Miss Dashwood

Untitled Part 2

Miss Margaret Dashwood was the youngest of three sisters and had long felt the burden of being the youngest of the family. Whilst she had been wishing to travel the world (by which, her sisters assumed she meant London and Bath), she had been given the immeasurable privilege of having to accompany her widowed mother to card parties and house calls. While Margaret had nothing against such things, and even enjoyed them, owing primarily to her mischievous nature (and habit of cheating at cards); she desired her world to be bigger, and her life more exciting, than simply being the last Dashwood daughter at home, and a potential spinster of three and twenty.
  Meg, as she was wont to be called, unlike her beautiful sister Marianne or her kind and clever sister Elinor, tended to be forgotten. She lacked the striking beauty which would secure her invitations to balls and card parties, and was not tactful enough to find herself in the company of true quality. She was, as her mother often lamented, something of an oddity, a girl neither here nor there, pretty enough in her own way, and clever too, but unmanageable.
  Her claim to beauty lay in her lovely smile, which transformed the slightly too big mouth into something remarkable, hid her freckles, and made a presentable frizz of her mane of dark chestnut hair. She did not despair at the fact that she had not her sister's golden curls and blue eyes, or Elinor's fine and slender figure. Her mind was occupied with other matters, such as designing new gardening tools to help the back of poor gardener Tummins, or less costly heating methods for the new family in the hamlet. Yet her mother did not understand this, and kindly though she was, Mrs Dashwood at heart believed in matrimony and security, and feared greatly for Meg's future, or a lack thereof.

Her sisters had both been married these last ten years and the eldest, Elinor, was now a busy mother of four and the wife of a beloved reverend, and Marianne the happy wife of Colonel Brandon and mistress of the Delaford estate. But Meg did not desire these things for herself. That is not to say that she did not love her nephews and nieces, for they gave her life much happiness, and she respected the deep love her sisters and brothers-in- law had. Meg, however, required more. There was an independent spirit in her soul that could not be quieted, however much Mrs Dashwood tried.
"There now, Meg, that is a nice surprise indeed! Your sister Mrs Brandon has invited you to stay for a whole week, though she says you may stay longer if you wish. She said that Elinor is to come and bring the children for a few days, whilst the Colonel shall be away in London. Should you not like that, my dear?" asked her gentle mother, going through their mail as she did every morning.
"Oh, look what you have done! Dear me, Meg, that will never be finished."
A patchwork quilt sat on Meg's lap, clumsily sewn, with a patch sewn half to the quilt and half to her skirt.
     "I'm sorry, Mother, really!" she said, sighing, whilst unpicking the stiches. "But must I do all this fiddly work? You know I haven't the patience for such things, I should much prefer to be out walking."
"It is not ladylike to walk such a lot, Meg, and unaccompanied! Perhaps you might write Lady Middleton and beg her for the company of one of her daughters? They are young, but bright things!"
     "They are rather dull company, Mother, I should prefer even Mrs Jennings!"
"That woman is all kindness, Meg, I will thank you not to speak of her in such a manner."
     "Even you must acknowledge the stupidity of her sometimes, Mama!"
"Dearest child...some days I wonder where you came from. You are so very different, and so very stubborn! Such an easy time I had with your sisters."
   "Wouldn't you miss my company terribly, Mama, if I was to leave?"
"I think I should be grateful for the quiet!" she retorted, laughing, and gently pulled her stitch tightly. "No, Meg, I don't think I should miss it. I would be grateful you had given me peace at last!"

It was to Meg's credit then, and to the joy of her mother, that she had roused herself enough on this particularly chilly and damp evening to attend a small party hosted by the rather unusual Lady Middleton, and undoubtedly attended by her many equally unusual friends. She had neither taste or quality, yet money enough to outweigh both lacks, and was regularly seen to be hosting the sort of events that Meg knew Mrs Dashwood had once presided over, and longed to do again. It was no mean feat to see Meg in a gown and kid gloves, but it was worth it when she saw her mother's face. Never again, she vowed, knowing silently that it was highly unlikely this would ever be a vow she could keep.

She edged further along the outskirts of the party, closer to the roaring fire, and the elderly chaperones guarding their charges. She saw a lonely chair she thought could do with filling, and hurried along until she felt something heavy press into her. Startled, she turned, and in an instant found herself at the receiving end of a glass of scarlet wine, which seemed thrust at her, bouncing and breaking on the ground.

"Madam, you must excuse me, I had not seen you there," said the gentleman who had been holding it, in a remorseful and obviously embarrassed manner. He bent to retrieve the glass, which lay in two large pieces at his feet, and standing, quickly took her hand.
"You did not cut yourself on the glass?" he asked urgently, turning her hand to examine it.
"No, not at all."
He smiled in relief, which quickly turned to a grimace when he saw the stain on her gown.
"But your dress! I am so sorry."
"Please, it does not signify. The dress is only lightly marked, it is nothing that my maid cannot easily get out," she replied, intrigued by this new and unknown face. He seemed on edge, which struck Meg as odd, in an intimate gathering such as this, but it could be forgiven if he knew no body, which seemed to be the case. He was tall, though not overly so, with dark hair and a gentle, kind brow,
"Sir, ought you not introduce yourself now that the formality of spilling wine on your neighbour has already been achieved?" she asked mischievously, hoping to put him at ease and perhaps have at least some intelligent conversation this evening.
"You make light of it, which I take as a good sign, for I was terribly worried you would be one of those gentle ladies in whom a stain could mean the end of the evening and very possibly their social lives. Not, of course, that that in any way excludes you from being a lady, which of course you must be, oh, dear, I seem...I seem to have rather made a mess of things."
"My name, sir, is Margaret Dashwood, and from what I have heard and now indeed seen, I believe you must be our new doctor, Dr Collier? Most faces here are eminently familiar, I am afraid."
"I am. My name is Henry Collier, Miss Dashwood."
"I am not Miss Dashwood. That was my eldest sister, and the next eldest after her. No, I am Margaret, or Meg to my friends, so we shall see which of those you are to call me in time."
"Indeed," he said, his eyes sparkling, which Margaret noted with pleasure. She enjoyed the company of those who did not question propriety (or her lack of it). "And are your sisters here this evening?"
"Elinor, the eldest, Mrs Ferrars, has four children, the youngest two of whom are ill. So she has the delightful task of nursemaid this evening. As for Marianne, she is married to Colonel Brandon, and is in the late stages of her confinement."
"A merry family you seem to have then, I envy you."
"You have not family of your own?"
"My parents both died in India when I was young. I was brought up by an aunt who I do not pretend to love, but at least she had the good sense to send me away to college and give me an education. I have an older brother, in Sussex, who is married, but I rarely see him, nor his many children."
"You shall find us all here most welcoming. Indeed, as much as I loathed leaving my own childhood home of Norland Park, I find Delaford a most happy place."
"A lively place, for you, a busy aunt."
"The beloved maiden aunt seems to be my future."
"You could have it otherwise, could you not? Forgive me, but you do not seem quite old enough to be, as they say, on the shelf."
"Is that an offer, Doctor Collier?"
"Miss Dashwood!" he said, shocked, his eyes sparkling again. Margaret had the feeling that he was laughing at her.
"In jest, sir, in jest, I am sorry!" she said, laughing. His face seemed pained, but he could not help himself and he too began laughing.
"Indeed, you would have fitted in well in Cambridge, Miss Dashwood, with such a quick wit!"
"Margaret, Doctor."
"Margaret. Please, you must introduce me to this vision of loveliness at your side," he said, suddenly shyly, and Margaret turned to see her mother standing curiously beside her.
"Mama, allow me to introduce Doctor Collier, who has recently completed his studies at Cambridge. Doctor, my mother, Mrs Dashwood."
"Tis an honor, madam."
"I see sir that you have already made the acquaintance of my daughter, and for this ill fortune I apologise in advance. She speaks most out of turn, and resents good society, is that not so Meg?"
"Only the society that resents me, Mama!"