The Watsons: Beginnings - Chapter 3
- Erin H
- Aug 15
- 6 min read
An Unconventional Courtship
Though they lived quite far from each other making it hard to meet, especially on Robert’s limited income, he used every chance he could to meet with Cassandra. Whenever his uncle had business in York—which happened every few weeks to every other month—Robert would make an excuse to join him. On those visits, they were often invited to visit the Willoughby estate, and he spent nearly every moment in Cassandra’s company.
While the visits were infrequent, Cassandra always found herself looking forward to the next meeting. His interest in her thoughts and opinions never waned, and she found them speaking of everything from lace and ribbons—as he had grown up with three younger sisters and had learned enough to hold his own, which greatly amused her—to politics. They also made book recommendations for each other.
Robert suggested histories such as Tobias Smollett’s A Complete History of England and David Hume’s The History of England, which led to lively discussions comparing their differing styles and views. He also proposed biographies like Samuel Johnson’s The Life of Richard Savage. Meanwhile, Cassandra introduced him to the more controversial novels of the time, including Sarah Fielding’s The Adventures of David Simple, Oliver Goldsmith’s The Vicar of Wakefield, and her personal favourite, Charlotte Lennox’s The Female Quixote.
One fine summer day when the Birdhalh Willoughbys visited as the guests of the Turners at Kyrkelidun Hall, Robert invited Cassandra for a walk about the gardens. As they wandered along the gravel path, Cassandra slowed to admire the soft hues of the ripening apples and the flowers that decorated the large park in neatly divided sections. Beyond the trimmed hedges, the gentle murmur of conversation drifted from the gazebo, where the others sat enjoying tea.
“I must say, I found Smollett’s ‘History of England’ rather engaging,” she remarked. “He writes with such spirit—one cannot help but be swept up in his narrative.”
Robert gave a knowing smile. “That is my complaint. He does not present history so much as wage a war upon it. Every monarch is either a hero or a villain, with no room for anything in between.”
She tilted her head. “And you would prefer Hume’s impassive detachment? His ‘History’ reads as though he were dissecting events with a scalpel rather than telling a tale of kings and nations.”
Robert chuckled. “Perhaps that is why I admire him. He allows the reader to form their own conclusions. A historian should not be a dramatist.”
“But history is drama,” she countered. “It is not merely a sequence of events—it is the clash of ambitions, the rise and fall of empires. Smollett feels history.”
“And Hume understands it.”
She laughed. “So, you dismiss passion in favour of reason?”
“I prefer moderation,” he said with a shrug. “A historian should not impose his feelings upon the past, just as a clergyman should not perform in the pulpit. Theatrics may stir the emotions, but they do little to inspire true reflection. Historians, like clergymen, should not harangue the audience or try to sway them, but to simply tell the facts as they are and allow for interpretation.”
Cassandra considered this as they strolled past a row of budding lilacs, and she leaned in to take in the scent. Robert could not help but think to himself, as he gazed upon her with admiration, how well she fit in among the flowers. When she returned to his side, she said, “Then you must think me terribly misguided in my preference for Smollett.”
He looked at her with amusement and chuckled again. “Not misguided. Merely fond of a good story. But tell me—if you were to write a history, which style would you prefer?”
She smiled. “Why, neither. I would write a novel.”
Robert laughed out loud at her impertinence. “Of course, you would.”
A couple weeks later, Robert was again visiting Mr. Willoughby’s estate when heavy rains trapped him and his uncle there for two days. During this time, he and Cassandra spent long hours walking the galleries as she shared stories of her family’s history or retreating to the library, where their shared love of books filled the quiet hours.
Sometimes, they simply sat together on the settee, each absorbed in their own reading, content in one another’s company as their chaperones exchanged bemused glances at the unspoken courtship unfolding before them. Other times, they read aloud to each other, pausing now and then to discuss a passage or share a particularly striking scene from their chosen works.
The steady patter of rain against the tall windows filled the library, a gentle, rhythmic backdrop to Cassandra’s voice as she finished reading aloud the final passage of The Female Quixote. She closed the book with a satisfied sigh and set it aside on the small table between them. Across from her, Robert sat in the deep armchair, one leg crossed over the other, his expression thoughtful.
“Well?” she prompted, tilting her head slightly. “You have listened to every word—have I converted you into an admirer of Arabella?”
Robert exhaled a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “I will admit to admiring her tenacity. And I can see why you favour the book—there is a certain cleverness to the way Lennox exposes the absurdities of romantic delusions. But I cannot say I envy any man who should have the misfortune of reasoning with such a lady.”
Cassandra’s lips curled into a teasing smile. “Ah, but you see, that is precisely why I adore her! She has such conviction, such unwavering faith in her own understanding of the world. It is delightful to watch everyone about her flounder under the weight of her certainty.”
Robert leaned forward slightly, resting his forearms on his knees. “But does she not weary you? Her obstinacy is rather trying.”
Cassandra shrugged. “Perhaps a little, but only because she takes so long to see reason. And yet, I find her a more compelling character than David Simple.”
Robert nodded at that, settling back against the chair. “He is sincere to a fault, but his story is a rather grim reflection of human nature. The world is unkind to the honest man who seeks only friendship.”
Cassandra sighed, glancing at the rain-streaked window. “Yes, and though Fielding’s tale is meant to be sentimental, I find it almost tragic. David Simple wants goodness, but he does not understand how rare it truly is. He never learns to guard himself against the selfishness of others.”
Robert tapped a finger against the arm of his chair. “That is why I think Goldsmith’s Dr Primrose is the more successful character. He suffers misfortune after misfortune, yet he never loses faith in virtue. And unlike David, he is rewarded for it in the end.”
Cassandra turned back to him, eyes alight with amusement. “But do you not find him rather absurd? You praised The Female Quixote for exposing delusions, and yet Dr Primrose is hardly less foolish in his unwavering optimism.”
Robert chuckled. “That is true. But I suppose I prefer a fool who finds happiness in the end over one left wandering in disappointment.”
She considered this, then inclined her head. “I can see the appeal in that.”
For a moment, they sat in companionable silence, the warmth of the library and the soft rain outside enclosing them in a world of quiet thought. Cassandra traced the leather spine of The Female Quixote with a finger before glancing up at him once more.
“You must allow me to choose your next novel,” she said with mock seriousness. “I think you need something with a little more adventure.”
Robert raised a brow. “And in return, may I subject you to yet another history?”
Settling back into her chair, she let out a long sigh as if about to take on a large burden. “If you must then there is nothing to be done about it.” They both laughed at her concession.
And so, in the quiet library, while their chaperones lingered just out of earshot, the rain continued to fall, and an unspoken understanding settled between them, woven not in words, but in books shared and silences comfortably kept. They had no idea about the conjectures being made by their respective families on how soon the couple would join them into one, and they would have very different opinions on the concept when they learned of it.
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction unless otherwise indicated. Some names, characters, businesses, places, and events are used in a fictitious manner or inspired by real historical figures. The author does not speak for or represent any real individuals, companies, corporations, or brands mentioned in this book.
Copyright © 2025 Eireanne Michaels (Erin Michelle Harris)
All rights reserved. No part of this book, except for material derived from the original fragment and manuscript, may be reproduced or used in any manner without prior written permission from the copyright owner, except for brief quotations in a review.
Comments