Chapter Ten #4
Mary was fairly certain even Marianne had some role to play in the secretive sort of drama that seemed to be unfolding in the shadows around them, and she very much wished to know what was going on.
“What strange companions we all are together.” There was such a great tension in the house that Mary thought every moment it would erupt in pandemonium, and she rather wished it would.
It was a terrible thing, to know that there was something one did not know.
Marianne huffed. “Well, we have had to bear the strangest of the company, I am sure! Damn this rain, or Colonel Brandon would be gone away!”
Mary raised an eyebrow at her friend’s strong language.
She knew Marianne did not favor the colonel, but still found it baffling in the extreme, for to her mind he was Mr. Willoughby’s superior in every way.
Of course, she had only met the man the previous day, and admired him for most of it—there must certainly be more to the story.
Inside her bedchamber, Mary was attentive in applying a wet cloth to Marianne’s cheeks, gently blowing on the wet skin to cool the swelling.
“Give it a few moments,” said she. “I hope you are more at ease now. I feared you and Mr. Willoughby had quarreled—but truly, I am your friend, and if he has harmed you….”
“No! No, not at all.”
“I thought not, but I had to ask. We ladies must stick together, you know. If any of the gentlemen of our party are not to be trusted, should we not be as sisters, and arm one another with the protection of truth and honesty?”
“Certainly!”
Marianne did not take the hint, and Mary made another attempt, for her curiosity was such that she really began to wonder at how the handsome colonel might sow such distress.
Mary had not always the greatest success in matters of the heart, but she hoped she was not foolish enough to begin to fancy a man who may prove to be too like her brother.
“Well, if there is anybody that has caused you this distress, you must give me some warning that I might avoid them, and perhaps rethink my favorable opinion.”
“Oh—but I thought you had! You looked utterly wretched dancing with Colonel Brandon before—I thought you had begun to dislike him on your own.”
Mary blushed in spite of herself at the recollection.
The colonel still flustered her a great deal, for he was so very tall and dashing, radiating strength and vitality.
He was her exact ideal of a man; even the graying of the hair at his temples, which might have put her off, was rather dignified.
She had never had such a physical reaction to anybody, and far from it with Edmund.
The colonel had made Mary tremendously nervous during their dance, for she was every moment fearful of betraying her attraction.
Mary had never felt such giddiness—she was always bold, firm in what she wanted, and resolute in going after it, but her recent failure with Edmund had made her self-conscious for the first time in her life, and she had acted like a silly girl before Colonel Brandon—her mortification was complete.
Yet now Mary began to wonder. “Has he done something very dreadful to you? Please tell me he is not a cad!”
Marianne hesitated. “Oh, dear—I have no wish to cry again—but I think he means to keep Willoughby and me apart. He is jealous, that is all.”
“I see,” Mary said carefully. “Do you mean that he has come to win you over, or something more malicious?”
“He has never tried to woo me properly, that is not his way—well, he brought me flowers when I sprained my ankle, but he is not at all what a lover should be! And he knows I do not care for him. I only fear he will cause Willoughby some mischief—but you mustn’t say a word.
Indeed, I hope I am wrong.” Marianne squared her shoulders and examined her reflection. “We had better go down.”
Mary’s curiosity was far from sated—quite the opposite.
Had she been duped by a villain—was she a fool for a handsome face?
She was seated too far from the object of her curiosity at dinner to discover anything at all, and could only endure Robert Ferrars’ tedium until the ladies repaired to the drawing room after their meal.
The company was a little less awkward without the men, and yet Mary knew she could hardly speak any further with Marianne for the present.
She was thwarted not only in this, but in another great care that had needled her all day—Maria Bertram.
Henry had inexplicably shifted his attentions to Fanny Price, who was too overpowered by him to reciprocate his interest in any way, and Maria was clearly stewing over it.
She had even danced with Mr. Rushworth! If there was any argument between her brother and Maria, Mary felt herself obligated to assist and smooth things over, but Maria kept a distance from everybody, and only spoke to give Mrs. Rushworth what offense she could.
Mary was relieved that the men did not tarry long. When the gentlemen entered the room, they dispersed amongst the ladies, and ironically enough Mary felt some relief that Henry went instantly to Fanny Price. This left Mrs. Jennings momentarily unoccupied, and Mary seized her opportunity at once.
The good lady was bustling about in want of some conversation, and Mary linked her arm through Mrs. Jennings’ at once. “I must commend you, I think—I hear you are due some credit for Miss Price’s transformation tonight,” Mary observed.
Mrs. Jennings’ face lit with good cheer.
“Ah, it was nothing at all, really—just a few hints and suggestions, you know. But you are so kind—and so fashionable yourself I am sure your approval must mean a great deal! And it seems you are not the only Crawford to take notice, eh?” Mrs. Jennings made an indiscreet gesture toward Fanny Price and Henry speaking together at the back of the room.
“Yes indeed,” Mary said, rather wondering at how attentive her brother had been to Miss Price this evening. “Well, I am sure she is like a brand new Fanny Price—but I look forward to coming to know her better now.”
They had traversed the room; now they turned about and began walking the length of it once more. After hearing more effusions from the old widow, Mary began to press her luck. “As to new acquaintances, I understand you know Colonel Brandon very well.”
“Oh my, yes, we go back ages! He is a neighbor of my daughter Lady Middleton, in Devonshire—they reside at Barton Park, and Mrs. Dashwood, their cousin, has Barton Cottage, so we are all very cozy!”
“You must all see a great deal of one another in the country.”
“Indeed we do—I am often visiting between my two daughters, who are not more than a day’s journey apart—but I am vastly contented with the neighborhood near Barton.”
Mary had hoped to find her companions more forthcoming—indeed she had been depending upon Mrs. Jennings’ penchant for over sharing, and was a little vexed that she would have to be more direct. “Is the colonel a man of some significance in the area? Is his character well regarded by the community?”
“Oh, he is the best of men, I am sure. You observe him tonight in a sober mood, and though I would not call him cheerful or gregarious by nature, he is a pleasant man with a great deal to say when he wishes it.”
“And tonight he does not wish it,” Mary mused. She chewed her lip, choosing her next words carefully. “I am sure it is nothing to me, only I had wondered at his coming amongst us and seeming to take so little pleasure in it.”
Mrs. Jennings laughed. “Oh yes, nothing to you indeed! I saw what you were about, Miss Crawford, yesterday afternoon. And what a tableau! The colonel lingering in the doorway with a wistful sigh as he watched you at your harp—utterly transfixed! And you so unaware, and looking rather fetching in all the sunlight. And then you saw him, and dropped all your sheet music about you, I am sure you were really very flustered, for you could not have contrived it so perfectly for all the world! Well, I really was certain I might bend to the notion of love at first sight, after the display you both made! He is a handsome devil, though not much aware of it himself—but I wonder if the right sort of girl might not take a fancy to his brooding ways. Well, I think that would be a fine thing indeed—the lady who finally gave that poor soul the affection he deserves would be a happy creature indeed, I am sure of it!”
Here was the veracity Mary had hoped for.
She looked away and smiled to herself at Mrs. Jennings encouragement.
Though Mary could not own to anything like love at first sight, for this was not at all in her nature, she was pleased that the colonel had reacted to her in some way as well.
She was attracted to him, but she could not have allowed such an inclination to take any serious root without some assurance that it would not lead to mischief or disappointment.
“I wonder you do not promote one of the Dashwood girls for him,” Mary said.
“I had hoped my youngest daughter might have tempted him, once—but she is very content with Mr. Palmer. I was sure he might do for Marianne, for he was so struck with her—but Willoughby, you know, is her favorite—and who could resist such youthful charm and open manners?”
“I am sure I could,” Mary said with a gentle laugh.
“My brother Henry is rather like Mr. Willoughby, and though I adore Henry, naturally, the traits that please me in a brother are not what I could desire in a mate. I prefer a man of means, of course, as much as any lady in my position ought to, but what I should really like is a man of the world, with conversation and experience… and perhaps an air of mystery, if there is any substance in it.”
“Well then,” Mrs. Jennings laughed, “I wonder you are still talking to me!”