Chapter Seven #3
She had given much thought to her father’s disapproval of Henry, and his reversal of opinion about Rushworth.
Every possible explanation had been examined in her mind as she lay awake the previous night, and one notion in particular had haunted her.
For her father to seek out Cousin John, newly endowed with Norland and a great fortune—that it should occur so soon after her father returned from Antigua, that he should recommend Rushworth despite admitting to the man’s myriad deficiencies—all spoke of mercenary motives.
If aught had gone awry in Antigua, and the family’s fortunes reduced or reversed, it might explain a great deal.
Hoping with all her heart to hear her fears disproven, and her father’s true feelings about Henry clarified, Maria had followed her father and John, and had engaged in listening to the entirety of their conversation, but she had not been prepared to hear something like this.
The shock of her father’s revelation was no less of a blow to her than it had been to John—her half-brother!
To learn of her father’s history had been beyond anything she had imagined possible, and yet the tremendous sadness in his voice when he had spoken of it had affected her sensibilities.
That he should have experienced such heartbreak, though very much to her mother’s detriment, touched Maria, for her father knew very well what she would be giving up in marrying Rushworth.
She felt some natural anger, of course, but not for her father, for he had been firm in insisting that he would not force her hand, even at the expense of so much else.
No, her anger was all for Mrs. Rushworth, and rage swelled in Maria’s bosom at the notion of what was at stake, and all for the sake of the Rushworths’ wounded pride!
If Mrs. Rushworth could be kept silent on the matter in exchange for Maria marrying Mr. Rushworth, his mother clearly cared not a fig for the Dashwood women having what was rightfully theirs.
And yet, perhaps it was all a lark to her.
Perhaps she really meant to expose John in the end, and merely meant to punish the Bertrams for their offense against her son.
Maria wiped at her tears, considering Mrs. Rushworth’s motives.
Was she merely set on torturing Sir Thomas before exposing his secret?
More and more, this seemed likelier than Mrs. Rushworth actually wanting Maria as a daughter-in-law.
How could she, after all that had happened?
Mr. Rushworth must really be a greater simpleton than she had supposed, which was not inconsiderable—how could he still desire a woman who had scorned him for another?
He seemed like a child to her, a fatuous brat screaming at another child taking his toy away.
Certainly his mother treated him as such.
Maria curled up on the sofa, hugging her knees to her chest, and thought longer and harder than she had ever done before.
Her mind was often drawn back to her father’s plight, for she really loved him dearly despite bristling at his every stricture to reign her in.
He had observed that he was pressed to disoblige one or another of his children, and she pitied him such a choice.
Worse yet was her growing certainty in her mind that Mrs. Rushworth was merely heightening the suspense of the revelation by tormenting him thus; her father’s efforts were sure to be in vain.
She now understood his recent shift in behavior toward poor Henry.
She had thought, a fortnight ago, that her father liked Henry upon first meeting him.
His reversal about Rushworth must have taken place after Mrs. Rushworth began to threaten him—and now he fostered some hope of her changing her mind naturally.
This she knew to be most impossible. Had she never met Henry Crawford, never learned the depths of passion her heart might feel, perhaps she might have been content with Rushworth—for a time.
And yet, she might just as soon have found her heart engaged elsewhere after her marriage, and she shuddered at the thought.
She considered the fate of John’s mother, an aunt who had died some years before Maria’s birth, and her tears began afresh.
Henry found her thus, and went to her at once. “Maria, whatever is the matter?”
“Everything,” she cried. “Absolutely everything.”
He came to sit beside her, nearly pulling her onto his lap and wrapping his arms around her. “I came looking for you—your mother bid me find you, for Mrs. Norris was very nearly asking Mr. Rushworth—but what has happened, my darling?”
Maria leaned into Henry’s embrace, and though at first she savored the feel of it, she recoiled in the sudden fear of what he might think of the scandal. “Do you love me, Henry?”
Henry wiped at her tears, and then took her hands in his. “I do; you must know I love you so. I have braved all your father’s displeasure in coming here to be with you—and I am determined to win him over. Is that what all this is about?”
“In a way, yes. Oh, but it is so much more!” She peered into Henry’s eyes, still frightened by his hesitation to make their affection public—to commit to an engagement. And yet, at such a time, she felt she had no choice but to trust him. To whom else might she confide such a dreadful thing?
Henry cupped her face, and gently pressed his lips against hers.
It was not their first kiss, and certainly not so ardent as the others had been, in stolen moments, but he held her close and whispered gentle assurances of his affection in her ear.
Sniffling still, Maria drew in a deep breath, and then the whole story came spilling out of her.
He listened intently throughout, betrayed feelings that mirrored her own at every moment, and when she had concluded he drew her into a tighter embrace, kissing her face and ears and hair.
“Poor Maria,” he sighed. “Poor John and Sir Thomas, too, but poor Maria most of all, I think. You have been an innocent in all this.”
“You do not think….” Her body wracked with sobbing as she struggled to speak. “You do not think I am to blame? Had I never accepted him in the first place….”
“Had Sir Thomas never met John’s mother—had that lady’s father not been so cruel—there are a hundred ways it all might have gone differently.
You must not be so cruel to yourself, when Mrs. Rushworth is doing such a thorough job of it already.
Hateful woman! As if her son is the only man in England to ever have his heart broken! ”
“But do you think that is really the cause of all this?”
“Indeed I do not! I believe it is as you say, that she means to have out with the truth eventually, for the sake of the Dashwood ladies, and merely means to make your father feel his share of the blame as retribution for her son’s rejection.”
Maria took little comfort in this confirmation.
“I wonder she does not just speak up already! Why let the matter hang above us all like a noose?” She clutched at Henry’s coat, weeping on his shoulder until her anger took over once more.
“Really, she ought to simply do it, else I might be moved to act.”
“Surely you would not do anything rash,” Henry whispered. “We must think it through, my love.”
He cupped her face, and she covered his hand with her own. “Can you love me still, after such a sordid revelation? There is sure to be a scandal in my family, when word of this inevitably gets out.”
“I am sorry for your family, truly, but my feelings are unchanged. I am only sorry that it must be impossible for me to improve your father’s opinion of me, with such heavy cares as these.
It is an awful thing to say, but it may not be until after Mrs. Rushworth proceeds, and the scandal is upon us all, that he may come round to my marrying you. ”
“For nobody else will wish to,” Maria sighed.
“But if you shall have me, that is all that matters.” She offered him a bleary smile, her face puffy from weeping.
“Well, the sooner she acts, the better. I am sorry for John, and yet it shall be a fine thing for my Dashwood cousins. Most importantly, we shall be free to wed.” Her smile widened now, for this was the most openly she and Henry had ever spoken of such matters.
“Indeed, if things go on so dreadfully for much longer, my poor father pushing me at Rushworth, I fear we may have to take matters into our own hands.”
Henry embraced her again. “Poor, dear Maria. All will be well, I promise.”
“I wish to believe you,” she sighed. “I am utterly wretched, and cannot see any way forward. I cannot say who I am sorriest for—myself, of course, and even you. My mother’s heart will surely be broken when the truth is made public, and my Aunt Norris will likely have an apoplexy.
And poor Papa! Well, it is good that you would carry on in secret, as we have done, for I know it would give him pain to see how sure he is to fail in reattaching me to Rushworth now.
Damn and blast, but I wish something would happen at once! ”
Maria might have continued on in such a fashion, ranting until she was entirely out of breath, but for Henry’s lips crushing down on hers.
He drew her onto his lap, pressing their bodies together as he ran his hands through her hair, kissing her with reckless abandon.
When at last he drew away, he brushed his nose against her cheek bone and nibbled at her ear.
“My own one,” he whispered. “Say the word and I shall carry you off tonight.”
Fanny Dashwood was coming unraveled; she paced the heavy carpeting of her bedroom, scarcely aware of anything at all beneath her feet.
Her mother sat on a divan beside the bed; Mrs. Ferrars had arrived just when Fanny needed her the most, but at such a time there was only so much her mother could do for her.