It was clear that Henry did not run a formal household, and Fanny didn't mind a bit. A bachelor with no children would have no reason to stand upon formalities with his staff, and if one was away often it was much better to have the loyalty of the servants, so the work would be done properly at all times.
She thanked Mr Boon for his choice, and said she was already looking forward to trying him. 'But you will stay with me the first time I ride him, won't you, Henry? You'll not take one of those spirited hunters the first time?'
she asked Henry, a bit anxiously. 'I will walk along with you until you feel safe, and then I'll take the oldest, laziest horse in the stable for our first time out, will that please you?' was his reply. 'It will,' she replied, 'I can't wait now.'
'But first you need to rest, and you need to eat,' Henry said, and he led her into the house by the terrace doors. He showed her into her room, a nice, spacious apartment next to his own, her luggage already taken in and put away. Do you want to take a nap first, or sit for a while, or have an early dinner?' She was tired now, and she said so, and he replied: 'Then please take a nap, I will stay in the house, and if you feel lonely or your thoughts bother you, just ring the bell and I will answer it myself, not a servant. Don't hesitate to use it.'
She took his hand for a moment and said: 'It has been a lovely day, Henry, thank you so much.'
She decided not to undress, but to try and sleep for a while just lying on the comfortable bed. But it was hard to find sleep, after such a busy day, filled with impressions and new sights and experiences. She realized she had not been out in the world much, and though she had had a really good day, she was now worn out.
Imagine Henry thinking of finding her a horse, that was so thoughtful of him.
It reminded her of the time the old grey pony died, and she had felt the loss so much. Edmund had taken care she got another horse, the mare she used now. She was still his, and Miss Crawford had liked to ride her very much, maybe he would want the horse back once they moved to Thornton Lacey.
Of course that was the wrong path for her mind to take, for it led her into melancholy, and that led her into tears. She felt very lonely all of a sudden, but she did not want to ring the bell, Henry had done enough for her today, so she cried quietly until she heard the door open and close and he came in silently, so as not to disturb her if she were asleep.
When he found her in tears he sat behind her again and held her, saying in a low, soothing voice: 'I knew you'd feel sad, for you always do at this time of the day, and I knew you wouldn't ring the bell. So I thought I'd just check.
You shouldn't be alone with your sorrow, it wears you out.' And she laid her head against his chest, as she had done every night for nearly a month now, and let her tears come. There weren't very many now he was with her, and she soon started to become aware of him.
Savoring the feel of his body and his scent no longer made her blush, it had become a comfortable habit to her, and she knew he probably didn't realise she was finding more in his embrace than just a relief of her sorrow. On those occasions that she remembered his kiss, she did blush, because she also wondered what would have happened if he hadn't controlled himself.
The strange thing was, that she never imagined herself in Edmund's arms, or him kissing her passionately. Her love for him was characterized by an overwhelming sense of need for his calming presence, his intimate conversation, his familiarity. Her need for that love still ruled her being, and its absence created a large hole inside her, that could often be forgotten, but that would ache agonizingly at certain times, usually when she was tired and alone.
Soothed by Henry's presence, she fell asleep in his arms, and since he was not tired but elated he could not join her in sleep, and went over the events of the day in his mind instead. All in all he thought it had been a very good day, they had both enjoyed the journey, finding excellent company in one another.
His gift had been well-received, he looked forward to tomorrow, when he would see Fanny pushing herself again, conquering fear and relishing the resulting thrill.
Chapter 10
Henry indeed did not realize Fanny's enjoyment of his physical presence, though he would have been elated to know of it. He had tried to forget ever having kissed her, he still was thoroughly ashamed of his loss of control that moment, and probably would have been even if he had known its effect on the woman he loved without hope of ever winning.
As it was, he held her with great pleasure, but also with great control over his natural urges. Of course he felt a little thrill when she clung to him, and the weight of her slim body on his own comforted him nearly as much as it did her to be held by him. But he did not allow himself to want her, to imagine himself kissing her, or caressing her. Those wishes were tightly blocked, and such was his self-control that Fanny even now had no idea of the passion a man could develop for a woman.
When it was nearly time for dinner, Henry woke Fanny gently and she washed her face and followed him to the dining room. She was pleased by his taste in furniture, the main rooms were much more elegantly decorated than the rooms in Mansfield Park. He might not be in residence often, but when he was, he was surrounded by surprisingly simple elegance.
He asked her what she thought of the decor, without the slightest hint or reference to their state of engagement, and she replied: 'You have great taste, both your garden and your house are very beautiful. Much more elegant than my uncle's house. I'm very glad to have the opportunity to see it. Does your sister come here often?'
Henry observed: 'Actually, she has not been here for quite some time, she encouraged me to redo this room and several others I will show you tomorrow, but she has not had a hand in the design, nor has she ever seen the results.' 'Then I will write her a letter in which I tell her about the house and the grounds, and I will report on my progress with the grey horse. Do you approve of that idea?' A big smile was her answer, but Henry also said: 'I think it is capital. She will be so pleased to hear from you, and she will be thrilled to hear you've seen Everingham. If you mail it the day after
tomorrow, she will get it before they set off for Mansfield Park.'
Fanny found sleep that night without further sorrow, and Henry went to sleep feeling positively happy, convinced all would be well in due time.
The next morning Fanny had to conquer quite some fears to climb on a strange horse, but she did, and she found the coachman had not exaggerated.
The grey was a little more spirited than her mare, but he was friendly and very obedient, and she found she could control his energy easily. She had learned a lot in the last few weeks, her seat improved by practice and guidance from Henry, and her muscles had developed, making it much easier to keep her balance. After a few rounds in a paddock, with Henry right beside her, she felt confident enough to ride out and explore the environment, and he kept his promise and accompanied her on a steady cob, a heavily built handsome black with four white socks.
Trust Henry to find a steady horse that would not make him look bad, this horse was not spirited nor very fast, but he was beautiful and lifted his heavy feet high in a proud rolling gait. Both horses were fresh and willing to keep a good pace, trotting through green fields, striding along a beautiful stream, and yes, Fanny even wanted to try her new grey's gallop, and Henry managed to keep up with his heavy cob, but barely. It was exhilarating, the day was fine, the country was new and stunningly beautiful, and her new horse was indeed a treasure, willing to develop a lot of speed but very well-behaved.
They came back in high spirits, and ravenously devoured an enormous lunch.
Henry had some business with his steward, and Fanny offered to amuse herself with a book, so he showed her his library, a beautiful room and very adequately stocked with both fiction and beautifully illustrated books on nature and traveling, and on horses and outdoor sports, and lots of other subjects.
The days passed quickly, with their morning rides through the country, Henry on one of his own hunters now, a la
rge brown stallion who had manners, but also a very strong will. Fanny really admired Henry's riding skills, nothing seemed to scare him and he always got his way, without having to resort to force. She knew now where he got his well-developed arm and chest muscles, controlling that brute must be quite a task.
She gained confidence in her own grey gelding, racing across the hills with some of her hair escaping the pins and streaming behind her, her cheeks
blushing. And of course Henry found a way to test her mettle again, challenging her to try jumping a few small obstacles, showing her the techniques, and encouraging her and the grey. And she did it, small logs at first, but nonetheless she jumped them.
They also rode by some farms on the estate, where Henry introduced the tenants to her, and she politely conversed with them, about crops, children, the weather. And on Sunday they went to the local church, following the service from the family pew, Henry talking to a lot of people again, and introducing her to most of them, then walking half an hour back to the house.
Fanny was tired, but satisfied with her life as it was now. She still had her difficult moments, but Henry was always there for her, keeping his word beyond his promise.
Fanny had written the letter to Miss Crawford, detailing their excursions, the interior of the house, her love of the park, and her exploits on the grey horse.
The knowledge that Edmund would read this letter pained her, but he was so far removed that the pain became numb, a kind of ache that waned and worsened, disappearing when she was busy, and sometimes returning full force when she was tired or overwrought.
And always there was Henry, reading to her, showing her another beautiful view, comforting her when she was sad. His spirits seemed fine, he obviously thrived under his active life, running his estate much more actively than Fanny could even remember from her uncle. But sometimes, when she woke from a nap, or came into a room where he was on his own, she caught him in a desultory mood of his own.
She never got a chance to comfort him, or find out what troubled him, for as soon as he saw her his expression changed, and he seemed fine again. Of course she knew what his problem was, and she wished things could be different, but they weren't, and he generally seemed to accept that.
Still she ached to hold him at such a moment, to return some of the good he had done for her, and some strange, unknown part of her started to want even more, it wanted to feel his passion again, and it wanted to touch him under his shirt, and stroke his clean-shaven cheeks, run her hands through his hair, feel his hands in her own hair. These feelings confused her, for she had never had them before, and she didn't know what they meant. So she just accepted them, hoping things would become clearer in the future.
Soon their time in Norfolk was up, and they were to return home to Mansfield Park. Fanny was really sorry to leave her grey horse behind, but
that could not be helped. It would be nice to see her old room again, and walk in the familiar shrubbery, though she did dread the memories that would certainly assault her again in the familiar house and its gardens.
Henry was not looking forward to their return to Mansfield Park either. He had had a wonderful time at Everingham, had felt more at home in the house than ever before, and he was surer than ever that Fanny was the woman of his life, that he could never be happy with another.
He absolutely dreaded the memories Fanny had of everything Edmund had done for her, the power they had over her mind. And Edmund's visit was the thing he dreaded most. Fanny had made such good progress in processing her grief, he was so afraid she'd suffer a setback from seeing him. But there was nothing he could do about it, Edmund must be faced, and he could only hope that the hold his ideal had over Fanny's mind would gradually lose power.
He had little actual encouragement, Fanny accepted his comfort with obvious gratitude, but she never offered him any intimacies in return. They had not talked about their feelings anymore, and he realized she had only done that in extreme pain, when she couldn't control them. Her strict upbringing would not allow her to impose on him without dire need. But he missed their intimacy, and would happily have endured her more intense grief, if he could have had her confidence along with it. Still, he would be there for her, it had been little more than a month, and more time was undoubtedly needed to put an undying love to rest. He knew his did anyway, though of course he did have some hope that fed it once in a while.
The return journey was as enjoyable as the first, this time Henry drove his own team, and Fanny sat on the box seat with him. When the horses began to tire a little he let her hold the reins and taught her the basics of driving, which entertained both of them a great deal.
They arrived in good time for dinner and soon everything was back to normal, including Fanny's occasional trip to memory lane. But in the privacy of her own room those ghost of the past were quieted again, and the next morning took them out again on a ride to one of their favorite haunts.
Chapter 11
Both Fanny and Henry were now resigned to the upcoming visit of Edmund and Mary, but that did not mean Fanny was not totally out of sorts when the carriage came driving up the lane. Her face drained of colour instantly and her knees buckled. The first meeting was extremely awkward and painful to Fanny, all her regrets came rushing back as she saw the man she had loved all her teenage years for the first time in months, and he was helping another woman out of a carriage.
She stood frozen to the ground, tried to school her expression to neutral, and none to soon, for Henry and her being the only ones waiting outside, Edmund came straight at her and embraced her eagerly: 'My dearest Fanny, how I've missed you!' He had never before touched her so intimately, so closely, with such exultation, she knew not how to handle herself, and was completely overwhelmed.
He continued: 'Let me look at you, my dear, you still look affected by your ordeal, you must have suffered so much. I'm so sorry I never wrote or visited, Fanny, without Crawford you might have just faded away. You know I was totally distraught by...' And he inclined his head to his fair bride-to-be, who was talking to her brother intently, until the latter saw the state Fanny was in and excused himself to rush to her side and support her.
He was just in time, for so much exuberance from Edmund was more than she could handle. Henry's touch calmed her just enough to hold up under another intense scrutiny by her cousin. Edmund looked at her trembling legs, her desultory expression with true sadness, and held her to his chest again, mumbling softly with intense feeling: 'I'm so very sorry Fanny, I let you down completely, it was so incredibly selfish of me. Can you forgive me?'
And he looked at her as if he expected an answer, but there was no way she could speak, held against the man she loved hopelessly, whom she had expected to shake hands with and be done.
When she didn't speak, he gazed at her as if he could see right through her, and he said feelingly: 'I think we need to take a turn in the shrubbery again,
like we used to do when one of us had something on his heart. Or have I lost my right to your confidence?'
His eyes promised her he would seek her out, and then he cordially greeted Henry, who was at Fanny's side again from the moment Edmund had released her from his embrace, shaking his hand and saying: 'Crawford, I was thrilled beyond imagination when I heard of your engagement, and Fanny's account of your visit to Everingham was charming and everything we both wanted to hear. But now I'm starting to feel anxious, is everything all right between the two of you?'
Henry looked straight at him and replied frankly: 'Everything is exactly as your cousin and I agreed upon just after I brought her your letter in Portsmouth.' Of course this was not going to reassure Edmund, and he quickly turned back into the rather reserved, upright man Fanny knew and loved with so much intensity.
He said: 'I was nervous meeting you just now, Fanny, I felt I had let you down, nearly losing you to deprivation because I neglected you, put to shame by Crawford who didn't just worry from a distance, but did the right thing straight away. Bu
t now I find you not deliriously happy, but fighting tears, even faint. What is going on? I'm going to greet my mother and father, for I suppose they know nothing of this, and then we'll go to the shrubbery and you will tell me. Will you not?'
His plea cut Fanny to the bone, and she finally broke down and cried. Henry now embraced her openly, and said ruefully: 'I guess that is a yes. I'm taking Fanny there now, before your parents can see her, will you join us when you're done here?'
Openly distressed now, Edmund confirmed, and went inside with Miss Crawford, trying to control his face so as not to alarm his parents.
When they reached the shrubbery, Henry sat Fanny down on a bench that was relatively screened from view by a thick laurel hedge. He sat next to her and took her in his arms, letting her cry herself out against his chest, as he had done nearly every day since Fanny had learned the news of Edmund's engagement.
Her sorrow had lessened over the course of the three weeks they had been here, and even more in the near week they had spent in Norfolk, but now it was back in full force. He could do nothing but hold her and let her spill her grief, no longer feeling the optimism that had taken hold of him during the past weeks, as his beloved had come out of her shell slowly, and had started
to give him hope of maybe finding love for him somewhere within herself.
That was all gone now.
It wasn't long before Bertram arrived, Mary beside him, both looking worried almost to death. Finding Fanny crying in Henry's arms, and him not looking any brighter, they pushed to know the truth. Was Fanny consumptive, had their inattention doomed her?
Mansfield Park the Crawfords' Redemption Page 7
