Chapter Five #2
“Fanny!” Edmund exhaled heavily, and after a moment he moved closer to her and put an arm around her shoulder, drawing her into a torturous embrace.
“You will always be welcome at Mansfield, of course. I only fear that a day may come when it is not what is best for you. Please, let us speak no more about it—only give me a promise that you will consider my words, and be open to the possibility of something good coming of this journey for you.”
Wiping away tears, Fanny nodded her head. “I shall try.”
They spoke no more about this, or any other matter for the duration of the trip, and when they arrived at Norland Park, Edmund strode away as soon as he had helped her down from the carriage.
Fanny was struck for but a moment by the grandeur of Norland Park, which was an expansive and elegantly situated house—she gave it but the barest glance before watching Edmund approach his father and speak with a grimace, his hands clenched in fists.
After a minute or two, John and Fanny Dashwood came to greet them, and both Edmund and Sir Thomas resumed a mask of inscrutable civility as they entered the house.
Maria Bertram was too much in love with Henry Crawford to care much for what the world thought, but she was also a young girl who wished to be in her father’s good graces.
She could not like his tepid reception of her Henry, any more than she could like his advice of giving Rushworth another chance.
She had been quite sure her father had understood what her own eyes had lately been opened to, that a life with Rushworth would be unfulfilling at best. She began to suppose, as her cousin’s wife led them through the spacious public areas of the house, that her father was less convinced of Henry’s ability to please her.
She had also surmised that her father was out of humor, for though they had been speaking too low to be heard, he and Edmund had had a tense exchange as they arrived, and Edmund claimed a headache and abstained from a tour of the house.
Why Henry must be punished for Edmund’s rudeness was beyond Maria, and she made no effort to hide her irritation at the turn of conversation as she walked between Henry and her father through the gallery.
In response to Henry’s gracious praise of the house, which was large and stately, even ostentatious in some places, Sir Thomas replied, “I take it you had no notion of Maria’s relations being so grand.
You have not been long acquainted with us, to be aware of all our connections.
Mansfield is a fine estate, to be sure—rather larger than Everingham, I believe—but Norland is one of the finest houses in the land, as you see. ”
Maria fumed at her father, and looked over at Henry.
He reacted to the slight with a good-humored smile, and met her eye with an attempt at good cheer that seemed to fall short.
“I find Norland to exceed every expectation I had, sir. The Dashwoods are excellent people, with such a decided air of hospitality and true gentility. Why, I shall have to repay their kindness and invite them to Everingham some time or other, for I am so far from ashamed of the place as to host house parties of my own, in summer. Rather smaller house parties, to be sure,” he said with a smirk.
Henry had never shown any signs of being daunted by her father’s barbs, and this was far from the first of them since her engagement to Rushworth had been upset. Maria was tremendously proud of him for bearing it all so well, but wearied of her father’s severity, for Henry deserved better.
“Grand as the house is, I cannot claim to be a frequent visitor. After all, it has been so long since I was at Norland that I must be given a tour of the house like any other visitor,” Maria said, trying to match Henry’s feigned nonchalance.
“I shall give my cousin every compliment, to be sure, but in truth the size of the house makes Mansfield feel snug and cozy and infinitely preferable—would you not say the same, Mr. Crawford?”
He laughed diffidently. “Indeed I would, Miss Bertram. One might appreciate what another man has well enough, and then reflect on the joys of what he has.”
Maria gave her father a look of triumph; he scowled, and abruptly moved away.
Henry seized the opportunity to draw Maria away from the rest of the party going over the house, and as the others moved from looking at portraits to admiring the new pianoforte, he caught her hand and led her into a nearby alcove.
Still clutching her hand, he leaned back against the window casement and sighed.
“Your father despises me. He thinks me not good enough, when you might have had Rushworth.”
Maria had only very recently learned to value love over money in terms of her future, and yet she spoke with all the confidence of one whose convictions had long been fixed. “Then he cares little for my happiness.”
“But, could you be happy with me?”
“How could you doubt it? I have told you I love you, of course you make me happy—happier than I ever imagined possible.”
“Your father is right—Everingham is nothing to Mansfield—certainly nothing to Sotherton.”
Maria pressed his hand in hers. “And who did the tiresome master of Sotherton turn to for advice on his grounds? If even a rival can see your value, what have you to fear?”
“I fear that you will regret your choice. That you will one day cease to love me, and think only of what you might have had with another—with more.”
“Regret my choice?” Maria chewed her lip, giving him a coy look. “What choice? I have made no choice, for you do not ask it of me.”
Henry’s eyelids crinkled as he laughed softly. “I ought to do it properly, but….”
Maria’s heart beat faster, and she unwittingly stepped closer to him. “Nothing about us has been done properly, I fear. We have not had a real chance, and have been left to court in the shadows.”
His fingers entwined with hers. “And would you object to it remaining thus for a time? You must allow me the chance to win him over. I am sure he liked me when first we met, before the Rushworth fracas.”
Maria sighed and met his eye with a mischievous wink. “Do so quickly, my love; I have no wish to wait long.”
Mary Crawford had unpinned her hair and donned her dressing gown, idly going through the beauty regime that was her custom before retiring from the evening.
She spent some time reflecting with satisfaction on their first evening at Norland, which in many ways had been quite a success.
These, however, were not dwelt upon, for tonight her mind was wont to dwell upon what had been wanting, and foremost was Edmund’s unaccountable sulking.
Mary’s was a mind made for constant calculation, and despite her lack of information, she was in no way daunted from considering the possibilities.
A welcome interruption roused her from this unpleasant reverie; there was a knock at the side door of her bedchamber.
Surprised, but always ready to be amused, Mary went to the door and opened it.
Before her, her brother Henry stood in his robe, a wide grin on his face.
“Well, what do you think—we have our own private sitting room between our chambers.”
Henry moved aside to allow Mary space to stride into the room, and she looked about with curious pleasure.
“What novelty!” It was a small room, to be sure, but the furnishings were comfortable, if a bit too feminine for Mary’s taste.
She poured herself a glass of Madeira from a decanter at the sideboard, and beckoned for her brother to join her on the sofa.
“How very cozy—I suppose we must admit our hosts to be very gracious, at least.” She arched an eyebrow at Henry, eager for him to confide his own impressions.
“Gracious to us,” he replied, sitting on the other end of the sofa in a languorous pose. “A servant informed me that these rooms formerly belonged to the Dashwood sisters, and as they are joining the party tomorrow, I cannot think it quite right that we should be in them.”