Refined and Returned: Chapter Zero
- Erin H
- Aug 17
- 12 min read
Updated: Aug 21
The Turners
When Emma first arrived at her new home in Shropshire with her aunt and uncle, her aunt hired a governess to teach her; however, when she turned ten, the governess was sent away, and her aunt fully took over her education.
While Emma was sure both her aunt and uncle loved her, it was her uncle to whom she was most attached. While Mrs Turner taught Emma manners and comportment, Mr Turner taught Emma about the joys of quiet reading, horse riding, and even shooting—though the latter was frowned upon by her aunt. It was with her uncle that she felt the most at ease, and so his loss when she was but seventeen was strongly felt.
Though her aunt spent more time complaining of the inconvenience her uncle caused with his death than she lamented his loss, Emma was sure her aunt was just as devastated as herself; so, she took on more of the duties to aid her aunt in finding time to mourn.
When the two ladies came out of mourning, Mrs Turner insisted that it was time for Emma to make her debut.
“I insist that you attend with me, Emma dear. How could it enter your mind that I might venture out unaccompanied now that you are in the full blossom of eighteen? Such an action would undoubtedly cast me in an unflattering light, to go on my own and leave you to the company of mere servants in my absence.” She directed a stern look at Emma who could only agree with her aunt’s decision.
“Oh, do not distress yourself, my love. We shall have ample opportunity to adorn one of your old gowns—that yellow one was not died for mourning, was it? Excellent, then. I am quite sure that Lily can adjust it to your satisfaction before the assembly in two days’ time.”
Emma dreaded making her debut when she was barely out of mourning, and she hated the yellow dress—now wishing it had been dyed black as well. However, there was not much she could do. Her aunt had lamented that they must both miss the autumn and winter assemblies, but she insisted that they must attend in March at least, “before the weather turns and there are only private parties, we must let everyone know that we are available,” was her aunt’s current refrain.
Two days later, as Emma sat for the finishing touches to her hair and gown, her sense of loss deepened. She had always imagined the moment of her debut into society with her beloved uncle—a man who had embraced her as his cherished daughter, when her own kin had so ungraciously cast her aside—standing proudly next to her. However, it was not to be.
As she entered the foyer, her aunt came bustling out in a dress that Emma had never seen before. If Emma wasn’t sure that her aunt was always the epitome of propriety, she would think it in a shade which was much too bright with too many flounces for her age. She was bustling everyone about, and Emma was soon distracted by other thoughts.
“And where could my cherished gold brooch have gone? Ah, there you are, Annie. Have you—Oh! Indeed, you have found it. It’s about time! And Emma, where are your slippers? Surely you have not forgotten them—that would make you look the fool you know, to arrive at a dance without one’s dancing shoes?” At this moment, Lily emerged from behind Emma with the slippers in her hands.
“Excellent. Now, Annie and Lily, I hope that I need not remind you,” she addressed the two maids with a discerning gaze, “that we shall require your assistance on our return. One might surmise that the definition of mourning included an invitation for the servants to rest as if on holiday, considering the degree of indolence to which you have all succumbed.” She said, addressing all the workers around them.
Emma noticed the girls sharing censorious glances which she did not like. However, at that very instant, the sound of the carriage announced its arrival, thus liberating Annie and Lily. Mrs Turner and Miss Emma Watson took their seats within the carriage, departing amidst a final flurry of admonishments from the formidable widow to the longsuffering servants.
When they arrived at the rooms designated for the assembly and were announced, many of her aunt’s friends and neighbours came to greet them. Though many eyed her aunt’s dress with scornful expressions that made Emma uncomfortable, her aunt never once acknowledged them.
“Oh, my, Mrs Lowry,” Mrs Turner exclaimed as she joined a group of local matrons. “It really has been too long. It feels an age since we have met. I hear that your eldest has finally settled on old Mr Humbug. Well, and why not? It is a good match for such a girl. She should make a wonderful mistress for his small estate, I am sure—for she is young, and he is in need of a wife and children.”
Mrs Lowry’s countenance bore the semblance of a smile, yet Emma was fully cognizant that her aunt's words could sound mocking when one did not understand her so well as Emma did. It was evident that Mrs Turner’s intentions were amiable, accompanied by a general desire for the welfare of all, yet it proved a trial to extend congratulations to a young lady inclined to accept a suitor whose annual income fell lamentably short of even half that of her father’s while being less than a decade his junior.
"Ah, my dear Mrs Jeffries,” Mrs Turner turned to another lady who had just joined them, “the very oldest companion of my heart! Pray tell, from whence did you procure that most singular headpiece? It is indeed a most peculiar article; one I am quite certain has never crossed my sight before."
Her aunt and the other ladies continued on like this for several minutes before Mrs Lowry spoke up, “Is that not Miss Emma behind you, has she already come of age to join the dancing. Yet, you must lament the difficulty in securing a suitable partner for her, without anyone to facilitate the introductions to her on her social entrance."
Emma was shocked by Mrs Lowry’s blatant disregard to propriety in mentioning the loss of her uncle in such a manner.
“Nonsense, my dear. For there are the esteemed Sir Charles and Lady Jennings-Clerke, who, I am convinced, would be exceedingly delighted to extend such a trifling courtesy to the niece of such an old friend—though he has left us all too soon,” she said while procuring a handkerchief to pat at her dry eyes, “he will surely not be forgotten.”
With that, she took Emma’s arm in hers, and they made their way to the baronet and his lady. While Sir Charles gave his condolences once again and spoke of the loss of such a ‘good old chap’ as Mr Turner had been, his lady kept her face hidden behind her fan—and her eyes told Emma that his wife did not welcome their interruption.
However, her aunt’s endeavour was a success, and Sir Charles and his lady-wife took it upon themselves to chaperone Miss Emma—making “all the introductions she could want” as he said—until her dance card was full. While it embarrassed her somewhat to have the loquacious gentleman introduce her to all in sundry—as her uncle had been a quiet, reserved gentleman, she was pleased with her first foray into society as a young lady. She danced all but two dances and those only because Mr Egtoun had missed the beat and trampled upon her toes—causing her to sit out the last set.
Over the following year, Mrs Turner's grief over the loss of her husband seemed to fade entirely, while his ward felt his absence more acutely with each passing month.
It was not her affable uncle to whom her suitors turned, but her strict aunt. It was at one particular dinner party, after the gentlemen had re-joined the ladies and dancing had commenced—though the number of young ladies far exceeded that of the available gentlemen—that Emma felt ashamed by her aunt’s manner for the first time.
“It grieves me deeply that I could never persuade your late uncle to move us to a town of less obscure situation. Indeed, there are simply no gentlemen of suitable merit for you, my sweetest Emma. Mr Egtoun, being merely a younger son, can scarcely attract your attention—of that I am confident; whilst Mr Fowke, notwithstanding the respectable appearance of his estate, hails from rather dubious ancestry.” She leaned in as if to whisper, but her voice was clearly heard by those around, “His parents,” nodding to a couple several seats down, “acquired their fortune through the late Mr Fowke’s trade business, as you may well recall.” Emma’s face was now aglow with embarrassment, but that did not stop her aunt.
“Now, young Mr Jennings-Clerke, who stands as the next in line for the baronetcy, would undoubtedly make a most fitting candidate; but alas, he has only recently entered Cambridge, and thoughts of matrimony are, I fear, far from his youthful mind for several years to come. Not that I mind you staying with me, my dear. In fact, I should be glad that there is no one to tempt you from my side.”
Emma, now thoroughly mortified, wisely decided not to mention that the Jennings-Clerke family had also made their money in trade. Later, her aunt made another remark that—though no less appropriate for their current location—caused Emma more pain than shame.
“Though your late uncle has bestowed upon me the entirety of his wealth and estates, do not fear that I would throw you off without due consideration. As long as you marry with all due regard—neither aspiring too high nor descending to levels unworthy of how we raised you—I shall assuredly attend to your welfare, my dear. In the meantime, it is only proper that you should remain in my care until such a time—for what better companion could I ask for than the child I have raised as my own.”
It seemed that Emma’s future was set for her to remain at her aunt’s side for many years to come—until the following spring when the militia came to town.
Emma was only slightly surprised when her aunt allowed the smooth-talking Captain O’Brien to pay Emma his attentions—though it soon became clear that his family was, though Irish, an old landed family of some consideration and with noble connections. Emma enjoyed his attentions for nearly a sennight before those affections were directed towards Mrs Turner herself. While Emma was a little hurt by the slight, she admitted to herself that she had not been so in love with him to take his change of affection to heart. She even felt somewhat relieved as his manner of leaning in close to speak with her had often made her uncomfortable.
After several weeks, she found herself sitting across the room, practicing her music while the captain continued his wooing of her aunt. While she hoped the sound of the piano would drown out their conversation, she could not help but overhear the captain making his declarations of love.
“My dearest Mrs Turner—nay, Margaret—you must allow me to call you thus, for the cords of the pianoforte strum with the beating of my heart—its song, your name. You transform an ordinary evening into poetry. Your breath catching, the sunlight playing on your hair, and you sitting here beside me, looking up occasionally to meet my gaze—it is my idea of true happiness. When two such different people come together to paint one perfect picture—how can anything possibly surpass this moment?”
“You, my esteemed captain, must forgive me for my inability to fully credit the earnestness of your professions. After all, I am a widow and for you—a youthful gentleman such as yourself, in the very bloom of manhood—to bestow upon me such declarations of affection—”
“It is true that I may have had the misfortune of being born after you, my heart; however, I am old enough to cherish these beautiful moments, and young enough to still believe in love. Most importantly—I am just the right age to appreciate a woman of your worth.”
"Ah, Captain—I am not one of those blushing maidens, and thus ought not to fall prey to the tender affections of such a youthful gentleman.”
At another mention about the difference in their ages Emma wondered if a mere seven years really deserved such attention, but she had little time to consider this as her aunt continued.
“Yet, what tender beatings of my heart..." She pressed a hand lightly to her bosom, as if to steady some tremor of emotion, "Pray, how could I chastise you for possessing such fervent emotions—such exquisite sentiment? It has long been my conviction that the virtues of experience, refinement, and a genteel upbringing are scarcely appreciated in the fairer sex. It is most heartening to be acknowledged for the entirety of my being."
“Then, do not forsake me! Please accept my undying love for you and do me the greatest—most wondrous—pleasure of becoming my love—my life—my wife!”
His words were spoken with such strong conviction and feeling that even Emma—who had once considered that he might be interested in her late-uncle’s fortune more than her aunt’s person after overhearing some ladies speaking of it—was convinced that he must truly be sincere. Therefore, when she heard her aunt finally accept him and kept her eyes averted as they embraced, she did her best to smile and wish them both the greatest happiness with all her heart.
In mid-September, only a week before the militia’s departure, they married, and Emma was glad for her aunt’s joy. She had not been upset when her suitor turned his attentions to another; however, she was aggrieved when, only after the wedding, she learned of his plans to return to his native Ireland with his new wife. To her greater distress, she was not to be included in their relocation. She was given only a few days to pack her things, as her new uncle was expected in London by the end of the month. They would all travel to town together, and, from there, Emma would continue on with a maid to Surrey where the Watson family had settled two years after her departure.
Her aunt tried to console her, “My dearest James is being very considerate of you in his reluctance to remove you so far from your already estranged family. Once we arrive in Ireland, one cannot ascertain the prospect of our return and, to take you away from them forever, would indeed be an act of cruelty most unparalleled. Furthermore, the voyage to Ireland is oft fraught with peril, and it is imperative that we, as newlyweds, should be afforded a modicum of solitude in which to establish our humble abode. Indeed, it would be quite unjust to impose upon us the burden of your suffering whilst navigating such tumultuous circumstances." Though Emma wished for her aunt to allow her to come along and help, she quietly accepted her fate.
“Pray do not allow your mind to be troubled, dearest. I have taken the liberty of communicating with your father, who will be prepared to receive you forthwith upon your arrival. You shall find ample opportunity to familiarize yourself with your estranged siblings—though, I dare say, you may perceive their company and social graces to be somewhat inferior to those with which you are accustomed—not to mention their lack of any good education—”
She was distracted for a moment as she directed the maid in her packing, “Nonetheless, I encourage you to offer your gentle assistance in their improvement. It shall, I have no doubt, prove a most beneficial change for your spirit.”
Emma was to return to the family that had cast her off years ago and with whom she hadn’t had much contact with since she left them. Her father had often written to her uncle, but it was only her mother and her eldest sister, Elizabeth, who kept up any communication with Emma. Some seven years ago, it was the latter who sent her the news of her mother’s passing, but Emma’s grief had been dulled by time and distance.
In the beginning, one or two of her siblings would add on a note to Elizabeth’s letters, but she didn’t know much about any of them. Over the years, her guardians had informed her that the new living brought in over twice as much as the previous one, that her older brother had attended Cambridge while the younger had been sent out to apprentice, that her father had felt the loss of her mother greatly—leading to the deterioration of his spirit and health, and that Robert had become an attorney and married his associates daughter; however, she always felt disconnected from the family of her birth, and it was not so different to hearing of the lives of strangers.
It was when they arrived in London, and Emma was—without ceremony—given only a few hours to clean up and dine with the O’Briens before being ushered back into the carriage with only the butler to see her off that the truth of her banishment began to weigh on her mind. She discovered only then that she was being sent off with no thought for her future and not a ha’penny to her name. The inheritance that was promised to her was now under the control of Captain O’Brien as was the house she had lived in for the last fourteen years.
She began to once again feel the oppressive weight of having been rejected and abandoned by her own family, and she considered that perhaps she should focus on a different kind of family for herself. In marriage, she could gain someone who wouldn’t throw her off and could create a home of her own that no one could take away from her. It was with this mindset that she began a new chapter in her life.
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