Chapter Ten
James Rushworth fretted out the window at the heavy downpour that had kept their large party indoors all day.
He might have been content—or nearly so, given the circumstances of his going to Norland—but for the restlessness that plagued so many others.
It was obvious which of their group preferred being out of doors, for they were all out of humor.
His cousin Marianne—the fairer of the sisters, in his mind—seemed to tire of playing the pianoforte, though she performed very well and was often declaring her passion for music.
Her suitor, Mr. Willoughby, was occupied chiefly in recommending himself to his lady’s mother and younger sister, and casting longing glances at his lady that were only returned with the oddest of looks.
They were not the only pair of lovers afflicted by the raging storm outside.
Though Rushworth thought Mr. Willoughby too handsome, too glib, and entirely too like Henry Crawford to really get on with, he did pity the man.
He could not say the same for Crawford himself, who appeared surprisingly at odds with Maria.
Between them there were no lovelorn gazes, only brazen glares of contempt, lips curled with disdain, and chins held high in defiance.
James knew he was not as clever as some, but he thought he knew well enough to say when somebody was cross—clearly his erstwhile fiancée and her new beau were in the midst of some great quarrel.
Bewildered as he was by it, he could easily perceive the cause, for since dinner the past evening Henry Crawford had been enthusiastically recommending himself to Fanny Price.
This had been another great shock to James.
He had only ever been peripherally aware of the girl until recent months—first, when she commiserated with him at Sotherton after Crawford and Maria abandoned them to explore the grounds alone together, and again when nobody but Fanny would rehearse speeches with him during their theatrical—again, because Maria had given all her time to Crawford.
And now Fanny Price was engaged a great deal by that scoundrel Crawford! Well, James was sure he ought to thank her for it, for this left Maria more available than she had been since their coming to Norland. He ought to go and talk to her.
And yet he wondered about Miss Price. What a transformation!
She had always been so retiring, so demure, always seeming to blend into her surroundings.
Since last night, a drastic change had been evoked.
She had altered the style of her hair and manner of her dress, and what was more, she was actually conversing with nearly everybody.
He knew it to be the work of Mrs. Jennings, his cousin Margaret’s great friend, and he thought it a fine thing indeed.
Who better to draw the timid creature out than such a great talker as Mrs Jennings?
James considered how little it had taken to catch Crawford’s eye—Fanny was a pretty girl, though none of them had noticed before.
That the rogue had defected from Maria to the reluctant debutante so quickly made James bitter that the Bertrams had not brought Miss Price out before the Crawfords came to Mansfield.
What misery then might James have been spared!
Seeing that Maria really did appear as miserable as he had been, James finally willed himself to approach her.
After all, it was why he had travelled all this way, though the past week had afforded him so little opportunity to win her back.
Well, no better time for it; he gathered his courage and walked toward where she was seated.
Maria looked up at James and smiled, and he was utterly shattered.
That smile—God but she was beautiful! Instantly he felt uneasy, and faltered in his step.
Ah, but his steps! Struck with a sudden idea, he changed direction and approached Cousin Marianne, who was still idling away at the pianoforte.
“I say, Cousin,” James said with a little bow.
“You are a fine player, though you have grown as dull as the rest of us! But you must indulge this miserable lot, myself included, and play something we can dance to.” He offered her a smile, hoping he sounded as casual and unaffectedly merry as the other gentlemen in company were always able to do.
“Oh, dear,” Marianne sighed. She glanced over at Mr. Willoughby, and then out at the rain still beating against the window panes.
“It is far too dreary for that, I fear. The rain makes us all melancholy, and any tune suitable for dancing would not sound as well against the rain as something heavier, with a greater complexity.”
James looked askance at the girl. What a strange creature she was!
She had scarcely been playing at all—half attending her notes in no particular order could not be called complexity, and yet it would be abominably rude to say so.
He fretted a moment. “Well, you may be right—but would not dancing be well for all the melancholia? I am sure it would—and I have it on good authority that you ladies were practicing your steps together this morning, for I heard it spoken of this afternoon.”
“And there you have it,” Marianne replied. “We have been dancing already, and feel no better for it.”
“That is because you have not had any gentlemen partners!” Perversely, it was Henry Crawford who sprung to James’ aid.
Mrs. Jennings was not far behind him in rallying Marianne.
“Yes, yes! Oh do play a jig, Marianne! We have all enjoyed your concertos, but I declare I have never seen such languid young people in all my life! I am sure Fanny wants to be dancing, and it would do her so much good. Is that not right, Mr. Crawford?”
“It is exactly right—just what I had in mind!”
Fanny Dashwood betrayed the slightest grimace—their hostess’ ill humor surpassed that of all the others, and James thought she must be sorry to have her house so full of such a dull crowd.
“I am sure I would not dance—my dancing days are over, is that not right, John? I daresay neither of us cares for a dance any more. But Mr. Rushworth, Miss Bertram, surely you must dance, if you wish it. My guests must be entertained.”
Beside her, Mrs. Ferrars sneered. “Dancing before dinner? Well!”
Mrs. Jennings tittered with excitement. “Of course, Mrs. Dashwood—but I speak of Fanny Price. You have had your practice this morning, but dancing again so soon must reinforce the lesson, eh? And how lovely you look—purple flatters your figure well, you only want some movement to complete the advantage.”
Maria had stood hesitantly, and now crept toward the instrument—nearly at James’ side—to add her voice to the argument.
“Cousin Marianne, I shall be quite in your debt, I am sure, if you would only play a song or two for us to dance. I really think it such a lovely idea—very clever of Mr. Rushworth to think of it. I have been embroidering all day, and I am so vastly out of practice—but I should rather disoblige my toes for a while, and allow my fingers some rest.”
Mr. Willoughby looked up from his volume of Shakespeare. “Please, Marianne.”
It was not long now before nearly everybody had taken up the idea, for Mr. Ferrars and Miss Julia were in favor of it as well, and even Lady Bertram began to say she would dance.
“Oh, Sir Thomas,” cried she. “I have not danced at Norland since I was a girl, no older than Fanny!”
Sir Thomas shook his head and demurred, but Edmund Bertram came to her rescue and offered to stand up with her. Finally Marianne relented and began to play a lively tune, glaring at them all the while.
James was sure he would give her his compliments after—the poor girl must be very cross with her beau to begrudge so many other couples—but what a relief that she had conceded at the last. Maria was standing near James, and he looked hopefully at her. “Would you like to…?”
She offered him her hand with a soft smile, before her eyes flicked back to Crawford, who was leading Fanny Price to the top of the set. “Yes indeed, sir. It has been many months, but I recall you are a fine dancer.”
James smiled—he really was. There were few enough things he might really be proud of, but his dancing abilities were truly superior.
He did not express himself well verbally—even his face, his mother had often told him, betrayed all the wrong looks at the wrong times—but in dancing he felt he could really excel, even communicate.
After all, was not dancing the language of love?
Well, poetry might be considered as such, but James thought little of it.
No, dancing was the greater delight, for it allowed the thrill of physical proximity, in such a way that must arouse any young person’s sensibilities.
It was how he had first caught Maria’s attention, in fact.
“We have not danced together since the spring,” he observed as they began the movements of the dance. “At Lady Merwyn’s ball.”
“I remember it well—what a lovely time.”
“Indeed it was! I asked you for two dances—the supper set and the last—they were the best dances I had all night, I said as much to Mother. Yes, the allemande- is it not invigorating?”
“You danced it very well,” Maria replied with a gentle look. She was not as encouraging now as she had been before, during their courtship, but neither was she as cold as she had become in recent weeks. It was just enough to give him hope, and he pressed on.
“You wore a very pretty purple dress—the one Miss Price wears now, I believe. Yes, the very same! It is a generous gift of you to make her, for it is very fine, and suited you so well.”