Chapter 1
As he drove away from Portsmouth towards London, Henry could no longer deceive himself: the sweet tempered and artless girl he had fallen for, whom he had offered to sacrifice his freedom to, did not love him.
On that trip, passing beautiful natural scenery as well as picturesque villages without even seeing them, he finally realised he had been fooled by her mild manners and loving personality into believing himself loved by the sweetest, most tenderhearted creature in existence.
Of course she had not only rejected him when he proposed to her, she had afterwards told him repeatedly that she didn't like his attentions, that she wanted him to stop talking to her about his love and affection, but her manner had not been truly repulsive and without such proof of her dislike his vanity had not been able to accept that an unsophisticated, unspoiled girl like Fanny could resist all his attempts to please her. She had to like him, women always liked him, loved him, tried to hold on to him.
How could it be that he had fallen deeply, hopelessly in love with the one superior creature he could not convince of his honorable intentions? Was this his punishment, for having played with women's feelings all his adult life? For having broken so many hearts with his flippant gallantry, his easy manners? Was the first time he had ever fallen in love himself to be the time he would have his own heart broken for good? He could not imagine a life without her, how could any woman ever live up to her standard, how could he ever fall in love with someone less perfect?
His newly found insight in how things really were between them was a bitter pill to swallow, worse, for it could not be done in but a moment, with only a faint aftertaste of disappointment. No, the realisation that she had been wishing him elsewhere all the time that he had been convinced he was creating a sincere affection in her, was deeply humiliating and genuinely hurtful.
Fanny had not been happy to see him, his coming had embarrassed her, he guessed she thought him indelicate in his expressions of his love for her, as reasonable and as guarded as they seemed to him. He was glad he had chosen to visit as William's friend instead of Fanny's admirer, or his case must have been utterly hopeless by now, the love burning inside him wasted forever.
He flattered himself that she had seemed to look upon him with less disfavor than on his previous visits at Mansfield Park, but he also realized some of those tender feelings might very well have been due to her missing her home exceedingly, despite the careless way she was treated by nearly anyone there, her qualities undervalued or even derided by her relations of inferior temperament and understanding.
Of course Bertram did give her all the love and the most attention he could, but who could compare the value a cousin had for his younger niece to the ardent feelings she had created in him, the need he felt to protect her, the happiness he wanted to give to her?
And Sir Thomas meant well, but his interference on Henry's behalf had done his suit no good, he was certain of that. His sweet, sensitive Fanny had such a fear of her uncle's severity that it had hurt her more than once, her uncle probably urging her to accept an offer that was so advantageous to his family, financially and with regards to connections. Henry had seen her pale complexion, her reddened eyes, on the day after he had asked her uncle for permission to wed his niece.
He was afraid his own persistence and his inablity 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 behavior 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 honor demanded, only spending the night in London and call 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 appreciation 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.
