Chapter Six #3
Marianne did her best to keep her attention on her performance, but she was keenly aware of his physical proximity. Her face flushed with heat as he moved a stray lock of her hair back into place, his fingers trailing on her skin. “I hope I did not frighten you before.”
He had, a little, and yet she had not disliked it. “It was exquisite,” she breathed, keeping her eyes on the keys as she played.
He leaned closer to her. “‘Marianne, you must know how I love….” There were footfalls in the doorway; Marianne and Willoughby looked up at once. “Your performance at pianoforte,” Willoughby finished weakly, standing up to bow. “Miss Bertram.”
Maria looked utterly mortified to have interrupted them. “Mr. Willoughby, Cousin Marianne—I am so sorry—I heard music, and I only wanted to get away from Mr. Rushworth.” She slapped a hand over her mouth. “Oh, I forgot—but he is your cousin, too.”
Willoughby played a few cheeky bars on the pianoforte and laughed. “You are not the first to flee his company today—we shall keep your secret if you keep ours.”
Maria smiled and visibly relaxed. “Of course. May I stay a little while?”
Marianne nodded. She had not owned to it, but she did feel some little curiosity about her Bertram cousins.
They had met and played as children on a few occasions, but to meet all grown up was a different thing.
Maria Bertram was a fashionable girl, with a decided air of confidence, and perhaps a little self-importance.
Despite this, she had a kinder look about her than Julia or Edmund, and she gestured for Marianne to continue.
Marianne began to play something simpler, considering all that she had heard of Maria from her cousin James. That Maria had rejected the man must be some token of good taste and judgement, and that she had chosen a man of lesser means was just the romantic thing to capture Marianne’s interest.
“Do you play or sing at all, Cousin?”
“I do, but not so well as you, to be sure. My sister and I also learnt the glass harmonica. And Mary Crawford is expecting her harp to arrive in a day or two, I understand, so we shall all be very musical.”
“That is just what I like to hear,” Willoughby cried with a clap of his hands. “Marianne deserves a proper audience; there is nothing as tragic as under appreciated talent!”
Maria screwed up her face. “I know exactly what you mean. We were to have a theatrical at Mansfield Park, and we were really on the verge of performing it when my father returned from Antigua.”
Marianne grinned. “So we have heard. Cousin James made some mention….”
“Of his two-and forty speeches?” Maria rolled her eyes. Marianne shared in her mirth, and decided she felt no annoyance whatever for what Maria had interrupted, for the company of her cousin was pleasant enough to keep her happy just as she was.
Elinor was preparing for bed when there was a tap at the door; she recognized the gesture as Marianne’s, and though she was tired in more ways than one, she bid her sister enter.
“Well, this is cozy enough,” Marianne said, her lips pursed.
“You think I ought not to have refused the Crawfords’ offer to move out of our old rooms?”
Marianne sat down on the bed in a huff. “You must have thought only of the great inconvenience—the extra work for the servants. But I cannot like how Fanny insisted it was not necessary for them to make the offer at all. I had thought it would feel like a homecoming, but she would have us feel like guests.”
Elinor was not too generous to have had the same thought, though she had tried to disregard such bitterness. “There is little use in being cross about it, or it shall make the next month unbearable.”
“Oh, sister,” Marianne sighed. “You have every reason to be cross—to find Norland unbearable!”
This sentiment might have continued in a number of ways, for Elinor knew her sister had found much to lament over the course of the day, from their traveling companions to the reception at Norland, their uncle’s cold severity, and even the various changes Fanny Dashwood had made to the house.
Elinor sat beside Marianne and took her hand.
“Dearest, I cannot think why you seek to provoke me to displeasure, when I have been resolved to be of good cheer.”
Marianne leaned her head on Elinor’s shoulder. “Well, it is very brave of you. You must be missing Edward desperately. I expected he would be here, but you know Willoughby said he overheard Fanny tell our Aunt Bertram that her mother and brother come tomorrow!”
Elinor attempted a smile, though she could not share in her sister’s optimism. Fanny Dashwood had two brothers, and had betrayed enough disdain of Elinor’s partiality to Edward over the summer for Elinor to doubt Fanny would make any effort to reunite them now. And yet, how she wanted to hope.
The silence made Marianne shift uncomfortably. “I ought not to have spoken.”
“I am glad you told me—only I have no reason to hope. As I have told you before, Edward has given me no assurances—that is, I am sure we esteem one another well enough after being so long together here this summer. I know you and Mamma like to imagine more, but there is no understanding between us.”
A furrow creased in Marianne’s brow. “I wonder he did not come to visit us at Barton.”
“We were only there for two months.”
“No, it is nearer three, I am sure of it. And what does time matter in such cases, where there are such feelings you call esteem, which I really know is the deepest affection. I should die if I were apart from Willoughby for so long!” Marianne threw herself dramatically backward against the pillows.
“Well, it is happy for you, then, that John and Fanny allowed him to be of our party.” Toward Marianne they had been kinder than to Elinor, though she was determined not to resent it.
Wishing to speak of happier things, she snuggled up next to her sister on the bed. “Is Willoughby pleased with Norland?”
“Vastly so. I had no doubt of it. Norland is as dear to my heart as he is.”
“Marianne,” Elinor laughed, tickling her sister. “You have been wont to speak for many weeks as though there is some understanding between you.”