“Mother, I know why we can’t find any paper to use in the necessary—Betsey has it all in the attic,” he reported, as he and Susan turned the workbasket upside down and pawed through its contents. Another thought struck him; “By the by, do the Bertrams know about Fan’s marriage?”
“Why, not from me, I’m sure. I’ve had no time to write a letter this week, but I should think it’s for Fanny herself to tell them.”
“Susan, you have my leave to go over the railing, as Fan did,” laughed Mr. Price, “so long as you come home with a rich husband like your sister. By g-d, William, my boy, we will see if you are as skillful at catching prizes as your sister, hey?”
Susan muttered under her breath that she would love nothing so much as to run away from home, rich husband or no.
* * * * * *
For four full days, Maria had refused to leave her room, and could barely be persuaded to take anything more than a little tea and some brandy. She wailed aloud if anyone attempted solace in any form, or tried to persuade her to return, with all her sorrows, to Mansfield. She refused to speak to anyone, nor even allow her maid to open the curtains. Finally, on the fourth day, her father arrived in London, sent for by Julia, for Mrs. Norris would not acknowledge that anyone but she had the ability, or even the right, to console poor Maria. For the first time that Maria could remember, her father enfolded her in his arms, and she burst out weeping anew.
Edmund had been alerted to the surprising news of his cousin Fanny’s marriage by his brother Tom, who rode over to Thornton Lacey where Edmund had been living in a house torn apart with alterations. The brothers then travelled swiftly to London, Tom to Wimpole Street, and Edmund to visit his fiancée, wondering what she could tell him of her brother’s sudden preference for Fanny over Maria.
“As you can imagine, Mary, I am of two minds about this news. Fanny surprised us all when she left to be a governess—this is equally perplexing,” he exclaimed to Mary after the first raptures of their reunion had passed and they were able to contemplate some other creatures than themselves.
Mary raised an eyebrow at the perceived slight to her brother. “What girl of Fanny’s low rank would not accept such a proposal, and become mistress of Everingham? It is a tremendous match for her.”
“When we were all together at Mansfield last autumn, I saw no indication that she bore him any affection, or even esteem. Perhaps you observed something, with your quickness, that I did not. And if there is a young lady in this nation who would decline to form an alliance for mercenary reasons, I would say that young lady is my cousin Fanny. Still, he did that for her brother, which I should suppose would have been almost sufficient recommendation to her, had there been no other.”
“In other words, you think that Henry ought to feel obliged to her, for her stooping to marry him?” Mary knew she ought to have quietly assented to all, but she could not restrain herself. “You must excuse a fond sister, but I should think most people would view matters quite differently—they would wonder why a man of his sense, temper, manners, and fortune, would marry a portionless girl with neither great beauty nor accomplishments to recommend her.”
Edmund smiled down at her. “I congratulate him on his choice. While I am heartily sorry for Maria, the fact that your brother married without regard to rank or fortune speaks as eloquently of Fanny’s virtues as it does his discernment of them. And my dear, as I have been fortunate enough to win your affections, I know how perverse the ways of the heart can be.”
“Yes,” Mary nodded. “For example, you know how I dreaded the day you would take orders, and now that it is done, I can only admire how very handsome you look, all dressed in black!”
“Playfully said, and you illustrate my theorem that, in marriage, the tempers had better be unlike: I mean unlike in the flow of the spirits, in the manners, in the inclination for much or little company, in the propensity to talk or to be silent, to be grave or to be gay. Some opposition here is, I am thoroughly convinced, friendly to matrimonial happiness.”
“Fanny will be the anchor line to Henry’s hot air balloon, I have no doubt!” Mary sounded not entirely convinced by this line of reasoning.
“Well, I hope with all my heart they shall be very happy—but I confess, speaking as a man who has loved only one woman, and will love no other, I wonder how it came to be that your brother transferred his affections so rapidly. And knowing of Fanny’s delicacy as to conduct, how could my cousin have been comfortable accepting the addresses of a man who was in honour bound to my sister? Maria is in a very bad way, by the bye.”
“Oh, dear. Poor Maria.” Mary paused here, for though she had joined her brother in laughing over Maria’s downfall, and scorning her for her jealousy, her flights of temper, and her imprudence in allowing Henry to make so free with her before marriage, she saw by the grave features of her beloved that he saw nothing to amuse, and much to lament, in Maria’s humiliation. She ventured a new approach.
“Edmund, you will recall Maria threw over poor Mr. Rushworth without any ceremony. I believe you did
