Chapter Nineteen #3
“The walls are closing in around me,” Fanny gasped.
“Look at them over there, scheming away,” she scoffed, motioning to Elinor and Marianne.
“I am sure they are already dividing everything up betwixt themselves, and laughing at my demise. John and his father shall endeavor to talk some sense into Edmund Bertram, but I am sure he wishes to get his claws into Norland like the pretty, grasping second son he is. He is trying to oust the poor old parson at Amberley so he can linger in the county and torment us, and if you do not do something to control Elinor, I do not know what I shall do.”
“Sister, you forget that I do not want Norland,” he hissed. “I am sure if I should begrudge Edmund Bertram anything, it is the living at Amberley—but you might have given me some advantage there.”
“I did not think of it. But it little matters, Edward. If you do not want Norland, so much the better. Marry Elinor, and then you shall be able to simply give Norland back to me—to John.”
“This plan is a mad one,” Edward said, shaking his head. “You would do better to fight it through the appropriate channels—or allow your attorneys to do so. That is what shall save you, not I.”
“I see,” Fanny breathed, an evil look about her. “You fear that if you pursue Elinor, and she does not succeed in stealing Norland from us, you will have thrown yourself away. That accounts for your interest in Miss Julia, to be sure.”
Edward could no longer contain his mounting frustration.
Fanny was in no condition to hear the truth—that he was not free to pursue anybody, that he had bound himself to a woman he no longer cared for, regardless of her situation in life.
“Fanny, you mistake me, and your anxiety does you little credit. I will not hold it against you, but you must get some rest. We will speak more about it in the morning.”
Fanny gripped at his coat and began to swoon. His mother had been lurking near them, half-listening, and she at once beckoned for Robert to carry Fanny to her room. Edward could sense that his mother wished to reprimand him further, but he moved away directly, for he was in no humor to hear it.
Julia Bertram was watching the dancing—only Mr. Rushworth, Miss Price, Miss Bertram and Mr. Crawford were reeling together, but Miss Julia’s envy was apparent, and he pitied the girl her slight.
She smiled widely at him as he came to stand beside her, and though he was in much distress, he asked her to join the dance.
“From perfect misery to perfect happiness,” she said as he led her to the center of the room.
“I hope you are not repining the loss of my brother,” he blurted out.
Miss Julia laughed. “No indeed! Let him chase this mystery heiress if he likes, it can be nothing to me.”
“You are too generous.”
“Perhaps—perhaps it is no great loss. Perhaps I have become aware of a much superior man.”
Elinor had looked up at him from across the room, her expression hollow; Edward smiled brightly at Miss Julia. “He would be a lucky man, if you had.”
They had joined the reel rather late, and the music came to an end just as Edward had begun to think the evening might take a pleasant turn.
By all appearances Miss Julia felt the same disappointment, for she hesitated to relinquish his arm.
Miss Crawford began to say she would not play again, for Mrs. Jennings wanted her and Fanny Price for whist; Miss Julia pouted very prettily at Edward.
“What a pity we cannot dance a while longer. I was finally beginning to enjoy myself.”
“And so was I.”
“Do you enjoy reading, Mr. Ferrars?”
“I do, yes. I have not much talent for reading aloud—it has never amused my companions….”
“I have been told I read very well,” she smirked.
“Ah. Do you?”
“Yes—there was a book of poetry I was perusing yesterday—I think I left it in the library—would you like to help me retrieve it?”
Edward made a very gallant bow; he felt he should like nothing better than escaping the strange tension that had been an ever-present fixture in the drawing room since he had come to Norland.
Let Julia keep him company, for she was by far the most pleasant of them all, however Fanny might slight her.
They walked arm in arm to the library, chatting idly, and when they were within, Edward began to look about. “What volume have you been reading, and where did you leave it?”
He looked up at Miss Julia, who had closed the door behind them. She smiled coyly and sauntered toward him, her eyes fixed on his. “I supposed you to understand, Mr. Ferrars, that there was no book. Do you understand me?”
She had moved very near, and it was impossible not to experience some physical reaction; she was a beautiful girl.
Edward let out a shaky breath, pushing away a tangled web of thoughts about Lucy and Elinor and poor Fanny.
Here was someone who cared for his feelings, to offer him some comfort. “I think I begin to understand.”
Miss Julia pursed her lips, taking one more step closer, and arching her neck as she peered up at him.
“We have neither of us been much amused at Norland, I think.” She placed her hands on him, sliding them up his chest, and then she rested them on his shoulders, smiling provocatively. “We might, though.”
Edward looked down at her, his heart racing, and shut out every other thought as he grabbed her by the waist and pulled her toward him, kissing her with an almost violent fervor.
She was incredibly responsive, moaning at his touch as he slid his lips down her neck, taking liberties he had never even attempted with Lucy.
Julia breathed his name and clung to him; he ran his hands down her back, over her curves, and hoisted her up as she wrapped her legs around him.
They lost themselves in another minute of passion, and Julia laughed wantonly as he staggered back onto the sofa; she landed atop him and remained in his lap, surrendering to the all the ardor aroused by their previously disappointed hopes.
Edmund only begrudging agreed to join John and their father in the study; he felt it was a fruitless endeavor to belabor the subject of their great secret, as none of them had altered their stance on the complicated matter. He told them so directly, his posture defiant.
John would say his piece, however. “Edmund, I am your brother, after all—I beg you would hear me out.”
“I will hear you, but I can promise nothing more,” Edmund replied, seating himself across from the other two men.
“But you must, Edmund,” Sir Thomas pleaded. “You must see reason.”
“The fault is mine,” John cried. “That much I will admit.”
“The fault is our father’s—I am sorry you must pay the price, but I will not be inveigled into any scheming.”
“Listen,” John pleaded. “I have been negligent.”
“So you admit that you turned those poor women out of their home….”
“They left by their own choice to go to Barton,” John sputtered.
“No, I meant I ought to have invited Edward amongst us to begin with, for Elinor’s sake.
Edward was there before you, you know—and it cannot be much to give her up.
I am sure you have only just begun to like her—our father says you were quite cozy with Miss Crawford, at Mansfield.
A week is nothing that might not be undone. ”
“It is not nothing,” Edmund snapped, glowering at his father for betraying what had passed between him and Mary Crawford. “And you are wrong—clearly the past cannot be undone. In regards to Elinor, I would not wish it so.”
“Then you think only of yourself,” John replied. “You think to steal Elinor away from Edward, and it is not right. It is very likely she will have Norland ere long, and Edward is the better match for her.”
“If Elinor believed this, I am sure you would know it, and we would not be here,” Edmund snapped back at him. “I refuse to discuss this matter any further. I have heard you, and I have no wish to hear more, to hear her discussed in such terms as this. Let go of Norland, John, it is lost.”
“I cannot,” John whimpered. “My son—my poor wife….”
“Edmund,” Sir Thomas said gravely, “I cannot understand you. Do you not see, it is better this way? The scandal is inevitable, but Maria shall have her Mr. Crawford in the end, and the truth will out—is this not all that you desired? Must you twist the dagger in your brother’s heart, when there is no need?
He might retain Norland, if Elinor can be persuaded—and Edward is the man to persuade her. ”
Edmund threw up his hands in frustration and began to pace the room.
“This is madness,” he cried. “You have asked me here to listen to the ramblings of a pair of lunatics. I understand the impulse to grasp at everything in your reach as a man drowning would do, but this folly will not keep you afloat. Surely you must see that. Even if you were to unite Edward and Elinor, which I can assure will never happen—and I will endeavor to prevent it—but it would never work. If Elinor forfeited her claim to Norland, it would pass to Marianne. Next you will tell me she must marry the other brother.”
“No, Robert must pursue this heiress, Miss Sterne,” John replied. “Marianne’s Mr. Willoughby is a man of some property already. He could not want more.”
“Nobody is going to hand Norland back to you on a silver platter,” Edmund cried with feeling.
“This is a vain hope, John, and you must give it up. You have stolen it from them—to expect them to give it over to you, and go on as they have done—you do realize how they have lived since they left this place, do you not? Father, has he told you?”
Sir Thomas grumbled. “Barton Cottage is very snug, I understand. Their cousin Sir John is generous, and I do not believe they really want for anything. But you forget, with the older two girls soon wed, it will just be Mrs. Dashwood and young Margaret, and their portion will be enough to live on, just the two of them—they shall be in more of a position to help John, I daresay.”