He would have said more, but she could remain silent no longer. The desperate calmness with which he spoke only provoked her to anger and impatience. “Of course I am sorry for everything that happened! How I wish none of it had happened! But—how am I more selfish than you, or anyone else in your family? If your cousin hadn’t lied about being married to my poor brother, if her brother hadn’t captured your father’s boat and destroyed your family’s fortunes! If you hadn’t decided we should never return to Mansfield! We would still be together if not for—but I am the only one whose transgressions remain unforgiven.”
Edmund took in one long slow breath, felt the exhalation through his nostrils, and slowly inhaled again. “There are two other points I must mention, because they weigh very materially with me. I came to London two days ago.”
She raised her eyebrows at this, startled at the thought that he had resisted the urge to go to her immediately.
“I have been calling upon some of my acquaintance. They told me, most reluctantly, what I have long suspected. I learned from them—that is, I cannot own myself surprised to hear that you have represented the causes of our separation in a light most advantageous to you, to all of your many friends and acquaintance in London. We would all be guilty, I suspect, of excusing ourselves to some lesser or greater degree when describing matters we should rather not discuss. But I am, in short, not surprised to learn that in the eyes of many, I am a villain, and entirely at fault for the breach between us.”
“And no doubt everyone in Thornton Lacey says you are an angel!”
“I am well regarded there, but it is not because I have hinted at the state of my marriage or denigrated the character of my wife. There is an embargo on the subject in Thornton Lacey, and whatever else you accuse me of, I think you will believe my assertion on that point.”
“Of course, Edmund, of course.” She blinked a few tears away. “You are a good, good man. Better than I deserve. Not one person in a hundred would have your forbearance. I am a mere ordinary—”
“The final matter I wish to lay before you, Mary, is that Julia recently confided in me, the extent to which you have interfered with her happiness.”
“This is preposterous. Julia would say anything to excuse herself for jilting poor Mr. Meriwether.”
“You cannot possibly attempt to deny the role you played there, Mary.”
“Edmund! You told me yourself, in writing, that you would not live with me unless Julia were married! You made it a condition of our reunion!”
“I did not instruct you to pressure Julia to marry a man she didn’t love—didn’t even know. I did not ask you to give her advice which wracked her feelings, and which was a cruel and gross distortion of my father’s situation and sentiments.”
“My counsel was heartfelt, very sincerely meant, and anyone would have agreed my advice was sound! You cannot pretend that Julia has not made a very imprudent marriage, and one most likely to end in...” Mary trailed off, seeing the expression on Edmund’s face. She was astonished that this conversation with her husband was unfolding so disastrously. A terrible fear clutched at her heart.
“In the long silence which followed your desertion of our home, Mary, I began to grow resigned to the possibility I would never see or speak to you again—”
“You never tried to contact me! Not once! If you truly cared about me, you would have!”
Edmund’s neck flushed with anger, and he came near to losing his composure. “Where should I have sent the letter? To Lord Elsham? Or some other?”
Mary fidgeted, and tossed her head.
Edmund wiped his hand across his brow and calmed himself. “Pray, let me have done, Mary. In short, I think I was not unreasonable in wanting to hear you express some remorse for breaking your marriage vows. In that, I have been disappointed. It appears to be something you cannot bring yourself to do, not without excuses and equivocations. But, even if you were now to fling yourself to the floor at my feet and beg for my forgiveness—and pray, pray, do not do so—I have come to feel I could not repose any confidence in your sincerity.”
Her eyes, swimming with tears, upbraided him for his coldness, as he remorselessly continued.
“In addition to being unfaithful to me, you have been disloyal, by spreading unhandsome insinuations about me throughout London. And finally, your conduct toward Julia, your misapplication of the sentiments I expressed to you in my letter, indeed, all of your actions together, have served to strengthen my conviction that we were best to continue to live apart.”
“So... you refuse to take me back? What will you do? What will I do?”
“I will be the vicar of Thornton Lacey. You, Mary, must decide for yourself. You retain your fortune, and your freedom.”
“You allowed me to hope—for a year? You dangled the promise that I might return to you and now—you snatch it away?”
“There was no premeditation on my part, Mary. I give you my word.”
She clasped her hands together, and shuddered, looking down at the floor. “I think I do understand, I do see. You used to like me, I used to amuse you perhaps, but now...”
“I adored you, Mary.” This last was uttered in the same flat, clipped tone which he had employed almost throughout their interview.
Edmund’s heart was withdrawn from her. Mary sat as
