“Julia, perhaps we may speak—it has been an age, has it not?” Mary began, confidently drawing her aside from the departing throng.
Julia looked at her coldly. “I believe the time passed by very slowly for my poor brother, when he was waiting in vain for a word from you.”
“Yes, Julia, I have been a fool, I freely own it, and have been unjust to one of the finest men in England. I should be excessively grateful and humbled if his family would assist my efforts to restore Edmund and me to the happiness we once knew.”
“I will support my brother. Whatever constitutes his happiness will make me happy as well.”
Mary’s face lit up. “Indeed? And so you understand how important your choices are? Edmund has spoken to you about it?”
“I do not understand you, ma’am.”
“I mean, Edmund will not permit me to return to him until you have taken a husband. He and I are longing to be reconciled but his sense of duty to you is such that he says he will not take me under his roof while you remain there.”
“What!” Julia gasped. “I do not believe it! I do not believe you!”
“Can you mean—has Edmund said nothing to you? How I honour his discretion and his high-mindedness! How like him. He did not wish to cause you a moment of guilt over the fact you are standing in the way of his happiness.”
“I—standing in the way—?” Julia clenched her fists at her sides, so that she might not rake her nails down her sister-in-law’s face.
“Yes, to protect your reputation, he will not allow me to return to my home until you are gone from under my roof. So, you do understand why I enquire with more than passing solicitude—Julia, are you engaged? Do you have an understanding with anyone?”
“You are presumptuous, madam,” Julia was provoked into saying.
“Oh, this is no time to be coy, dear sister. I know you have developed a passionate interest in the navy, especially in the West African Squadron. But, my dear Julia, it is time to put aside childish dreams and consider your duty, is it not?”
“You speak to me, of duty, madam?”
“After Maria’s folly, your own reputation will always be in doubt—”
“I am not obliged to punish myself for her sins!” Julia exclaimed with irritation.
“Oh, of course not,” Mary assured her, then lowering her voice and glancing about her, she continued: “But surely you see why you must be extremely prudent in your choice of a husband. Throwing yourself away on a poor lieutenant is a heedless act. And what a connection! If you had met your future father-in-law, as I have, I am sure you would think better of it. A horrid, coarse, disagreeable man.”
Julia flushed angrily, not deigning to correct her sister-in-law.
“Life is not always fair, Julia,” Mary continued with a sympathetic smile. “My inheritance gives me the capacity to manage my own affairs. But you—you are dependent upon your father, on your parents, and they have fallen far in the world—besmirched by your sister’s scandal, caught out by the ban on the slave trade, your family home now occupied by others. I see no other course for you, my dear, than to marry to your best advantage.”
“I can only say, that you are the last person on earth from whom I would take advice on matrimony, ma’am, considering how you have dishonoured the state by leaving my brother.”
“If you are determined to remain in single blessedness, why cannot you go and live with your Aunt Norris, and leave Edmund free to do as he chooses?”
Julia sighed. She did not wish to explain the truth—her father no longer trusted Aunt Norris’ judgement. Her chaperonage of Maria, when she was in London, had not protected her sister from being seduced by Mary’s brother. She said only, “I would vastly prefer to stay with Edmund.”
“Your loving feelings for your brother are quite understandable. How much, indeed, do you love your brother? Do you love him enough to bring his current suffering to an end?”
Julia turned away, unable to compose herself. Mary, sensing that she had hit home, pursued the subject further.
“You should ask yourself—how can you put your own happiness, which is itself a matter of chance, ahead of the welfare of your entire family?”
“Why do you say happiness is a matter of chance? Because of your own unfortunate experience?”
“Julia, happiness in married life is purely a matter of chance, or good fortune. Do you believe a marriage of attachment will guarantee perpetual happiness? On what evidence do you rely? Only look about you—how many husbands cease to love their wives? How often does devotion sink into indifference, or worse? How many wives place a cuckoo in their husband’s nest? As for your sailor sweetheart, he appears to be a lovely boy, but what if you marry the son, and he grows up to be like his father?”
“I could not be so taken in as to his character, although my poor brother was deceived as to yours!”
“Are you so naïve as to think that yours is the only pretty face he has noticed? Have you not heard the saying, ‘every sailor is a bachelor past Gibraltar?’”
“First you speak to me of duty, then of constancy--this from you, madam!”
“So cold! So distant! You affect to despise me, but you must know I come to you as a true friend,
