Chapter 1: Newlyweds

Catherine Tilney had never thought that she would ever be the centre of attention. Having been plain for most of her life, and being unaffectedly modest, one can easily imagine her surprise at becoming an object of curiosity to so many people. Well, although Woodston is a populous village, it is still a village, and therefore it can be concluded that there were not quite so many people, yet for Catherine who had grown up plain in tiny Fullerton, it suddenly seemed like a lot of interest was directed her way.

When Mr. and Mrs. Tilney had returned from their delightful honeymoon in London – which Catherine thought had greatly eclipsed Bath in her eyes, although she would always remember Bath fondly for that is where she had met her beloved Henry – they had been greeted by many visitors. People would call at the parsonage constantly, hoping to meet the new Mrs. Tilney. Mr. Tilney was the much-respected clergyman of Woodston and it is not surprising that his recent marriage would raise some curiosity. Before Mrs. Tilney's arrival in Woodston following the honeymoon, all that was known of her was that Mr. Tilney had met her in Bath and that she had been in Woodston once before, though she had been observed by few. This scarce information was enough to give the lady an aura of mystery, which she would have delighted in, as it reminded her of the heroines of her favourite Gothic novels.

After a few weeks, Catherine had met the principal inhabitants of Woodston and they had determined her to be a very kind-hearted, guileless, and candid young woman. Her artlessness gave her a peculiar charm. Mr. Tilney was gratified, although not surprised, in seeing her so universally well-liked by the people of Woodston. Catherine and Henry were settling happily into married life and were – if it were at all possible – becoming even fonder of each other with each passing day. Catherine was still Catherine, her admiration for Gothic novels had not ceased in the least, but she was also learning to expand her horizons by consuming different types of novels and books in general. She was always impatient to discuss something she had read with Henry, but he would not tell her his opinion on the subject before hearing hers because she was still too apt to defer to his judgment.

"I would much rather you tell me what you think of it, my dear," he would tell her kindly.

"Oh, but if I say something silly, you will tease me mercilessly," she replied.

"You have good sense and you are rational, so long as you back your argument with evidence, it cannot possibly be misconstrued as silly. I may hold a different opinion, but a disagreement does not necessarily infer that one of us must be silly. Besides, I might be the silly one."

He had a twinkle in his eye and Catherine laughed, "You silly? Oh no, you could not be, you are always right."

"Even when I contradict myself?"

Catherine bit her lip as she thought about that, "Well, that is because sometimes you tease and sometimes you are serious."

"And if you cannot tell which is which then I have protected myself very well, and can say anything that enters my mind, and you will dismiss the silliest things as teasing and admit the most sensible things as serious."

Catherine laughed at this and conceded that this was a fair point before saying, "And yet, I remember Mr. Thorpe used to contradict himself constantly and I never thought anywhere near so well of him as I do of you."

"Which shows good judgment," Henry completed her sentence with a smirk before asking, "I am curious: what did you think of my rival when he contradicted himself?"

Catherine did not bother correcting her husband, he knew very well that there had never been a rival in Catherine's heart. She had adored Henry quickly and fully, and no one would have been able to turn her away from him.

"I stopped trying to understand his true meaning. In fact, I gave up on understanding him entirely. His company was so wearisome, I ended up not listening to a word he was saying."

"A wise decision," lauded Henry with a warm smile on his face.

Catherine returned his smile and continued, "It seemed he could not utter anything that was not a coarse word, or an inanity, or a flat contradiction of something he had just said. The birds chirping was not just a more pleasant sound to listen to, it was also more educational and more sensible than anything he could possibly say."

Henry laughed aloud at this description, and his mirth was so contagious that Catherine could not help but laugh along with him, although at the time Mr. Thorpe's company had been more a cause for dread than one for hilarity.

"Oh dearest Catherine," he said after he had calmed down a little, "And to think that you usually think so well of people! And he had been recommended to you by both your brother and your friend, I wonder how bad he must have been that you can now offer this censure of him."

"I admit that I withheld a negative judgment of his character for a long time precisely because he had been recommended to me by people I implicitly trusted – but I learnt to form my own opinion although perhaps not as early as I should have. It took me some time to realise he had nothing to recommend him."

"It does you credit to give people the benefit of the doubt for as long as is reasonable," said Henry with a tender voice, "I admire your sanguinity and trust in others. I fear I am too cynical for it."

"You are not cynical, you are merely not as naïve or unsuspecting as I was then. You are a good man, but one who is not easily duped."

Henry accepted the compliment graciously.

"And now that I know what you think of Mr. Thorpe, would you please tell me – quite frankly as you always do – what you think of my father? I'm sure your opinion of him has also been altered."

Catherine paled a little at this line of questioning and squirmed uncomfortably in her chair before saying, "I do not wish to be rude, and I am grateful that he finally consented to our marriage."

"So what you have to say cannot be good," concluded Henry with a nod of his head, "Still, I would not mind hearing it."

Catherine hesitated and would not speak.

"Have no fear, Catherine," he reassured her, "I am convinced that you cannot possibly think as ill of him as I do. I have known him far longer than you have and knowing him well is the surest way of not liking him. Nothing you say here will ever reach his ears."

"Alright," replied Catherine who trusted her husband and was incapable of disappointing him, "I think the general is proud, mercenary, and cold. He is also selfish because he has put his own desires for prestige above the desire of seeing his children happy."

To Catherine it was utterly unacceptable, almost inconceivable so awful was the thought, that anyone would not put Henry's happiness above their own. Her adoration for her husband knew no bounds, and he knew it and revelled in it.

"I agree," concurred Henry.

"But let us speak of happier things," said Catherine who wanted to steer the conversation away from Henry's father – just the thought of the general was enough to cause her uneasiness. He might not be a murderer, and he might have showed her a lot of kind attentions in the past, but that did not mean she had to like him. In fact, she was still a bit scared of her father-in-law.

"What do you wish to speak of?" asked Henry, ready to oblige.

"Our plans for next week. I've been thinking we could go to Gloucester, I think a trip to the bookshop is in order and Mrs. Jones told me it is a fine city to visit. Or if the weather is very fine, we could go for a long walk in the Cotswold Hills. What would you like to do?"

Henry was delighted that his wife was apparently thrilled about exploring the region around her new home, and that with each passing day, she was less and less hesitant to demonstrate initiative.

"Both sound delightful, my love," he said looking at her pleased face, "Let us decide on the day, depending on the weather."