He was afraid his own persistence and his inability to understand that all his efforts to please her were having the opposite effect on her sensitive nature,
had greatly contributed to her unhappiness.
Well, no more, he could not profess to love someone as ardently as he did this beautiful and morally superior creature, and cause her to retreat from him in pain. She thought him inconsistent, and only steadfast behaviour from him was going to prove her wrong, only time could be his friend here. He would have to steel his resolve to win her by virtue instead of gallantry and flattery, taking care to embarrass her as little as possible by his attentions. Gentleness and quietness were going to be the way into her sweet affections.
She had approved of his actions at Everingham, he was sure, doing right was clearly important to her. Therefore he would be certain to go back there and see the matter settled as his honour demanded, only spending the night in London, calling on Bertram on his way through to tell him his niece was aching to hear from him.
He decided he might stay at the Bertram's house instead of the Fraser's or his uncle's, Edmund approved of his efforts to make his beloved Fanny happy, and Henry might share his newly found realisation that Fanny really didn't love him with the person who knew her best, and whom she probably loved best after her brother William. Bertram might have some more advice for him how to proceed to win the most beautiful and most deserving creature in the world.
Passing by an especially beautiful natural scene, he recalled their walk along the harbour yesterday, where they had admired the lovely view over the sea with the same intense feeling of wonder and awe. For one blessed moment he had felt a certain connection between the two of them, and he hoped she had felt some good will towards him as well.
Later during that walk, and on the other side of the path, a little beech had caught their attention, struggling against the salt-spray, bending towards the land to avoid the harsh touch of the sea-breezes. The little tree had been stunted by its deprivations, but it had also attained an almost supernatural beauty in its brave efforts to stay alive against the odds, its sweeping shape strangely pleasing to both their eyes.
She had to see the similarities in their tastes, she who was so acutely observant to everything in her quiet life. How she had clung to his lips and his face as he read Shakespeare to her that one unforgettable time at Mansfield Park, if only he had received those compliments with more sensibility for her delicate nature and with much, much less gallantry.
He longed so much to bring her into society, show all the world how much he
loved this beautiful girl, introduce her to the elevated pleasures of professional theatre, superior music, and when she needed exercise and quiet, ride with her to all the beautiful spots in nature that he had discovered over the years, sit in reverie together, feel her touch on him again.
That touch yesterday, he still felt it on his arm, it was ever so light, even when she got tired from the walk with her strapping family, how he longed for such a touch to be bestowed on him freely, with feeling instead of need for support.
He would be so solicitous of her health, he would never tire her beyond her strength, he would stay with her in the fresh country air rather than see her health deteriorate in the city. She had not looked well yesterday, the lack of fresh air and exercise, the undoubtedly lesser quality food, and the constant noise about her had taken a lot of bloom from her already, in less than a month.
He decided to give Edmund a description of her deprivations, of her loss of strength, hoping this account would then reach Sir Thomas and result in his beloved's being allowed to return to Mansfield Park, where she would be happier and healthier, and where he would be allowed, as her acknowledged suitor, to start showing her the gentle side of his character, the morals he so appreciated in her and most certainly had himself, and his appreciation of evenings spent in quiet solicitude instead of animated conversation or noisy entertainment, if only he could spend them by her side.
He might be allowed to take her to some of the higher pleasures of society, not ordinary balls, but art, and poetry, he would read to her again, stir her feelings towards him by showing her his taste in literature. He could accompany her on her rides and they could share their deep love for nature, now convinced this would be the way into her heart.
But her lack of strength kept nagging at him, what would he be allowed to do for her as long as she refused to give him the power to make her happy?
Would she let herself waste away in Portsmouth rather than appeal to him to have her taken back to the country? Her delicacy would not allow her to actually take him up on his offer to bring her home, and if she had to rely on the family to think of her it would never be done.
The only family member who ever thought of her beyond selfish interest was miles away from her, in London, too busy trying to gather enough courage to propose to Henry's own sister to consider the state of his cousin. She might die of deprivation, or catch consumption, before anyone thought of her health
and fetched her back to Mansfield Park.
No, Henry thought, it would be up to him to keep a close eye on the health of his most beloved Fanny, and he would find an excuse to visit her within the week. She might not love him, yet, but he was not going to let her pine away in loneliness whilst enjoying himself in London. He would find some news on William's whereabouts, news on the Thrush, something only higher ranked navy officers would know, to give him a reason to visit.
And if that didn't work, maybe he could deliver a message from Bertram to his niece personally. If he stayed with Edmund in their town-house, he might as well give him a few hints to improve his chances with Mary.
Neither of them had ever confided in him, but he could see what was happening in that quarter, and though Bertram was only a second son with no fortune, Henry could not but hope for the union of their families to take place.
He knew Mary's objections to the clergy, but as he did not share them, having a respect for the cloth that sprang from their influence over the population and their ability to reach out to people's feelings, he seriously hoped his friend would succeed in gaining his sister's affection and hand. He did know that Mary had a clear preference for Bertram's strong character and high morals, combined with his feeling and sensitive nature, and, admittedly, his tall figure and personal beauty. Mary's chances of happiness with him, even though she would have less income than she might wish for, were as certain as his own were with Fanny.
And he could not prevent himself from thinking, that if their families were already connected, his intimacy with the Bertrams must grow, giving himself more chances of showing Fanny that he was steadfast in his love for her, he might be able to make her a little happier even before she gave herself up to him, for he did not allow himself to feel any doubt she would.
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Mirror Bound
Authors note
Though it revolves around romance and is set in Victorian London, Mirror Bound is not just a romantic story. It contains more adventure, and though it is mostly historically accurate, steampunk elements, magic and Greek mythology are involved as well as the wonders of the Industrial Revolution and its excesses, the exploitation of people and rising pollution and poverty.
But in the end, it is still mainly a story about the love between a young, female engineer and the man of her dreams, a handsome inventor who can do wonders with copper, bronze and steam. And a charming complication in the shape of an unexpected visitor to their tiny slice of time and space.
This story is written according to contemporary morals and contains adult material.
Chapter 1
Have you ever fallen in love with a guy that you know is trouble, but that you cannot resist?
I always thought I was too smart to do that, but as it turns out I was the biggest fool of all. Not that he was a bad person, not at all, he was totally loveable, but trouble followed him wherever he went, still does. Let me tell you how I met hi
m.
It was a beautiful spring day in the city, the stately trees in the street where I lived were budding, grass and flowers were springing up between the pavement and in the parks. The neighbourhood that I lived in was old-fashioned and just a little run down, but not yet shabby.
I rented a top-floor apartment from an inventor, a slightly elusive young man who used his basement to make innovative things, useful objects and beautiful as well, and made a good living out of that.
Having just finished my studies and started working my first job I had my own money and some spare time, and I decided to go out and buy some stuff to brighten up my little house.
I had not lived in my apartment long, but I already had a secret fancy for my landlord, who, rumour stated, was from quite a respectable family, though one couldn't call his lifestyle exactly upper-class. He lived on the second
floor of the same building, in what was, all things considered, not a prime neighbourhood.
In his basement, he experimented with steam and electricity, and a lot of cutting and welding, forging en fusing was always going on in there. When I first moved in, he had given me a tour and I was really impressed by his creations, made of cast iron and bronze and copper, with levers and gears and bolts everywhere. They were things of beauty, but with a function as well.
Heaters for bathwater, pumps, fountains, you name it, he made it to order.
At the time of that tour, he was just testing a new boiler, and steam was coming out of all kinds of seams and openings, making a lot of noise. That still needed some work, he said.
He had proudly shown me an apparatus which he called an electrostatic generator, glass disks that produced beautiful flashes of lightning with nothing but human power. His slim figure was shown to its advantage with an unbleached cotton shirt and sturdy linen pants. He wore high protective boots and a nicely tailored leather vest with bronze buttons and a chained watch in one of the many pockets.
I guessed him to be in his late twenties, his hair was brown and curly, and his face was slightly longish, with large, long-lashed grey eyes and a shapely, full lipped mouth. His nose was just the right size, and his jaws square despite his boyish looks. He had the distinct stubble of a man more interested in his work than in appearances. He smelled really nice, of smoke, and fuel, and something wholly masculine of his own. Unfortunately he didn't seem in the least bit interested in me as a woman, though he clearly liked to discuss modern technology with me.
In the following weeks we started to socialise a little, I invited him over for dinner a few times, and he did come and seemed to enjoy himself in my company. We talked about studying, city life, friends, family, modern architecture and of course, steam and electricity, and I found myself fascinated to listen to him. He showed interest in my study and my work too, but he never seemed attracted to me romantically.
He did tell me his first name was Paul, and I introduced myself as Melissa, because that is indeed my name. From that moment we were on first name basis and we kind of became friends. We visited concerts together, but still we didn't get intimate. I would so have loved for him to take the initiative, and if I had thought I had any chance with him I would have taken it, but I had no hope at all to be able to compete with those shiny machines that he
seemed to have thrown away his family's prospects for.
So I just forced myself to be satisfied with being friends, and hearing his secret hopes and dreams for a future of technology, instead of sweet compliments and tributes to my lovely physical assets.
Still I was happy, being useful in my work and having this nice apartment in a spacious modern building, with a nice landlord and neighbour who might be a bit noisy, but never complained about any noise I made either.
Going out as planned to get some ornaments for my place, I decided to go to a flea market a few blocks from my own house. I still like old stuff, with a history attached to it, but back then I couldn't really afford new things, I was still paying back a student loan to my patron. In an excellent mood, I skipped down the stairs, and after the first set I ran into Paul on the landing of the floor where he had his living area.
Despite our socialising, I had never been inside his personal apartment yet, we usually met in mine or in bars and pubs.
'Hey there, beautiful!' It was presented with a big smile. 'Feeling the arrival of spring?'
And I was, even more so with him smiling at me.
'I am indeed, I love to see green things again. You going out?'
'I don't know yet. I heard you on the stairs and thought I'd ask where you are going and whether you'd like a companion.'
I felt a little thrill of excitement, which I carefully suppressed.
'I do want a companion! I'm going to the flea market in fifth street, browsing for good stuff to decorate my apartment. Care to come?'
'Yes please, let me get my wallet in case they have some copper or other metals to sell.'
He disappeared into his apartment, to return a few minutes later.
And so we walked arm in arm to the flea market, enjoying the sunshine and the warm air. Birds were singing, and there were a lot of people about. I had a really good feeling about this trip, arm in arm with the man I secretly admired, chatting with him, touching him, catching a hint of his exciting scent every once in a while.
Soon we reached the market, and it was nice and large. After a long, cold winter, a lot of merchants had chosen this first really warm day to try and make some money, and they had set up their booths on the fifth street square.
The market was busy with people negotiating deals, some already carrying their purchases. Boys with hand-carts were waiting to make a few pennies
carting the larger stuff to people's homes, and a stray dog was checking out the street to see if someone had left something edible lying about.
The buildings around us were quite tall, at least three stories like Paul's house, but the square was sizeable and the sun was at its highest, so there were some sunny patches amongst the stalls, giving the market a very pleasant atmosphere.
I looked at Paul, thrilled that he had sought my companionship, apparently radiating some of my excellent spirits, for he looked at me in amusement and asked, 'Where do you want to start?'
'Right here,' I answered, and I proceeded to the nearest booth to check out its contents.
Together we browsed a lot of stalls, he bought a few pieces of brass and copper, ugly ornaments mostly that he made a stiff bargain for. I knew he'd melt it down for its metal content, so I didn't tease him with having bad taste.
He'd make beautiful and useful things out of the purified metals.
I did wonder how he managed to carry all that weight around the market, for he must have had quite a few pounds to lug around already. Quite probably he was a lot stronger than he looked, physically demanding work does that to people.
My mind started to imagine him bare-chested, working the bellows to heat his furnace, muscles rippling under his sooted skin. Too bad my common sense decided not to go there, stopping the thought short. My common sense was very much in charge of things then, but unbeknownst to me, events were already unfolding to change that.
I had picked up some little knick-knacks myself, an embroidered cushion, a nice lamp, a colourful rug. Paul called over one of the boys with a hand-cart, and he was clearly glad to unload his trophies on the cart. I added mine to the total and we paid the boy a little extra to guard our stuff whilst we continued browsing. My excitement over this trip was quieted down a little by now, having already found some of the things I wanted. I was feeling quite satisfied so far, but still eager to see more and buy more.
First of all, Paul decided he wanted to get something to eat at one of the regular stalls, one that sold sausages with fried potatoes. As we were a few hours further into the day, I immediately agreed to let him treat me to his favourite fast food. We sat down on a bench at one of the long tables, enjoying a beer. The service was quick despite there being quite a lot of cust
omers, and we soon got our servings. Paul was not wrong to be a regular
here, this was good food, especially for a guy working really hard in a forge all day, for me the portion was quite large, I'm not a type that can eat limitlessly.
But Paul didn't mind finishing my portion as well as his own. I had been amazed before at the amount of food he could process without getting any fatter but I guess his body worked differently from mine.
That reminds me, I didn't tell you about myself yet: I was, and am still, quite tall, and certainly not skinny. My figure is very feminine, with ample roundings and quite enough cleavage to make men check me out a lot.
I never enjoyed wearing dresses, feeling uncomfortable with being judged on appearance instead of personality and merit, so I usually wore a long skirt with a bodice, or a women's suit, or even lady's trousers. This may also have had to do with my profession, having studied to be an engineer I was usually in the company of men, and I found that with my luscious body, wearing dresses tended to distract men, make them take me less seriously. A suit gives a business-like air, and when I finished my studies I successfully applied for job as an independent building inspector for the city council, wearing a suit, so I stuck to the practice.
I have some lovely dresses, but I save them for special occasions, when turning every man's head and most women's is an advantage.
To complete my picture, my hair is coppery brown, slightly wavy and very long, but I usually keep it confined in a braid or even put up. My complexion is very light, I tend to burn quickly in the full sun, and I'm always battling a few freckles on my nose.
But now, back to the market, for Paul had finished my potatoes as well as his own, and we were ready to continue our shopping spree.
Several of the booths were taken by merchants that I had not seen before, which made them especially interesting. In one of these stalls, occupied by a creepy looking fellow with stringy black hair and a likewise beard, I saw a piece of folk art that immediately drew my attention.
It was a depiction of a mirror framed in a living branch. And out of that mirror came the head and one hand of a man with a rather narrow face and some decidedly goat-like features, like an impressive set of he-goat's horns, a deeply dented lip and pointed ears, as if a man were changing into a goat and the development stopped not even half-way. His nose was quite long and his eyes were set a bit high for a man's.
Revelations Page 59
