Chapter Ten #2
James knew at once he had said the wrong thing, for now Maria’s attention was fixed on Crawford and Miss Price, who were dancing very gaily together.
“Yes, I suppose it certainly catches the eye,” she drawled.
She said little else, but eventually she turned her attention back to him, and even seemed to smile a little at times, as they finished their dance together. It was not much, but it was something.
Elinor wished herself kinder in spirit, but it could not be denied: Robert Ferrars was but a poor substitute for his brother.
He apologized profusely for Cousin Julia being his first choice of dance partner, but Elinor was as unaffected by this as she was by every other bit of nonsense he spoke.
Better that he had done as everybody else, and ignored the fact that nobody asked her to stand up with them.
Colonel Brandon was seated nearby, and to the astonishment of more than just Elinor, he stood, bowed, and asked her to dance. She replied with a very genuine smile, for he really was the best of men. “Thank you, yes.”
“Well,” Mrs. Jennings cried from somewhere behind them. “I have never seen the colonel dancing before! What a treat!”
That he was a fine dancer was indeed a treat, though certainly no surprise to Elinor—she thought it likely he excelled at a great many things, without feeling the need to boast about it—even Mrs. Jennings’ observation gave him some visible embarrassment.
Elinor attempted to quell her wistful feelings of missing Edward, and appreciate all the kindness of the colonel’s gesture.
He must have heard Robert Ferrars’ mortifying speech and sought to offer her some rescue, which certainly he had.
She knew he would likely prefer to be watching Marianne’s performance, but he had spared her some little embarrassment, and she was determined to be as agreeable as possible in return.
All the other couples were merrier—even Cousin James was surprisingly light afoot—but Elinor did her best with the colonel, though he said little of any significance.
This did not stop the suggestive looks from Mrs. Jennings that followed; even John approached her at the end of the dance to congratulate her on such superior dancing, and to whisper to her what a conquest the colonel would make.
“Do not let his age give you much pause, my dear,” he said, drawing her aside.
“I like him very well, though he is so grave. But you are quite serious yourself, and therefore a better match for him than your sister, whom I have heard was his first object. But there is little point in giving him up to her, when she has her Mr. Willoughby, you know. No, you must not let him slip away; Fanny said so too, you know.”
With a heroic effort to maintain her composure, Elinor thanked her half-brother for his advice and quickly retreated to her mother’s side. Happily, she was spared Mrs. Jennings’ winks and smirks when her mother urged her to take a turn at the pianoforte.
“You must give poor Marianne some relief,” her mother whispered. “I cannot like it, but I think she and Willoughby must have had a quarrel—he has much the look of desiring some forgiveness, and I am sure she would dance if she could only be asked.”
Elinor was happy to oblige, and Marianne very willingly gave up her place at the instrument to stand up with Willoughby.
Pleased as she was to see some amends being made between them, Elinor pushed the matter from her mind and applied herself to the tune.
She had not played in quite some time, and she was not a good enough performer to feel confident following Marianne, but she supposed her deficiencies might be overlooked by companions who were grateful at some occupation beyond their previous moping.
They really had been a somber bunch that afternoon; there was a great deal of underlying tension between various members of their large party, and Elinor felt particularly uneasy about it.
Though she had to admit to herself that it was she was sad that Edward had not come to Norland, she could not entirely dissuade herself from supposing that there was more to the strange mood in the house beyond her own feelings.
Mrs. Jennings had taken Fanny Price under her wing, and Robert Ferrars was already showing signs of interest in Julia, yet even these happy notions felt clouded by—she knew not what.
Her uncle, Sir Thomas, certainly cast a pall over the company with his severe mien, and her cousin Edmund was nearly as dreary.
He had, at least, made some effort to please his mother, which she thought was really very sweet, for Lady Bertram had appeared far more animated than Elinor remembered her being when she had visited Mansfield as a girl.
And yet every smile had been hollow on Edmund’s part—he was the soberest of them all, except for his father.
It was a pity there was such discord among the rest of them.
Cousin Maria had seemingly fallen out with her handsome beau Mr. Crawford, who had begun paying the most unaccountable attentions to Fanny Price—Elinor had gotten on well enough with Cousin Fanny to suppose this must not be entirely welcome, despite all Mrs. Jennings’ kindly interference.
Certainly Cousin James appreciated the development—Elinor observed with hope and relief alike as he seemed to be making some progress toward winning his lady back.
Marianne and Willoughby troubled Elinor the most. She knew that Marianne would not speak to her of it, for it was not Marianne’s way; Elinor and her mother could only guess, and it seemed most likely that the colonel’s unexpected appearance had caused Marianne and Willoughby some discomfort.
Surely, she hoped, it would soon pass. The poor colonel had meant only to call upon them, as was right; he had been pressed into staying the night, and the rain would likely oblige him to stay another.
After that, surely he would prefer to be about his business.
Elinor fumbled over the keys—she really ought to pay more attention.
But it was just why she was ill-suited to the instrument, for her mind was far too active; she infinitely preferred the freedom of observation.
She allowed herself one more survey of the room—they were an incongruous group indeed, but it did seem the general cheer had improved, perhaps a little.
Cousin James must have more sense than he was ever credited with, for it had been just the thing to please everyone.
Everyone except herself. Elinor sighed and cast her eyes back down to the instrument.
She had never danced with Edward, in all the months they had spent together.
Perhaps they might be dancing together even now, if he had come to Norland.
His brother had said that Edward was visiting friends in Plymouth, and was “too vastly contented to leave the place,” so Elinor could only conclude that she held not the same place in his heart that he held in hers.
She wished to be as she had been before she met him.
Then she might not have been much bothered to be among so many lovers—but to see nearly everyone looking so happy, when she was so wretched—she could only attempt to chastise her own selfishness, and cajole herself into better spirits.
She pressed on until the song was over, received everyone’s applause in the best cheer she could muster, and retreated the moment the gong was rung to dress for dinner.
Marianne had been cross all day, for Willoughby was acting so strangely, and though Colonel Brandon’s presence at Norland was obviously the reason for it, Willoughby would not speak to her about it.
The rational side of her argued that there had been little enough opportunity, with so many people always around, but in her heart Marianne wished to believe he would find a way. He was troubled, and it was cruel of him to deny her any chance to give him comfort and reassurances of her ardent love.
It was enough to drive her mad. Ordinarily Marianne delighted in such fearsome rainstorms as the one that had plied the house all day—it really ought to have been intensely romantic—but Colonel Brandon was here, Willoughby was so very sullen, and everything was utterly wrong.
Willoughby smiled at her throughout their dance, speaking only to ask if she was angry with him, and Marianne was desperate enough to communicate freely with him that she might have braved it, and hoped the other three couples were well enough distracted to afford her some privacy—but just as she began to demand Willoughby confide in her, Colonel Brandon led Mary to the set.
Poor Mary! Marianne had thought her new friend immensely fashionable, intelligent and lively enough to make a very desirable companion—but how could such a lady look at age and infirmity with such approbation? And why must they dance so near?
Marianne endeavored to move away from them, for poor Mary was actually missing several of her steps, and the colonel’s proximity had set Willoughby on edge.
It was all to no avail, for Mary must have begun to think the better of her initial interest in Colonel Brandon—she would scarcely look at him now, and began to speak to Marianne instead.
Marianne scarcely knew what reply she made, for she could only observe the great tension between the two men near her, and Mary’s increasing strangeness.
The rest of the set passed in some confusion for Marianne, and the gong was rung just after. Elinor had been playing very ill indeed, and left the room abruptly. Marianne knew she ought to go after her sister; surely she was still disappointed over Edward not coming, if only she would admit it!
Everyone else seemed in little hurry to quit the room, and as they all milled about, Marianne could see no clear path from the room. Willoughby was still at her side, and gave her hand a subtle tug, drawing her away just as Fanny Dashwood began to harangue her guests into going upstairs to dress.