Chapter Eleven #3
Colonel Brandon regarded Mary with wonder.
He knew he was generally thought well of amongst his acquaintance, but it was always such a peripheral appreciation.
Mary Crawford really saw him, and the tone of farewell about her tore at his heart.
To meet a creature like this at such a time, when every minute in her company was tinged bittersweet by the urgency of his search for Eliza, was such a blow to his heart that his disappointment with Marianne paled in comparison.
The woman before him now was beyond anything he had ever felt himself worthy of, and bolder in her regard for him than he had any right to wish for.
He had been more forward with her than was his custom, yet it had felt natural and right, and it had been nearly twenty years since he had received such warm and sincere encouragement from a beautiful woman.
What a fortunate man he might have thought himself, to have some opportunity to really come to know her, and yet with the pressing matter of finding his ward still of the utmost importance, he was obliged to break his own aching heart by parting with her.
“Miss Crawford, I must tell you this. I would not leave for all the world, if it were not vitally imperative. I would not have you think me a coward or a rake.”
“I do not think ill of you for it—indeed, I scarcely have any right to. I am only a little cross with myself for giving in to the disappointment.”
“You have some right, indeed,” he said with feeling, thinking of their passionate embrace.
“It is not my nature to act in such a way to a woman—you deserve better than my immediate departure after such behavior.” His eyes lingered on her lips, a dangerous thing indeed—she perceived it and blushed very prettily.
“You are determined to think better of me than I deserve.”
Her tinkling laughter reminded him that he was, even on the verge of parting with her forever, as much under her spell as he had been since watching her spill her sheet music. He smiled in spite of himself.
Aware of his longing stare, she pursed her lips with conscious allure.
“You must allow me to think differently of what you deserve,” she said, glancing up to see what reaction she had evoked.
It was too much for him. He glanced back at the house, and then led her just beyond a rather tall hedge.
He took her hand in his and brought it to his lips.
She tightened her fingers around his, offering him a sad smile. “The business that brought you to Sussex will keep you in the area, I understand.”
“I will be visiting several villages in the county, yes.”
“And might you come back again? If you are so near, and find yourself at some inn or another, might you not return? For all his tedium, I am sure John Dashwood rather likes you.”
Colonel Brandon rubbed his thumb over Mary’s fingertips, his heart swelling at the notion that she wished him to return.
“I cannot say with any certainty. Circumstances are such that—there are such complications as may arise from my returning, before accomplishing some manner of discovery—but I will try. I am sorry I can promise no more.”
A single tear slid down her cheek, and she quickly brushed it away. “I understand. You only meant to pay a very brief call, I am sure.”
“Yes.”
Mary nodded her head and looked away, hugging herself with anxiety.
It was like a dagger to his heart to watch her lament at their parting, and yet Eliza was but a child.
His responsibilities had always come first, and his principles could not be compromised, even for such an unexpected chance at happiness.
Worse still was the feeling of loss he felt as she began to walk away from him.
“Mary, wait.”
She turned and looked back over her shoulder, and Colonel Brandon went to her, his voice shaky and somber.
“I cannot—I cannot bid you such a farewell. I cannot give you a pain I have felt all too well myself. I will come back, if only because your desiring it makes me wish for it even more. Whatever transpires in the days ahead, I will find a way.”
Her eyes lit with hope and relief, and she broke into a wide grin. “Can you really be so utterly perfect?”
“Far from it,” he muttered.
“Ah, but I will see you again. You shall have a chance to find out.” She winked at him, color spreading around her cheeks, and then she made a hasty retreat into the house.
Edmund Bertram ate his breakfast slowly, his discomfort today greater than it had been the day before, and the day before that.
They had not been at Norland a full week, and yet enough had happened to add to his distress daily.
He had endeavored to be more civil to his father in company, despite the misery Edmund felt over his father’s struggle, and the unbearable anger he felt at such a crisis being entirely of Sir Thomas’ own making.
How Sir Thomas had chosen to address this threat to their entire family could not inspire either confidence or respect in Edmund’s estimation.
His father had told him of the painful and troubling reaction John Dashwood had displayed upon discovering the truth of his birth.
This Edmund might have pitied, had not their father been so affected by it that he was now willing to sacrifice not only Maria’s happiness, but perhaps even Fanny Price.
Edmund had thought his father’s wish to put Fanny forward was borne out of a paternal and natural wish to see her future protected, should their scandal be made public.
But now he began to see through it. Fanny was to be the sacrificial lamb, dressed up and paraded about to draw Crawford away from Maria, leading to vexation and distress for both young ladies.
Shocking as it was that the gambit had been successful, Edmund could not see how any good could come of it. Maria had clearly been troubled by Crawford’s defection, and though she had made some attempt to speak with Rushworth, Edmund could see that her heart was not in it.
Fanny Price’s wishes and feelings were as well concealed as ever; though her transformation had brought on a little more cheer and candor in her manners, her actual opinions remained obscure.
She had always been thus, determined to show gratitude even for what did not please her.
Sir Thomas either did not see this or did not care, and Fanny remained obliged to exert herself with gratitude and forced levity.
When Mary Crawford quit the room, Edmund stared at the doorway she had passed through, his brow furrowed.
He had steeled himself to the idea of giving her up, and yet it was still a blow to him that she could meet his withdrawal with such tranquility.
More than that—he suspected that already her affections had become engaged elsewhere, and when Colonel Brandon followed Mary to the garden after just a few bites of his meal, Edmund’s suspicions were confirmed.
All the better for her. He wanted to wish her well—he really meant to try—and yet it was a relief to him that the colonel meant not to remain amongst them, for Edmund knew his limits. To wish her well was enough, but to watch her flirt with another was more than Edmund could bear.
As Edmund brooded, his cousin Marianne made a hasty entrance and subsequent retreat; some time later his cousin Elinor appeared in the doorway and halted with alarm for a moment before answering his abstracted stare with a hesitant smile.
He attempted to meet her efforts with a gentle nod, but had little faith in his success.
Sir Thomas had been speaking with Fanny, attempting in his stern way to draw her out.
“How very kind the Crawfords have both been to you,” he observed.
“Yes, I shall speak with your Mrs. Jennings about this shopping excursion, and see to it all. Miss Crawford seemed really pleased with the plan, and I am delighted you have found a friend in her. Her manners are very elegant and warm, and I am sure she should be just the sort of lady to offer you guidance—indeed, I should call it very sisterly.”
Edmund betrayed a low sound of disgust, and concealed it with a cough.
Such reckless folly, and for what? Inevitably, Edmund glanced over at John Dashwood, who was whispering to Elinor.
The master of Norland was actually giving advice to the rightful heir, and Edmund knew at once what John was about.
“But you ought not let Miss Crawford gain the advantage,” John was whispering rather loudly.
“Marianne has her Mr. Willoughby, and that is all very good, but you know my mother-in-law means to make a match between Miss Crawford and one of her sons. And you have a prior acquaintance with the colonel—you danced very well together yesterday.”
Edmund turned away with disgust, not wishing to distress his cousin by appearing to overhear what clearly embarrassed her. Was there nobody at Norland that was not up to some mischief?
Several others of their party began to come down to breakfast. Henry Crawford took a seat beside Fanny Price, and Mrs. Jennings soon followed, sitting beside Edmund to fuss over Fanny from across the table.
The conversation grew more animated, and while Fanny seemed to relax, Edmund grew more agitated.
He nearly missed the sight of Mary walking past the breakfast room, but Mrs. Jennings called out to her.
“Yoo-hoo, Miss Crawford! Ah, you look so lovely today—what a pretty blush on your cheeks indeed! But Sir Thomas has entreated me to name a day to take you and Miss Price to the village, and I see no reason at all to delay! Can you be ready in a half hour?”
“I would be delighted.”
“How wonderful,” Fanny breathed.
“I only wish to have a word with Marianne before I make ready,” Mary said. “Did she pass this way a few minutes ago?”
“She said she was going to the music room,” Edmund answered, willing Mary to look at him. She did, and it was an awful thing. Naught but guilt and pity was written on her face.