Disclaimer: Mansfield Park and Pride and Prejudice, all characters, places, and related terms are the sole property of Jane Austen, Focus Features, and ITV.
Author's Note: I had to write something after discovering this funny parallel between Blake Ritson's Edmund Bertram and Matthew Macfadyen's Mr. Darcy.
Shall i compare thee to a summer's day?
"It is disappointing the rain has still not stopped. I fear there is no hope for our going riding," the young lady sighed, staring out the window.
The young man echoed her sigh. "But it is still beautiful."
She looked at him quizzically. "The…weather?"
He blinked owlishly at her, and then glanced toward the window. Heat filled his cheeks.
"I-i-indeed!" he stammered. "It is summer weather. Waiting above the rain clouds is the golden sun and sapphire sky!"
Bright blue eyes met his dark ones. After a pause the girl giggled.
"I never thought of it like that," she mused, attention focusing once more on the wet weather.
Mortified the young man wished desperately for the floor to swallow him up.
By the end of Henry Darcy's tale his distant cousin Edmund Bertram appeared both understanding and amused, while his father had buried his face in his hand and was shaking his head.
"All my intentions, planned speeches flew out of my head," the young man moaned.
"And what did Susan say in the end to your offer?" Edmund asked.
"Say! I was too ashamed to correct my error. So I said nothing more."
"Well, my son," Fitzwilliam chuckled, raising his head, "you are a Darcy through and through. Now that your first proposal was such a blunder, the second attempt shall go smoother," he reassured.
Henry shook his head in discouragement. "I desired it to be perfect. To be memorable – like yours, Father. Your courtship of Mother is famous among all of our relatives! And I wanted to be like you, cousin. Sus— I mean Miss Bertram thinks how you declared your love to her mama by running after her into the garden is terribly romantic."
Edmund smiled kindly. "Do not sell yourself short. Truthfully, my romantic declaration as you call it was my second try. I had attempted to share how I felt the day before my eventual success. 'I have always loved you,' was what I wanted to say to her."
"But…," Henry prompted, curious.
"But instead I confessed, 'I have always loved this room.'" Smiling sheepishly Edmund ran a hand through his greying hair.
Fitzwilliam guessed, "The drawing room?"
"I was in her bedchamber."
The older man snorted loudly. The younger one's eyes widened and he covered his mouth to hide a smile. Edmund laughed.
"Not my finest moment. But, dear Fanny, she understood! She always was wiser than many gave her credit for."
"At least you said how you felt," Fitzwilliam pointed out. "I was not so fortunate the first time I set out to propose."
"But Mother refused you," Henry said.
"Aye. But even before that interview I attempted to declare my feelings. I was afire with impatience that I did not wait for the servant to let me into the Collins' parlor but opened the door myself!" He shook his head at the memory.
"And then I was before Elizabeth, suddenly speechless. Never had I felt more like an awkward schoolboy in my life. Finally I found my tongue, proclaiming, 'this is a lovely home.' How humiliating! I hastily left and nearly collided with Mrs. Collins on my way out!"
"Father!"
"It is all true."
"So you see, Henry," Edmund said, "there are no high expectations you need be held to concerning your proposal."
"Indeed! I think you've had a better beginning than either of us," Fitzwilliam mused.
Henry's expression grew puzzled.
"You compared Susan to the sun and sky, not a room."
The young man flushed, but new hope and determination shone in his eyes. The older men smiled.
"Thank you, both of you. Please excuse me." And he left the room.
"To be young again," Edmund sighed.
"And in the first bloom of new love," Fitzwilliam added.
THE END