Chapter Eleven #2
Mary looked away as the colonel began to walk off, her hand clenching her door handle but not ready to turn it.
She had thought Marianne was the pretty little fool, but that distinction was Mary’s alone tonight.
She would probably never see Colonel Brandon again, and it ought not to matter—but it did.
Stifling a sob, Mary leaned her head against the wooden door and gave way to her wretchedness for just a moment, before determining to do better.
She had resolved to rally her confidence, and this was the moment she ought to do it.
She spun around, and found he had already come back to her—he had stopped but a few paces away.
She let out a heavy breath and smiled up at him.
“Miss Crawford,” he said. “Forgive me, I—I could not part with you before I… I must know, Mary, if you have felt what I have this evening—if I have imagined more than I ought—if I have been a great fool again, I would rather know it directly this time.”
Mary closed the distance between them and peered up at him. “What is your Christian name?”
“Daniel,” he breathed with a smile.
This was all the encouragement she needed, and she slowly reached up and buried her fingers in his coat.
“Daniel,” she whispered. “Your imagination is just what I like.” He drew in a sharp breath at her touch and gently held her shoulders, but it was not enough; she might never have another chance.
She stood up on her toes, and he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her into the kiss as her arms went around his neck.
It was not Mary’s first kiss, but it might as well have been, for she had never felt such complete surrender.
It went on, and she was completely lost for she knew not how long.
Not long enough. When he finally drew his lips away from hers, she cupped his face in her hands, not letting him go too far from her.
“You are remarkable,” he breathed. He kissed her once more, this a fleeting thing compared to the first, and then he took a step back. “Goodnight, Mary.”
She lingered in the corridor a moment, watching him go, half ecstasy and half heartbreak. It was hours yet before she found sleep, for there was a great battle within her, between her head and her heart, but in the end her dreams were pleasant indeed.
She resolved to wake early in the morning, and was out of bed with alacrity at an hour far earlier than she was wont to consider, but she had to see him one last time.
She suspected him to be an early riser, for he was eager to resume whatever business it was that drew him away, and she was fully dressed the next morning an hour before she might have lifted her head from the pillow.
When it came to actually going down to breakfast, she hesitated. Mary sat on the stool at her vanity, staring at herself in the mirror and wondering again if she was a dreadful fool. In the end it mattered not to her; she had to see him.
Colonel Brandon was not at breakfast, and Mary might have quit the room upon discovering his absence, but for Sir Thomas’ greeting.
“Miss Crawford, good morning to you! Well, but Fanny and I were just speaking of how well you looked last night—Fanny admired your gown and I said she ought to have a new one like it, if you do not object. You must ask Mrs. Dashwood where there is good shopping to be done hereabouts, and I shall treat the two of you to a proper day of it.”
No man but Sir Thomas could make a topic such as this sound so very grave, and yet Mary was obliged to thank him.
“Of course, I should be happy to accompany you, Miss Price.” Mary made a plate at the sideboard and took a seat beside Fanny Price.
Edmund sat across from them, and Sir Thomas at the end of the table; they were the only ones yet downstairs, and Mary felt the awkwardness of it keenly.
Sir Thomas was apparently feeling voluble, if not actually cheerful, and he continued to address her without seeming to expect much reply.
“That quaint little town we stayed in on the last night of our journey, I am sure I saw a dressmaker’s and a fine looking haberdashery in the village—Lady Bertram would be happy to take you, I am sure. ”
Miss Price smiled meekly. “I would enjoy the excursion tremendously. Indeed, Mrs. Jennings has spoken of wishing the same.”
Mary was still stunned every time Fanny voluntarily offered any sort of opinion, but gave the girl an encouraging look.
“Oh, I am a great supporter of Mrs. Jennings! We must both be her devotees, I should enjoy such an outing together very much.” At this Mary could not help but recall the kindly woman’s subtle circumspection the night before.
And then, inevitably, her eyes drifted toward the doorway, willing Colonel Brandon to appear.
He did not, and Mary returned her attention to her companions.
How strange it was that Sir Thomas was bestowing such favor on the niece who had somehow gained the affections of his own daughter’s suitor!
Had he no compassion for Maria? Edmund was giving his father such looks that hinted he could not like what his father was about, and yet Mary had little interest in dwelling on that.
Perhaps they might hold very similar opinions indeed, if only he would speak to her about it—or about anything at all.
But he clearly did not intend to, and she found it no longer bothered her. He only seemed very churlish indeed.
She managed to pass the rest of the meal making idle chatter, and Mary found she really was pleased by the blossoming changes in Fanny Price.
She was still shyer than most girls, for the change had come on so recently, and yet there was a peculiar sort of optimism in all her looks that had never been there before.
She wondered what Miss Price thought of Henry’s attentions—even Mary herself scarcely knew what to think of it all, for Henry had not allowed her much opportunity to speak privately with him.
Perhaps there was something about Fanny Price that would make her an agreeable sister, and yet Mary had been growing fonder of Maria daily. What a conundrum it all was!
At length they were joined by John Dashwood, who bid them all good morning as he entered with Marianne on his arm. While Mr. Dashwood came into the room with a warm smile for Sir Thomas, Marianne hesitated in the doorway. “I had a tray in my room—forgive me, I should like to take a walk.”
Mary recalled her promise to Colonel Brandon, and what he had said of John Dashwood, and she seized the opportunity to withdraw from the present company. “May I join you?”
“Yes, please do.”
John Dashwood took a step toward the window and peered out beyond the garden at some looming clouds. “I think it shall rain again, Sister.”
“No, I see some blue sky in the distance,” Marianne said dismissively.
“Anyway, we will keep to the garden, for the gravel path must be the driest place after yesterday,” Mary said, moving to follow Marianne.
Aside from this advantage, she would be visible from the window when the colonel did come down at last. It was a better plan anyhow, for if he did not wish to face her after last night, she would rather not discover it in meeting with him before so many others.
Outside, Marianne latched onto Mary’s arm as they began walking together. Mary scowled at the clouds. “I did not wish to own it before, but your brother is right; I think it is going to rain again.”
Marianne laughed. “Well, I thank you for not agreeing with him, for I really wished to be out while I have the chance. I could not walk out at all yesterday, and if it does rain again later, I will be glad I got out when I could.”
“You are optimistic, then. But I completely agree. I shall likely be at my harp all day if we are kept indoors, but I enjoy the garden here very much. Was it a favorite place of yours when you resided here?”
Marianne’s eyes lit with excitement. “Oh, every bit of Norland is dear to me! The garden is lovely in its way—it is familiar and peaceful, but I prefer the wilder parts of the estate. There are many fine walks, and you have only seen the first of them. But what a pity my sister Fanny is always leading the way—she has not the same taste and appreciation for the picturesque at all. She would be building follies and false ruins everywhere, and spoiling it all.”
“Good heavens,” Mary laughed. “But I hope when the rain clears up you might lead a little expedition.”
Marianne’s smile abruptly faded, and her reply died on her lips—now she was grimacing back at the house. Mary followed her friend’s gaze and felt an entirely different manner of agitation; Colonel Brandon was walking toward them.
“I will find you later,” Marianne murmured, giving Mary’s hand a parting squeeze before moving quickly away. She did not even look at Colonel Brandon as she passed him in her hasty retreat.
Colonel Brandon could not feel good about delaying his departure even by an hour, but neither could he leave Norland without seeing Mary again.
He had taken but a few bites of his breakfast before perceiving her through the window.
He made some feeble excuse to be going out into the garden, and went to her directly.
Though he had encouraged the friendship, knowing Marianne would need a great deal of consolation should Willoughby’s villainy be confirmed, Colonel Brandon could not like facing them both together at such a moment. And yet he might have known Marianne would flee.
Mary seemed to feel it, too. “She is not always easy to be a friend to, I suppose,” she observed. “You and Marianne have such widely disparate views of one another.”
“And yet, I would still see her happy, and cared for. It is what is right.”
Mary smiled. “I admire that. There is a goodness about you that I hope, in time, she may perceive.”