Work Text:
I soon perceived that tho’ Lovely and Elegant in her Person and tho’ Easy and Polite in her Address, she was of that inferior order of Beings with regard to Delicate Feeling, tender Sentiments, and refined Sensibility, of which Augusta was one.
She staid but half an hour and neither in the Course of her Visit, confided to me any of her secret thoughts, nor requested me to confide in her, any of Mine. You will easily imagine therefore my Dear Marianne that I could not feel any ardent affection or very sincere Attachment for Lady Dorothea.
- Love and Freindship, Letter 7th
Lady Dorothea, as she was ushered into Philippa Lindsay’s parlour, felt all the awkwardness of her situation. To call on the aunt and sister of the man by whom one has been jilted must be unpleasant under any circumstances, but to do so when the young man and his new bride are in residence can only be utterly mortifying.
Had Lady Dorothea consulted merely her own comfort in the matter, she would certainly have avoided the Lindsay family for the foreseeable future. She had, truth be told, given some thought to feigning illness for the duration of Edward Lindsay’s visit to Middlesex. Further reflection, however, had convinced her that such a course of action would merely expose her to gossip and speculation. To show herself affected would be to invite conjecture. Therefore, she had suppressed her bruised feelings, donned her second-best bonnet and set forth to visit the Lindsays.
Though she had steeled herself as best as she could for the encounter, Lady Dorothea still experienced a painful jolt at seeing Edward again. He and Augusta were the only ones in the parlour, and from the hasty way they turned away from each other at her entrance, Lady Dorothea suspected that they had been arguing. But if heated words had recently passed in the room, it appeared that Edward had not been affected by them. Nor did he seem to be suffering from any embarrassment at seeing Lady Dorothea, for he at once came towards her with a cheerful cry of welcome.
“Lady Dorothea! You have come, I am sure, to meet my Charming Laura. How it delights me, after all the Painfull Sufferings which I have endured in my quest to win her hand, to at last introduce her as my Wife!”
As he spoke these words, Lady Dorothea heard the parlour door open behind her. Upon turning, she beheld a woman who could be none other than the former Miss Laura Polydore, now Mrs Lindsay.
Mrs Lindsay was, as Lady Dorothea had expected, a very pretty creature. She had a handsome figure, a delicate complexion, and large eyes which a certain sort of poet would no doubt have described as soulful. Her beauty was further enhanced by the rather dramatic pose which she had adopted – standing stock still in the doorway, staring intently at Lady Dorothea.
“Ah!” Mrs Lindsay cried, pressing a hand to her heart. “My Instinct whispers your name in my Ear! Confess, madam – you are the one who almost stole my Dear Edward from me!”
Fortunately, Dear Edward interposed himself before Lady Dorothea was obliged to come up with a reply to this startling greeting.
“Be not embarrassed, Lady Dorothea, to meet my Darling Wife,” said he. “Be assured that we harbour no ill will towards you. The scheme to have us marry was all the work of my Cruel and Mercenary Father. You were merely his Unwitting Tool in the business.”
Lady Dorothea’s feelings were not greatly soothed by this magnanimous declaration. She was, on the contrary, both surprised and embarrassed to hear their connection described in such terms. As far as she had been aware, Edward Lindsay had been quite assiduously (and successfully) courting her until a fortnight past. Till he had so unexpectedly departed his father’s house, she had had no notion of his being anything but a most eager suitor.
Blessedly, Augusta chose this moment to intervene. In the overly cheerful manner of one attempting to salvage a disaster, she invited everybody to sit down and sent a servant to fetch her aunt Philippa. Once the lady of the house arrived, the conversation centred for some minutes on polite commonplaces. Lady Dorothea, entering with fervent gratitude into a detailed discussion of the past week’s weather, began to hope that she might survive the remainder of the visit with no further embarrassment.
Gradually, however, she became aware that Mrs Lindsay had fixed her with an unrelenting stare. It was rather unnerving, particularly as Mrs Lindsay’s soulful eyes seemed, in their widened state, a trifle too large for her countenance. Still, Lady Dorothea did her best to ignore her observer. She kept her eyes firmly on Augusta, who was expressing the radical opinion that the rain might finally let up this afternoon.
But when Augusta turned to address a question to her aunt, Mrs Lindsay suddenly leaned towards Lady Dorothea.
“My Dear Freind,” she whispered loudly, “tho’ I have known you but these ten minutes, I am certain that we are destined to be Bosom Sisters. You look composed, O Dorothea, but I can sense the Turmoil in your Heart and see the Sadness in your Eyes. Let us now confide our most Secret Thoughts to each other!”
Having made this unexpected communication, Mrs Lindsay looked expectantly at Lady Dorothea.
“I thank you,” replied Lady Dorothea, in considerable confusion. “You are very kind, but I find I have no need of a confidante at present.” Not wishing to sound cold, she added awkwardly: “I am, however, grateful for the offer.”
Mrs Lindsay drew violently back, looking exceedingly insulted. “Ah! I have been most Dreadfully deceived!” she cried. “Say no more, madam – I understand you Perfectly.”
She turned pointedly away from Lady Dorothea, muttering loudly under her breath: “Unfeeling Creature! No Sensibility whatsoever.”
Lady Dorothea might have felt a little insulted by such an appellation, had she not been too relieved to have Mrs Lindsay’s attention directed elsewhere. Mrs Lindsay, in fact, proceeded to ignore Lady Dorothea entirely. Instead, she appeared quite content to spend the following quarter of an hour cooing rapturously at Edward, who seemed equally happy to stare deeply into her eyes and coo back.
Augusta looked rather as if she had a stomach-ache. (Lady Dorothea did not blame her.) Philippa Lindsay, either unaffected by the romantic scene playing out before them or grimly determined to ignore it, kept up her cheerful chatter about the weather. Lady Dorothea continued to nod, smile and fervently wish herself elsewhere.
She had never before been so relieved to hear the clock strike the hour. Augusta accepted her excuses with an apologetic air, while Philippa warmly invited her to visit again soon. The cooing lovers ignored her entirely.
Lady Dorothea, casting a last glance back into the parlour as she made her escape, wondered whether it was she or the world that had run mad.