between outings, to realize the depth of their own attachment as they dwell upon the happy moments spent in one another’s company. ”
Jane could not but wonder if he really spoke of her parents, or if he wished to give her some particular hint.
After all these years, perhaps she had run mad to suppose he might actually think of her , and yet it had been above a week since he had gazed longingly at Emma and gave a wistful sigh, and in the interval Mr. Knightley had sought Jane out often.
“I agree with all my heart,” she said, peering up at him with a shy smile. “And one might certainly begin to reconsider an ill-advised and hastily made attachment, when met with someone imminently more suitable.”
Jane agonized over their conversation as she lay awake that night, for she could no longer deny that her feelings for Mr. Knightley had only ebbed briefly, amidst the novelty of Frank’s clandestine courtship, but now they had far surpassed what she felt for her secret betrothed.
She considered how gallantly Mr. Knightley behaved to her family, provided them with produce from his farm, remedies, little luxuries, and devoted solicitude.
Frank had only ever disobliged them with his foolish gift of the pianoforte – a gift that Mr. Knightley had the good sense to see for the incumbrance it was.
Even regarding Emma, Mr. Knightley’s behavior had been superior.
Jane had no doubt that Mr. Knightley had once loved Emma, but she had seen the small ways he attempted to withdraw from his attachment and make way for Mr. Bingley, even admitting that the latter was better suited to her friend.
Frank, who never met Emma until after she was betrothed, had shown no consideration for her engagement at all in singling Emma out as a distraction for his aunt’s benefit.
It was heartless of him, Jane realized, to spoil Emma and Mr. Bingley’s chance of happiness together, and she was sure Frank would have carried on with it if he had remained amongst them.
Until that moment, Jane had never known herself.
She now understood that Frank was the last man in the world who could ever make her happy – no man ever could but Mr. Knightley.
Just as she wished her father to do, she would have to end her betrothal to a selfish and spoiled creature and put all her faith in the budding promise of a love that had always been in her heart.
Jane did not attend church the next day.
She had no wish to hear the banns called for her father and Miss Bingley, and she did not often have the joy of being alone in the cottage.
She used that time to pace the house in a state of wild confusion, for she had a strange presentiment that she would see Frank again soon, and she knew not how she would act, what she might say, or if their reunion might breathe new life into the diminishing affection she felt for him.
When her mother and grandmother returned home, Miss Bates took tea with Jane in the front garden while Mrs. Bates rested.
She could not hide her distraction from her mother, who was content to chat happily about all their acquaintance as Jane stared up at the trees that lined the stone fence around the garden.
When Miss Bates had exhausted her supply of observations, she smiled gently at her daughter. “You look troubled, my dear. I hope it is not another headache.”
“In truth, I am conflicted about… a certain matter.”
“Oh?”
Jane hesitated to reveal the truth, even to her mother.
“Say there is someone whom you once thought well of – very well of – and they are generally liked by everybody. What if they did you some wrong, which nobody but yourself was aware of, and they claimed they had good cause to do it… could you forgive them?”
Miss Bates pressed her lips together in a tight smile, her blue eyes sparkling.
“I should certainly try, if they are truly contrite. Nobody is perfect, Jane – we have all made mistakes, and on Sunday of all days, I ought to encourage the Lord’s forgiveness!
If it is a gentleman to whom you refer, I believe we must all make allowances for foolishness; the best sense a man can really show is in aligning himself with the right woman to guide him. ”
Jane laughed bitterly, certain her mother was referring to Mr. Bennet. “Even if they knew they had caused you pain?”
Miss Bates laid a hand atop Jane’s. “My dearest darling, I believe I know better than anybody what an error of judgement it can be, to deny forgiveness when it is sought.”
“Do you regret not forgiving my father when he came to you the day I went away?”
“I have thought about it every day since last I saw him. I have not been unhappy in my life, as it has been here in Highbury, but I have wondered what it might have been, if I had not been so determined to think myself a creature of principles. In truth, I envied Lady Amelia even after her death, and I wonder if I would have felt so strongly if I had not imagined her to be everything I was not – rich and fashionable and well connected. But was that sentiment really so important, when I denied myself – and you girls – a chance at happiness as a family?”
Tears shone in her mother’s eyes, and Jane clasped her hand. “I have not been unhappy, either, living the life I have had because of your choices.”
“Thank you for saying so, my dear. I think you will be glad to hear that I have forgiven him, and I even pity Thomas a little.”
Jane was pleased at this development, but she was troubled by the application of her mother’s advice to her own dilemma.
She considered whether she ought to forgive Frank, whether Emma’s waning interest in his attentions might give her and Frank a better chance of finding their way back to one another.
She was not sure it was even the outcome she desired, but she supposed she must give him a fair chance.
Miss Bates had heard from Mr. Weston at church that Frank was to be of the Box Hill party the next day, and Jane resolved to allow the nature of their reunion to guide her decision about him. She doubted, hoped, and dreaded that he may win back her good opinion.