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By this Mr Thorne understood that despite her apparent thawing towards him, Jane Bennet was not in love with him and his heart sank. They kept walking.
“It seems hardly fair,” she continued, “to ask anyone to marry an invalid, but know that if you did wish to marry such a poor soul as myself that I would respect my vows and try to conduct myself as a good wife. More than that I cannot promise you.”
Jane paused when she felt Mr Thorne’s grip loosen on her hand. She thought her honest but cold speech had probably given him a disgust of her. She risked looking up at him, expecting to see his face hardened or perhaps even angry after all the trouble he had been to over her. Instead, she saw a single tear roll down his cheek. Overcome with sympathy, she stopped in her tracks to instinctively grip his hand more tightly.
Behind them, Mr and Mrs Gardiner stopped also, and Mr Gardiner started explaining to his wife the unusual rigging of a ship that was below them.
“Perhaps...” Jane said haltingly.
“Yes?” Thorne asked softly.
“Perhaps you could help me back to the top.”
Mr Thorne’s heart skipped a beat upon understanding the import of Jane’s words. He took several deep breaths. “It is my earnest wish to do that, Miss Bennet.”
They continued to gaze earnestly at each other for a moment before Mr Thorne realised it behoved him to make his offer more formal.
“Miss Bennet, will you please be my wife?”
“Yes, Mr Thorne,” she replied.
Mr Thorne brought her gloved hand to his lips to kiss it. Threading it back through his arm, they started walking again, their arms now intimately entwined and their hands clasped. He started talking about the canal that had been built joining the Avon with the Kennet, providing a continuous inland route to London, and another more ambitious project that was being mooted to build a bridge across the river to join Clifton with Somerset, high up over the deep gorge. Better modes of transport, said Mr Thorne, were key to Bristol’s prosperity and his own. Still Mr Thorne did not make use of his handkerchief and when Jane saw the track of his tear still glistening on his cheek, she wished to reach up to wipe it away. But she was not so bold and contented herself with stroking his hand with the thumb of her glove.
They performed some sort of circuit, arriving back at the house by a different route to the one they had taken on their departure. The ladies’ gloves were dispensed with and their shoes exchanged once more for silk slippers before returning to the dining room. As dessert was put on the table, Mr Thorne whispered an order to his footman. Champagne that had been put on ice was brought to the table. Retrieving a box from the old dresser that stood by the dining table, Mr Thorne placed it carefully beside his glass.
Once the glasses were filled, Mr Thorne proposed a toast to the most beautiful lady in the world who had made him the happiest of men. Opening the box, he removed something from it and, taking Jane’s hand once more, slipped a ring onto it as the Gardiners gave their congratulations and clinked their glasses. Trying not to goggle at the huge aquamarine that spanned the width of her finger, a fragile smile emerged on Jane’s lips as she touched her champagne glass to Mr Thorne’s.
After the champagne was drunk, Mr Gardiner suggested they all retire in preparation for their return to London on the morrow, but he offered to get up early to make arrangements with Mr Thorne over breakfast. The Gardiners mounted the stairs first, leaving Jane to walk behind them with her betrothed. When they callously bid her good night at their bedchamber door, Jane found herself alone with Mr Thorne in the dark hall, with only a single branch of candles burning on a console table outside her door to act as chaperone. Mr Thorne escorted Jane to her bedchamber. As her glove touched the handle of her door his own closed on top of it.
“Wait,” he said softly. “May I ask for a kiss goodnight?”
Jane was a little disconcerted by Mr Thorne’s forwardness, for even Mr Bingley had done no more than hold her hand. But that heavy ring on her finger reminded her that she was now betrothed. When she nodded, Mr Thorne turned and carefully extinguished all but two of the candles on the table with the snuffer. Then taking Jane’s waist in both hands, he slowly brushed his lips upon hers before drawing her into a kiss. The experience—his breath, his hands upon her, the warmth of his lips—made Jane feel quite giddy. When he released her to whisper goodnight, she could only totter through the door of her room. Bidding her to sleep well, Mr Thorne picked up the candelabrum and walked off down the hall.
Closing the door to lean heavily upon it, Jane tried to still her tumultuous heart.
Chapter 56: Haggling skills
Mr Gardiner’s chat with Mr Thorne in the morning was brief but productive. While Thorne would have joyfully married Jane on the morrow if he could have contrived it, he did not want to rush her. Had Mr Gardiner suggested a courtship period of six months, Thorne would have willingly acceded and worn the road down between Bristol and London to win Jane’s heart now that he had her hand. Instead, Mr Gardiner suggested the usual period of banns would suffice. Edward was eager to have Jane settled to remove additional risk from Fanny’s situation. Although he knew his wife was not particularly taken with his two youngest nieces, he thought their characters might improve if they were separated. The sooner that was done, in Edward’s opinion, the better. He knew Fanny would part more readily with Kitty than her youngest. As Edward also deemed her the more malleable of the two, he thought it prudent to bring her next to Gracechurch Street. Mrs Gardiner was also in favour of a short betrothal but for different reasons—she was afraid Mr Bingley might reappear and spoil all.
Having roughly settled the time for the ceremony, it was quickly decided that Jane should be married from the Gardiners’ house in London. Their parish church, St Benet, Mr Gardiner explained, had no organ, which had partly informed their decision to worship mostly at St Paul’s. He therefore suggested that Mr Thorne apply for a Special Licence.
“You are proposing St Paul’s?” asked Thorne in consternation, thinking how empty the groom’s side of the church would be with only Bob Childers likely to attend. Thorne might have been able to fill St Paul’s, Bristol with merchants, but not its namesake in London. “Is it not a little large, Ned?”
“Indeed, it is,” laughed Mr Gardiner. “But I do not believe they have conducted marriage services there for fifty years because of its size. Its capacity is over three thousand.”
“Ah! You are making game of the poor, ignorant barbarian from the west.”
“Forgive me, Ben. St Mary-at-Hill or St Olave’s are both nearby churches that are very fine.”
Having settled the major points for the wedding and hearing the ladies coming down the stairs, the men turned the conversation to business and were able to apply themselves to their ham and eggs while the ladies consumed their tea and toast. This being achieved, Mrs Gardiner was eager to be off in order to make Bruton by lunchtime, for they had arranged to visit the Elliots on the way home. Madeleine had felt a little sorry for Mary when her niece had gone off newly married to Somerset—for Mrs Gardiner’s mother had supported all her daughters by accompanying them on their honeymoons. But Mr Gardiner, who could have done without his mother-in-law’s presence as a newlywed, had been confident that Mr Elliot’s kindness, combined with the young couple’s evident love would allow them to do well enough alone. Nonetheless, when the Bristol trip had been proposed he had agreed it would be polite to make their first visit to the Elliots.
Upon taking leave of Mr Thorne, the Gardiners went ahead to the carriage, leaving Jane to say her goodbyes to her betrothed.
Mr Thorne took her hand before she could don her gloves. “Jane, your uncle hopes that we might marry in London, so I will post down there today to apply for the Special Licence.”
“A Special Licence?” echoed Jane, trying not to sound alarmed. “Is there any need for precipitance?”
“Not at all,” said Thorne, caressing her fingers. “Your uncle merely mentioned your parish church lacked an organ and suggested St Mary-at-Hill or St Olave’s. I will discuss a date with the rectors.”
