Chapter Fourteen #3
“Do tell me of your trip to the village! I am quite longing to see the rest of your gowns. Oh—I heard from Mary that your rose pins were a particular gift—how romantic! And how Mary dotes on you—I am sure she is singing your praises to everybody! But how did the two of you get on in the village? Are you like sisters already? Ah—do not mind me, Sally. Fanny wishes an elegant arrangement tonight—what do you think, Fanny? But your hair is so lovely!”
Susie, the maid, bobbed into an apologetic curtsey. “It is Susie, Miss.”
“Yes—but Fanny, you must put on your dress! Do not mind me—or go behind the screen, if you like. La, but I cannot wait to see you in it.”
Fanny went behind the screen to put on her gown, as Julia was content to sit on the bed and speak of Robert Ferrars’ many merits, her previous inquiries already forgotten.
Julia stayed with Fanny until her toilette was complete, and happily very little was required of Fanny by way of conversation.
It was perhaps a learning experience—Fanny had never been the object of such confidences and effusions before, but Julia’s friendly overtures were pleasant when she was not speaking ill of Maria.
Thus Fanny was in good cheer, even feeling a surge of confidence, when they went down to dinner. There were no place cards on the table; Fanny Dashwood merely waved her hand, looking rather ill, and told her guests to sit where they liked.
Julia caught Fanny’s hand and led her toward the middle of the table. “Let us sit here, right in the center of things! How well we shall observe everyone.”
Though Fanny could not like such a notion, she did as she was bid—another learning experience.
Mr. Crawford came into the room and began to saunter toward her, but after Julia’s comments about Maria, Fanny suddenly became apprehensive.
Mr. Rushworth was passing that way, and Fanny cleared her throat as he passed—he looked down at her and smiled.
He had sat beside her at dinner the night before, and the evening before that he had very gallantly rescued her when Mr. Crawford’s attentions had become too much—she dared to hope he might repeat his heroics, and she was relieved as he laid his hand on the chair beside her.
He glanced down the table at Maria, who was looking not at him but at Mr. Crawford—his mouth set in a hard line, and he sat down beside Fanny.
“You look remarkably well this evening, Miss Price.
You have arranged your hair in a new style—I am sure I have never seen you wear such twists and braids before, but how well your curls look!
I recall I rather enjoyed the great powdered wig I was to wear in the theatrical—what a fine thing to have such liberty with one's hair, and do so many things!”
Mr. Crawford took the seat across from Fanny, and leaned in to catch her eye. “Perhaps you should grow your hair long,” he said to Mr. Rushworth. “Fanny is an angel—I am sure she would lend you some curling tongs.”
Mr. Rushworth scowled, and Fanny was sorry that Mr. Crawford should say something he knew would give such offense. “I shall leave that to Miss Price,” Mr. Rushworth said.
As Julia had lost interest in Fanny once Robert Ferrars sat down on her other side, Fanny was left to Mr. Rushworth and Mr. Crawford for conversation, and it was a complicated business trying to navigate the tension between the two men.
Mr. Rushworth was indeed as determined as he had been two nights ago to shield Fanny from the most forward of Mr. Crawford’s behavior, while Mr. Crawford in turn seemed resolved to ignore Mr. Rushworth’s efforts, and make some subtle jabs where he could.
If this was not overpowering enough, toward the end of the meal John Dashwood announced to the table that he was to give a ball a week from tomorrow, in honor of his cousin Fanny’s coming out into society.
Mr. Rushworth made some little applause at the announcement, coloring when nobody else did the same, and when the moment had passed he made haste in asking Fanny for the opening set.
Undaunted, Mr. Crawford declared his delight in being able to claim the supper set, which was far superior.
After this Julia turned around, declaring that Robert Ferrars must dance the first and the supper set with her, but he must certainly stand up with Fanny, who knew not how to handle such sudden popularity.
Happily for her, their hostess soon signaled for the ladies to remove to the drawing room, where Fanny instantly sought out Mrs. Jennings. The jovial lady sat with Aunt Margaret and Lady Bertram, and all three called out happily to Fanny as she approached them.
“My goodness,” Fanny cried. “It is only me—I am sure you need not celebrate,” she said with a little smirk.
“Oh, fie, fie,” Mrs. Jennings cried. “But look at you! We have all been saying how lovely you look—is that not so, Lady Bertram?”
“Indeed, Fanny. I am so pleased Sir Thomas has decided to bring you out from Norland, just as it was for me. You must take every opportunity to enjoy yourself, my dear girl.”
“I will,” Fanny replied. “Ah, but I cannot believe Cousin John should say it is all for me—I am sure it is an amusement for all of us, and he is the one hosting us all….”
“I wish your mother might have had a come-out ball,” Lady Bertram sighed; Fanny knew not what to say, and glanced at Mrs. Jennings for help.
“Well,” Mrs. Jennings cried, throwing up her hands.
“Margaret, did you not say you meant to take Fanny to Portsmouth? I am sure I should be vastly happy to meet your relations, Fanny, my dear! But let us all go, we ladies here—we shall make a day of it! I think Young Margaret would call it quite the adventure, eh?”
“Oh, Sister,” Lady Bertram said to Aunt Margaret. “We must go! After being here I am longing to see your mother, Fanny—I am sure we cannot be so close here, and not visit. I must ask Sir Thomas, of course, but how I do wish it might be so!”
“I mean to go for a certainty,” Aunt Margaret replied. “I think it is a right thing—I should so much like to be of use to Mrs. Price, or at the very least make some peace with her.”
They had not long to wait before the gentlemen returned, and Mrs. Jennings called Sir Thomas over to them directly.
“Well, Sir Thomas, what do you think? What a fine thing Fanny is to have her come-out, and she is in very fine looks, is she not? But who better to admire her than her own mother, and Portsmouth is so very near! We should like to visit—perhaps we must stay the night, you know—but I am sure you would not object to it!”
“No indeed,” said he. He looked down at Fanny, his stern countenance almost indulgent. “Would you like to visit Portsmouth?”
“Very much,” Fanny replied earnestly.
“Then I think it a good plan. I would remind you to recall your childhood—the difference in situation in life to what you are accustomed—but perhaps it may serve as a reminder of what good fortune you may yet have if a certain desirable event comes to pass—what a fine thing that may be for all your family.”
“Oh!” Sir Thomas had moved away before Fanny could make any sensible reply, for his words felt more like a warning than encouragement, and again she wondered what displeasure she might face in her uncle were things to end against his wishes, with Mr. Crawford.
She wrung her hands, agreeing to travel three days hence, and quickly moved away to agonize.
Mr. Crawford perceived her distress and began to move that way, but once again Mr. Rushworth was faster; he gently touched her elbow and led her to a chair. “I hope you are well, Miss Price. You looked to be in some panic.”
Fanny smiled up at her new protector. “I am well, only a little wary of….” She gestured about her, unable to name just what had agitated her.
Mr. Rushworth glanced icily at Mr. Crawford. “I cannot think what he is about, to make love to Maria and then defect, and pursue you so brazenly—and against your wishes, I think. But he is a vain seducer, and I well believe it of him.”
“Oh dear.” Fanny shook her head. “Pray speak to me of anything but that.”
She watched him glance round at Maria, and wondered at why he should care so very much for one who had used him so ill.
And yet, even at this notion her eyes darted to Edmund, who was speaking to Elinor with a greater animation than he had shown in weeks.
Having wounded her own sensibilities, Fanny turned back to Mr. Rushworth, determined to be diligent in her endeavors to converse.
“Shall we read Milton again, or discuss the last reading?”
“We must discuss the last reading, for I am sure I understood less of it than I ought to own to. You are very clever indeed to make so much of it, and I shall think of it as you do.”
“You must think for yourself, sir, but I am happy to help you on,” Fanny replied, and she went to retrieve the book from where she had left it.
She was half afraid Mr. Crawford would attempt to waylay her, but he did not, and as she returned to Mr. Rushworth with the book, she saw Mr. Crawford, his eyes fixed on her, sit beside Maria and begin to whisper.
She shook her head, determined not to think of it, and prepared for all the delight of a discussion about literature and morality with a friend as eager to learn and improve as she was.
Elinor felt rather than saw Edmund come to sit beside her. She smiled to herself as she looked over at him, relieved he had come to rescue her from a very tedious conversation with her Aunt Norris, who had offered some rather severe strictures on Marianne’s current melancholy.