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Never before had the Crown Inn at Highbury played host to such an illustrious crowd. However, the good nature of Mr. Knightley reached far and wide; and on his last visit to Brunswick Square, he had the luck to encounter all of his best London acquaintances at the gentlemen’s club he frequented with his brother John. Upon the news that an engagement was to be celebrated at Highbury, they had sojourned there at the invitation relayed from a very happy Mr. Weston, for sixteen miles of good road was easily covered on horseback. Thus, Mr. Darcy, Mr. Bingley, Colonel Brandon, Captain Wentworth, and the Revs. Edward Ferrars, Edmund Bertram, and Henry Tilney were gathered in the very room that had last hosted ten couple at Mr. Weston’s ball. Emma had long realized how limited her acquaintance was, but she never had reason to repine it. Now, her belief that she did not want for consequence was shaken by the sight of so many good (but married) men, all of whom were people whom she would be able to esteem. She realized that if she had the freedom to venture beyond Hartfield, she would not have decried the institution of marriage quite so strongly.
“How d’ye do, how d’ye do?” To Mr. Weston, everybody was a friend; he did not discriminate if they had scarce one hundred pounds a year, or ten thousand. Before he encountered Miss Elizabeth Bennet, Mr. Darcy would have scorned the simple country manners of such a gentleman of small means, but now he remembered her admonishments and endeavoured to receive the greeting with reasonable civility. Yet he could not help but think that Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner exhibited far more fashionable manners even though they were in trade.
Colonel Brandon thought, there but for the grace of God am I. For, through Mr. Knightley’s introduction, he was well acquainted with the situation of Mr. Weston. While still a poor army Captain, Mr. Weston had fallen in love with a young lady of fortune and extravagance; and, unlike Colonel Brandon, he had the good fortune of not being thwarted when he convinced her to marry him. Unfortunately, the marriage fell into indifference, at least on the young Mrs. Weston’s side, for she wished she could have had the luxury of being Miss Churchill of Enscombe while also receiving the doating attentions of Captain Weston. Alas, it was not to be, for their expenses exceeded their income, and at the end of three years, Captain Weston was left a widower and rather a poorer man than at first, with a child that Miss Churchill’s brother and sister-in-law soon claimed for their own. It was this child, Mr. Frank Weston Churchill, now grown to a man of three-and-twenty, whose engagement they were celebrating today. And though Frank had a far better fortune than his little Eliza, Colonel Brandon no longer universally regretted that he had not the opportunity to marry the Eliza of his childhood. For if he had, he could very well have become another Mr. Weston, and then he would not have the ability to save Delaford from ruin. His present felicity, though late in coming, was still not later in life than that of Mr. Weston. True, if he had married the first Eliza, little Eliza would have been his. She would have had the protection of a father, and Willoughby might not have marked her as prey, for he was strategic with where he exercised his libertine tendencies, seeking out young defenceless girls who had neither father nor brother to guard their honour. But with his profession in the army, he had no home to provide her before the inheritance of Delaford; had she been his natural legitimate daughter, he would still have been forced to send her to school and see her raised in someone else’s establishment. It was unfair that the laws of primogeniture dictated where the benefit of an independence should fall, and not always in the hands of the person who would make the best use of it. But Colonel Brandon had played the hand he had been dealt, to the best of his judgment and ability, and if his little Eliza had not the comfort, fortune or consequence that Frank enjoyed, he flattered himself that she might yet have better sense, with the hope of further improvement from her burgeoning association with Elinor and his dear Marianne.
“We are delighted,” said Mr. Churchill, caring not one whit about the lapse in propriety, and scarcely conscious in his happiness that he was in somewhat broader society than the usual Highbury company, “to not need to operate in secret any longer. I know that my Jane has suffered for it – suffered dreadfully ill; and had we the need to continue this deception much longer, it would have taxed her health so! It was a close game indeed! I cannot wish for the death of any body with joy, but if my aunt had lived but a week more – I shudder to think – my dear Jane might be gone away to be a governess! Nay, it would not have done. But let us not think of the past that does not give us pleasure. We have now the blessing of my uncle and father and shall be travelling to Enscombe three months hence. It shall only take a tour abroad to complete my felicity.”
A very felicitous business indeed! Mr. Churchill was in fine fettle, to be sure, but the pallor of his fair fiancé, Miss Jane Fairfax, spoke of her distress at his communication of such an affair to near strangers. The friends of Mr. Knightley could be trusted not to spread this matter beyond Highbury, but it did her no good to be reminded of her mistake, a breach in propriety that taxed her deeply. She had nearly broken it off – had broken it off, in fact – and only Frank’s unexpected change in fortunes had reversed the course of her fate. Jane had suffered much from the strain of keeping that dreadful secret, always having to maintain her reserve lest she divulge anything by accident, living with the uncertainty of a vain outcome at the end of it all. It had taxed her health greatly, and the effects still showed even though she was now much recovered with the return of Frank and the dissipation of the need for secrecy.
Miss Fairfax’s countenance was familiar – too familiar – to Captain Wentworth. Had he not found Anne pale and haggard when he first went to Kellynch, eight years after their rupture? He had thought she looked extremely ill, and to his shame, his resentment had outstripped his solicitude. Sir Walter had not outwardly refused consent, grudgingly though he had bestowed it, and so if their early engagement had still stood, it need not be a secret. Yet how would Anne have withstood it, to suffer the disparagement of her family for over a twelvemonth? It had been two years before Captain Wentworth gained the next step in rank and amassed a few thousand pounds in prize money. And what if they had married then, and he had perished? With her portion denied her, would his Anne have needed to share the fate that Miss Fairfax had faced before this unexpected deliverance? Looking upon Miss Fairfax, and seeing the spectre of what might have been, was almost too much for Captain Wentworth to bear. He was reminded, in fulsome detail, of how he was now luckier than he deserved.
“I am far happier than I deserve!” declared the young man of the day, voicing the exact same sentiments that Captain Wentworth felt. “But now we are dearer, much dearer, than ever, and no moment’s uneasiness can ever happen between us again. A thousand and a thousand thanks to Providence, and for all the kindness you have ever shewn me!” Mr. Darcy and Mr. Bingley exchanged glances, for Mr. Churchill’s volubility reminded them all too well of another gentleman. Mr. Bingley hoped that for all his openness and amiability, he had never made such an exhibition of himself in public. And Mr. Darcy saw the high spirits of three-and-twenty that had eluded him, but which his friend often exhibited. Yet, he had to admit, Mr. Bingley showed better judgement than what he was wont to credit to Mr. Frank Churchill. He would not go about engaging women secretly or bandying about such business in public. In his officious interference of Mr. Bingley’s business, he had been remiss, and they both were now happier than they deserved at being reunited with their beloveds from Hertfordshire.
“A fine young man, is he not?” said the proud father, beaming at every body at the table. "He has been a treasure at Highbury; well-bred and agreeable. We do not have many such gentlemen in these parts. And so well settled, so young! Pray, what better fortune could a father wish for, with a son of three-and twenty?”
“I had my independence at three-and-twenty,” said Mr. Darcy, “but little did I wish it. If I could instead have had a day, or a year, or more with my father, I would yet consider myself much more fortunate. Still, there is little use in lamenting that which is not meant to be. I wish I could have discharged my responsibilities better, as I would surely have with more age and wisdom.”
“You have discharged them remarkably well,” remarked Mr. Bingley, “in comparison to myself. At three-and-twenty, I was too cautious, too easily swayed by others. Mr. Churchill, I congratulate you for knowing your own mind, and brooking no opposition in the pursuit of your wishes. Your resolve is commendable – highly commendable, indeed!” How many times had Captain Wentworth thought that of Anne before their reconciliation? And yet, how different a fine lady of nineteen from a gentleman of three-and-twenty? The latter could at least hope for their independence, while the former was fully at the mercy of parent or guardian. It was an unfortunate asymmetry of life. The injustice of his judgement of Anne’s actions, in the light that Mr. Bingley, a gentleman of independent means at twenty-three, had acted similarly too, could not help but weigh on him. At being thrown over so cruelly, resentment was only a natural and human feeling, but he had let it cloud his reason and objectivity for far too long before procuring his sweet reunion.
The Rev. Edward Ferrars squirmed uneasily, hoping that he did not betray himself with his countenance. For at the age of twenty-three, he had an unfortunate circumstance of also being a participant in a secret engagement. If an unexpected fortune had been bestowed on him at the time, would he now be shackled in a gilded cage? He thanked Providence for his lucky release, for the ability to pursue his dear Elinor had granted him a new lease of life.
“Even with a modest independence,” said Mr. Tilney, “it is a rare individual who can be his own master at three-and-twenty.” He had been gifted his own establishment upon his ordination, a family living with a curate of his own. And yet that had not been enough when, at the age of five-and-twenty, he sought to wed Catherine Morland against his father’s wishes. Many months of anxious waiting, during which he spent his twenty-sixth birthday and she her eighteenth, had not been spared the young couple despite a ready income and a home, because they would not get engaged without the consent of General Tilney. He was infinitely grateful to his sister for bargaining his happiness even after she secured a most advantageous match.
“Your living could hardly be more modest than mine,” said Mr. Ferrars, “and yet, my felicity is great to live almost within sight of my benefactor and brother. That constant communication which strong family affection would naturally dictate has been a great source of happiness for our wives, who are sisters most dear.”
Ah, thought Mr. Bertram, if only he could have seen Miss Price as more than a mere sister, when he had been three-and-twenty! How much suffering he could have spared for both of them, if he had not been blinded so! But youthful and naïve as he was, he had succumbed to the charms of Miss Mary Crawford at the age of four-and-twenty, before he learned that he valued propriety, integrity, and kindness above all. The thought of his sweet Fanny awaiting him at Thornton Lacey always warmed his heart. She had grown up with him with all the intimacy of a sister, but now she was cousin, and wife to him too; and he knew that was the place where she belonged.
“To have hearth and home,” said Colonel Brandon, “is in itself a fortune.” What would he have given, at the age of three-and-twenty, to have an establishment to house his little ward Eliza? At the time, she had been but four years of age, just the age when Emma had lost her mother as well. If he had but a home, even a modest one, he could have arranged for his closer supervision of Eliza’s education, and perhaps inculcated in her stronger principles that would have buttressed her against the influence of Willoughby. A prudent man of modest expenditures, he did not covet many things material, only that he had not been constrained by his father’s and brother’s debt from fulfilling his duty in the way he wished it.
“Ay,” said Captain Wentworth, “I have not had a fixed home these many years, and I may yet return to sea. But the sea has been the source of my fortune ever since the age of three-and-twenty, when I first attained elevation through the action at San Domingo.”
Mr. Knightley realized how very fortunate he was, for his was a path clear and straightforward. Born and bred as the heir of Donwell Abbey, he had relatively few cares at three-and-twenty. Though his father had yet been alive then, he had already been active in the assistance of Mr. Woodhouse, enjoying the antics of seven-year-old Emma. Even then, he had known how intelligent she was, making up witty little riddles and picking out nursery songs on the pianoforte. The one duty he loved most was spiriting her out of the room every time her father uttered, “Kitty, a fair but frozen maid,” for he would not have her mind corrupted by that ribald ditty.
And yet, how had he not known that his happiness was right in front of him? It had taken the attentions of a reckless young man, the one whose very engagement they were celebrating today, for him to realize that his affections for Emma were not those of a brother to a sister. Or perhaps, it could have been because it took the sight of Emma showing affection, no matter how transient, to a charming young gentleman for him to realize that she was now no longer a girl, but a woman grown.
It would not signify, he thought, as he handed Emma into her carriage at the end of that night’s entertainment. Though it might have come a year or two later than it should, the road to mutual felicity was theirs at last.
THE END