“Oh! Mr. Bertram!”
“I think you know my sentiments, Miss Crawford, though I have not had the courage to voice them. But it is better, perhaps, for us to remove all doubt, all suspense, and in my case, all hope, than to continue as we are?” he raised her hand to his lips and kissed it solemnly, while looking directly at her—his gaze, beseeching, threatened to overpower her, but she could not yield.
“My dear Miss Crawford,” he added, still holding her hand, “pray, allow me to escort you to your friends.” He led her to Mrs. Fraser’s table, and there left her. She could not, would not, say ‘farewell’ to him.
Edmund could contain himself no longer, and left Lord Delingpole’s residence without bidding farewell to his hosts. He walked for several hours through the streets, attempting to regain his composure. He found himself wishing he could talk to Fanny, and realized that he was speaking to her in his mind as though she were there, and in his imagination, he heard Fanny agreeing with him, and sympathizing. He stopped in the middle of the pavement, startled with a sudden thought—did he miss Fanny so much because of genuine regard for his cousin, or, because Fanny could always be relied upon to agree with him completely, on every point? Was that the reason he missed talking with her? Was he so spoiled and indulged, from having Fanny as the perfect confidante, always ready to listen, never inclined to disagree, that he could brook no opposition from any other woman? Did Fanny, in her innocence, feed his vanity to such an extent?
It was a troubling thought, and the conviction rushed suddenly upon him that he had been too inclined to take his cousin’s approbation for granted. But, perhaps it did not necessarily follow that his vanity alone prevented him from reaching an accord with the woman he loved. The essential point of difference between Mary and himself was no minor matter, not a disagreement over whether Italian or German opera was to be preferred, or even the pleasures of country over city life, but, the utility and even sanctity of the clergyman’s role. She wished him to abandon his planned career; she had made it, though unspoken, a condition of winning her hand; he knew it as well as she.
Therefore, his dream of marrying the only woman he had ever loved, was over.
Chapter Thirteen
Fanny delighted in all the first signs of spring, even when she was not amongst the beloved and fondly remembered gardens and groves of Mansfield Park. When she took the children outdoors for a walk to search for snowdrops, or to cut some switches of forsythia to bring indoors, she was sharing what she had used to do when a young girl, when Edmund was home from school for the Easter holidays. These moments, therefore, were suffused with precious memories and the tenderest feelings. Sometimes Fanny’s eyes were swimming when Caroline brought her a little crocus or an early primrose and she explained that many people were affected this way by the flowers of spring, but they loved them nevertheless.
On a warm day in early March, when the promise of spring and freshness and sunshine was a tonic for the spirit and heart, the children were to have a day’s holiday because Mr. Smallridge had decided to take them to St. Nicholas’ Market in Bristol, for a special treat. Mrs. Smallridge was expecting a visit from Mrs. Bragge, and as their two governesses were acquainted, Mrs. Bragge kindly brought Miss Lee with her.
Being reunited with Miss Lee after an interval of three years brought many agreeable sensations to Fanny—her old governess was the first person she had seen who knew of Mansfield Park, its occupants, its ways, since she left it more than four months ago, and furthermore she was indebted to Miss Lee for finding her current situation. She found herself able to converse with her old governess with a freedom and ease which she had not expected. Now that they were no longer tutoress and pupil, Miss Lee—in the past so reserved, so formal—was decidedly more open, commiserating with Fanny over the loneliness and tedium of their shared occupation, and not averse to sharing something of her own history. This last was a revelation to Fanny who, if she had ever thought on the matter before, tended to imagine Miss Lee as springing forth fully formed, like Athena from the brow of Zeus. As a child, she had not even asked herself how old Miss Lee was, or whether she had birthdays, or brothers and sisters, but now perceived her to be a woman of between forty and fifty. Now, gathering assurance from Miss Lee’s encouraging friendliness, she dared to enquire, ‘how did she come to be a governess’?
“I grew up in Hertfordshire, the only surviving child of a poor clergyman,” Miss Lee related. “There was a young gentleman with whom our family was acquainted, unlike any other I have met before or since. He was not a man easy to come to know or to understand, but of all the gentlemen of my acquaintance, he was the one I could most wish to have married. He was not handsome, but he was well-educated, with a most singular wit. If you will read Tristram Shandy (a book I could not have recommended to you when you were still in the schoolroom), you might receive some idea of his whimsical nature. In this, indeed, he was very different from myself, but I am one of those who believe that sympathetic natures, not identical ones, are best paired in
