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“I am sure I wish them every happiness.” Her voice had lost much of its usual animation.
It was not happiness for the engaged couple, however, that first occupied her thoughts, but a determination to make Henry appear a far less desirable gentleman than she had previously considered him.
“Well, I cannot say I am altogether surprised,” she declared to Fanny, with a little toss of her head. “Henry has always struck me as a gentleman of rather uncertain judgment. To be sure, he is agreeable enough, and possesses a tolerable fortune, but I have never thought him quite so distinguished as some people seem to imagine. His attentions to Annabelle, I confess, had led me to expect a little more discernment from him.”
Mrs. Jennings, on hearing this most extraordinary reversal of opinion, turned sharply toward her.
“Good gracious, Lucy! You were telling me only last week what a handsome couple he and Annabelle would make, and how very fortunate she would be if he were to offer himself!”
“I was merely observing that they appeared to enjoy one another’s company,” Lucy replied, with an air of injured innocence. “One must not mistake ordinary civility for serious intentions. Indeed, now that I consider it, I cannot imagine what Annabelle could have seen in him beyond a handsome face and a little charm. These agreeable young men are so often quite deficient in anything more substantial.”
“Then it is fortunate for him that he has found a lady who thinks better of him than you do,” Mrs. Jennings returned briskly. “For I have always found Henry a very good-hearted young man, and I have never known him to encourage a young lady dishonourably. If Annabelle was disappointed, I am sorry for her, but I cannot see that the young Mr. Brandon has done anything to deserve your ill opinion.”
Lucy coloured.
“I am sure you misunderstand me. I have not said that he has behaved dishonourably.”
“No, indeed. You have merely discovered all his faults within the last five minutes, when yesterday you could scarcely say enough in his praise!”
Fanny attempted to intervene, but Mrs. Jennings was not to be diverted.
“And as for his choice of a bride, I congratulate him upon it. I have known Sarah all her life and he could not do better. A gentleman who knows his own mind and chooses the woman he loves is a great deal more sensible, in my opinion, than one who allows himself to be directed by the ambitions of other people.”
The remark fell with sufficient precision that Lucy could not mistake its meaning.
“I really do not see why my opinions should occasion such a discussion,” said she stiffly. “I wish them every happiness, of course.”
“Then we are agreed at last,” said Mrs. Jennings. “Let us wish them happiness and leave the gentleman to enjoy it, without finding fault with him merely because he has not chosen as you might have wished.”
Lucy pressed her lips together and turned to Fanny, evidently hoping for a more sympathetic audience. But Fanny, who had no particular desire to quarrel with Mrs. Jennings, suddenly discovered something of great interest in the arrangement of the tea things.
Within a minute she had recovered sufficiently to add, “Annabelle will be heartbroken, I do not doubt, though she conceals her feelings wonderfully. She has always possessed a delicacy her sisters lack. But she will recover. There are always other gentlemen.”
Annabelle, meanwhile, had considerably more important matters to attend to than the nursing of a disappointment she had never experienced and she judged the moment had arrived to complete the plan her sisters had begun.
Her proposal to Mr. Merrier was simple. Her mother must be removed from the house for an entire morning, and Annabelle had discovered the perfect inducement: a sale of fine old lace in the city, advertised for Thursday, which Lucy had been discussing with something approaching reverence for a week.
Annabelle volunteered to accompany her. The offer was so unusual that Lucy regarded it with some surprise, but her delight at having a willing companion to the sale overcame any suspicions she might otherwise have entertained.
They were gone four hours.
That was ample time for Mr. Merrier, armed with careful instructions from Honoria, to call upon Robert Ferrars in his study and appeal directly to him for his blessing. He spoke of a father’s duty, the authority properly belonging to the head of a household, and the importance of Mr. Ferrars’ consent in a matter already settled in nearly every other respect.
The effect was precisely what Honoria had predicted.
Robert, flattered beyond measure at being consulted as the supreme authority in a house where he had scarcely made an independent decision in thirty years, drew himself up and delivered a brief speech on the sacred responsibilities of fatherhood. He then gave his blessing with such warmth and finality that retreat became almost impossible.
A man persuaded that he is master of his own house may discover a surprising firmness when anyone subsequently attempts to convince him otherwise.
The agreement was complete, and the necessary handshake exchanged, a full hour before Lucy’s lace-shopping had concluded.
She returned home in excellent spirits, a parcel of Mechlin lace beneath her arm, and a satisfactory calculation of its cost already in her mind. Her husband sat by the window with the pleased, self-important expression of a man who had accomplished something of considerable consequence and was waiting to be asked about it.
“Well, my dear,” Robert announced before she had removed her bonnet, “I have had rather an interesting morning.”
What followed, according to the account that reached Elinor and Marianne before the day was out, was a scene of uncommon animation.
Lucy was absolutely mortified. She cried and demanded to know how such a matter could have been settled without consulting a mother, spoke indignantly of eight hundred pounds a year being a paltry provision for a daughter of Annabelle’s beauty and connections, and declared the whole proceeding premature, improper, and altogether intolerable.
