Chapter Eighteen #3
“Until then, my father shall have to simply squirm,” Maria sighed. “I have not the heart to attempt feigning interest in Rushworth for the sake of the feelings of a man who would willingly see me so wretched. And you are right about Fanny, Mary. I—I am sorry.”
“Good! Then you will cease this charade. The ball is but five days away, and then you might do as you please without any further guilt. You cannot convince me you shall die of broken hearts in five days.”
Henry sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. “You are right, of course. Still, it does not seem quite right—if I have raised Miss Price’s expectations, to leave off so abruptly….”
“It would be a welcome relief to her, I daresay,” Mary interjected. “Of course, if it were truly a concern for you, you would never have undertaken it to begin with! But I think you shall disappoint none but Sir Thomas if you leave off. Indeed, the more I think about it….”
“What? You say I have raised her hopes, and yet she would not mind if I ceased my attentions,” Henry said tersely. “Which is it?”
“I think there is something….” Mary hesitated, not wishing to fan the flames of their treachery with speculation about her friend—it felt like a betrayal, and yet…
. “Yesterday, I noticed something—some degree of friendship between Fanny and Mr. Rushworth—some sort of timid intimacy—perhaps it was nothing, but I do not think so. They may not even be aware of it themselves, but perhaps… perhaps you may not have to appear the rake for throwing her over, Henry—you may have all the pleasure of letting her reject you.”
James Rushworth hurried to the library, for he had spoken more with Fanny Price the past evening about the gardens at Sotherton, and she had been vastly interested in learning of the local flora and fauna.
It had put him in mind of a compilation of botanical sketches and diagrams he had found instructive; John Dashwood had confirmed he possessed the volume in his collection, and James meant to give the book to Fanny for perusal on her journey.
It was a pity she was to go away, after the jolly fun they had had together the day before, but at least this way they would have something to discuss when she returned.
He stopped when he heard voices in the library, and he could not resist listening a little when he detected whose voices they were. He spent a quarter-hour in such an attitude, shamelessly listening at the door, until he had heard quite enough to leave him reeling.
He staggered away from the library at last, angry, astonished, and heartbroken all over again; indeed he felt a great many things all at once, and could not quite name them all.
He could not even be sure what had shaken him the most—that Maria had only been feigning her half-hearted interest in him for the last week, that Crawford was indeed the rogue James had long believed him to be, or that his mother could enact such a vicious plot against the Bertrams, while actually staying in the home of the man she meant to ruin.
James made his way downstairs in a daze, and though he had not procured the book he wished to give Miss Price, he unconsciously sought her out.
Perhaps it is nothing, but I do not think so.
Mary Crawford’s words nagged at him as he turned over the events of the previous day in his mind.
He recalled the game of soccer, the merry conversation on the return journey, the way Miss Price’s hair caught the sunlight… .
“My God, I have been a fool, a blind fool,” he suddenly sighed.
“Mr. Rushworth, I wish you would not say such things,” Miss Price cried out as he nearly collided with her in the front hall.
“Oh—I did not see you.”
“Just what every woman wishes to hear, I am sure,” Mrs. Jennings laughed as she hurried past them. “Come now, Fanny, we must be away within the hour.”
Miss Price laughed silently, offering James an apologetic smile. “You may recall I am for Portsmouth this morning, sir.”
“Yes, yes I know. I am sorry to see you go, though I am sure you must be happy to see all your family.”
“I am. But I shall be pleased to return to Norland tomorrow, too,” she said encouragingly, a pretty blush spreading across her face. Some sort of timid intimacy….
James fell into step beside her as she made her way to the front of the house.
After the enormous shock that he had just experienced, the quiet kinship he felt with Fanny Price was like an anchor for his sanity, and everything else a blur.
He wanted to cling to her—or better still, flee with her, and leave the other mad inhabitants of this cursed house behind.
He could not bear that he should be left here with the scheming Crawfords and Bertrams—he could no longer even trust his own mother.
Hardly knowing what he was about, he said, “You ladies are traveling alone—but that will never do. I ought to accompany you—for safety.”
“For safety! My goodness, I had not thought to anticipate brigands! It shall be a diverting trip indeed,” she said, and burst out laughing. “Forgive me—I am grown rather giddy with anticipation—I really am overjoyed to be going home.”
“But surely Mansfield is home.”
Miss Price shrugged. “I am only being silly and wicked again. But surely you would not be as happy to go to Portsmouth as I.”
James would be happy indeed to put a thousand miles between himself and the occupants of Norland Park, but a short journey with Fanny Price seemed a fine prospect indeed, though he could not at present begin to ponder why.
He only wished to be away. “I am sure I should enjoy it, if you do not mind my going. I enjoyed one view of the coast yesterday, and might look forward to another.”
“It shall be very different.”
“So much the better. Variety is the spice of life, is it not?”
“Well, Mr. Cowper, my family’s variety of living is… that is, you may not be accustomed….”
James instantly realized his mistake. But of course she must hesitate.
He recalled now that her family lived in very reduced circumstances, and it pained him to think she might be embarrassed for a man of his station to behold it.
He wished to put her at ease, though he hardly felt himself equal to the delicacy it required.
Still, he knew he must make some attempt.
“Miss Price,” he said, taking her hand lightly in his, and giving a little bow. “Just as Norland is made pleasanter by your presence, so too shall Portsmouth be. Have you any other objections to my going?”
Miss Price looked fairly bowled over by what he had said, but after a moment he perceived that her reaction was really one of pleasure, and not dismay. “Only that of expediency—you had better make ready at once, for Mrs. Jennings may be cross if we are detained.”
“Of course. I would not for all the world delay what brings you happiness.” James hastened away at once, before he began to feel quite foolish in front of Miss Price.
His valet was sent for, a bag was packed, and every other preparation made in less than a half-hour, and he was riding the enjoyable rush of it all when he was made to face his mother.
“James,” she hissed, accosting him in the corridor. “What on earth are you about, going to Portsmouth on a whim? I am sure I need you here.”
“Do you?”
“Silly boy, of course I do. And there is no reason for you to go to Portsmouth—I think Maria would be very sorry to see you go away, and your cousin Marianne, too.”
James felt his jaw tighten, and he let out a long, slow breath. She was still his mother, but he could scarcely look at her for anger. “Think what you like, Mother. I shall go to Portsmouth, my reasons shall be my own, and I will say nothing about what it is I think you need.”
A quarter-hour later he was seated between Lady Bertram and Mrs. Dashwood in the luxurious Bertram carriage, smiling stupidly at Fanny Price, and really beginning to understand the workings of his own heart.
How strange that he should owe such a debt of gratitude to that rascal Crawford’s scheming sister!
Miss Price withdrew a book from her travel bag as the carriage set off, and for want of anything else to say, he asked what it was.
“Oh,” cried she. “I have borrowed a book from the Norland library—after you mentioned it last evening, I retrieved it directly, and examined a fair amount of it before bed. The illustrations are magnificent.”
“But how perfect,” he blurted out.
With a peculiar twinkle in her eye, Mrs. Jennings began to insist that James change positions with her, for he and Miss Price must be wishing to discuss the book together, and she much preferred to be facing the other direction, anyhow.
It was an awkward business, rearranging themselves while the carriage was in motion, but well worth the effort, once James was seated beside the young lady he felt such a tremendous burst of admiration for.
The three matrons were exceedingly interested in taking in the view from the windows, remarking amongst themselves at every passing thing, while James and Fanny Price passed the hours of the journey in an easy, companionable discussion.
Fanny Price could scarcely account for why Mr. Rushworth should wish to accompany them to Portsmouth, or why she should feel such a great jumble about it.
He was pleasant company for the journey—more than pleasant, for she really thought he might like her—at least, she suspected Mrs. Jennings thought so.
Fanny could not be so sure. The only man who had ever really flirted with her was Mr. Crawford, and his manners toward her were so exaggerated that she could not distinguish between polite flirtation and ordinary civility.
Even if it was only civility, Mr. Rushworth’s conversation was lively and animated, and it was not until they drew very near Portsmouth that her giddy contentment gave way to other feelings. But then, what a great many sentiments overpowered her at once!