Chapter 10

Henry indeed did not realise Fanny's enjoyment of his physical presence, though he would have been elated to know of it. He had tried to forget ever having kissed her, he still was thoroughly ashamed of his loss of control that moment, and probably would have been even if he had known its effect on the woman he loved without hope of ever winning.

As it was, he held her with great pleasure, but also with great control over his natural urges. Of course he felt a little thrill when she clung to him, and the weight of her slim body on his own comforted him nearly as much as it did her to be held by him. But he did not allow himself to want her, to imagine himself kissing her, or caressing her. Those wishes were tightly blocked, and such was his self-control that Fanny even now had no idea of the passion a man could develop for a woman.

When it was nearly time for dinner, Henry woke Fanny gently and she washed her face and followed him to the dining room. She was pleased by his taste in furniture, the main rooms were much more elegantly decorated than the rooms in Mansfield Park. He might not be in residence often, but when he was, he was surrounded by surprisingly simple elegance.

He asked her what she thought of the decor, without the slightest hint or reference to their state of engagement, and she replied: 'You have great taste, both your garden and your house are very beautiful. Much more elegant than my uncle's house. I'm very glad to have the opportunity to see it. Does your sister come here often?'

Henry observed: 'Actually, she has not been here for quite some time, she encouraged me to redo this room and several others I will show you tomorrow, but she has not had a hand in the design, nor has she ever seen the results.' 'Then I will write her a letter in which I tell her about the house and the grounds, and I will report on my progress with the grey horse. Do you approve of that idea?' A big smile was her answer, but Henry also said: 'I think it is capital. She will be so pleased to hear from you, and she will be thrilled to hear you've seen Everingham. If you mail it the day after tomorrow, she will get it before they set off for Mansfield Park.'

Fanny found sleep that night without further sorrow, and Henry went to sleep feeling positively happy, convinced all would be well in due time.

The next morning Fanny had to conquer quite some fears to climb on a strange horse, but she did, and she found the coachman had not exaggerated. The grey was a little more spirited than her mare, but he was friendly and very obedient, and she found she could control his energy easily. She had learned a lot in the last few weeks, her seat improved by practice and guidance from Henry, and her muscles had developed, making it much easier to keep her balance. After a few rounds in a paddock, with Henry right beside her, she felt confident enough to ride out and explore the environment, and he kept his promise and accompanied her on a steady cob, a heavily built handsome black with four white socks.

Trust Henry to find a steady horse that would not make him look bad, this horse was not spirited nor very fast, but he was beautiful and lifted his heavy feet high in a proud rolling gait. Both horses were fresh and willing to keep a good pace, trotting through green fields, striding along a beautiful stream, and yes, Fanny even wanted to try her new grey's gallop, and Henry managed to keep up with his heavy cob, but barely. It was exhilirating, the day was fine, the country was new and stunningly beautiful, and her new horse was indeed a treasure, willing to develop a lot of speed but very well-behaved.

They came back in high spirits, and ravenously devoured an enormous lunch. Henry had some business with his steward, and Fanny offered to amuse herself with a book, so he showed her his library, a beautiful room and very adequately stocked with both fiction and beautifully illustrated books on nature and travelling, and on horses and outdoor sports, and lots of other subjects.

The days passed quickly, with their morning rides through the country, Henry on one of his own hunters now, a large brown stallion who had manners, but also a very strong will. Fanny really admired Henry's riding skills, nothing seemed to scare him and he always got his way, without having to resort to force. She knew now where he got his well-developed arm and chest muscles, controlling that brute must be quite a task.

She gained confidence in her own grey gelding, racing across the hills with some of her hair escaping the pins and streaming behind her, her cheeks blushing. And of course Henry found a way to test her mettle again, challenging her to try a few small obstacles, showing her the techniques, and encouraging her and the grey. And she did it, small logs at first, but nonetheless she jumped them.

They also rode by some farms on the estate, where Henry introduced the tenants to her, and she politely conversed with them, about crops, children, the weather. And on Sunday they went to the local church, following the service from the family pew, Henry talking to a lot of people again, and introducing her to most of them, then walking half an hour back to the house. Fanny was tired, but satisfied with her life as it was now. She still had her difficult moments, but Henry was always there for her, keeping his word beyond his promise.

Fanny had written the letter to Miss Crawford, detailing their excursions, the interior of the house, her love of the park, and her exploits on the grey horse. The knowledge that Edmund would read this letter pained her, but he was so far removed that the pain became numb, a kind of ache that waned and worsened, disappearing when she was busy, and sometimes returning full force when she was tired or overwrought.

And always there was Henry, reading to her, showing her another beautiful view, comforting her when she was sad. His spirits seemed fine, he obviously thrived under his active life, running his estate much more actively than Fanny could even remember from her uncle. But sometimes, when she woke from a nap, or came into a room where he was on his own, she caught him in a desultory mood of his own.

She never got a chance to comfort him, or find out what troubled him, for as soon as he saw her his expression changed, and he seemed fine again. Of course she knew what his problem was, and she wished things could be different, but they weren't, and he generally seemed to accept that.

Still she ached to hold him at such a moment, to return some of the good he had done for her, and some strange, unknown part of her started to want even more, it wanted to feel his passion again, and it wanted to touch him under his shirt, and stroke his clean-shaven cheeks, run her hands through his hair, feel his hands in her own hair. These feelings confused her, for she had never had them before, and she didn't know what they meant. So she just accepted them, hoping things would become clearer in the future.

Soon their time in Norfolk was up, and they were to retun home to Mansfield Park. Fanny was really sorry to leave her grey horse behind, but that could not be helped. It would be nice to see her old room again, and walk in the familiar shrubbery, though she did dread the memories that would certainly assault her again in the familiar house and its gardens.

Henry was not looking forward to their return to Mansfield Park either. He had had a wonderful time at Everingham, had felt more at home in the house than ever before, and he was surer than ever that Fanny was the woman of his life, that he could never be happy with another.

He absolutely dreaded the memories Fanny had of everything Edmund had done for her, the power they had over her mind. And Edmund's visit was the thing he dreaded most. Fanny had made such good progress in processing her grief, he was so afraid she'd suffer a setback from seeing him. But there was nothing he could do about it, Edmund must be faced, and he could only hope that the hold his ideal had over Fanny's mind would gradually lose power.

He had little actual encouragement, Fanny accepted his comfort with obvious gratitude, but she never offered him any intimacies in return. They had not talked about their feelings anymore, and he realized she had only done that in extreme pain, when she couldn't control them. Her strict upbringing would not allow her to impose on him without dire need. But he missed their intimacy, and would happily have endured her more intense grief, if he could have had her confidence along with it. Still, he would be there for her, it had been little more than a month, and more time was undoubtedly needed to put an undying love to rest. He knew his did anyway, though of course he did have some hope that fed it once in a while.

The return journey was as enjoyable as the first, this time Henry drove his own team, and Fanny sat on the box seat with him. When the horses began to tire a little he let her hold the reins and taught her the basics of driving, which entertained both of them a great deal.

They arrived in good time for dinner and soon everything was back to normal, including Fanny's occasional trip to memory lane. But in the privacy of her own room those ghost of the past were quieted again, and the next morning took them out again on a ride to one of their favorite haunts.