Perry, to see Jane in such a fine state of health after your kind ministrations to her earlier this year. Yes, love does work wonders — Mrs. Goddard! Indeed, it is a new gown… why, thank you, I am most obliged for the compliment; I do not think I have ever owned anything like it. — Oh,
Major Barnes-Lincoln replied that he liked it quite well, and lingered a few moments longer than necessary — at least, in Emma’s hopeful perception — before seeking the company of Colonel Campbell.
Mrs. Elton, upon entering with her husband, was astonished to find Miss Bates in a new dress, and her approval of it was all hyperbole and insincerity. She took as a personal slight the notion that Miss Bates should have acquired the garment without her involvement. “My dear Miss Bates, you are such a sly creature! I never guessed you were planning a second gown all the while I toiled to make the first just so. Had I known, I could have advised you on this one as well. I see you chose a plain skirt — I would have suggested beadwork, or perhaps more ribbon.”
“It was a surprise from Miss — Mrs. Knightley. Miss Woodhouse, I almost said. Forgive me, Mrs. Knightley, you are so recently married that I nearly forgot myself. But yes, the gown was a surprise — a most delightful surprise.”
At this intelligence, Mrs. Elton’s countenance hardened. “A surprise from Mrs. Knightley?” She turned to Emma with a smile that did not reach her eyes. “You must be very confident in your judgment, to risk imposing your own preferences on someone else.”
Emma was happily spared the necessity of replying by the entrance of Mr. and Mrs. Patrick Dixon. When the butler announced the couple, Mrs. Elton immediately turned around to assess Jane’s dearest friend — the former Miss Campbell — and her husband.
Emma averted her gaze, ashamed to recall the unkind speculation in which she had engaged last spring, that Jane Fairfax had developed an improper attachment to Mr. Dixon before his marriage to her friend. Had Emma kept the supposition to herself, she might now meet him without a blush, but she had carelessly shared her suspicions with Frank Churchill, who had encouraged her error so as to divert her notice from his own feelings for Jane. Though she had forgiven Frank his duplicity, she could not yet hear the name “Dixon” without mortification. Fortunately, Mr. Dixon himself remained unaware that he had ever been the object of calumnious conjecture.
A Mr. Thomas Dixon accompanied the Patrick Dixons. Thomas, Emma had been given to understand, was some sort of cousin, one of those adjunct relations that every family has and nobody else is quite sure as to which particular limb of the family tree they occupy. All she knew was that he was a younger son of some forgotten Irish landowner, and was dependent upon Patrick Dixon for his maintenance. Emma was surprised to learn that he had been among the party at Weymouth that had given rise to her suspicions regarding Jane Fairfax and Mr. Patrick Dixon, for neither Frank Churchill nor Jane — nor Miss Bates, who could be counted upon to blurt out every known particular about her niece at some point — had ever alluded to his presence at the spa town during the period of Frank and Jane’s meeting and clandestine courtship.
Having heard that Thomas was a younger son, Emma had formed a picture in her mind of a young man. Upon meeting him in person, however, she was surprised to discover that he was in fact considerably older than Mr. Patrick Dixon. From the grey at his temples and the laughter-lines about his animated blue eyes, she would guess him to be in his middle forties. She also had not been expecting a gentleman of such flamboyant appearance. He was dressed to the nines in a formfitting bright blue double-breasted dress coat and a shirt so ruffled that it erupted from his waistcoat in an avalanche of lace. Snug yellow pantaloons and silk stockings accentuated his trim figure and led the eye to low-heeled patent leather pumps with jeweled buckles. His cravat was so intricately tied that Beau Brummell himself would approve; white gloves and a tall-crowned silk top hat completed the ensemble.
“Mrs. Knightley — it is already a delightful party, and it has barely begun!” Thomas Dixon clasped her hand and raised it to his lips. “May I say, you are wearing the most exquisite gown. And your slippers — they must have come from Willis in London.”
When Emma confessed that they had not, Thomas Dixon nevertheless complimented her taste. “It is far superior to
She liked him already.
At last, Emma had received all her guests and was free to mingle among them whilst awaiting the call to dinner. Major Barnes-Lincoln remained in conversation with Colonel Campbell, and had been joined by one of Mr. Weston’s old militia acquaintances. Mr. Nodd and Mr. Wynnken were engaged in separate conversations of their own; Emma would steer Miss Bates toward one of them as soon as the spinster had done arranging her mother near the fire. Mr. Woodhouse was already seated nearby with Emma’s sister, Mrs. Weston, and Mr. Perry, all of whom were assuring him that the soup would not be over-rich, nor the pork over-salted, and that no harm would come of the diners’ indulging in syllabub if the portions were kept quite small.
All was proceeding smoothly.
Nearly all, that is. Mr. Edgar Churchill seemed rather out of sorts as he stood off to one side of the crowded drawing room with Frank and Jane. Edgar held in his hand a glass of wine — his third — despite the fact that no one else drank. He had complained of thirst almost immediately upon his arrival, had of course been accommodated, and quickly swallowed two glasses. He now appeared much redder in the face than when Emma had received him. Frank’s palm rested on the decanter, though Emma could not tell whether he stood ready to refill Edgar’s glass yet again, or to prevent his uncle from doing so himself. She hoped it was the latter. Edgar needed no more wine at present. The hand supporting his wineglass trembled, threatening to spill its contents on the Persian rug; the other fluttered nervously at his side, fingers thrumming against his leg.
The sooner dinner began and Edgar Churchill consumed food to offset the wine, the better.
Emma went to tell them that the formal procession to the dining room would commence presently. As the newest bride and guest of honor, Jane Churchill would enjoy the privilege of leading the way. When Mrs. Knightley reached the trio, however, she found their thoughts far from the imminent meal. Edgar was bitterly vocalizing his discomfort.
“Too hot — intolerably hot…” He tugged at his cravat as if it choked him. “Ridiculous to have a fire in a room with so many people. Idiotic notion — What, we are all invited to dinner only to be cooked ourselves?”
“The room
“Do not presume to tell me what is intolerable.”
“I am sure we will go in to dinner momentarily,” said Jane. “Look, here is Mrs. Knightley now, probably come to inform us so.”
“Indeed, yes,” Emma said. “I anticipate the butler’s cue at any—”
“Why can we not go in now? For what are we kept waiting in this inferno?” He downed another half glass. “Nobody tells me anything! A gentleman has a right to know certain matters.”
Frank put his hand on Edgar’s arm in an attempt to placate him. “Sir, a little patience—”
“Patience? I am out of patience! I spent it all; I have no more. And what did it buy?” He stared at Frank’s hand on his arm, then raised his gaze to his face. “Deceit — that is what it bought me. A gentleman ought not be surprised by news of his son.”
“I am deeply sorry, sir. I should have told you of my engagement. It was wrong of me to conceal it. Were it not for trepidation over how Jane would be received by my aunt—”
“She was so proud, too proud!” His rant was starting to draw the notice of others.
Emma’s perfect evening was rapidly coming undone. Surely Edgar Churchill was not intoxicated before dinner even began? At least, she comforted herself, her scheme for Miss Bates was unaffected by Mr. Churchill’s behavior. The spinster was even now smiling broadly as she conversed with Mr. Nodd. From this range, Emma could not hear the subject of their discourse — a good sign, she decided, for it suggested that Miss Bates’s chatter was restrained at present, if only in volume.
The butler’s welcome news that dinner was at last ready to be served brought Emma immense relief. She paired her guests in order of precedence, attributing to hunger the less than blissful expression that momentarily flashed across Mr. Nodd’s countenance as Miss Bates took his arm. Edgar, however, caused her greater distress: he refused to take his place in the promenade. He provided no reason, merely obstinance, despite Frank and Jane’s repeated efforts to mollify him.
Emma and Mr. Knightley sent the other guests ahead, hoping that once the drawing room emptied, Mr. Churchill would become more complacent. But his agitation only increased.
