“I shall dine out tomorrow, Eleanor,” her father said as they sat to dinner that evening. “I could not face my acquaintance if I stayed away. As I am known to be back in the country, it would be taken exceedingly amiss.”
“I shall tell Cook—”
“I have already instructed the housekeeper what you shall eat in my absence, and ordered the dinner for Tuesday as well.”
Her father was very particular in his eating, but Eleanor sighed at the presumed necessity of his involvement at all. General Tilney personally directed the proceedings of the housekeeper and the cook, and intruded into the petty arrangements of daily economy that Eleanor had established. Any other man would know that he would be ridiculous for interfering when he had a perfectly able mistress.
“I am obliged to return to London on Wednesday,” he continued, “so you may direct the servants as you typically do in my absence. I expect a strict accounting of what you spend while I am gone, and I have already given over to the housekeeper what loose cash you might need. I have instructed the butler to receive any letters and set them aside for me for when I return.”
She had so little money of her own, even less now available to her since she was no longer obliged to receive and pay for the household’s letters herself. She felt the heat of shame rise into her cheeks, and she looked down at her plate to hide it from her father. She might send an unreserved letter while he was away, but what would be the point if any reply was to be thrown into the fire?
“Eleanor!” her father cried, and she started, looking up quickly. “Have you not heard me?”
Her father always expected an assent whenever he spoke. Taking a calming breath, she said, “You were recently in town, only just before we went to Lord Longtown’s. What takes you back so soon at this time of year?”
General Tilney took a swift drink from his glass. “My business was cut short because I had to return home suddenly.”
“When you had to return to the Abbey to throw out Miss Morland after you learnt she was not an heiress?”
Eleanor saw in his expression that she had astonished him.
“This is very strange!” said the general, in a voice of calm displeasure. “There is something in this which my comprehension does not reach. Why would a sensible girl like you defend such an artful creature?”
Here he looked at her, but Eleanor knew he did not expect a sincere answer. It was just as well, because she was certain that she could say no more; her breath was almost gone. It was unlike her to speak against her father in the first place.What will this defiance cost me now?
“Here was a young woman wishing to entrap your brother,” he went on, “wishing to ingratiate herself with you, who turned out to have nothing to recommend her. And she was an acquaintance of only a few months. You hardly knew her, and I do not want to hear another word about her. In fact, I think it best that while I am gone that I tell the servants not to send any letters on your behalf. I shall not have you corresponding with that cunning creature. You must certainly comprehend that it is in your best interest to cut all connexion with that girl.”
“Yes,” said Eleanor, in a faint voice, and looking down with shame at her lack of courage to defend her friend. Catherine genuinely valued their friendship and loved Henry, and she did nothing to deserve such treatment or rebukes.
“Henry will not marry that girl,” he said, more to himself while Eleanor pushed her food across her plate, trying to steady her emotions. “I approve of men settling young, but only if they choose with the proper attention to fortune and situation. As far as I can judge, matrimony makes no part of Frederick’s plans or thoughts, but Henry shall come around to a proper way of thinking on the matter.”
Eleanor thought that her father had underestimated Henry’s resolve but, of course, could say nothing.
“I am an advocate for early marriages, where there are means in proportion, and would have every young man, with a sufficient income, settle as soon as he can. I am surprised at Brampton and Vaughan not yet marrying. They both have a temperament more inclined to matrimony than does Frederick.”
Eleanor chose not to elucidate: one had previously been too in love with her to marry elsewhere, and the other was too loyal to a woman married to someone else.
“Brampton has not the money himself, of course,” the general said thoughtfully, “but some tradesman’s daughter wanting excellent connexions could raise herself by him, and Brampton would benefit from twenty thousand pounds or so. Lord Vaughan, a viscount, of course, need only ask the question.”
Her father laughed, but Eleanor made no answer. Her mind was all disorder. She could not bear to think that the man she had preferred all her life would marry someone else. If she felt this wretched at the acceptance of Philip marrying elsewhere, what had she done to Philip’s heart in Herefordshire? What had he suffered; and yet it was not until it seemed a proposal was imminent that he could not stand to be near her any longer.
“A lady of merit and fortune such as yourself will be well-situated.” Her father was still talking, unaware of the turmoil in her mind and heart. “General Courteney is now out of mourning, you know.”
Eleanor felt her mouth drop open.
“Well, I suppose any young lady, not much in the world, would not want stepchildren so near to her own age,” General Tilney said. “There is no hurry; you are some time away from the years of danger. Since you could not convince Sir Charles to come to the point, I shall tell your mother’s schoolfriend Mrs Hughes to take you with her when she goes to London in September. I will give her suggestions for the manner of gentleman to introduce you to, a few whom I think might be of the right situation, and if any of them are suitable, I shall meet them myself.”
General Tilney was a man who was impatient for control, who decided for himself, and who was little troubled with the minding of anyone else’s opinions. Eleanor had lost her resolve and refused Sir Charles, and now she had lost the power of choice for herself. The choice she wanted had always been prohibited, but now she had not even the chance to choose a bad husband for herself.
“In fact,” he went on, “when I am in town this week, I shall ask my friends for recommendations. What say you, Eleanor? Speak your opinion, for ladies must always have some thoughts on matrimony.”
Her heart sank under the appalling prospect of discussing her future husband with a father who had so little understanding of her heart and mind. She only shook her head, hoping that she appeared deferential rather than disgusted.
Though applied to by the general for the rest of the meal for her thoughts on what she preferred—his age, profession, fortune, location of county—nothing like an opinion on the subject could be drawn from her. He made his own suggestions as she remained silent, asking and answering his own questions. He did not actually want her opinion, not on this subject, nor any other.
“I trust,” said the general, with a satisfied smile, “that this autumn it will all be speedily arranged.”
* * *
