The following morning, having excused himself from a family dinner and asked his mother to apologise on his behalf to his sisters, Robert rode out to meet the Fitzwilliams' party.
They rode first to Rushmore--the old Camden family farm, overlooked by a rugged ridge of hills that comprised the boundary of the property-- where they were joined by some of the younger members of the party before proceeding along the river's edge to the breathtakingly lovely Dove Dale.
Rose was familiar with the wooded dales of Derbyshire, having spent most of her life in the district. Robert, however, had been away overseas for much of the time, since his family had moved to Derbyshire from London. He was enchanted by the beauty that surrounded them, and when, after lunch, the younger members of the party decided to take a walk along the path beside the river, he waited only to ensure that Rose was agreeable before jumping up to join them.
As the others walked briskly beside the water's edge, Robert and his companion lagged behind them a little, lingering while Rose chose to point out her favourite features of the landscape, and he to admire them with her. At each bend in the river, a new and lovelier prospect greeted them, and nothing would suffice but that they should stop awhile and absorb its beauty. They both expressed the wish that they had had an artist's skill to sketch or paint and lamented the fact that neither possessed such a talent.
As they walked on together, he fell silent and was surprised again when she asked, "Tell me, what heinous deed did you commit that warranted your banishment to the colonies? Or was it something I should not ask about?"
Robert was horrified for a moment, fearing she was serious; but, soon realising that she had spoken in jest, he answered honestly and without embarrassment. "Ceylon is not a penal colony, Miss Fitzwilliam," he explained with a smile. "Had I done something seriously wrong, I would have been bound for Australia," adding that he had gone voluntarily, not in chains, and had never regretted it.
Rose was immediately contrite, thinking she had offended him, but Robert laughed and assured her he was only teasing, too.
He did, however, tell her how he had tried, foolishly, to help a friend pay a gambling debt and overcommitted himself.
"My father and Mr Darcy were most helpful in extricating me from that rather uncomfortable situation, and, feeling I had made a fool of myself, I decided to take a position with a commercial firm in Ceylon. Your uncle, Colonel Fitzwilliam, was instrumental in getting me accepted; I was most grateful. It was a fresh start, and as you can see, it has done me no harm at all. My mother was upset at first--it seemed to her like I was being banished to the ends of the earth--but even she agrees now that it was for the best."
"Did you make a fortune?" she asked, smiling.
Robert answered lightly, "A small one, but I made the most of my time and learned everything I could so I have come home with much more knowledge and skill than I had when I left England."
Rose had listened, laughing gently at first but, as he told the tale, with increasing sympathy. "Mr Gardiner, I am sorry. I did not mean to make fun of you or pry into your past. I was just curious. Were you dreadfully lonely?" she asked.
"I was, at first," he confessed, "but there are many English people out there--there is so much work going on. I stayed, at first, with Charles Bingley's cousin, Frank, and he certainly helped me settle in. So it was not as bad as it might have been."
Rose was generous in her admiration. Never having left England, the thought of travelling to a far country and living there among strangers for several years left her amazed. She looked at him and smiled, as if reassessing him in her own mind.
Robert decided it was his turn to ask some questions--with the advantage of knowing more about her than she knew of him. "And, having confessed to the reason for my being banished to the colonies, may I ask how you occupied your time since escaping from that lady's seminary?" he asked.
Rose was genuinely surprised and her eyes widened, as she was about to ask how he knew where she had acquired her education, when he informed her that his cousins Emma and Sophie Bingley had attended the same excellent institution.
"Ah, yes, of course, the Bingley girls. They were two of the prettiest pupils in the school, and so accomplished, too," she said, remembering days past.
Soon, however, she grew quiet and rather solemn. A melancholy expression settled upon her countenance, and Robert was afraid he had upset her by his questions.
"Miss Fitzwilliam, I see I may have upset you. I apologise, I had no right to question you," he said gently, but she turned to him with a smile and reassured him.
"You have done no such thing, please do not apologise. In truth, while you were working in your exotic paradise, I was engaged to be married to a gentleman from Derby--a surgeon. John Greaves was perhaps the best man I have ever known ... he was clever, generous, and compassionate, and I loved him, but it was not to be." Her voice was suddenly soft and barely audible.
Robert, sensing rather than seeing her grief, intervened. "Rose, please do not distress yourself. My mother did tell me about John Greaves, so I do know, and I do not want you to go through it all again. Please, believe me, I would hate to cause you more grief."
She accepted his handkerchief, blew her nose, and grew silent again as they turned to walk back towards the main party. A chill wind from the hills made her stop and button up her coat. As they resumed their walk, she spoke quietly and deliberately, without looking at him, "Since John's death four years ago, I have paid little attention to any other man. Nor have I sought the company of anyone other than my family."
Robert made some inconsequential remark, as if to indicate that he understood exactly what she meant.
She continued as though she had not heard his words. "Until the other day, I had not met a man with whom I even felt the need to make the effort to carry on a conversation. It was different with you. I was surprised that I had really enjoyed the evening. I thought, perhaps, we could be friends," she said looking up at him, her words spoken quietly and casually, as though she were inviting him to afternoon tea.
Robert's expression changed in seconds from gravity to delight. She spoke again, "Could we?"
Surprised, he hastened to agree. "Of course we could; why, nothing would give me greater pleasure." His words tumbled out; he was eager to accept her offer of friendship.
She stopped and gave him her hand. "Good, we shall be friends, then. I am glad," she said and smiled as he kissed her hand, which he was then reluctant to release. She, perhaps encouraged by the unevenness of the path, permitted him to keep hold of it for the rest of their walk.
When they reached the rest of the party, they were packing up to leave.
Rose's mother pointed to the clouds scudding across the sky to the north: "It looks like rain on the hills," she said. "It may be coming this way." She urged them to hurry lest they should be caught in a downpour.
As far as Robert was concerned, however, there was not a cloud in the sky.
The following morning being Monday, Emily was sitting alone in the parlour, writing to Emma Wilson, when she was interrupted by a knock at the front door. She had heard no sound of a carriage, so she assumed that the caller had come on foot or horseback, probably on parish business. When she went out into the hall, however, she found her brother Robert in the doorway.
She was very surprised to see him, believing that he had already returned to Liverpool that morning. "Why, Robert, I had thought you had left for Liverpool already," she said as he greeted her.
He seemed anxious and appeared uncertain as she led the way into the sitting room, where he sat down beside her and said, quickly, "I have something quite serious to discuss with you." Then, seeing the look of apprehension that crossed her face, he hastened to reassure her, even before she spoke. "No Emmy, I am not in any kind of trouble; I can see your seriously worried expression, but you need not worry this time. I simply need your advice on a personal matter."
Emily sighed with relief. Although she was the younger of the two girls in their family, the fact that Caroline had married very young had left Emily with the responsibilities of an elder sister. While Richard had seemed well able to cope with the vicissitudes of life, such as they were, Robert had always turned to her for counsel.
Having once hurt and upset his mother and disappointed his father by a foolish lapse of judgement, he had, since his return to England, sought his sister's advice on many occasions. Emily had applauded his decision to remain in England and take the job in Liverpool; she was hoping she could persuade him to take the next step and join his father's business.
Mr Gardiner, though still active and interested in his business, was not in the best of health. Mrs Gardiner often wished aloud that Robert would offer to relieve his father of some of the burdens of his work, but he had shown no inclination to do so. Emily had hoped that the inconvenience of travelling to and from Liverpool as well as the unappetising food he had to put up with at his lodgings would soon make Robert change his mind.
This time however, it was plainly not a matter concerning his work that had brought him to see his sister. She could tell from his demeanour that this was no mundane problem of draughty rooms and dreary food.
Still he appeared reluctant and uneasy; only when she had shut the door did he relax. Robert was plainly anxious that the matter he was going to talk about was to be kept confidential. Once she had promised that no one, not even her husband, would be privy to their conversation, he told her everything.
Robert was in love with Rose Fitzwilliam. He wanted reassurance from Emily that it was not some vain hope; he needed to know more about her parents, and their expectations for her, particularly her father, who was Mr Darcy's cousin. While he knew that Mr and Mrs Darcy had welcomed his brother Richard's marriage to Cassandra and were his parents' dearest friends, he was concerned that Rose's father might not be as well disposed towards him.
"I am not sure how much they know of the reason for my long exile in the East. Nor do I know anything of their attitude to the fact that my living is made entirely through commerce, as is my father's," he said with a wry smile. Robert had felt the sting of social snobbery before, when friends who were sons of the landed gentry had appeared to dismiss his father's fortune because it was made entirely through trade.
Emily smiled. "But Robert, on both these counts, Rose knows the truth, does she not?" she asked gently.
He nodded, "Of course she does. I have told her exactly what occurred all those years ago, and she did not appear to be concerned at all." "Well, then?"
"Oh, Emmy, it's just that I have never done this before, and she is so beautiful; I feel most unworthy of her."
Emily was instantly up in arms, assuring him that he had no reason to feel unworthy at all. Rose, she said, was indeed a beautiful young woman, but if she had indicated her own feelings, Emily believed passionately that her parents would have no grounds for objecting to Robert.
"As for the matter of making your living in commerce, Robert, it is a perfectly respectable career, and as I have heard Mr Darcy say on more than one occasion, it is the lifeblood of England today," she declared. "Where would this nation be if it were not for the great trading firms? Much of our prosperity depends upon the work of men like Papa. You have nothing to apologise for on that score, Robert. Indeed, were you to become a partner in the business, as I have suggested you should, you would be in the illustrious company of their own kinsmen, like Mr Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam."
So persuasive was she that Robert seemed satisfied with her assurances. However, his next problem was more difficult to solve. While he was almost sure that the lady regarded him as a friend, he was afraid her affections might not, as yet, be deeply engaged.
"I am in a quandary as to what I should do. A premature approach may well scare her away, yet, were I to say nothing at all, she may suppose that I am totally indifferent to her," he said, appealing to Emily for guidance.
Emily responded with the affectionate smile of a tolerant and understanding sister. "Robert, my dear, if Rose has told you she would like to be friends, believe me, she must have some expectation that, before long, friendship may turn to something deeper. It is a perfectly natural progression, which any woman of reasonable sensibility will anticipate.
"If you have some concerns about the effect your advances may have upon her, then take care that you do not appear to take her affections for granted or demand too quick a response to your own. A soft approach is always appreciated--more so, I would think, in the case of Rose, who has, after all, loved and lost in the most tragic way."
Robert hastened to assure his sister that in no way would he be precipitate or demanding; indeed, he was so overwhelmed, he feared he might not say anything at all.
"You may not believe me Emily, but I get tongue-tied. I lack the eloquence of these young men about town who seem to have no trouble expressing their most ardent feelings quite openly," he said.
Emily smiled. She was reproving, but gentle. "Robert, you are an oldfashioned gentleman. Rose is an intelligent young woman who is twentyseven years old. If she has invited you to be her friend, a privilege she has not extended to many others, she is unlikely to take fright if, after some time, you let her see that your feelings for her have deepened. Indeed, were I in her place, Robert, I would be singularly disappointed if that was not the case," she said.
Robert was not easily convinced. "Do you really believe that, Emmy? I know so little about the way young women think, I would be afraid to appear presumptuous," he said.
Emily sought to reassure her brother, "Robert I cannot believe that anyone could ever consider you presumptuous. I have to admit, I do not know Rose as well as I do Cassy, but from my limited knowledge of her, I think I could confidently say that a gentlemanly and sensitive approach is unlikely to cause alarm and may even be welcomed by a young woman in her situation."
Robert sighed, "I do hope you are right, Emmy."
Emily promised that she would observe Rose when they met. "I shall have an opportunity when she joins me next week to teach Sunday school. She is one of our volunteers," she explained. "If she is missing you, I shall know, and if she wants to talk to me about you, I shall be available."
Robert was grateful. "My dear sister, I know I was right to come to you. Just for now, however, we must keep this to ourselves. When I return from Liverpool, we shall talk again and if there is anything to tell mother and father, it will be done."
Emily agreed, promising to protect his secret.
Robert, buoyed by his sister's sound advice and optimism, was preparing to leave when a knock at the door heralded a visitor. Going to the door together, they found Rose, who had driven over in a curricle. She seemed a little confused, and Robert reddened as they greeted one another.
He was just leaving, he said, but Emily persuaded him to stay and take tea with them. Robert accepted, and they returned to the sitting room, where Emily left them together while she went to get the tea.
She seemed to take an inordinate amount of time, and Rose, who had seated herself by the bay window, while Robert remained standing beside the fireplace, became rather restless.
After she had answered all his concerns about the health of her parents and brother--all of whom he had seen in the pink of health just yesterday-- she stood up and went over to the window, attracted by the profusion of blossoms on an old lilac leaning up against the garden wall. Robert joined her, and they were standing close together admiring the garden when Emily returned with a maid bearing the tea tray.
She noticed that neither of them seemed to feel the need to move quickly away from each other as she entered. Rose simply returned to her seat on the sofa while Robert went back to standing in front of the fire.
Emily poured out the tea, observing the couple with a degree of indulgent fondness. It was clear to her that, while Rose was probably not ready to reveal the depth of her own feelings, she was unlikely to resent a confession of love from her suitor.
The warmth with which she had greeted him lingered in their conversation, and when she heard he was taking the evening coach to Liverpool, Rose was very solicitous indeed, asking how many hours the journey would take and were the roads safe after dark?
Robert tried to allay her concerns, pointing out that there was very little to worry about, since the coachmen were experienced drivers and had few accidents, but Rose recalled a very nasty one on the Matlock road some years ago.
Emily remembered it too, but for different reasons. She recalled especially the efforts of her brother, Richard, and his friend, Paul Antoine, which had saved the lives of many people.
Rose seemed anxious, and Robert promised that he would write as soon as he reached Liverpool.
"I could send an express," he said a little tentatively and was rewarded with a delighted smile.
"Would you? I am sure we would be happy to know that your journey had been safely accomplished. Do you not think so, Mrs Courtney?"
Emily agreed, but she was vastly amused by the fuss, remembering how Paul and Richard had travelled regularly to Birmingham. Robert was only going to Liverpool, yet she felt sympathy for the anxious Rose. She, too, had once suffered a great loss.
Strangely, she thought, there seemed never any need to worry about her present husband, James. He seemed self-contained, almost protected.
Dragging herself back to her guests, who had finished their tea, Emily found them discussing a song Rose had sung recently, which Robert claimed was the prettiest he had heard in many years. She was promising to give him the words, while he was hoping to hear her sing it again, soon.
Looking at his watch, Robert said he really must leave and Rose, who had wanted to talk about the Sunday school, stayed behind.
Later, after they had both left, Emily returned to her letter:
Dearest Emma,
she wrote: