At times he rebelled, and made a point of giving flattering attentions to the most beautiful, most sought after women in the room—such transgressions were met by Maria with first, a whispered promise to end their clandestine meetings, and secondly, a whispered promise to attend the next clandestine meeting and smother him with a pillow when he slept and thirdly, she would fall to berating and insulting the unfortunate object of his gallantry in a fashion that drew the attention and derision of the lookers-on. In short, Maria was passionately jealous; she could not help or control herself, and the prospect of a lifetime under such scrutiny was unthinkable to a man of Henry Crawford’s independence of spirit. By g-d, was she out to geld him? To make him into a tame lap dog? It was not to be endured.
But even as he internally resolved that he could not make Maria Bertram his wife, owing to her shrewish temper, she remained the most desirable, willing and passionate lover he could ever recall. And no sooner had he pleasured himself with her to the point of exhaustion and packed her back to her family or to Mrs. Fraser’s, than he began to hunger for her anew and start to contrive the next rendezvous. It was dangerous, it was foolhardy, but what man could have done otherwise, given the inducement?
* * * * * *
And so the month of February passed away, in novelty and pleasure, with some pangs of pain for Julia, who was stubbornly forgetting forlorn hopes, and Edmund, who could neither advance or retreat in his suit.
So far as he could allow himself to judge, Mary Crawford preferred him to any of her other admirers, and spent more time in earnest conversation with him, than in light bantering with the others.
One afternoon in mid-February they met, as they often did, in an overheated and overcrowded reception room. Mary was in attendance with Mrs. Fraser and her set of friends, a coterie whom Edmund had learned to distrust, suspecting them of being careless as to reputation and worse, contemptuous of morality, and he longed to see Mary brought out from their influence. He suspected that some of her cynical views were imbibed from these same friends, and it was they who were poisoning her mind against the idea of marrying a clergyman.
On this occasion, the afternoon began promisingly enough. Upon spotting him, Miss Crawford went to his side, would not be parted from him, took his arm and strolled about the room with him, and gave him her sauciest smiles. However, he had information for her that he feared would end those attentions for a time, if not forever.
“Mr. Bertram, there is to be a harp recital next week at the Argyll Rooms. While you have politely endured my playing for many an hour, wouldn’t you care to listen to a true proficient? I am going with your sister—won’t you come with us?”
“Alas, Miss Crawford, as much as I would enjoy accompanying you, I have determined on completing my ordination as a clergyman. My father will be here in London on business, and we thought it an opportune time—
“Oh!” She pulled apart from him. “So soon? You will leave us next week?” Miss Crawford looked shocked. “I thought you had determined to stay here with your sisters until July?”
“My father will not object to my leaving for a week while he is here.”
“That is not what I meant, and you know it, Mr. Bertram. I meant, are you going to take this step? Have you no second thoughts? You know that some of your friends would be very sorry to see you settle for the life of a country clergyman.”
“I trust that those of my friends who know me will understand that even if I could afford to choose a different career, or no career at all, I do not desire any other, and that I would rather, at the end of my days, look back upon a life of some utility to my fellow creatures.”
“Come, Mr. Bertram—you cannot mean it. Are you truly going to do this? Will you condemn yourself to this dreary exile? Will you become a country parson, marrying and burying for a few shillings apiece, handing out the school prizes, taking your afternoon nap after your Sunday mutton? A man of your parts, your excellent understanding, your wit—will you throw yourself away in this fashion?” Mary’s voice quivered with derision, but her eyes filled with tears as she spoke.
Edmund looked grave. “I see that it is useless to attempt to persuade you, Miss Crawford. I recall suggesting to you that you have been accustomed to speak lightly of the cloth, as you have heard others speak, but I had hoped that upon further examination and reflection, you would come to acknowledge that, for all their faults, the clergy play an essential role in a civilized nation. And I have explained that of all the professions open to me, the Church has long been my choice—by conviction—and not, as you appear to insinuate, out of any desire for a soft and idle life. Furthermore, obscurity holds no terrors for me, at least, not so long as I could believe myself esteemed by those I love.”
She could only toss her head in vexation, more angry than wise. “It is a profession for those who cannot succeed in any other.”
“Believe me,” he went on, taking her hand. “Believe me, you have left me in no doubt as to your opinion of men of the cloth. If you cannot bring yourself to respect the majority of my fellows, I deeply regret that
