Author's Note: I realized (partially thanks to Rocksey--very much appreciated) that Susan and Julia had somehow taken their characters and run away from me. Susan, in particular, ended up being a combination of Kitty Bennet and Marianne Dashwood. In this chapter I have tried to rein them back in to who they are supposed to be. Hopefully it works, and as always, I do appreciate any constructive criticism (or compliments--I never say no to those!).


Susan was most displeased to find Fanny awaiting her in her chambers when she returned to the house. She had wished for time alone to dream of the splendid conquests she would soon be making, and she was not yet ready to allow her sister to turn her attention to practical matters.

"Good afternoon, Susan," began Fanny in her gentle voice, and Susan's heart softened slightly within her. After all, it wasn't Fanny's fault that she was so dull and boring.

"Good afternoon, sister dear," she replied, removing her bonnet and carelessly tossing it into the corner. Fanny moved to pick it up and place it in its proper place. "Fanny!" exclaimed Susan sharply. "The servants will tend to that. There is no need for you to slave away in this household anymore."

"Susan, we have much to be grateful for to our aunt and uncle," said Fanny, a gentle rebuke evident in her tone. "They are very good to us, and we should not presume upon their kindness."

"Mercy, Fanny, must you go on harping on the same subject ever and ever?" said Susan impatiently. "We have done a great deal ourselves for our aunt and uncle. If you have only come to scold me about the same things you always have done, you had best be off. I have no desire to hear such drivel."

"Drivel, Susan?" asked Fanny, a little hurt. "You used to heed my words. We used to be very good friends. I should be very sorry to have that cease simply because of any disagreements between us. Come, let us talk as we used to. I have seen far too little of you since our cousin arrived."

Susan yielded to Fanny's urging, though with very poor grace, and sat next to her sister on the settee. "What do you wish to discuss?"

"I am sure you must be very excited about your coming out ball," Fanny began.

Susan's eyes brightened. There was no topic Fanny could have introduced that would have pleased her more. "Oh yes!" she said with great eagerness. "Julia and I have been discoursing on how very enjoyable it will be. Julia is sure I will capture the hearts of every eligible man there."

"I am sure you will, for you are very pretty, Susan—far prettier than I ever was," said Fanny with a slight smile. "But make sure you carry yourself modestly and behave with decorum, for no worthy gentleman will wish to tie himself to a lady who behaves with impropriety."

"Honestly, Fanny, you speak as though I have no sense," exclaimed Susan, heedless of the fact that not a quarter of an hour earlier she had been wishing to be run away with. "I shall not bring disgrace to our family's name, if that is what you fear. Though I am sure I can never behave with such perfections as you always have, I trust that I know how to comport myself at a ball."

"I did not mean to upset you, sister," said Fanny gravely. "And indeed, I do believe that you will act perfectly becomingly, for I have great faith in your upbringing. I merely meant to drop a warning. Our cousin Julia did not always behave as she ought, and I feared for her influence over you."

"Julia has no influence over me, I assure you," boasted Susan. "I have my own mind, and will not be swayed by anyone from doing what I feel is right."

"I am glad to hear it," said Fanny, rising to leave. "Then I shall be able to attend your ball in two days with an easy heart. You know, Susan, I am most fond of you. You are my sister, and I shall always care for you. I do hate for there to be such coolness between us as there has been of late."

This was too much for Susan. Fanny's gentle manner, kind words, and faith in her behaviour did away with all her irritation in a trice. She flung her arms around Fanny and said:

"Oh! Sister, I fear I have been acting most foolishly, indeed. I have said the most ridiculous things to Julia, and I shall not be easy until you soothe away my distress." She bade Fanny sit back down and told her of all the foolish nonsense she and Julia had been talking in the gardens. Fanny, disgusted but not surprised at Julia's hardened conscience, petted Susan and soon talked some sense into her. When she finally left, Susan was much more composed than she had been since the letter informing of the Yates' visit had arrived.

Susan Price was not a wicked girl, nor even a particularly silly one. When spoken to with gentleness and calmness, she was most willing to learn. Her faults, such as they were, came from an over-active imagination, and a desire for adventure. Julia, coming from London in all her glamour and fashionable absurdity, fed Susan's dreams and encouraged her to think of wickedness as mere folly. Fanny's soft words fell upon her fevered brain as a cooling rain, and enabled her to think much more soberly than before. She now, traveling in the extreme opposite direction, promised herself to dance no more than two dances with any young man, to never speak to one without her aunt or sister nearby, and to have no more communication with Julia ever. For in nothing could Susan learn moderation. To give herself whole-heartedly to whatever she did was her curse. Even now, she would have urged her aunt and uncle to give up the ball, had not the invitations been sent out already, but as it was too late to cancel it, she was determined that she would not enjoy one moment of the evening.

In their chambers, Julia and Mr. Yates were conversing before going down for dinner.

"You seem to be getting along well with your young cousin, my dear," commented Yates languidly as he ruffled up his cravat.

Julia laughed. "Oh, Susan! She is most susceptible. It is indeed most amusing to play upon her innocence. She has been so sheltered here with Fanny and Edmund that is really gives me great pleasure to expose her to a broader view of the world."

"Training her mind, eh?" asked Yates.

"The silly girl will swallow anything I say. I declare, I thought coming down here to ask Papa for money was going to be most dull, but having Susan here has livened it up considerably for me. Do you know, I actually have her believing she cannot be happy unless she elopes with someone this week?"

"Well, my dear, it did seem to work for you," laughed Yates.

"Oh! Yes, but just imagine how droll it would be for us if she did run off! Imagine the look on Edmund's face, and the horror Papa and Tom would express. It would be too funny."

"It would be a bit awkward for us if she ran off with one of our friends just as we were asking your father for money, though, so I pray you would convince her to not elope while we are still here, my love."

"Oh Yates, you are too ridiculous," said Julia. "As if any of our friends would care for a simple little girl like Susan. Believe me, dearest, there is not the slightest danger of Susan eloping with anyone. All I have done is give her a pretty little romantic dream that will die away after we leave, and she will go and marry some excellent farmer and raise pigs and children together in a dark, tiny house, and be most happy all her days."

"So long as you are sure, my dear," said Yates. He offered his wife his arm. "Shall we go down, love?"

They went down to dinner together, neither with the slightest stain on their conscience over their cavalier treatment of Susan, for whom Julia had professed such fondness, and toward whom she truly bore no ill will.