“And you?” Philip asked quietly, keeping his voice as even as he could. “You expect fidelity from the future Lady Sudbury, but would you be a faithful husband?”
Sir Charles shrugged. “Being forced to find what comfort I can elsewhere would imply there was something lacking in my wife. A man does what he must.”
Philip tilted his head up and sighed irritably. Was there any way he could convince Henry Tilney to take Eleanor to London for a season in order for her to find any other rich man for a husband? Aloud he said, “If you are uncertain, why fix on Miss Tilney at all?”
“She has a fortune, and her connexions are envious. Her manners show good sense and good breeding; they are neither shy, nor affectedly open; and she seems capable of being attractive without wanting to fix the attention of every man near her. She could be an asset in my career.” Sir Charles lowered his voice again. “Now, she is your second cousin, and you are friends with her brothers; you must have heard news of her and her habits. Does Miss Tilney have the experience to be a good lover?”
He could hardly respond to the question even though he knew the answer. Philip knew he had first place in Eleanor’s affections even before she had come to his room that night in January. Despite a charmingly awkward beginning that was both of their faults, it was clear to him that Eleanor was a woman who had a soul capable of feeling not only conjugal affection, but the passion of love.
“However affectionate a wife she may become, let us do Miss Tilney the credit of assuming that such delights are unknown by her, and in fact unknown by anyone in a single condition.”
Philip was in earnest, but Sir Charles laughed. “You are prudish. Yes, you certainly are.”
“I am not strait-laced, Sir Charles. I am decorous.”
“Come now, the ladies cannot hear us. I am not implying Miss Tilney would be lacking in conjugal virtue, you know. I only want to know if she would come to me an experienced lover, or if it would all be arduous work on my part.”
Sir Charles seemed to think that all the onus was on his wife to sustain his interest in her, that as a husband he had nothing at all to do to increase his wife’s affections and respect.
Damn General Tilney for making a life as Lady Sudbury preferable to another day at Northanger Abbey.
All of his hatred toward General Tilney for arranging him into this awful situation burned Philip anew. However, his father had early instilled in him a sense of gentlemanly duty that was impossible to overcome. His grandfather had been a viscount, and a man’s honour was paramount. He would take care of Eleanor during this excursion, and he would keep his patience with her chosen partner.
“I have no comment on her habits, Sir Charles. If you intend to marry Miss Tilney, you shall have to learn such things for yourself.”
* * *
Longtown Castle stoodin a secluded spot, near the banks of a river, in a village that probably had seven hundred people. They were on the southwest edge of Herefordshire near the Black Mountains, and to Philip’s eye it seemed an area little noticed by travellers, despite the remains of magnificence on the small hill before them. They were so near to Wales that Philip wondered if the remains of the castle were reckoned to be part of it.
“What think you?” called Dryden as the ladies descended the carriage and he gestured to the stonework remains. “Its situation is commanding over the adjoining country, is it not?”
“It might have once been,” said Sir Charles, frowning, “if it were whole.”
Eleanor smiled, looking up at it. “The prospect is delightful.”
Philip turned to look at her. Eleanor had a love of history; she was always reading the footnotes and admiring old speeches. Unable to help himself, he gave her a fond smile and said, “Tell us what you have learnt of it.”
She gave him a teasing smile. “What makes you believe I know any more of the castle than Lord Dryden or Lady Alice?”
“Because I know you, my dear Miss Tilney, and I am sure you have knowledge of what happened here.”
He pointed to the castle; truly the keep was all that remained, standing on rising ground surrounded by a ditch, which was encompassed by a low stone rampart with an arched entrance to the inner bailey.
Eleanor looked at Dryden, to ask for permission, Philip presumed. Dryden shrugged and said, “Go on, Miss Tilney, if you know anything of note.”
Philip grinned, knowing Eleanor’s habits of inquiry very well. She gave him another knowing look and said in a low voice, “You cannot complain, because you asked for this.”
“I would never complain about what knowledge falls from your lips.”
She turned to the others and said, “Well, if you must know, I did find a book in Lord Longtown’s library that was interesting to me. In Taylor’sMap of Herefordshire, Longtown is marked as the Roman station Blestium, most probably from mistaking the place meant by Camden, who fixes that station erroneously at Old Castle, an eminence two miles to the south that is actually in Monmouthshire.”
None of the others had anything to add other than polite bows, but Philip asked, “So history is silent on the founder of the castle, as well as the date it was erected?”
Eleanor nodded. “Sadly, there is not much known from the Domesday Book other than who then owned the land.”
Philip considered what she had said. “But it is possible there was a Roman settlement here as well, before this Norman structure was erected?”
Her eyes lit up with interest. “It is possible, do you not think so? What might be discovered if it were possible to excavate twenty feet down?”
