In the matter of days following the card-party at Camden-Place, Lady Russell found herself placated yet melancholic, these emotions incensed by a profound feeling of displacement. When she had made the journey to Bath, she had been driven by a certain hope. In Anne, she recognized a stubbornness which would take a great deal of tempering, and it was here that she had hoped to see this metal cooled. Mr. Elliot's introduction had further bolstered these hopes, his reputation and character now redeemed through Sir Walter's forgiveness. Yet, though she sensed nothing but good intentions in his pursuit of Anne, she could not help but feel the reluctance with which the girl would meet this match.
"If only her mother were here," she sighed to herself, staring into the darkness through the thick paned glass of her lodging on Rivers-street. "She would certainly know what to say, how to warn her." The very nature of her current accommodations spoke to this as well as anything. Certainly, the Elliot's residence at Camden-Place was nothing to be scoffed at. Even in its somewhat meager size, it amply provided luxuries befitting one of Sir Walter's status; after all, she had been the one to select it. Yet, even with this, there remained the fact of his culpability for the family's situation in the first place. Sir Walter was a deserving man, an honorable man even, but still she must acknowledge the degree of his excess. Kellynch remained intact, a stalwart of the family's legacy, yet simultaneously, its inflation with the frills of pomp and vanity were the sure sign of a degradation befitting its enduring tenant. Nonetheless, her accommodations at Kellynch Lodge would've been far more inviting than those which she endured at the present moment. Though not too significantly distanced from her orbital family, a feeling of remoteness had embedded itself in her. Her influence, at one time that most sought and revered by not only Anne but so too her father and sisters, now felt relegated to the status of a rather undefined and unnecessary position. Indeed, the object of their arrival seemed of complete disinterest to Anne. What was she looking for which the young Mr. Elliot could not provide? On the terms of his newfound moral redemption, he should be as suitable a match as any. He lacked nothing in terms of wit, charm, or gentility and was certainly not unattractive in any sense. There could not possibly be a better suited match. "In fact," she thought to herself, "even her mother would've done quite well to obtain such a suitor," notwithstanding a proposal from Sir Walter himself of course. Yet, regardless of this, Anne remained steadfast in her disinterest.
Reflecting on the card-party, Lady Russell noted their particular lack of interaction. "Could it be that I have pushed too hard? Might I have led too firmly?" she mused. But no, Anne's avoidance seemed something else entirely. For if it were her intervention which was the issue, surely Anne would have expressed some distaste, taken some distance from her as well. In their conversation Anne had seemed rather curt, but in no sense upset with the Lady. If anything, actually, the latter recognized her as especially iridescent on that occasion. While her conversations were brief, her presence and countenance seemed to inhabit the room with a jubilance that had long been missing. Her smile, her wit, and her elegance captivated the space as an entertainer or spectacle does a crowd in the city. With each conversation, she seemed to grow in herself, a new assurance blossoming apparent yet unbeknownst to the socializers whom she entertained. It left Lady Russell both baffled and pleased. For while she did not understand the impetus for such change, in this moment she witnessed in Anne a light which she had previously only seen in her mother. Years had passed since it had last revealed itself, since it had been capable of manifesting in the first place. Yet here, now, for some reason, here it was plain to see.
Whether a product of love, or perhaps an effort to evince it, mattered not. Anne stood now as resolute as ever, yet somehow in a brighter, more complete sense. Seeing this, Lady Russell now understood that her approach must be one of a more subtle nature. The Elliots had been fortunate in the ease with which Mary accepted and was accepted into married life, but the Lady was all too aware of the old adage: that when any two young people take it into their heads to marry, they are pretty sure by perseverance to carry their point. This meant that her role as advisor here had come to a close. Still the Lady saw in Anne a full culpability for misled affections and a tendency for social impropriety, yet such a change, no, a realization of character deemed her worthy of pursuit in her own right. No, the Lady mustn't directly impose opinion at this point, regardless of her thoughts. Rather, she must take some distance. Too close a proximity might deem her an overbearance and result in a direct betrayal of her persuasion. Yes, better to allow the girl some time, allow her to make her own judgements before they need be corrected. After all, there was no clear indication that these affections were misplaced. Perhaps Anne and the young Mr. Elliot's futures could be reconciled yet!
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.
In hindsight, they truly hadn't done very much speaking at all, dinner was mostly silent apart from those few courteous questions which no meal among strangers could be complete without. In fact, after the brief dinner Lady Russell had hoped to join the pair in the drawing room to recount their experiences since apart and reminisce on days past, but this notion was quickly rejected by both. Instead, they insisted upon rest, for she must've been exhausted by the exertion of her travels. While this was true, the Lady could not help but be disappointed by her hosts' lack of alacrity surrounding her visit.
As the dim exterior lanterns of Kellynch drew nearer, Lady Russell continued to muse upon what unhappiness could've possibly been occupying Plymouth Grove that so disturbed her visit. It was one that went unspoken, but could be clearly felt not only ringing in every word spoken throughout the dinner, but so too in the absence of that light, that spark which all successful couples possess. "If it had turned sour, surely," thought the Lady, "she would have turned to me, would've sought my advice." Perhaps there were financial troubles? Or was it simply a matter of age? As the Lady puzzled over this, she was met with slowing sounds of gravel crunching beneath her and the opening of the carriage door by the house's porter.
—
Following her swift departure from the carriage, and provided assurance of her luggage's safety, Lady Russell entered Kellynch lodge to the warm embrace of home. It was intact and perfectly as in memory, a place of stagnant respite amidst the seemingly ever-changing social backdrop from which she was arriving. Breathing in its air returned in her a sense of place, of belonging. Here she was returned to her roots as, foremost, friend and advisor. Here she could almost still feel the presence of Mrs. Elliot, her eternal companion, coursing through the home's well-venerated walls. "Any news while I've been away?" she called to the porter as she removed her heavy traveling coat. She shook off a lingering chill and settled into a familiar pattern, inspecting the cleanliness and maintenance of her rooms as she awaited a response. "Yes ma'am, Lady Russell," said the porter, "A letter arrived this morning addressed from Bath, but that is all." How rather considerate, she thought to herself, The Elliots must've written to check on my safe arrival. Once she had sufficiently investigated the lodge's state of affairs, she settled onto a chaise longue in the drawing room and requested that the letter be brought to her.
Moments later, the porter returned with a sealed letter, its red wax embossed with the elegant details of the Elliot family crest, as well as a short glass of water. Lady Russell thanked the man and sent him on his way, sitting up and shifting closer to the light in order to better see its contents. She broke the seal and began to read:
"My dearest Lady Russell,
I sincerely hope that you have arrived to Kellynch safely and without incident. I know not of your accommodations the previous night, though as you must've stopped for fear of traveling overnight, I hope that you found them suitable and comfortable. We remain housed at Camden-Place and remain in as pleasant a comfort as you left us, though sore of course at your departure. Your wisdom, advice, and sympathetic ribaldry are woefully missed, though I expect us to be united far sooner than one would expect.
Indeed, my writing to you on this occasion is not something of mere pleasantry and good spirit. For after your departure occurred an event which is likely to rattle you: I have been engaged to wed Captain Frederick Wentworth. The details of this proposal can be related when we are reunited, but for now I simply wanted to alert you of its happening. I understand that you are likely shocked, but I am of the opinion that this news is best to be received from its source. I understand that this match is not to your approval, and further hope that you can come to understand my decision and to love him who completes me as you would myself.
Your influence in coming to this decision has not been in any sense empty. For though I understand your appreciation of the young Mr. Elliot, and desire to see myself as Mistress of Kellynch, I fear to inform you that you have been misled. I can further inform you on the details of such upon our next meeting, but one can, in short, say that he has been found wanting of both the class and gentility which you so espied in him.
This is an engagement which your persuasion has precluded once before, and I hope to see you reconcile with the fact of its present occurrence before any such judgment is placed on this occasion. For while previously your concerns were perhaps valid, these past years have seen the captain venerated in every possible capacity. He has achieved rank, wealth, and, most importantly, we have come to understand the foolish stubbornness which separated us to begin with. The Captain has written to the Crofts and they have agreed to end their lease at Kellynch Hall, deciding instead to return to at sea. We will be arriving at week's-end, and hope to greet you with well-wishes then.
Yours forever,
Anne Elliot"
As Lady Russell read the letter, a profound bout of frustration and anger overcame her, causing her to drop it to the floor beneath at her feet. Blood rushed to her face as she struggled to temper her reaction. How could she? She had seen something different in the way Anne had carried herself at the card-party, but she had not expected this. This was beyond an embarrassment, beyond a catastrophe. A girl of her wits, of her mother's breed, wedding a man of no apparent social distinction? Certainly, he had acquired wealth since his proposal those years ago, but that did not make up for his lack of class. The Captain was a man of means, but no manners, no politesse. How could he be expected to run so distinguished a household as Kellynch?
The lady reached down for her water and swooned, her surroundings appearing before her almost completely anew. Though cleaned and ordered, the once auguste features of the room now seemed somewhat dull, jaded and lifeless in the context of the menagerie cultivated by Sir Walter's excess. Could she not see her fate right here before her? Could she not recognize it in the very walls which she called her ancestral home? Such a union not only spelled an uncertain future and degradation of status, but so too that of this institution which had stood long before such indulgent practice led to its ruin. If only she knew, if only she had been able to see her mother suffer this fate. Too long had Lady Russell watched helplessly as her dear friend struggled to cope with an unruly husband. Too long had she endured as faithful advisor and supporter in his stead. No, Anne deserved more, she deserved better. She must learn from her Mother's mistakes or risk suffering all the same. All that Lady Russell had wished for the girl was to spare her suffering, to wed a man befitting her station with all the patience, foresight and strength to amply provide for her and her household. For a girl of her status and guile this was not too much to ask; and, in her estimation, this could not have been more different in presentation than the Captain. No, there must still be something that could be done. Anne begged reconciliation but she simply knew no better, foolish to the passions of youth as she is. They have been engaged to be wed once before, she can certainly be persuaded of her folly once again.
And with that, Lady Russell resolved to intervene at their next meeting. She would endeavor to show Anne her Mother's mistakes. To make them distinct as so she could not miss them. To make evident the egregious error in judgment which she had now made twice, and to persuade her not to concede. There were still options.
—
Week's-end arrived quickly, and before the Lady had even truly processed the news, the engagement party as well as the remainder of the Elliots had arrived at Kellynch Hall. Upon their arrival they were greeted by the warm and weathered faces of Admiral and Mrs. Croft, who had their belongings shipped to Manchester earlier in the day, yet remained at Kellynch to celebrate the Engagement. Lady Russell was also present at this time, though she endeavored to make herself scarce behind the waves of "congratulations" which seemed to ever occupy the air. Though not fully convinced, she had resolved to be patient with Anne. Engaging her immediately upon her arrival and amidst all of the celebrations would yield nothing but argument. Rather, she would find a moment later in the evening, as the giddiness and good-tidings died down, in which to confront the girl.
Still, Lady Russell watched as Anne and Captain Wentworth exited their carriage and entered what was to be their marital home. She watched as they were embraced by the Admiral and his wife; how the Captain smiled as he presented his fiance to those gathered on this morning on the doorsteps to Anne's ancestral home. And she also watched as Sir Walter, though not in protest, stared at his daughter's jubilation with the muted disinterest with which a layman might watch paint dry. She had come here expecting, though resolved to abate, rage and disappointment, yet that is not what she felt at all. As Lady Russell stood in the cold morning fog, her heart could not help but be filled with warmth. It was positively effusive, and it was coming from Anne. From the second she exited the carriage, it was as though she was grace itself. Sensibility and happiness glowed through her with every movement, acting as both equal and shadow to her soon-to-be husband. And Captain Wentworth, he too appeared larger in stature, more full in the chest. He did not lavish upon adulation, nor was he reticent in conversation, but rather the perfect part to Anne's whole. They moved as a couple as one, Anne delighted not only to present herself as the imminent Mrs.Wentworth but so too to present her ancestral home to her fiance as his own.
As the day went on, things around Kellynch began to settle. Sir Walter took up his usual occupation, shifting the positions of the various mirrors and paintings which had been moved to reoccupy the home and Elizabeth remained distant and disinterested, mostly conversing with her father. The Crofts seemed the only people in the estate truly joining in the celebrations of the occasion, yet even they too grew weary and retired to their temporary room for the afternoon after a certain point. Lady Russell had remained mostly quiet, though still present, throughout this time. She had not refrained from joining the celebrations, yet too, she remained reserved by all means in her expression.
Here sat Lady Russell, nestled into a deep chesterfield sofa-chair, gazing out at the luminous sunset through the sitting room's transparent glass windows, when she noticed the new Captain and Mrs.Wentworth across the room. The remainder of their party had departed for rest, yet still the young couple remained. Lady Russell observed them as they gestured at one another, looking to be playing some sort of game. Though unaware they were being watched, they showed no impropriety, she observed. Rather, their affection was shown in the subtle ways in which she might nudge his hand, indicating his turn to play, or his gentle push of her shoulder, teasing a joke out of her. Here, in this light, in her current state, Lady Russell could've almost mistaken Anne for her mother. Here she was in all her glory, fully realized. She was Lady Elliot, Mrs. Wentworth, and the Mistress of Kellynch Hall all in one, unmistakable in her elegance, wit, and beauty.
The longer she watched the couple together, the less control remained. Lady Russell turned away, breaking her stare, and the tears began to fall. She tried to silence herself, but soon uncontrollable sobs wracked her body, shaking her to her very core. She could not stifle it any longer. She sobbed for her error in judgment, for her hastiness in perception. She wept for her ill-led persuasion and the grief it caused this fated pair. And she wept of joy, for here she saw Anne, for the first time, as a woman fully actualized, a future uncertain but one all her own. Quickly, footsteps and questions of "Lady Russell?" and "What is the matter?" rang through the air but the Lady was simply beside herself. She could sense Anne next to her and soon felt a hand on her back, gently consoling her with a consideration lacking among but the best of mothers. "There, there," she said, "it's alright. It's all going to be alright."
When her sobbing finally ceased, the Lady stared up at her once-daughter with an adulation which can only come from the knowledge of suffering and repentance. Softly, yet in a steady voice, she said "I am so happy for you, my girl," embracing Anne with her full might. Perhaps she was wary of the consequences of this engagement, but here, in this moment, Lady Russell determined to dedicate herself anew: no longer as merely mother-advisor, but simply as friend and supporter.