Chapter Twenty #3
She had been vastly relieved at how easy it was to retain Fanny’s friendship after Henry ceased his awful charade—and delighted indeed at the reason for it.
Mr. Rushworth was utterly besotted with Fanny, which Mary thought the most natural thing in the world—she really began to wonder why she had never predicted it before.
Fanny and Henry were dancing together nearby, looking well at ease now that he had given up the flirtation, and it occurred to Mary how truly attached she had become to her friend. She had grown hopelessly tenderhearted since coming to Norland—since laying eyes on Colonel Brandon, to be exact.
She had been looking for him all night, certain he would come; she sat out the third set, content to observe the amusingly awkward affection between Fanny and Mr. Rushworth.
Neither of them had any wish to dance with anybody else, and they both claimed only some desire to rest, but Mary knew what they were about, and it filled her with such romantic sentiments that she nearly ran to Colonel Brandon when she saw him enter the ballroom, just as the fourth dance was called.
She moved with haste, trying to keep her composure; she knew she was grinning like a lunatic, but she could not do otherwise at such a moment. The colonel made a very formal bow, but she could see what he was feeling, and he was just as affected as she.
“Mary,” he breathed, drawing her aside. Happily, the crowd around them began to thin as the dancing resumed, but they withdrew to a corner by unspoken agreement.
“I knew you would come,” she said with a smirk.
“I am glad you did not doubt me,” he replied. “Nothing could have kept me away, but fortunately nothing has—that is, my concerns no longer burden me as they did.”
“How wonderful,” Mary cried, resting her hand on his arm. “I have been thinking of little else since you went away. Does this mean you have found her?”
“I have, thank God.”
“And where is Eliza now? Is she safe and well?”
“She is safe at Delaford, and as well as can be expected—that is….”
His voice trembled, and Mary feared what he might say, for she recalled his history of Eliza’s mother. “I knew you would find her. I am so happy, so relieved—and I am very proud of you, Daniel. I know it could not have been easy.”
“I was fortunate, in some respects. But not in every way.”
“What do you mean?”
He hesitated, looking around them. Supposing he must require greater privacy, Mary led him out of the way; they ducked behind the grand staircase that led from the ballroom up to the grand dining room and a large antechamber that looked down on the ballroom.
They would not be seen or heard behind the stairs, and she slipped her hand into his. “Is it… what you had feared?”
“Eliza is with child, yes.”
“Oh, no. And the father? Forgive me—the tension between you and Mr. Willoughby, and certain comments you have made….”
“I did suspect him, yes. He is not the culprit—he is not entirely innocent—that is, he was guilty enough that it was possible—but he is not the father of her child.”
“Oh. Well, I suppose that is good news for him—and for Marianne—but what about poor Eliza?”
“Happily, the father has accepted responsibility—would have done so sooner, if Eliza had allowed it.” Colonel Brandon shook his head at the thought of it. Mary did not wish to press him, but was glad when he continued, for she was vastly curious.
“It is a strange thing, Mary, and I fear it does not reflect well on Eliza. She took up with a young man while she was visiting friends in Loxwood. A stable hand, no older than she. When she realized she was with child, she feared I would punish her, for she knew her young lad, Sam Jenkins, is unsuitable. Fearing for her future, Eliza contrived a scheme to seduce a gentleman of means….” He broke off, looking at her with pain in his eyes.
Mary nodded and pressed his hand in hers, for she could well imagine the rest. Eliza had tried to catch Mr. Willoughby as a father for her child; it was a heartbreaking notion. “I hope you took pity on her,” Mary said. “But I know you must have.”
“I did. I was angry, at first, and it was a blow that she would have such a fear of me, to run away, to contrive such a desperate plan.”
“Poor creature, to be driven to such awful measures. But the young lad?”
“He wants to marry her, and always has. They did not imagine it would be possible, and it will not be for some years yet, but I have made arrangements. I am to support Sam in a profession—he is interested in the church, but he has some years of schooling ahead of him before they can wed.”
“And what of the baby?”
“I must return to Delaford when the baby comes; I think it shall be another fortnight yet, but she is close. I will make some arrangements, find a good family….”
“Oh, no!” Mary gasped and covered her mouth. “But how sad. Even her mother—forgive me….”
“Even her mother had the comfort of keeping her child, you mean?”
“I am sorry—I know it must be difficult.”
“If there were any other way, but I do not think it possible for them to wed before Sam completes his schooling—to train for any vocation would take him some years yet.”
“Yes, of course,” Mary said, chewing her lip.
She felt a great deal for Eliza Williams, and it pained her to think that a girl who would have undertaken such a scheme to protect her child must soon be separated from it.
“How soft I am grown,” she sighed, dabbing at her eyes.
“And yet….” She stopped herself, for at odds with this tender sympathy was the impulse to some scheming.
“What is it?”
“Oh—you would not like it.”
Colonel Brandon lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it. “Mary, I would like to hear anything on your mind.”
“I fear it will not reflect well on me, but I really do feel moved by Eliza’s plight, and I know what you have endured to achieve her deliverance.
But if she is to stay at Delaford—well, I understand she has not been there in some years.
Might she be introduced there as a widow, perhaps?
Married and widowed in a matter of months, at such a tender age, it is not unheard of.
The child would be respectable enough, in that way, and if your protege Mr. Jenkins were to visit Delaford occasionally, it is perfectly natural he might make the acquaintance of the lovely young widow, and marry her when his schooling is completed.
The child would be young enough to take his name, to have every natural claim on his affections, when the time is right. ”
Mary was fearful her tendency toward such intrigue would horrify the colonel, but he smiled at her, his eyes lit with wonder. “You are right—that is, it would be very wrong—but… I can make no other argument against it. I cannot like the lie, but I would do it for Eliza.”
“For both Elizas.”
He nodded and drew her close enough that he could lean his head against hers. “You amaze me, Mary.”
“I feared I might repulse you with such a scandalous thought.”
“All your other scandalous thoughts I have liked very well.”
Mary laughed. “My goodness, what a flirt!”
“I must tell you, Mary, what your compassion for Eliza means to me. I want to take you in my arms, but….”
She glanced over her shoulder, signifying that they were quite hidden from view, and with an expression so serious Mary found it quite dashing, he wrapped his arms around her waist. “I had never thought it possible to find such a woman, to be esteemed by such a woman.”
“You underestimate yourself.”
“I have not grasped at real happiness in so long, Mary. I wonder if it might be possible. I must tell you, I mean to keep Eliza at Delaford for some years yet—and her child, it would seem. I wonder that any woman would wish to be mistress of such a household.”
“I think any lady would be fortunate indeed, for you are utterly perfect, sir, and the constant company of a female companion and a precious baby must only be enhancements to that perfection.”
“Mary, you know what I would ask you….”
She was not ready, but she had no wish to pain him; Mary reached up and ran her fingers through his strangely fascinating silver hair.
“I beg you would not, not yet. We must come to know each other better, which I am thoroughly looking forward to, and I think it is important Eliza and I come to know one another as well. I shall not make you any answer until I have her approval.”
Colonel Brandon leaned in, brushing his lips gently against hers. “That is hardly any great delay, then, for she is sure to approve of you at once. When she knows what you have done for her—that your notion has been the means of her happiness….”
“No—no, I must earn her regard through more merit than that. Besides, you deserve all the credit for it, for I know you cannot like the lie—you are doing a fine thing for her.”
He smiled mischievously at her, and it was a thing of wonder. “I look forward to doing fine things for you.”
“Well! That is reassuring,” she laughed, running her fingers across his cheek.
“But now, Daniel, you must come and dance the supper set with me, and flirt with me all through dinner—and you must make peace with Mr. Willoughby, for I have done as you asked in befriending Marianne, and I cannot give her up now.”
He rubbed his nose against hers and kissed her on the forehead. “I am glad of it—you are right, as it seems you always are.”
“I see you have begun directly,” Mary teased him. She gave him one last kiss before leading him back to the ballroom, caring little for who had seen them.
Fanny Dashwood could feel that her downfall was imminent, and eyed all of her guests with suspicion. Edward met her gaze and broke away from Julia Bertram to come and speak with her. “Are you well, Fanny?”
“Stop asking me that,” she hissed. “I am sure you have no right, not when you might have been my salvation. You have been an utter disappointment to me, Edward.”