Why else would Henry be allowed to hold her without her being happy?
On hearing them arrive, Fanny had checked her crying as she had learned to check a horse, but she could not face them. The shame and the hurt were just too much to bear. With a look, Henry silenced his sister and future brother, and he asked Fanny in a tone coloured by intense feeling: 'Fanny, look up, you have to tell them. Edmund at least has a right to know, he's totally cut up with fear. Do try, please.'
But what could she tell him, how to begin? What would he think? She couldn't speak.
Now Edmund urged Henry: 'Crawford, what is wrong, is she dying, is Fanny in consumption?'
Fanny could see the need to tell them now, but she just couldn't get her voice to work. She looked at Henry in supplication and he said: 'Then I guess it falls to me to tell you.
You remember when I took your letter, Edmund, and I drove to Portsmouth with it, to tell Fanny the good news and check on her health. She was in a pitiable state, nervous, weak, incredibly thin, I took her to a little park to read the letter, and she barely dared open it. She managed though, and when she had read maybe three lines she fainted dead away. I carried her to my hotel, nobody should live in her parent's house, but it was certainly no place for a delicate girl who had fallen ill.
A woman belonging to the hotel brought her around, and the first thing Fanny did was ask if it was true that you were engaged to Mary. I confirmed, and she started to cry her eyes out. I decided to forget propriety and comfort her, and after some time she told me the reason for her pitiable state: she had been in love with you, Edmund, for all her life, and each day she expected your letter to announce your engagement to another. Having lost every chance at happiness, she grew so despondent, on top of her physical weakness, that I was sure she would not survive a month in Portsmouth, or a year in
Mansfield Park. And since all I ever wanted to do was make her happy, I offered her my companionship and all the comfort I could give to soften the blow, and once she was a little better, to ride with her and enjoy nature together, and visit plays and concerts, get to know the world before she decided what to do next.
I knew I could not compete with her memory of your perfection, but I could not love another woman either, and I could not leave her to die. To do the things I promised I did need to be able to see her alone, travel together, so Fanny agreed to enter an engagement with me to obtain leave to be together.
We were doing quite well until you showed up.'
Henry was sorry to pain his friend by that last remark, but he lost all his hope seeing the girl he loved back to the state she was in when she had first heard the news, and he could no longer control his intense disappointment.
But that was not going to happen, not if Edmund could help it. He asked his intended: 'Mary, can you please take your brother somewhere quiet and let him tell you about the weeks they have spent together? I need to speak to Fanny, alone.'
As Henry carefully got up and left Fanny sitting on the stone bench, Edmund took his place by his cousin's side, not hesitating to wrap his arms around her as Henry had done. Having done so he did nothing and said nothing, he just held her, and at first she felt a queer thrill to be in the arms of the man she loved most in this world.
But then she became aware of a feeling that something was not quite right, it was just not the same. Edmund now broke the silence and asked: 'Does it feel differently when I hold you, Fanny?'
It was a serious question, and Fanny wanted to give him a serious answer, so she tried to find the reason why something was off. She compared the feel of her head against his chest, which was similar, though Henry was a little smaller, which meant her head rested in exactly the right spot on his chest, right between the most developed part of his arms. And Edmund didn't smell the same, he didn't smell bad, it just wasn't exactly right.
And suddenly she remembered that passionate, almost violent kiss Henry had given her, and the flash of heat it had caused her. She could not imagine Edmund ever doing that, he could never let himself go like that, the idea of Edmund kissing anyone was almost unreal.
'So, what's the verdict,' her cousin asked, 'does it feel the same when I hold you?' Starting to feel really comfortable now in his arms, Fanny relaxed, found her voice willing to do its job, and said, surprisingly dryly: 'No it doesn't. When Henry holds me my head is in just the right place, you're a little too tall, and not as muscular. And he smells nicer, not that you smell bad, but his smell is just right. And when I am in his arms for a while I always remember something that happened on the road: I wanted to thank him for his kindness and I embraced him spontaneously, when he took hold of me quite firmly, buried his face in my hair and smelled it, and then kissed me right here on my throat, passionately, almost violently.
I froze, and he let go and asked forgiveness, and told me I had overwhelmed him, men apparently need to control themselves constantly to keep from being ruled by passion.' 'And do you mind being reminded of that moment of passion? Were you scared?' Edmund asked calmly.
'No I wasn't,' Fanny admitted almost ashamedly, remembering that Edmund was a clergyman. 'I felt curious, as if there was a whole new world somewhere out there, just waiting to be explored. Each time I remember, I secretly want him to do it again, but of course he never does, he is too much a gentleman to do something like that.'
'Do you like Henry better now, Fanny?' Edmund asked, 'you used to quite dislike him, didn't you? When he first offered you his hand?' She had totally fallen back into their habit of quiet exchange of confidence, except that she was in his arms, but that somehow felt right as well, and she replied: 'I do, he is much less annoying, less spirited as he calls it, and he seems to know me better than I do myself, he has gotten me to gallop over the hills, and I enjoyed it very much, going faster and faster each time. He surprised me with a horse of my own, and taught me to jump obstacles. And he has helped me gain weight, reminding me to eat, offering me what I liked, even in the middle of a ride, and he has read to me, walked with me, taught me to talk back to aunt Norris when she is down on me. His estate is well-managed, and his people like him a lot, he is a much better man than I thought.
His spirits have lifted me the last month, and we have both changed a lot, we're different people. He told me Miss Crawford would adapt to you, become more decorous, and that she would lift your spirits, making you happy, exactly like...no he didn't say that. I suppose he just thought it: like he would make me happier. Except that I told him I couldn't love him because I loved you.'
'Of course you love me Fanny, I practically raised you, we shared everything, every secret, well except for one, apparently, and we did everything together,'
Edmund said. Fanny retorted: 'Actually, that is not true. Riding with Henry I realized, you never took me anywhere, riding or going out, you never wrote me a letter, and you often left me with my aunts, who bossed me around all day. You set it to rights afterwards, but you never took me with you to prevent them.'
He looked crushed, as if he realized this himself only now: 'You are so right, I never did any of those things, did I? I should have. Not every time, for I was older than you, but I could have taken you to see a view, or to Thornton Lacey, or to a concert, or to London to the theatre. And I never did. It never occurred to me that you might have wanted to, I took you for granted just as much as my mother and aunt did.
I'm sorry Fanny, I was as neglectful as they were, and I never realized it.' But this she protested: 'No you were not as bad as they, you helped me often, and you believed in my intelligence, and taught me how to enjoy reading, you did confide in me and heard my secrets, except that one, or I would not have loved you so well.'
'I will remember our little talk at a later moment, for we are talking of another matter now, but we will get back to doing things together another time. First I want to ask you an important question, which is a bit indecent, so you'll have to forgive me: you have been sitting here with me for quite some time now, you have rested your head again
st my chest, you have smelled my very personal scent, now, do you want me to hold you tightly and kiss you passionately, almost violently, right there?' pointing at a certain spot on her throat, close to her ear.
Chapter 12
Silence followed. Fanny's mind was in total confusion for at least five minutes, feverishly sorting her feelings, re-thinking her concepts of love and of marriage with her newly found knowledge of the world, comparing them to her feelings again. And after quite some time, she looked up at her cousin, relief in her every feature, and she said: 'No. I don't.'
And then Edmund held her tightly anyway, but he did not kiss her passionately, nor on her throat. He gave her a chaste kiss on her cheek, and said: 'Fanny, just because I'm going to get married to Mary does not mean that you cannot love me any longer, I'm sure I love you just as much as ever.
I don't know if you ever really loved me romantically, you may have mistaken sisterly love for love that is meant to turn physical. But even if you did love me intensely once, it is no longer, or never was, physical. I think you loved me like an innocent girl, because you needed me so much, but you have grown up now, and Henry has given you a tiny insight in what adult, physical love is. You don't want that from me, you want that from a really feeling, passionate man.
Let us love each other as we used to, sharing feelings, and books, and intimate secrets. And I will ask you another really intimate question immediately: 'Do you really want Henry Crawford to kiss you passionately once more?' And Fanny, having gained an enormous insight in herself, and in the nature of love, blushed and admitted: 'I do, I want him to kiss me passionately, yes, even violently, every time he holds me.'
With an intense satisfaction in his voice, Edmund said: 'He has changed you, dear Fanny, and for the good, as you have changed him. Will you tell him about the kiss, right now? He really loves you very much, and I think he is suffering.' Fanny felt she needed a few moments to process the realization Edmund had given her, that her love for him was indeed a remnant of her dependent childhood, not an adult, physical love. But she decided she could very easily process that feeling together with Henry, who had given her consequence, and wanted to make her happy, and who must still be in mental
agony right now for fear his love for her would go unanswered forever.
So she got to her feet, looked back at Edmund, happy that she could look at his handsome face once more without pain, and sought out Henry, who was sitting on another hidden seat with his sister, head low, hopelessness all over his face, a face that she had once thought very plain, but that for some time now she thought lighted from within by the spirit inside him. It was not lighted from within now, and the observation pained her.
Fanny told Miss Crawford: 'Miss Crawford, will you forgive me if I greet you properly in half an hour or so? I have something important to tell your brother, and it needs to be told in private.' Miss Crawford replied: 'Of course I will, dear Fanny, I'll see you soon,' and she left them to themselves.
As soon as he saw Fanny approaching, Henry had wiped the despair from his face and righted his posture, not wanting to burden her with his own grief.
She wondered how often he had done that for her, deny his own feelings to spare hers, and she felt a familiar gratitude for his incredible kindness to her, but also a new feeling, a mirror image of his love, finally perceived in her her own heart.
He did not manage to keep the anxiety from his face as he sent her a questioning look. She smiled to reassure him, and sat against him, putting an arm around him as he had done so often for her. He dared to let his head rest on her breast, or maybe he just couldn't keep up his spirits any longer.
She said: 'Dear Henry,' and he looked up at her with hope in his eyes, for she had never called him that before. 'Dear Henry, whenever you hold me, I secretly want you to crush me to your chest really tightly, and kiss me passionately.'
His heart stopped and he found it was suddenly difficult to breathe. He could not believe it, did Fanny just tell him she wanted him to kiss her? He had kissed her once, with passion, but that was a mistake, it had frozen her up.
But it was not just that she called him 'dear' or asked to be kissed by him, she looked differently. Happy, actually. And with something in her soft light eyes that he had never seen directed at him before: did he dare to hope it was love?
No, that couldn't be, she couldn't start loving him within half an hour. Had Edmund bespelled her? He needed to know, but first he was going to try something. Henry turned towards Fanny, her arm still on his shoulder, and he dared to lay his hands on her waist, watching her eyes all the time. She
looked at him with eager anticipation, and put her other arm around him as well.
Slowly, he moved his face towards her, and he kissed her lightly on her forehead. He felt her shake beneath his hands, and though her eyes were too large and too blue to smolder, there was clearly desire in them, and it was desire for him.
His passion did not take over this time, it was just too unreal to see her looking at him like that, but he wanted so much to believe his eyes, that he took the chance and kissed her, full on the lips, half-afraid to feel her freeze again, but she did not, she answered his kiss with ardor, crushing herself against him now, eyes closed, enjoying their first intimate kiss with total surrender.
And so, Henry Crawford got his just desert. He had tried to make Fanny in love with him, just to entertain himself, but instead of gaining her affection, he had fallen for her himself, improving himself to win her approval, then finding out all his efforts had been in vain. But he rose above himself, exerted himself, endured pain, to save her life and make her happy. And when he had been about to give up all hope of winning her, she had come to him all by herself, surrendering herself to him, loving him, having loved him unknown to herself for quite some time.
It it not difficult to imagine that the half-hour became an hour, and that they spent it in ever rising bliss, as close together as they dared in case some gardener passed by, finally talking again, sharing intimate thoughts as freely as Fanny had ever shared them with Edmund.
She told him how Edmund had held her, showing her the difference between the love she felt for him, and the love she had developed for Henry, how she had felt her physical attraction to Henry for quite some time but had not recognized it as a new form of love, the love adults felt for one another, experienced not only in the mind, but also in the body.
In this new light Fanny reviewed the last month, one that she had spent mostly in close contact with Henry, and one she had been happier in than ever before in her life, even with the sorrow she had felt on a daily basis. And she couldn't wait to continue her life with him, only without the constant company of regret and painful memories.
He had shown her a zest for life that she wanted for herself, forgetting her timidity, conquering adversity instead of giving in to it, and he had given her
consequence, she now felt she was worth the attention he lavished on her, and she looked forward to going to London with him and to let him fulfill the last part of his promise to her, to acquaint her with the theatre, with music, with art, and though she dreaded meeting her cousins on the arm of the man they had chased with energy, she looked forward to being on equal footing with them, instead of always feeling inferior. She could even look forward to being the object of his gallantry there.
But most of all she was now eager to be married to him, so they could explore that tantalizing new world together, she wanted to touch him everywhere, feel that muscle actively with her hands beneath his shirt, have him touch her with that violent passion, get to know that side of a man that people and literature hinted at, but never spoke about openly.
Henry was surprised that Fanny had been feeling a physical attraction to him for so long, he had not had a clue, but it made him almost unbearably happy.
To go from near-despair to total happiness in half an hour was almost too much. He kissed her again, as intimately as before, and now his passion did rise up, and he a
llowed it a tiny bit of freedom, gripping her tightly and kissing her greedily, showing her the depth of his feelings for her and a promise of things to come when they were married and could finally consummate their love as it deserved.
They decided that Henry would talk to her uncle in private after dinner, to set a date for their wedding. She left it to the men to decide on the place and size of their wedding, Fanny would be pleased to keep it very small, but she knew that propriety and custom might demand a larger thing. She merely wanted it over with, so she could give her faithful admirer what he must be aching for even more than herself, having a more passionate nature and probably a habit of indulging in it that he had put on hold for herself for maybe as much as six months now.
For she did not expect him to be as untouched as herself, and she only hoped he had not had the habit of taking advantage of dependents, as she had sometimes heard rumors of happening in their social circle. She couldn't imagine where he would have gone instead, and she wasn't going to either.
Nothing could be gained by it.
Suddenly they realized they would be missed, and after one last loving embrace and kiss, they went in search of Edmund and Miss Crawford, to share their happiness and catch up on many weeks' news. They found the
other couple inside, sitting down to tea with Edmund's mother and father, to whom their entrance was very welcome, for soon a very lively conversation was started by the young people, in which Fanny did not have a great part, mainly because she was still too confused and happy to say much, and not at all because she was still afraid to be heard or seen.
She was gently pulled from a moment of reverie by Miss Crawford, who had greeted her cordially and had dared congratulate her, and whom Fanny had congratulated on her own engagement with surprisingly little pain, just after their entrance into the room. But they had not had a chance to talk more, because the tea things had come in and they had all sat down to eat and drink.
Mansfield Park the Crawfords' Redemption Page 8
