Page 34 of Introducing Mrs. Collins
Their initial attraction had given way, over the coming weeks, to a very real attachment between them. He admired how unafraid she was – bold in her actions as well as her conversation. Some evenings, she danced with nobody but him, and touched his arm as she spoke to him. She was not afraid for people to see how attached she was, and that made him love her more.
She noticed how he went out of his way to put people at ease; he was well-mannered, but he also seemed principled; she had seen him argue a point with gentlemen far senior to him, and she liked him all the more for it. He occasionally drank too much, butshe supposed this would improve with a more settled life. More than anything, she liked his steadfastness towards her; he had not looked with interest at another since the first moment they met, and nor had she.
When Captain Fitzwilliam called at the family’s townhouse late in the summer, he was shown into her father’s study. He was a large, balding man in his sixties, with a genial look and a low, calm voice. He did not look horrified to see the young man at his door, which seemed to Fitzwilliam a good start.
‘Come in,’ he beckoned, his smile one of resignation.
‘Thank you.’ Fitzwilliam walked in stiffly, stood opposite the desk, and announced rather formally, ‘Sir, I come to ask for your daughter’s hand in marriage.’
Mr Trowbridge sighed. ‘Yes, I thought as much.’
Fitzwilliam said falteringly, ‘I – I love her very much. I would endeavour to take good care of her. I only have an income of—’
‘Captain Fitzwilliam, I know what your income is, approximately. It is that of an officer in the army, and not yet a very senior one. I have seen you with my daughter, and I have asked around about you.’
Mr Trowbridge proceeded to deliver a painfully accurate report of the captain’s fortune, prospects, character – he had heard reports of Fitzwilliam’s drinking and fighting within his barracks – and his ability to provide for a wife.
‘I intend to take a house as soon as I am able—’ interjected Fitzwilliam rather desperately.
‘It could be ten years before you can do so.’
Fitzwilliam had no answer: it was true. He felt suddenly foolish, like a love-struck boy with nothing to recommend him. Mr Trowbridge’s manner was not unkind, but it was unyielding, and the truths it held fell like blows.
‘My own estate is only of modest means, Captain Fitzwilliam – much like your own family. Certainly, your father holds theearldom, but there is not a great deal of wealth, I believe. And what wealth there is will never come to you, as the younger son. My daughter must marry well. I do not have a substantial dowry for her, and I want her to be comfortable.’
‘But—’
Trowbridge held up his hand to indicate that he had not finished. ‘Were it merely this reason, I might be willing to overlook your lack of fortune. But you are a soldier.’
Here, Fitzwilliam did object – and fiercely! – asking through gritted teeth, ‘And is there no honour in that, sir? In a man who fights to protect his country?’
‘There is great honour in it, Captain.’ Mr Trowbridge looked weary. ‘But if you truly love my daughter, what life do you hope for her, while you fight or march or conquer?’
‘My life has not been so much abroad – a stint in Gibraltar, which held little danger, but otherwise, I have been stationed at home.’
The other man nodded. ‘It will change.’
Fitzwilliam looked puzzled.
‘You know that I sit in the Commons. I hear what is happening; I follow it closely. We know that this peace will not last. It was fragile from the moment it was agreed. The French have no interest in the treaty, and it is simply a matter of time before we are at war again. It shall not be long. Where will you be then?’
Fitzwilliam looked at him, taking in what he had said. ‘I do not know.’
‘No. You do not. Perhaps Europe. Perhaps the Indies. Perhaps dead.’
Fitzwilliam stared at him, struggling.
‘I want better for Eleanor, and so should you.’
Fitzwilliam’s breathing was heavy. He felt the truth of what had been said, but it did not help. He wanted to push the desk over, to rail against the man. He needed a drink. He felt he mustleave before he said or did something he would later regret, and so, forcing himself to look Trowbridge in the eye, he curtly said, ‘If the matter is lost, I will take my leave.’
Mr Trowbridge nodded. He felt genuine sympathy for this smart, earnest, rather naive young man. ‘I wish you well, Captain Fitzwilliam. I think you will do great things.’
Seven months after this embarrassing refusal, Fitzwilliam was at another ball. He stood to the side of the room, conveniently near to the table where a large bowl of punch was sitting. He swayed a little, watching the cotillion taking place in the centre of the room. He was accompanied by two old friends, but not ones he was very fond of – Thomas Russell, whom he had known since his brief few terms at Eton, and a fellow officer, Captain Radlett. All three were rather drunk and getting disapproving looks from better-behaved guests. Russell, in particular, was blessed with the naturally resonant voice of the upper classes, and it was in full effect tonight.
Fitzwilliam had spent a miserable winter on garrison duty with the 149th, bored, restless and hopeless. He might better have borne his failure with Eleanor, and the loss of his future prospects, as he saw it, had he been active and useful. But he felt worthless doing drills and exercises in barracks. He had not felt that before; he had not felt the call to fight so keenly. But now – it was galling to be stuck here, when the obstacle that prevented him from her was his call to duty.
It was the first event of the season, and he had attended in some desperate hope of seeing her.
