Lady Russell's Reconciliation

Regardless, Lady Russell longed for the comforts of Kellynch and, though her affinity for the pleasant social calls of Bath's more esteemed faces remained, she sensed that her purpose in visiting had been resolved. Lady Russell determined to write a letter the following morning to the Elliot household at Camden-Place informing them of her plan to depart for the country later that day. She also informed them of her traveling by carriage and anticipated arrival, requesting someone write to ensure its safe occurrence.

—

It was no sooner than evening on the second day of Lady Russell's journey that Kellynch finally drew within sight. It had been a meager day of travel as she had made the bulk of the journey before stopping the previous night, though with the impediment of a strong breeze and a light rain, the Lady was very appreciative of her destination's closeness. Travel by carriage always made her weary and, though somewhat rejuvenated overnight by the graces of polite company, the comforts of home nonetheless remained a resolution which she dearly wished to meet.

Her place of refuge the previous evening had been none other than Plymouth Grove, the esteemed residence of the honorable Sir and Lady Jamieson. Lady Russell had long been acquainted with Lady Jamieson, whom she had known previously as a certain Miss Brown in their shared youth. She had been one of those many country girls who endure a station unbefitting of their beauty, and one of the few to have this sentiment not only ratified, but truly redeemed. Certainly her family was known, even cataloged in the annals of the Baronetcy, yet still she bore a name of no notable reputation. Jamieson, on the other hand, was a moniker so entrenched in the machinations of English history and aristocracy that its reputation bore meaning and commanded respect from the most remote hamlets of Northumberland to those of Cornwall. He was a man of esteemed land and title, bearing influence not only in the region's social politics but so too in the national Parliament. Miss Brown's marriage to the master of Plymouth Grove had been something of a whirlwind as recalled by Lady Russell. It was one of those romances which simply swept one off their feet, her lord ever captivated by the girl's striking beauty and easy nature. Yet one also, to Lady Russell's keen eye, which seemed it could not be more perfectly suited. While Sir Jamieson's reputation and influence was unquestionable, he was no longer a young man when their courtship began. Prolonged bouts with illness had limited his ability for romance in his own youth and he now sought not merely love, but more so companionship and care. At this, the young Miss Brown was more than willing to comply. Her incredible social sense and remarkable beauty deemed her as appropriate a mistress for Plymouth Grove as could be imagined, and her docility and attentiveness showed her to be precisely the sort of match which Sir Jamieson would've held as ideal. In recollection, it was a successful, if quick, courtship which left each of the pair no less enamored with the other than they had been at its inception, and one in which Lady Russell determined both parties were most positively impacted by her persuasion. It seemed a match truly fated in Heaven, permitted on earth.

Upon this rare visit to her enduring friend, Lady Russell could not help but detect something amiss. She had noted while in Bath the peculiarity of Plymouth Grove's distinct absence among topics of conversation, but had truly made nothing of it. Though her communication with Lady Jamieson had been rather limited over the past years, no news had reached her of a degradation in reputation or social accord. Upon her arrival, again, nothing seemed particularly amiss. She was greeted politely, if slightly informally, by her old friend and was immediately shown to the comforts of her room for the night. The house appeared to be in order upon inspection, the granite floors spotless and every surface in the guest room cleaned without reserve. Yet now, reflecting on the events of the evening, Lady Russell could not help but sense something awry. A celebratory dinner shortly after settling in the guest room marked her reintroduction to Sir Jamieson who, in his old-age, had grown into a particularly fat and grizzled man. He sat at the head of the table and ate quietly for most of the evening, only interjecting to express some general pleasantries, request more wine, and correct his wife. Though imperceptible earlier, in this light she too looked to be something of a shadow of her former self. Still, her easy nature and profound amiability remained, but something in her seemed hollow. When she broke a gaze, her eyes seemed slightly more sunken in; her limbs more frail and features less pronounced as she turned to involve her husband in each discussion.