Arithmetical questions were moreentertaining and delightful than any other subject; they were enigmas to be solved by numbers. Over the past week, Philip had applied himself, even working on Sunday yesterday, and had at long last his solutions. He had solved the problem in two ways, using both hypotheses, and would submit both answers. He had no doubt his pseudonym, Plus Minus, had the correct solutions and both would appear in next year’sThe Diary.
His eyes felt dry and his neck was sore from spending so much time bent over his desk, but Philip walked with quick steps to the post, eager to send his results. The satisfaction in finally achieving an answer was something few people understood. Vaughan always asked about his questions and celebrated his successes, but that was out of kindness for his cousin rather than an interest, or understanding, in the subject.
While at the post office, he retrieved his own letters. He had had nothing from Vaughan in a week, but saw that Frederick Tilney had written to him. He was not as faithful a correspondent as was his younger brother, but Philip still opened the letter to read on his short walk home.
Frederick’s leave of absence from his regiment was over, and the ladies in Bath and London were safe for another season.He is a damned overconfident coxcomb.Frederick was lively in a group, but Philip preferred Frederick’s company when they were in private, when Frederick was not attempting to persuade, cajole, or impress.
Philip learnt from Frederick that Henry was soon to leave Woodston to visit friends. Frederick did not know who, but Philip knew he was going to Wiltshire to see the girl he wanted to marry. The general was to go to London this week, and Frederick, in his usual oblivious way, wrote that“Eleanor would enjoy having a week to herself at the Abbey with no one to trouble her.”
Philip knew she would have a reprieve from impatience, dictatorial manners, and strict punctuality, but she would still be lonely. He looked at the letter again. There was no mention of Sir Charles or an understanding between him and Eleanor. Perhaps the general wanted to learn more about Sir Charles from his friends in London before he sanctioned the union.
Philip had to accept that he would always have news of Eleanor if he kept up his friendship with Frederick and Henry. He sighed and pocketed Frederick’s letter. Ought he to have told Eleanor that he loved her before he left, finally put words to the feelings he knew they shared?
I could have offered for her, even though she would have to refuse me.
Only the inferiority of his situation prevented him from addressing Eleanor, and the certainty that the general would refuse. He was not rich or noble enough for General Tilney. Of a considerable fortune, by marriage articles, Eleanor would likely be secure. Ten thousand pounds was expected to be her share of her mother’s money upon the death of the general, but nothing was yet written. General Tilney could refuse her any share, and also refuse to give her the additional ten thousand pounds he had always promised if she married with his approval.
The general was even the sort of man to take back the pearls that had been Eleanor’s mother’s if she defied him and eloped with a poor man.
Philip might have a small income, but he was still a gentleman; and what sort of gentleman would abscond with another man’s daughter and expect to be respected and admired when he returned? And General Tilney would make it his goal to ruin their happiness in any way that he could. No matter how abusive her father was, no matter how little the general respected Eleanor, Philip would not run away with her and expose her to further contempt.
General Tilney would say that his wife had spent five hundred pounds on her wedding clothes, so how could he give his daughter in marriage to a man with no property, no title, and only five hundred a year?
To be refused, mocked even, by the general would wound him, but perhaps the certainty of Philip’s regard would give Eleanor the courage to convince a better man than Sir Charles to love her. Sir Charles had not proposed yet, and he was not visiting the Abbey if the general was leaving for London.
If Philip told her he loved her, it would not do any good forthem, but it might remind her that she was worth being loved by a decent man.
His heart beat fast and his mouth went dry. He was not a bold person; he did not eagerly enter a debate. He was comfortable with his place in the world, but he knew he was diffident amongst those he was not close to, that he little liked a conflict. The idea of speaking alone with the general was difficult enough without considering the confrontation that would follow his request.
Could I go to Northanger, ask to speak with General Tilney, and say that I love Eleanor and want to marry her?
Could he keep his pride in check when the general laughed at his five hundred a year, at his lack of profession, his lack of title? Could he do it to show Eleanor that he loved her, that she had not lost his respect, and remind her she was worthy of love and not to settle for Sir Charles?
Philip felt himself get hot, and it had nothing to do with the midday sun. He hated arguments and never liked to be reminded of his lower place amongst his more exalted connexions. And General Tilney’s irritable nature and volatile temper made him little like the idea of an interview.
But he loved Eleanor, did he not?
He would face General Tilney not to have Eleanor for himself, but to convince Eleanor she was worthy of an honourable man’s affection and respect. It was a terrifying thought, but did he not hold Eleanor to be worth every effort of patience, every exertion of mind, even humiliation at the hands of her tyrannical father?
He would set aside his pride and his fear of the general and ask for Eleanor’s hand, even though they could never be together. She deserved to know his feelings, and she deserved to know how much he valued her and that she deserved better than that unprincipled Sir Charles Sudbury.
As Philip approached his house, he stopped short at the sight of a carriage in front of it. He recognised the livery and wondered what could have brought Vaughan back from Lady Metcalfe. For himself, he was glad to see his cousin. Vaughan would advise him, and either tell him it was best to leave Eleanor be or he would give him the courage to pursue his errand.
Vaughan’s valet was next to the carriage, pacing with a pensive air.
“Is His Lordship inside?” Philip asked, pointing. “He knows he can always go into the house if I am not at home.”
His cousin’s man looked stricken and took a deep breath before answering. “No, sir—my lord. He, he is not. Might I come in?”
The man’s pale face and nervous manner made Philip usher him in and offer him a drink to steady his nerves. Vaughan’s valet refused, shaking his head and blowing out a breath. “Sir, I have—I am afraid I must be the bearer of bad tidings.”
He then held out a letter sealed with black wax. Philip took it slowly, considering how the nervous man called him “my lord,” how he wore a black armband, and how Vaughan’s carriage and servant were here, but the man himself was not.
A cold sweat broke out across him, and Philip then saw the letter was addressed toThe Right Honourable Viscount Vaughan. He looked at Vaughan’s servant, shaking his head and offering the letter back. He would not open this. It was not addressed to him.
“I am so very sorry, sir,” the man murmured, bowing his head, and refusing to take it back.
Philip broke the seal even though he could hardly breathe. A quick glance at the bottom saw that it closed with “I have the honour to be Your Lordship’s obedient servant,” and it was signed by Lady Metcalfe. Somehow, Philip was guided to a chair, and fell into it to read.
