Sense & Sensibility, chapter 49: Disengagement

There’s a lot to be said about Edward Ferrars and I’m not going to have room to get to it all today. I feel like his off-screen actions, good and bad and in between, say a lot about him that he doesn’t articulate himself. But I will say this in his defense: when Edward knows what he wants, he sets out to get it at the first opportunity. And in that way, his proposal to Elinor, her acceptance, and his subsequent explanation of his behavior is a breath of fresh air from one who has had (like Elinor) to zip his lip for most of the narrative.

Explaining his original preference for Lucy Steele is a tall order, which is why I think breaking it down into a timeline might help. The “foolish” engagement began at least four years ago, when he was “very often at Longstaple, where [he] always felt [himself] at home, and was always sure of a welcome.” Lucy’s appeal? She was “ amiable and obliging” and “pretty,” especially to a young man, barely in his twenties, who felt out of place in his family and didn’t vibe with London society’s sensibilities. He blames his mother’s dominating presence in his life for his “ignorance of the world [and lack] of employment” and for “not mak[ing] [their] home in every respect comfortable,” which strikes me as potentially alarming. Was the Ferrars household uncomfortable in an irritating, minor sense or in an emotionally-abusive, toxic-family-dynamic sense? Edward’s other claim that Mrs. Ferrars neither chose a career for him nor “allowed [him] to choose any” for himself suggests an authoritarian streak in her parenting that he would definitely want to avoid, and maybe explains why he “fancied” himself in love with the first woman he met who said something nice to him.

So we have a sheltered man with a lot of time on his hands who falls for a deceitful, manipulative woman who takes advantage of everyone she meets. Hm. Methinks if the genders were reversed, we’d all feel differently about this dynamic.

Edward stayed in the engagement long after his feelings for Lucy faded (which the texts suggests began around the six-month mark). He “had always believed her to be a well-disposed, good-hearted girl, and thoroughly attached to himself,” even though he saw “her ignorance and a want of liberality in some of her opinions.” And I think this feels true to life—this idea that we might stay in a relationship out of a sense of duty rather than genuine love. That he states that his feelings for Lucy were long gone before he met and fell for Elinor helps differentiates him from Willoughby (maybe not enough for some readers). He naively believed that the knowledge of his engagement would safeguard his heart, telling Elinor, “I felt that I admired you, but I told myself it was only friendship.” This seems to paint a picture of a man who isn’t in touch with his feelings and/or is used to self-doubt—though since we only have Edward’s word for it, I think your own interpretation depends on how much you trust him.

For what it’s worth, Elinor does call him out on his visiting Norland multiple times to see her. She points out that everyone “were all led away by [Edward’s behavior] to fancy and expect what, as [he was] then situated, could never be”—not to mention  “[her] own conviction” of his feelings for her. She is sensitive, and justifiably so, to the similarities between Edward’s behavior and Willoughby’s behavior. The difference here is that Edward has acted honorably against a cruel family, and Willoughby acted cruelly in a world that often doesn’t punish dishonorable behavior.

Ah, but how did Edward wriggle out of the engagement, you ask? Well, he didn’t have to. After weeks of receiving letters from Lucy that “were neither less frequent, nor less affectionate than usual,” he gets a Dear John letter informing him that she’s “just returned from the altar” with Toothpick Bobby. Wow—last minute much, Lucy? She also admits that she knew Edward fell out of love with her, underscoring her selfishness and malice in the trick she pulled on Elinor. Her claim that she “owe[s] [Edward] no ill-will” subsequently rings false. (Grammatically, the letter itself is a mess, with inconsistent verb tenses and annoying run-on sentences.) When she ends the letter inviting him to keep her lock of hair, it seems like she’s just messing with him.

Now (rubs hands together eagerly) let’s count all of the ways Lucy Steele has managed to piss off everyone around her. On the good side, Mrs. Jennings “vent[s] her honest indignation against the jilting girl” for her disloyalty to Edward and for leaving poor Anne—literally—without any money. Holy crap! The Ferrars-Dashwoods’ anger toward Lucy is less justifiable, as they reckon that “[Toothpick Bobby’s] offense was unpardonable, but Lucy’s was infinitely worse” (it’s not, as Shapard points out, especially given their cruelty toward her). John Dashwood, with classic John Dashwood logic, laments that Lucy has “[spread] misery farther in the family” by not marrying a poor, cast-off Edward when she had the chance. So to reiterate: everyone who used to like Lucy now resents her and the one person who initially wasn’t impressed with her looks or manners is now married to her. For life. 

Could NOT have happened to a nicer gal.

But sometimes even the worst people can offer a lifeline, which John extends to Edward when he suggests the latter start making apologetic overtures to Mrs. Ferrars. At first Edward balks—“would they have me beg my mother’s pardon for Robert’s ingratitude to her, and breach of honor to me?”—which I kind of love. But Elinor points out that Mrs. Ferrars probably wants an apology for the secret engagement thing, and it might be a good idea to act humble when he tells his mom about his new engagement. So Edward takes the “proper submission” option, again putting himself at the mercy of a woman who has used him or dismissed him for the majority of his life …

One sister down, one to go!