Chapter Sixteen #3
Mary gave a mischievous smirk. “There I can wholeheartedly agree. Marianne showed me a few places at Norland where nature was conquered by artifice as you say, when Mr. John Dashwood and his wife took possession of the place, and I think Marianne was quite right to dislike the changes. Ostentatious displays do have their place, but not at the expense of real natural beauty—it is rather a pity we could not have seen the house before these improvements, if they can be called such.”
Fanny made some little agreement, but as she peered up at Mr. Rushworth, she began to feel quite sure he was not really speaking of his gardens, but something of more significance.
She even dared to hope he was, though it rather made her blush.
He was really looking as if he meant to compliment her.
Before she could make any reply, he grabbed her by the arm, and began to pull her away from Mary.
She dropped the small bag she carried, of a few volumes purchased at the booksellers, and let out a small cry of alarm—she looked at Mr. Rushworth with mounting panic, and a moment later an object whizzed past her ear, just where she had been standing, and landed on the sand behind them.
As Fanny resumed her previous posture, Mr. Rushworth glanced back over his shoulder. “Well! I have not seen a football since my days at Eton! But where….”
His unfinished question was answered in another moment. Young Margaret Dashwood was running toward them, her loose hair blowsy and wild, her eyes and countenance bright from exercise. “I am sorry,” she cried.
“You must be careful,” Mr. Rushworth said kindly. “I think you do not know your own strength, and you nearly struck your cousin.”
“Sorry, Fanny,” Margaret said. “I found it on the beach, and thought to have a little fun. Everyone is talking about such dull things.” She looked over her shoulder at Marianne and Willoughby, which was not dull at all, but certainly could not be talked about.
Mary gave Fanny a little nudge and a private smile. “Well, you shall find us no better—I daresay we are just as dull as anyone else, unless you admire picturesque beauty.”
Young Margaret looked very bored, and shook her head. “No, that is all Marianne ever talks about. I think it awful to come all the way to the sea, only to stare at it. I should rather sail away upon it.”
Mary smirked. “You should make a first rate pirate, I am sure.” Young Margaret fairly glowed from such praise, and even Fanny laughed.
Mr. Rushworth had given the football a few little kicks about the sand, and though Fanny was sorry that their conversation had ended, his good cheer began to be contagious.
“I say,” he cried, and waved over some of the others.
“I have not played folk football in ten years or more! But we must have a game, what do you say? Mr. Ferrars, surely you played some, at university?”
Mr. Ferrars and Julia had been walking that way, and the gentleman called out in the affirmative. “But of course—and now you find the rare occasion, Miss Julia, when I shall lament there are not more gentlemen present. I should really like to play a match, on a fine day like this.”
Julia did not appear as impressed as her companion might wish, but Fanny could not but smile.
She handed her bag off to Mary, and rested her foot atop the ball for a moment, giving Mr. Rushworth and Mr. Ferrars a wide smile before she lifted her skirts just a bit and kicked the ball far down the beach.
She watched it arc through the air and land at some considerable remove.
“Why Fanny Price,” Mr. Rushworth gasped. “You have hidden talents!”
Emboldened, Fanny gave a sly smirk. “You must recall, sir, my childhood was not entirely dignified.” She made a little curtsey, and smiled widely at her astonished companions.
Mrs. Jennings was laughing merrily, and the clapping of her hands inspired Lady Bertram and Aunt Margaret to echo the applause.
“Well,” Mary cried, reeling with laughter. “If we are to play, I must beg to be on Fanny’s team. I always play to win.”
The young people soon formed an energetic cluster, while the older ladies resigned themselves to watching over the shopping bags and making some feeble reminders of decorum.
Teams were arranged, goals established, and rules agreed upon—no hands, no elbows, and no shinning, and yet it was a rowdy game indeed that kept them all occupied for the next hour.
By the time Fanny, Mary, Mr. Rushworth and young Margaret claimed their victory over Mr. Ferrars, Mr. Willoughby, Julia, and Marianne, it was time for the whole party to think of returning to Norland.
Mr. Willoughby was not to return with them, and everybody made a great and unified effort not to notice the tender and tearful goodbye the lovers exchanged as the others made ready to return to Norland.
The carriages were called for, and some rearranging was required.
Julia had ridden thither with Mr. Ferrars in his open barouche, but she began to say she should not like to return that way.