"If you have such a suspicion, something must be done, and as soon as the play is all over, we will talk to him seriously, and make him know his own mind; and if he means nothing, we will send him off, though he is Henry, for a time."
It was too late to follow through with this resolution, and it caused Mrs. Grant no small amount of grief to wonder how much damage might have been averted had she had that serious talk with her brother and sent him away before he could toy with the Miss Bertrams' hearts any further. This agonizing speculation of what-might-have-been was foremost in her mind when she arrived in London to remove Mary to Bath, not soon enough for her sister, who could not bear to stay in the city any longer and was anxious to be anywhere else but there or Northamptonshire.
Henry Crawford had steeled himself for his older sister's arrival, for Mary's utter inability to reside any longer with her old friends had called him back to London, where he had promised to remain with her until she could be gone to Bath, resigned to the fact that he could not avoid at least one conversation with her.
He was not disappointed. The customary civilities had barely passed – far colder and more strained than had ever occurred between the brother and sisters – before Mary excused herself and Henry found himself alone with Mrs. Grant and her reproachful look. Finding any discourse preferable to that silent glare, he began by asking, "How much time do you plan to spend in Bath?"
"How much time do you suppose is needed for Sir Thomas to forget what has passed between my brother and his daughter?"
Henry sighed, partially in relief that the scene had begun and would soon be behind them. "I know that I've hurt you and Dr. Grant..."
"And a great many more people..."
"But I assure you, I'm suffering, too. I haven't known a moment's peace since Richmond, and I would pay any price to undo the past few months. There are no words to express how much I regret what I've done, and I will hate myself forever for it."
"Then why did you do it?"
"I couldn't help it," Henry answered instantly.
"Did Mrs. Rushworth trick, extort, or force you into it?"
"She wouldn't leave me alone."
Mrs. Grant narrowed her eyes. "Did she begin pursuing you?"
Henry stood up and began pacing back and forth. "I didn't mean anything by it. I never intended for it to escalate so far. I underestimated my own powers..."
"Seems from your previous claims that you underestimated her powers," Mrs. Grant couldn't help saying.
"I know I can't excuse or mitigate my part in it. I admit, I began it, and I could have stopped it, but I didn't, and I will bear the consequences of it forever."
"No, Henry, only until the next rascal does something to warrant printing his name in the paper," Mrs. Grant said with a shake of her head. "Then your misadventure will be forgotten. Only Mrs. Rushworth will bear the consequences forever."
"You don't understand..." He caught himself at the involuntary whisper.
"What is it?" When he didn't answer, Mrs. Grant, speculating in terror that there was some piece to the story she had yet to hear, something that would ruin her brother for life as surely as the adulteress was ruined, pressed, "What else did you do?"
"You've heard it all already."
"Evidently not."
"It's not important," Henry tried to tell her. "I just... rest assured, I will not recover from this."
"Why?"
Henry keenly felt that her situation with the Bertram family and how this affair would affect her entitled her to all the particulars. "Because my most cherished dreams, my fondest hopes, have all been dashed, ruined, completely and thoroughly shattered, and my life as it now stands holds no prospect for happiness."
Mrs. Grant was truly unable to make any sense of this despairing speech. "What hopes and dreams?"
Henry turned to her with a smile full of pain as he answered, "My love of Fanny Price."
His listener's eyes widened in shock at the confession, but she quickly recovered. "Come now, Henry, why continue that performance?"
"It wasn't a performance. It was no act. I love her."
"You... truly loved her? All along?"
"Yes." Mrs. Grant could think of no motive behind saying such a thing, were it a lie, and was, therefore, inclined to believe it true, despite its inconsistency with his behavior, for she had concluded when the dark story was first made known to her that he could never have genuinely loved Fanny Price – if he had, he never could have run off with her cousin. "I can never forget her superior mind, her sweet temper, her sincerity, her modesty, her unimpeachable conduct, her steady principles and her firmness in adhering to them, her gentle smile... But that doesn't matter now."
"On the contrary!" Mrs. Grant cleared her throat as she softened her voice, unintentionally raised during that outburst. "It matters more than anything. Do you mean to tell me that you loved Fanny Price the whole time you were in London? At Richmond?"
"Yes," Henry repeated with an impressively steady voice. "It's the one part of this whole business I'm not ashamed of."
"You're wrong," Mrs. Grant said with a sigh that bespoke much pain. "If what you say is true, your love for her is the worst part, and should be your greatest source of shame."
"Why do you say that?"
"Nothing can excuse or lessen the evil of your behavior with Mrs. Rushworth, but to sacrifice the woman you esteemed and valued for a woman you never did, to give up your chance to be with the woman you truly loved to be with a woman who meant nothing to you..."
His sister's voice failed her, and Henry seized the opening to say, "I never intended..." only to find his own voice unequal to the task of speaking, as well.
"No, I'm sure you didn't. You intended to deceive her, to conceal it all from them so she would never know what kind of man she was truly marrying."
"According to Miss Price, I was never going to marry her in any case."
"But you wanted to. You wanted to marry Miss Price, and you threw away the future you wanted in exchange for a few weeks of amusement indulging in a sinful passion. I've seen you acquire and discard many hearts, Henry, and who could expect a man to do otherwise with hearts he cares nothing for? I never thought you capable of something so evil and irrational as discarding the one and only heart you desperately wanted. How could you give up such a thing? In leaving Miss Price for Mrs. Rushworth, you didn't leave a woman you cared nothing for but a woman you cared everything for. If you truly loved Miss Price even as you pursued Mrs. Rushworth, as you ran off with her, if that's the respect and loyalty you show the woman you love, you're an even guiltier wretch than I thought you were. Sacrificing the peace and happiness of a woman and her family for your own vanity is reprehensible enough, but sacrificing the woman you rationally as well as passionately loved is even worse."
Henry could only say in response, "I won't deny it's the part I regret the most." He could remember nothing else that passed before Mary's return brought the interview to a merciful close. She and Mrs. Grant left shortly afterwards, the latter still struggling with her discovery. While men who could betray and sacrifice women who meant nothing to them were an evil class, it was, at least, a class familiar to her. She had never imagined that a man could betray and sacrifice the woman who supposedly meant everything to him, not whom he hated or was indifferent to, but whom he loved, and her heart was unequal to calculating the evil of a heart capable of it.