Chapter One #2
She lingered in the copse until he strode out of sight, and a quarter hour afterward to compose herself, wondering at what she had done.
She had effectively cast off the expectation of such wealth and consequence as Rushworth could provide, which she had always depended upon as a sweetener to the tedium of his company.
It was a decision made before she had known love, or understood how much more might be had in the sort of marriage she was now inclined to desire.
And now, she had left her heart in possession of a man who was not yet at liberty to promise her anything in return.
When the burst of sudden, impassioned courage had left her, she began to dread what must come next, that her father would mean to force her hand, or change her mind.
25 October—Mansfield Park, Northamptonshire
Sir Thomas had brooded the entirety of the drive home from Sotherton, having dined there with his sons.
He had been acquainted with the mother for many years, and had the highest hopes of finding her son pleasing.
He really had, at the time of their earliest encounter, but with greater familiarity came an unfortunate sorrow.
The man was a disappointment, and Sir Thomas worried for his eldest daughter.
Tom retired as soon as they entered the house, but Edmund hung about, as if sensing his father’s dejection. Sir Thomas valued the opinions of his sober youngest son, and over brandy in his study, he voiced his impressions to Edmund.
“I begin to feel rather grave about the notion of Rushworth as a son-in-law,” he began directly.
Edmund gave a somber nod and took a small taste of his drink before steepling his fingers on the desk and waiting for his father to proceed.
“I had higher hopes for my daughter,” Sir Thomas sighed.
“His fortune is excellent, and we are actually connected to his mother by marriage.” He grimaced, turning his mind from that peculiar circumstance.
“Well, I began with good will, and I was pleased by his deference when first we met. That he put himself forward upon my arrival seemed a fine thing, and his willingness to give up the theatrical was what I wished my own children had felt—yourself excepted, of course.”
“But after three hours of his conversation….”
“Yes—I began to wonder how my family could have borne nearly a year of it,” Sir Thomas grumbled. “He is a good sort of fellow—that is, he is not a bad man. But if he were my son, I should find him very wanting.”
“In sense, but not fortune,” Edmund observed. “Alas, that is how matches are made.” His look grew nearly as severe as his father’s.
“It need not be how this one is made—surely you do not suggest that Maria would think of such things.”
“No, of course not. I believe she merely felt it her duty to catch him if she could, and perhaps she has not given much thought to what she is about, or what might be different if….” Edmund broke off and took another drink.
“If he were not such an inferior man?” Sir Thomas set his glass down heavily and refilled it.
The brandy, coupled with his happiness at being home after a year abroad, had made him rather candid.
Suspecting his son shared his own opinions, he continued, “He is as ignorant in business as in books, with opinions in general unfixed, and without seeming much aware of it himself.”
“You cannot like him?”
“If your sister tells me that he is absolutely her choice, I will attempt anything for her happiness. You may be a better judge than I—tell me, do you think it likely?”
Edmund’s countenance flinched, and then grew contemplative.
Sir Thomas had little expectation of a favorable reply. Even on his first night at home, Sir Thomas had perceived Maria’s attitude to her betrothed. Her behavior was careless and cold; indifference was the best that might be hoped for in such a marriage.
Finally Edmund gave his answer. “He is young enough to be improved by good society,” he began cautiously.
“Perhaps Maria has no wish for something more romantic. If you had asked me three months ago, I might have been quite sure. However, I am not without hope, nor would ever wish to be. Beyond the material benefits of the connection, a young lady who does not marry for love, and is situated so near her own family, has a great chance of happiness when she is not wanting for other comforts. She may have to dispense with seeing her husband as a leading, shining character, but her happiness is not impossible.”
Sir Thomas had hoped for some reassurance in his own doubts, but was still impressed by his son’s speech. “Perhaps it is soon yet for me to disagree,” he conceded.
Edmund finished his drink and leaned forward with an earnest look. “If I may, sir? What would your feelings be if Maria did repent the connection?”
“Relief,” Sir Thomas said at once. “You seem unwilling to say whether you think it her wish or not.”
“Nobody could tell you better than she,” Edmund countered.
Sir Thomas considered such an interview with his daughter, and though he was aware it must be handled with delicacy to spare her any embarrassment, he agreed it ought to be attempted, and without delay. “I will speak to Maria and discover her sentiments,” he resolved.
“You must be prepared, sir, that she will feel some dismay, whatever her feelings. She will need encouragement in her decision, for you have been away so long.”
Sir Thomas nodded. It was true that his daughters had not been communicative in their evening family circle; even his dear, timid Fanny had been more voluble.
“I will assure her that every inconvenience shall be braved, and the connection given up entirely, if she feels herself unhappy in the prospect of it. Surely that will put her at ease.”
“I daresay it will.”
Sir Thomas was satisfied. He had a worthy young son, whose judgement had risen in his estimation, and resolving on a definite course of action was always agreeable to Sir Thomas.
There was another matter on his mind, and this a happier one.
He poured them each another brandy and turned the subject to his niece.
“Our Fanny Price is grown a most promising creature, do you not think?”
Edmund smiled widely. “I have long been of such a mind. But yes, in your absence she has blossomed quite prettily; I have the highest regard for her person and her mind alike. Her disposition is just what I should like, though I should not lament to see her hold herself in as high esteem.”
Sir Thomas chuckled. “Yes, well, I have a mind to do something for her—to put her forward a little more. She has grown in looks and in conversation, and she ought to be noticed—that is, perhaps some young man or other might take notice.”
“I daresay Fanny would not like it, but I cannot disagree with you, sir,” Edmund said with a twinkle in his eye. “Miss Crawford observed to me that Fanny is as fearful of notice and praise as other young ladies are of neglect—I thought it prettily said of her, and very true.”
Here Edmund relaxed, and was content to dwell a while on the subject of Miss Mary Crawford, and Sir Thomas was so far from objecting to hearing it that the two men kept very happy company for above an hour more.
Sir Thomas ended his day with a sense of filial pride, gratitude at being back amongst his family, and a confidence that all was well with those he cared for, or very soon would be.