Chapter 2

Mr. Weston was a native of Highbury, and born of a respectable family, which for the last two or three
generations had been rising into gentility and property. He had received a good education, but, on succeeding early in
life to a small independence, had become indisposed for any of the more homely pursuits in which his brothers were
engaged, and had satisfied an active, cheerful mind and social temper by entering into the militia of his county, then
embodied.

Captain Weston was a general favourite; and when the chances of his military life had introduced him to Miss
Churchill, of a great Yorkshire family, and Miss Churchill fell in love with him, nobody was surprized, except her
brother and his wife, who had never seen him, and who were full of pride and importance, which the connexion would
offend.

Miss Churchill, however, being of age, and with the full command of her fortune — though her fortune bore no
proportion to the family-estate — was not to be dissuaded from the marriage, and it took place, to the infinite
mortification of Mr. and Mrs. Churchill, who threw her off with due decorum. It was an unsuitable connexion, and did not
produce much happiness. Mrs. Weston ought to have found more in it, for she had a husband whose warm heart and sweet
temper made him think every thing due to her in return for the great goodness of being in love with him; but though she
had one sort of spirit, she had not the best. She had resolution enough to pursue her own will in spite of her brother,
but not enough to refrain from unreasonable regrets at that brother’s unreasonable anger, nor from missing the luxuries
of her former home. They lived beyond their income, but still it was nothing in comparison of Enscombe: she did not cease
to love her husband, but she wanted at once to be the wife of Captain Weston, and Miss Churchill of Enscombe.

Captain Weston, who had been considered, especially by the Churchills, as making such an amazing match, was proved to
have much the worst of the bargain; for when his wife died, after a three years’ marriage, he was rather a poorer man
than at first, and with a child to maintain. From the expense of the child, however, he was soon relieved. The boy had,
with the additional softening claim of a lingering illness of his mother’s, been the means of a sort of reconciliation;
and Mr. and Mrs. Churchill, having no children of their own, nor any other young creature of equal kindred to care for,
offered to take the whole charge of the little Frank soon after her decease. Some scruples and some reluctance the
widower-father may be supposed to have felt; but as they were overcome by other considerations, the child was given up to
the care and the wealth of the Churchills, and he had only his own comfort to seek, and his own situation to improve as
he could.

A complete change of life became desirable. He quitted the militia and engaged in trade, having brothers already
established in a good way in London, which afforded him a favourable opening. It was a concern which brought just
employment enough. He had still a small house in Highbury, where most of his leisure days were spent; and between useful
occupation and the pleasures of society, the next eighteen or twenty years of his life passed cheerfully away. He had, by
that time, realised an easy competence — enough to secure the purchase of a little estate adjoining Highbury, which he
had always longed for — enough to marry a woman as portionless even as Miss Taylor, and to live according to the wishes
of his own friendly and social disposition.

It was now some time since Miss Taylor had begun to influence his schemes; but as it was not the tyrannic influence of
youth on youth, it had not shaken his determination of never settling till he could purchase Randalls, and the sale of
Randalls was long looked forward to; but he had gone steadily on, with these objects in view, till they were
accomplished. He had made his fortune, bought his house, and obtained his wife; and was beginning a new period of
existence, with every probability of greater happiness than in any yet passed through. He had never been an unhappy man;
his own temper had secured him from that, even in his first marriage; but his second must shew him how delightful a
well-judging and truly amiable woman could be, and must give him the pleasantest proof of its being a great deal better
to choose than to be chosen, to excite gratitude than to feel it.

He had only himself to please in his choice: his fortune was his own; for as to Frank, it was more than being tacitly
brought up as his uncle’s heir, it had become so avowed an adoption as to have him assume the name of Churchill on coming
of age. It was most unlikely, therefore, that he should ever want his father’s assistance. His father had no apprehension
of it. The aunt was a capricious woman, and governed her husband entirely; but it was not in Mr. Weston’s nature to
imagine that any caprice could be strong enough to affect one so dear, and, as he believed, so deservedly dear. He saw
his son every year in London, and was proud of him; and his fond report of him as a very fine young man had made Highbury
feel a sort of pride in him too. He was looked on as sufficiently belonging to the place to make his merits and prospects
a kind of common concern.

Mr. Frank Churchill was one of the boasts of Highbury, and a lively curiosity to see him prevailed, though the
compliment was so little returned that he had never been there in his life. His coming to visit his father had been often
talked of but never achieved.

Now, upon his father’s marriage, it was very generally proposed, as a most proper attention, that the visit should
take place. There was not a dissentient voice on the subject, either when Mrs. Perry drank tea with Mrs. and Miss Bates,
or when Mrs. and Miss Bates returned the visit. Now was the time for Mr. Frank Churchill to come among them; and the hope
strengthened when it was understood that he had written to his new mother on the occasion. For a few days, every morning
visit in Highbury included some mention of the handsome letter Mrs. Weston had received. “I suppose you have heard of the
handsome letter Mr. Frank Churchill has written to Mrs. Weston? I understand it was a very handsome letter, indeed. Mr.
Woodhouse told me of it. Mr. Woodhouse saw the letter, and he says he never saw such a handsome letter in his life.”

It was, indeed, a highly prized letter. Mrs. Weston had, of course, formed a very favourable idea of the young man;
and such a pleasing attention was an irresistible proof of his great good sense, and a most welcome addition to every
source and every expression of congratulation which her marriage had already secured. She felt herself a most fortunate
woman; and she had lived long enough to know how fortunate she might well be thought, where the only regret was for a
partial separation from friends whose friendship for her had never cooled, and who could ill bear to part with her.

She knew that at times she must be missed; and could not think, without pain, of Emma’s losing a single pleasure, or
suffering an hour’s ennui, from the want of her companionableness: but dear Emma was of no feeble character; she was more
equal to her situation than most girls would have been, and had sense, and energy, and spirits that might be hoped would
bear her well and happily through its little difficulties and privations. And then there was such comfort in the very
easy distance of Randalls from Hartfield, so convenient for even solitary female walking, and in Mr. Weston’s disposition
and circumstances, which would make the approaching season no hindrance to their spending half the evenings in the week
together.

Her situation was altogether the subject of hours of gratitude to Mrs. Weston, and of moments only of regret; and her
satisfaction —-her more than satisfaction — her cheerful enjoyment, was so just and so apparent, that Emma, well as she
knew her father, was sometimes taken by surprize at his being still able to pity ‘poor Miss Taylor,’ when they left her
at Randalls in the centre of every domestic comfort, or saw her go away in the evening attended by her pleasant husband
to a carriage of her own. But never did she go without Mr. Woodhouse’s giving a gentle sigh, and saying, “Ah, poor Miss
Taylor! She would be very glad to stay.”

There was no recovering Miss Taylor — nor much likelihood of ceasing to pity her; but a few weeks brought some
alleviation to Mr. Woodhouse. The compliments of his neighbours were over; he was no longer teased by being wished joy of
so sorrowful an event; and the wedding-cake, which had been a great distress to him, was all eat up. His own stomach
could bear nothing rich, and he could never believe other people to be different from himself. What was unwholesome to
him he regarded as unfit for any body; and he had, therefore, earnestly tried to dissuade them from having any
wedding-cake at all, and when that proved vain, as earnestly tried to prevent any body’s eating it. He had been at the
pains of consulting Mr. Perry, the apothecary, on the subject. Mr. Perry was an intelligent, gentlemanlike man, whose
frequent visits were one of the comforts of Mr. Woodhouse’s life; and upon being applied to, he could not but acknowledge
(though it seemed rather against the bias of inclination) that wedding-cake might certainly disagree with many — perhaps
with most people, unless taken moderately. With such an opinion, in confirmation of his own, Mr. Woodhouse hoped to
influence every visitor of the newly married pair; but still the cake was eaten; and there was no rest for his benevolent
nerves till it was all gone.

There was a strange rumour in Highbury of all the little Perrys being seen with a slice of Mrs. Weston’s wedding-cake
in their hands: but Mr. Woodhouse would never believe it.