Elizabeth Marton

This is also a historical fiction. Enjoy!

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Over the next few weeks, whilst Mr. Fitzwield became more attached than ever to her sister, Janet, Elizabeth grew less and less civil towards Mr. Emmerson, so much, this showed, in fact, that he even left her alone for a short while, keeping out of her way as much as possible. His friend, on the other hand, Mr. Fitzwield, seemed persistently determined to build even just a fragile alliance between Elizabeth and Mr. Emmerson that he was insistent on their never leaving each others' sides. The reason why, we are soon to find out.

Funnily enough for poor Elizabeth, however, it was not only Mr Emmerson who hated her. From even their first proper meeting, during which she had rudely criticized Elizabeth's choice of dress, Miss Lucinda Fitzwield had made it quite clear that she, like Emmerson, whom she seemed to admire, cared less for Elizabeth than she would of a dead fly on her rosemary bush. By now, however, everyone in the town knew of the feuds between two people associated with Inklefield house and Miss Marton and, although Elizabeth chose to ignore it, the feelings acquired, when two people so severely hate you, are not nice burdens to have.

The Martons were, once again, at Inklefield when the discovery, made by Elizabeth's sister, Janet, was revealed and everyone was mid-way through a game of cards. For the present, Mr. Emmerson was winning, urged on by Miss Fizwield, whom kept lounging over his shoulder in a disgraceful manner and whispering tattle, of what, no one knows, into his ear. Elizabeth, whom hated both of them far too much to even think about caring, did not find the scene much worth watching, but Mr. Fitzwield, seated by Janet, founnd the whole arrangement quite disturbing. Janet, whom cared for him very much, noticed this, and, as Mr. Fitzwield called Mr. Emmerson out of the room to talk, she followed, feeling ever so slightly guilty, behind them, completely unnoticed by any of the others. She found them, at last, after stopping at each door to listen, and heard as thus follows:

"My dear friend, you know, in due course you will be in great want of a wife-"

"I know, Fitzwield, I know... But I am clueless as to what you expect to happen between her and myself. We have no friendship, none at all, and I must make it clear to you, friend, that anything you may wish, or suspect, is impossible."

"Impossible, perhaps, but not undesirable. Mr. Fitzwilliam Emmerson, do not deny me your true feelings-"

"I am not! You are highly mistaken. I may have another woman in mind."

"Well, I laugh at you for saying so, Will. My sister is not suitable as a wife for you!"

"Lucinda? Your sister? I think not! Lucinda means nothing to me! And nor, Edmund, does Elizabeth!"

"Then whom? Whom is it whom catches your fancy? If it is not Elizabeth - which I strongly doubt - nor my dear sister, then who? Surely not one of the younger girls? Or Janet? I beg you not to tell me it is Janet..."

"Sometimes, Edmund, you are a fool. It is neither Janet, nor any other Marton sister. You will not know the lady of whom I speak. But prey now, dear friend, let us dwell on my affections no longer. Tell me of your attachment to a certain Janet Marton."

 

But by this time, Janet could hear no more, although, yes, she had found out an awful lot. As fast as she dared, she hurried back downstairs and sat there in her own thoughts 

for almost the entire duration of the rest of their visit. Oh! To tell or not to tell Lizzie! Mr. Emmerson was in want of a wife, was he? And dear Mr. Fitzwield seemed to think his eye was set on Elizabeth! Her own sister, Elizabeth! The one Mr. Emmerson so disliked. But had he not made it plain that it was neither Elizabeth, nor Lucinda Fitzwield, nor anyone else whom had caught his fancy... And, on top of that, they'd spoken of herself! Her, Janet! And now Mr. Fitzwield, whom she so admired, was in love with her! Oh, how she had so much to tell Lizzie! But, for now, the women were playing at piano and Janet knew that she would have to wait to inform Elizabeth of her news...

 

The next morning, upon hearing Janet's story, Elizabeth laughed and laughed and laughed, until the tears rolled down her cheeks. "Mr. Emmerson? In love with me? Oh, Janet, it it too, too hilarious for words!" Exclaimed Elizabeth to Janet as she clutched her sides. Then, she stopped and looked at her sister slightly more seriously than before. "But, tell me, dear Janet, of yourself and Mr. Fitzwield."

But Janet blushed crimson, unable to spill even a word and when, the next morning, a note arrived at the house, hand delivered by Mr. Fitzwield himself, inviting all the family to his second ball in one-and-a-half months, Elizabeth said slyly to Janet "Oh, how often that man invites us round! I wonder what ever could be the cause of i!"

And Janet laughed and poked her sister, then went and brought the invitation to their mother, whom, of course, was delighted.

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