General Tilney scanned the letter, frowning to himself, before he refolded it and placed it in his pocket. Everyone round the table pretended to be engrossed by their food or their newspaper and not at all curious as to how this exchange would unfold.
Eleanor did not want to give her father the satisfaction of knowing that his censoring her letters wounded her, that she had any interest at all in whatever letters came for her, but her curiosity won out. “Sir, is the letter anything of note?”
He took a drink from his cocoa before answering. “Your brother Henry writes, but it is not worth attending to. When I next write to him, I shall tell him what topics he may write about if he wishes to have the honour of your reply.”
Eleanor stared at her plate and exhaled slowly. Henry must have mentioned Catherine, and now that her father had banished Henry in a fit of rage, he would not write to his son any time soon. Henry would think she was ignoring him. Eleanor could write to Henry, but since her father must approve of it first, she could not mention Catherine or having her own letters read.
General Tilney, likely not feeling any of the embarrassment that was affecting the others, said to Sir Charles, “After you have seen the final improvements at Colborne, you must come to Northanger and give me your thoughts on modernising the grounds.”
Sir Charles bowed. “I would be happy to. And you must consult Mr Repton and have him prepare for you one of his Red Books on the Abbey. He has picturesque sensibilities and a cultivated taste. He was unlike the local gardeners. I think you could appreciate that Mr Repton dealt with me as an equal—not in status, but as an educated gentleman.”
“I expect a man of his reputation would have expertise, but be appropriately deferential to clients.”
“Indeed, he was. I was not mortified at all to speak at length with such a man.”
Eleanor kept her silence on their criticisms of the man who arguably dominated English garden design and whom they both were eager to boast of having taken the advice of.
“We are leaving Monday to return home, and I hope we might soon see you at Northanger,” her father said to Sir Charles. “Eleanor, you must join me in inviting Sir Charles.” Without waiting for her to speak, he continued, “If you can be induced to honour us with a visit, you will make us happy beyond expression. No endeavours shall be wanting on our side to make Northanger Abbey wholly agreeable to you.”
Sir Charles looked to her, and Eleanor attempted to appear eager. He must have been satisfied because he said, “Then I expect to visit Gloucestershire before the summer is out.”
Nothing had changed about her situation, about her father’s treatment of her, or about what life at Northanger would be like. Losing any hope of unrestrained and honest letters from her friends, and losing Philip’s regard, would make her even lonelier.
When breakfast was over, everyone settled into their own pursuits for the day. As it was raining, Alice was forced to pretend she was writing to her friends when she was really working on her novel, and Eleanor kept her company while she sketched a landscape. Sir Charles entered not long after they had begun and made a great show of saying he only wanted a quiet place to read as he sat by the fire.
Alice gave her an emphatic look that Eleanor absolutely refused to acknowledge. She felt distressed at Sir Charles’s premeditation. She had not once known Sir Charles to sit with a book. Perhaps with a newspaper or political treatises, but never with a book. Alice collected her papers and came to her side of their shared table.
“You know why he came here?” Alice whispered.
“Certainly not,” she said, looking at her sketch.
“Of course you do!” Alice said into her ear. “I am leaving, and you shall finally have the escape from your father that you have been hoping for. That is what you want, is it not?”
“Yes,” she murmured. She wanted a proposal from Sir Charles because she did not want an oppressive life at Northanger any longer.
“Then put on a smile, for you are leaving Monday and might not have another chance.” Alice stood, and in a louder voice announced that she was wanted elsewhere.
Sir Charles scarcely allowed the door to shut behind Alice before he said, “Join me.”
She set down her pencils and sat on the sofa and, as she expected, Sir Charles moved to sit right next to her, with an arm across the back and angling himself toward her. She avoided his earnest gaze and heard him say, “A woman, you know, cannot speak for herself to let a man know she is interested, let her wish it so.”
Eleanor felt that if she had sincere feelings for a man, the man who loved her would want to hear it, but she kept her silence. Sir Charles leant nearer, drawing an arm around her waist to hold her close as he whispered into her ear, “But she can show her feelings through her actions.”
He kissed along her neck before he brought up a hand and turned her face to his. Sir Charles kissed her lips, gently at first, but then he brought his arm back to her waist, pressing her closer and kissing her more roughly.
Eleanor tried to relax her thoughts and her body. She wanted a proposal, she loathed her father, and Sir Charles would not tyrannise her as his wife. But when he tried to work his hand beneath the bodice of her gown, she struggled out of his arms with indignation, crossing her arms over her chest and turning away.
Sir Charles huffed loudly. “Why must you make every inch of your person sacred when all will be my own by deed of purchase and settlement?”
“My personissacred, and for the present none of it has been settled on you.”
“You want assurances,” he said impatiently. “After what happened at Longtown Castle, I ought not to be surprised, but you must forgive me for not comprehending the whims and feelings of an emotional young lady.”
Sir Charles took her hand. “Miss Tilney, you have beauty, poise, and intelligence, and shall enjoy public admiration as my wife. I admire you, and I will come to love you. I think we can be excellent partners to one another, and I can increase your happiness as you shall increase mine. I need a wife to be my hostess and my ally in furthering my career in politics, and your talents, wealth, and connexions are well-suited to that purpose. Will you marry me?”
She felt chills overtake her, and her fingers within his felt cold. Why would she feel dread when this was what she had intended? Besides, she could make Sir Charles proud of her in her roles as wife, hostess, mother, and from pride in her he might even come to love her. She was not ambitious, but her talents could make her admired at Colborne more than they ever were at Northanger.
I had decided I would be content with a man I do not love so long as I had more freedom.
