Work Text:
The purpose of Frank Churchill's visit to Bath was not strictly to meet potential candidates for his future second wife. After becoming a widower so soon into his first marriage, he was certainly in no rush to find his dearest departed Jane's replacement— though his uncle frequently reminded him that a daughter was hardly a suitable heir for Enscombe. No, his chiefest concern was to once again meet the man and woman who all but raised his late wife.
Little Miss Jane Churchill, he felt, would especially benefit from an acquaintance with the Campbells; their lifelong intimacy with her mother would surely offer some degree of kinship that was sorely lacking in the five-year-old's life. His acceptance of their invitation was chiefly out of a desire to introduce his daughter to Col. and Mrs. Campbell.
The Campbells were staying near Mrs. Campbell's brother, he was told— a Sir Walter Elliot, a man of title but little fortune. He vaguely recalled Jane mentioning the man during their courtship; though at the time the relationship between the Elliots and the Campbells was extremely strained because of 'that Elliot pride,' which has severed all acquaintance between the brother and sister when Mrs. Campbell had elected to marry her now-husband when she came of age without her brother's consent.
So he never had the honor of an introduction, until Frank had taken little Jane and Mrs. Campbell on a walk, and they ran into one another quite by accident.
"You are the widower of my sister's charge, I understand," Sir Walter said, inspecting Frank as if he were a prize hog up for auction.
Frank felt strangely bare, even with his daughter at his side. The absence of his wife was felt very keenly in this moment, too, and it took him longer than he cared to reply that the older man's supposition was indeed correct.
"And this is her daughter, I suppose," he continued, turning to Jane.
As was typical amongst children so young, she darted behind her father's legs, shyly peeking out to stare at Sir Walter. If Frank hadn't discussed it with her before they set out for a walk, he would've expected the girl to put her thumb in her mouth, as she usually did when she was especially nervous, but she merely stared blankly and clung to his great coat as if her life depended on it.
"Miss Churchill, what do we do when we meet someone new?" he asked her, in spite of his own trepidation at meeting such a proud man.
Thankfully, little Jane stepped out from behind Frank's leg and made her best attempt at a curtsy. "My dear, this is Mrs. Campbell's brother," he continued, "Sir Walter Elliot."
"I like Mrs. Campbell," she murmured, placing her hands on her face.
"She's shy," Frank explained to the man. More like her mother than himself— a near shocking reminder of his grief. "Have you any children, sir?"
"Three daughters," Sir Walter replied. "My two youngest are married; the eldest lives with me in Bath, though she is out on some calls."
"Elizabeth has many friends," Mrs. Campbell remarked. "It must be so pleasant to be surrounded by one's intimates."
"I can think of nothing better." Frank smiled, though it felt forced even for such an affable man as himself.
At length, they ran into Miss Elliot and her two friends, and they were all introduced. She had not the open countenance that Frank had always desired in a companion, nor was she particularly pleasant to converse with— she carried herself with the same air as her father, who was equally distasteful to Frank— but her friends, on the other hand, were much more agreeable.
One of them in particular, a Lady Phillippa Fitzwilliam, was some relation of the Elliots— further than the Elliots may have liked to admit, for he was later given to understand by some tactful words from Mrs. Campbell that somewhere on both their family trees were, connected by some member of the peerage called Dalrymple, the names Elliot and Fitzwilliam.
The woman in question was pretty, though, and much kinder-hearted than her very distant cousin. Much like Mrs. Campbell's own indifference to her connections, that Lady Phillippa was the daughter of an earl did not seem to factor much into her disposition, which was certainly a welcome relief.
"Is this your daughter, sir?" she asked, raising her eyebrows with true, unaffected excitement.
He replied that she was and served the office of introduction. Little Jane curtsied, much more bravely than with Mr. or Miss Elliot.
"What a handsome girl you are!" she cried. "My, Miss Churchill, I'm astonished! How can a girl of five be so pretty?"
Little Jane blushed and played with her fingers in embarrassment, while Miss Elliot rolled her eyes and whispered something to the other friend— a Mrs. Clay, perhaps? Frank could not recall.
"What do we say to Lady Phillippa, Jane?"
"Thank you, ma'am," little Jane mumbled.
"What manners, too! I was certainly not so well-behaved when I was your age," she declared, then paused with a blush. "Not that I was wild, of course— merely— well, you know how children are. My older brother tells me his are a nuisance at times— though my cousin Mr. Darcy takes great delight in his, so perhaps it depends on the child and the father."
Frank nodded knowingly and let out a laugh. "Indeed, I do know how children are, though I am more of your cousin's persuasion than your brother's."
Before either could say another word, Miss Elliot cleared her throat rather loudly and said, "Lady Phillippa, I believe we ought to return you to your father. His Lordship would not be pleased if you were gone all hours of the day."
"Of course! I have lost track of time, sir. Forgive me, but it was a pleasure to make your acquaintance— and your daughter's." She quickly dipped a curtsy, before sighing and joining her acquaintances down the street.
"She's quite the handsome girl," Mrs. Campbell said upon the removal of all her relations. "Very pleasant, too."
Frank frowned. "Miss Elliot?"
She laughed, as if it was glaringly obvious that they spoke of different women. "Lady Phillippa, Mr. Churchill."
"Oh, yes…"
Through his two-month sojourn in Bath, he met Lady Phillippa several more times thereafter— sometimes by accident, sometimes entirely on purpose— at the theater, on the street, attending parties and balls. He even met her father, Lord Matlock, with whom he pleasantly spoke about politics for several minutes and who invited him to dine at the Matlock's Bath townhouse several times.
It wasn't until they began to spend time together more individually that he wrote to his uncle a note informing him of an extended stay.
Have you finally met a woman to call your wife? was Mr. Churchill's swift reply, amongst other pleasantries.
Would you approve? Frank asked in return, though he felt a little silly for doing so. Of course his uncle would approve of his marrying an earl's daughter— he didn't take umbrage with Jane's lack of connections or fortune, after all. Please advise, sir. I remain, as ever, Your obedient servant, F.C.
Old Mr. Churchill did not mind, of course— nor did little Jane, more importantly— and Lady Phillippa seemed to like him well enough— though Frank didn't particularly care either way, so long as she would have him, for she was not the love of his life. But he liked her, and that would have to do.
It was therefore unsurprising when he requested an audience with her and was granted it with alacrity— Lady Phillippa, comically all but shoving her father out of the room before he'd even had the chance to finish his tea that morning.
"I ought to apologize to your father for arriving so early," he said with a smile.
"Not at all," she replied, standing breathless at the door she just shut behind her. "Would you sit and join me, sir?"
"You cannot be at a loss for my coming here," he began— it didn't sound at all like his proposal to Jane, all shrouded in secrecy but fervent devotion— no, this felt… mechanical, almost. By the book, perhaps.
Of course she accepted. Her eyes lit up in such a pleasing way when he said the words aloud that he almost forgot entirely about the pain in his heart from so many years of grief; she was pleased with him, pleased with his attentions, pleased with his person, with his daughter, with the descriptions of his home— it felt good to be wanted, and not in simply the way a father or son or nephew was wanted.
Mr. Weston heard the news first, of course. Mr. Churchill knew about the potential engagement first, but Frank reserved first sharing the news of its existence for his father, who appreciated it very much and shared little Anna's joy over her brother's felicity as best could be put to paper.
Just before the wedding, Frank went to the family gravesite at Enscombe and stared at the headstone. The smooth marble felt cold as he rubbed the indentations of the engravement with his fingers. It was the closest he'd come to the location of his late wife's burial since the funeral; he could scarcely look at it for years.
But now felt like a good time.
"I miss you," he whispered, his grief nearing choking the words in his throat. "I am to marry again in a week— I leave for Bath tomorrow morning— but I hope you do not consider me inconstant for choosing to do so— I do not love Phillippa as I loved you— but still I hope you understand. Jane needs a mother, and I need a son, and—" He hung his head as tears pricked at his eyes. "I wish we had had more time, my dear. Two years, after all that suffering we went through— two years was all I was given! That hardly seems fair."
He tried to picture her soothing embrace; all he felt was the chill of the autumn wind. "I would not trade those two years for the world, though. I—" He shook his head. "This is not goodbye— I did not come to bid my farewells— I— I don't know why I came. Perhaps I am asking for your permission— I know not." He let out a bitter laugh. "I think I will be happy again one day. Jane and I— and Phillippa, now, I suppose— we will be happy. I only wish you did not have to leave for this picture to come into being. Perhaps that is my reason for speaking to you."
Of course, he married Lady Phillippa Fitzwilliam as planned. And she bore him a son, as planned. And she did not perish from the exertion, as planned.
But it simply was not the same as it had been with the lovely former Jane Fairfax. Oh, it was adequate— Phillippa was kind to little Jane, and she did her duty as one might expect of a wife— but he could not describe himself as in love. Fortunately for her, Frank was not so unkind as to blame his second wife for his first one's passing too soon; after all, she could hardly be blamed when he was robbed of a lifetime together with the love of his life.