On the road to Woodston
The joy of seeing a daughter well married is a satisfaction generally attributed particularly to the lady's mother, but it must be said that Mr. Morland, in performing the ceremony that joined his eldest daughter to the man of her choice in his very own church, exactly equalled his wife in happiness. Indeed, both the bride and groom were so beloved by all those assembled, and the couple themselves so glowing with felicity, that a merrier scene could scarcely be imagined.
Catherine, while quite unused to be the focus of so much attention, submitted to it very happily while she had Henry by her side, and when she was finally handed into the carriage that was to take them both to Woodston, it was with as lovely a glow of happiness surrounding her as the most blessed bride of any novel.
A carriage conveying a newly wed couple to the future home of their choice cannot fail to be an object of interest to every author's pen. In such a carriage one may comfortably place all hopes and expectations, everything felicitous and romantic. The carriage in question had very little to recommend itself in the way of romance, however. Its appearance was sturdy, rather than fine, and its horses were neither midnight black nor dappled grey. Grievous faults indeed, but it said much of our young bride's felicity, that she was wholly insensible of these defects; Catherine had never loved a carriage better, and even thirty miles into their journey could find no fault with it.
Henry was of exactly the same mind, his spirits were so high that he could hardly go fifteen minutes without either sweet praise or teasing nonsense spilling from his lips. The servants having been sent ahead early that morning there were no attendants to check his spirits, it was “my dearest Catherine” and “Catherine, my darling,” at every turn.
Such a repetition, if spoken with grave sincerity, might carry some risk of wearying even the most affectionate bride; but in being spoken with the express intent to fluster and amuse, they could not but be effective. Catherine smiled and smiled again, looking lovelier every time, and at times being as near to preening as her unpretending nature would allow.
A necessary stop to tend to the horses likewise put a temporary stop to his amusement. Mischief gave way to all the attentiveness and courtesy of an affectionate husband, and when, at the end of the hour’s wait, he handed Catherine back into the carriage, it was with no design beyond expressing his sincere satisfaction that he spoke:
“There we are, Mrs. Tilney.”
Catherine, whose eagerness to be off again had her stepping into the carriage with great alacrity, very nearly lost her footing in her sudden attempt to look back at him, and then made a great effort to hide her face while hastily taking her seat.
Such a marked change in countenance could not escape his notice, however, and the door of the carriage had scarcely been closed on them, before he inquired, with affected surprise ill disguising his delight:
“Is something the matter, Mrs. Tilney?”
Catherine only shook her head. To hear herself called “Mrs. Tilney” by her own family and all their kind friends had been so very gratifying that she had not at all been prepared to find the delight in hearing Henry himself do so quite ten times as great.
[Read the full fic on AO3, 3.736 words.]
