"...I pronounce you man and wife…" The clergyman said, obviously proud of himself. They were the only words that penetrated through the buzz inside her head.

Fanny was distinctly aware of her breath. The shaky inhale and the difficult exhale. She tried to even it out, to keep it from shattering her.

There was Mary, so undeniably beautiful in her wedding gown. Her face was glowing with happiness... wretched happiness. No, that was unfair of her. And next to Mary, right there, standing with all the authority of a husband, was Edmund. His customary mild expression was abandoned today for one of uncontainable joy. His eyes were dancing, unable to decide if the greatest perfection was his gorgeous bride, his dear family, or the beautiful day the heavens bequeathed upon the happy couple.

There were many guests, dozens of them, who had come mostly from town, to see the renowned Mary Crawford get married in a small church in the country. To a parson no less! Yet, if they had been expecting an unfashionable wedding, they were gravely disappointed. Mary Crawford had taken it upon herself to transform the church into the very picture of countryside elegance. Mansfield Park itself would host a delectable wedding breakfast afterwards to every single one of the present guests.

Fanny was unsure if she was reacting appropriately, but she tried her best to fade from the attention of everyone. An exercise so painfully natural to her. There was no one to notice her forced lips, or to note the frequent unfocus of her eyes. The only one with that ability was entirely preoccupied with a pair of dazzling green eyes at the moment.

She did not notice the flowers, the decorations, the gowns, the food, the wine… Mary's exquisite taste and careful attention to detail was unfortunately lost on the poor desolate creature. She seemed to have been forgotten by her relations as well, too busy socializing to even call for her. Fanny did not notice, however, because as the wedding meal prolonged, the numbness that had descended so unwelcomingly since the engagement announcement was at long last lifting.

There was a burn in her heart that was intensifying with every breath she took. A dagger. It felt as if a blade was being slipped between her ribs. The awareness of her breathing returned tenfold, until it was all she could hear. She stood, and forced herself to nod respectfully to her table companions, although no one took any notice. She believed she mumbled an excuse, but she was unsure if she truly had said anything.

She leveled her head, and took the walk out of the eating room as steadily as she could. Each step felt as if she were walking straight into that blade, driving it further into her heart.

In such a daze, she moved down the hall, further into the house. She was unsure where her feet took her until she was pushing open the door of a small private drawing room toward the back of the house. It was so close to the servant's quarters, right next to the servant's stairs, that it was rarely used. It was a room she had oftentimes found comfort to take a moment for herself.

Fanny stumbled into the room and almost made it to one of the four chairs in the room when she sank to her knees. The gasp that escaped her mouth invited another. She tried to regain her breath, but her lungs refused to adequately work. With a choking noise from her throat, the tears began. She buried her face on the seat of the chair before her in shame, gripping the arms as a sob shook her entire body.

The dagger that had been slipping into her heart now twisted… slowly... ever so slowly.

The agony of contained pained almost made her moan aloud, but she kept her cries silent.

Fanny had truly loved him. She had known for a long time now, but perhaps she imagined it would have fled when she saw him happily married to another. Perhaps she had never believed he would marry. She had maintained pathetic and stupid hope even after the wedding was announced. It shamed her to remember she had been waiting for a broken engagement, a scandal of some kind, that would drive him back to her.

None of which actually occurred. Because she was but a poor, ugly girl living at his house. An almost uneducated and unaccomplished charity case. The humiliation of her hopes and the pain of what cannot be refreshed the tears anew.

Although she had a fortunate life, Fanny was not a stranger to pain. She had experienced hunger, cold, extreme heat, loneliness, and homesickness. Yet this was a new attack from the universe, and she did not understand it. She could not comprehend why it only grew worse by the minute. She did not know how to handle this sort of pain.

While she did not believe anyone had observed her, she was mistaken, at least partially.

Surrounded by old and new friends, Henry Crawford was indeed enjoying himself. He was introduced to some friends of friends, and Edmund's relations introduced him to even more from their side.

He had turned his charm to the maximum, and was enjoying the attention, when his eyes were drawn to the sad slump of Miss Fanny Price. She was distracted, her eyes lowered but empty, her mind miles away.

It was odd, only a brief passing over. He had been taking in the crowd, trying to see if anyone was looking at him at that moment, laughing at his newest proclamation. A few were, but not her. She was too far down the table to be part of the conversation.

He turned back his face to laugh at whatever had been said in response to his joke.

But alas… the seed was planted.

He found himself taking another glance around the room a few moments later, only to see if she was still in the same position. She was not.

She was attending the person in front of her, who was telling a story, and everyone was as well.

Henry returned to his conversation with a shrug.

"Now Crawford, when will you be the one standing at a wedding?" One of his friends laughed at the face he made.

"Perhaps I will stand at your wedding Lucas? Objecting, and saving whatever poor lady you entrapped?" Henry raised his eyebrows at his friend.

Although relatively new, Jacob Lucas was a dear friend of his, more so sincere than any man twice his income. It had taken almost no persuasion to have Mary send him an invitation as he was a genuinely charming man. He had been a long time in love with a certain lady, a good friend of Mary's, who happened to be sitting beside him at the moment.

"Crawford!" Lucas was constantly appalled by his liberal manners, and it provided unlimited amusement to Crawford.

"Mind you, Lucas, it would most certainly be out of nothing more than jealousy for my friend that would incite such a reaction," he grinned.

"Crawford, you know as well as I that you are not invited to any wedding of mine,"

The delightful Miss Croft had been placed next to his friend through only a slight maneuver by Henry himself. She had covered her mouth to hide a giggle, and the motion had Lucas's attention comprised solely to her again.

Smiling at his friend's little romance, he found his eyes wondering again.

He did not tell himself what he was looking for, because he was unsure if he was looking for anything. But… where was…

He straightened a fraction, attempting to see through the motioning hands, fans, and shifting seated bodies. Where…

There.

The ends of a pale blue fabric disappeared behind the wide open doors of the dining room.

He turned back to his friend. Lucas' eyes were almost round as he listened to Miss Anne Croft detail a recent venture to town.

The poor fool…

Henry gave a slight shake of his head.

As natural as breathing, Henry rose with a slight bow. Neither of his companions noticed as he exited the room.

To leave a breakfast banquet is unspeakable, and if Mary heard of it, she would have be absolutely furious. However, there were more people in the large dining room than was accustomed, and Mary entirely preoccupied, carefully making calculations.

Stepping through the doors, Henry was assaulted by the reality of strange houses.

He took a few steps, and chose a direction more or less. He had maintained at Mansfield Park for an extended stay, yet he was unsure of the general layout of the place.

He wandered further into the house than the front rooms destined for company. He remembered these halls that were spotted with portraits of the predecessors of the Bertram line. They were all mildly regal at a declining rate, until the current Sir Thomas Bertram, who sported some of the lost countenance and severity of a man in his position. Henry thought of the son, Tom, who sported none of the grace of a man in power, but the immaturity of a young man of mild consequence.

There was little to nothing to do about it as it was none of his affair.

Henry continued down the hall, trying to remember and orient himself when he noted one of the doors slightly ajar at the end of the halls. All of these rooms were closed, on account of less use than the rooms toward the front. He did not know where any lead in reality.

He took his time coming to the door, a leisurely walk, if you will.

He reached the room in the time it should have taken him to contemplate what he was doing exactly. Henry Crawford, however, was never prone to self-analysis, so he pushed open the door.

A/N: Hello again everyone! I know it's late (I was sick and I'm prone to dramatics), but it has been so long and I am very excited to be writing again. Although this is Fanny/Henry, it is not a sequel to my first story. I wanted a new story now that I have had more practice. I lied, I just want to run another scenario to bring them together (or will I ?). It will have a shmidge more action, which is problematic, given Fanny's personality, and the conservative society, but I will have to take some artistic liberties. Thank you for reading and please enjoy!

Edit:: I've changed Edward to Edmund, as it should be. I don't know why I always do that, I associate Edmund with Edward, and Caroline and Mary. I also do that with numbers, which is even more problematic. But thank you for pointing it out for me!