The evening was for Fanny's benefit.
In fact, perhaps every evening was for her benefit for Anne Croft was exhausted at the constant balls and socialization. This scheme of Mary's was working, however. Miss Price was now gossiped about as much as Mary and herself, but not for alleged scandals.
Anne watched her new friend attend to every one of Lady Bertram's whims, and sometimes Julia's. The toxic relationship irked her the more she witnessed. Oh how she wished Mr. Crawford would sweep Fanny away from servitude to Everingham where she would be mistress of all and much richer than her tiresome relations.
The Crawford townhouse was lively for the evening. Of the ladies, there was Mary as the host, Mrs. Bertram, Mrs. Rushworth, Miss Julia Bertram, Fanny and herself. The gentlemen were Mr. Crawford, Mr. Rushworth, Mr. Edmund Bertram, Mr. George Croft, a new acquaintance Mr. Yates, and finally Mr. Lucas.
Anne made it a point to ignore the last gentleman. She enclosed her heart in iron and built the tallest walls. She focused her efforts on her friend instead.
That was hardly any more gratifying to note Fanny's thinly veiled distress and emotional turmoil. She stole moments to glance at Mr. Crawford and he did the same. If it were a play, they would tragically die before reaching each other's arms.
The plan was to instigate Mr. Crawford to resume his pursuit of Fanny, but it seemed that they were in agreement to remain in agony.
They would have to change their tactic.
Perhaps they could convince Tom Bertram to pursue another girl so that Fanny's elevated moral laws would allow her to accept Mr. Crawford.
Anne threw a glance at Mary, she needed to speak with her after the night ended.
Mary caught her eye and vaguely nodded. She leaned over to her beloved husband in hushed confidence.
With a chuckle, Anne returned to her card game. It was impossible that Mary immediately understood what she was thinking, but stranger things have happened.
The night ended without incident. Anne assured Mrs. Bertram that she would give Fanny a ride home later that evening, much to the dismay of Miss Bertram.
Mr. Crawford and Mr. Bertram, smartly, were quick to excuse themselves.
Anne took it upon herself to follow them and close the door firmly behind them.
"Fanny, are you alright?" Mary took a seat beside her and took her hand.
Fanny nodded, pulling her brows up in an attempt to seem sincere.
"Tonight may have been a mistake," Anne settled across from them.
Fanny shook her head.
"We believe we will devise another plan, Fanny," Mary patted her hand. "One that will not leave you so exposed or hurt."
With a sigh, Fanny closed her eyes. She was still very stiff, and uneasy. It was probably the knowledge that Mr. Crawford was somewhere within the same house.
"No, thank you for all your help, you too Anne," Fanny stumbled over her Christian name. "I have closed the book, and I can move forward."
Anne exchanged glances with Mary. Fanny could not even convince herself.
"There will be a ball the day after morrow." Mary attempted to change the conversation. "I believe we should go shopping for gloves, we can find a match for that new dress of yours Fanny."
"Can we have a quiet day, Mary?" Anne sighed. "I am tired of so much society. Why do we not meet at the Croft residence and have tea instead?"
"Fanny, would you prefer a quiet day?" Mary looked to Fanny with pleading eyes.
Fanny, however, did not understand Mary's need to socialize every second of her life and agreed that tea would be nice.
"We can shop for gloves on the day of the ball, Mary," Anne compromised and her friend perked up at the thought. She wondered at the wisdom of marrying a country clergyman when she was such a town socialite. Then again, she had never seen as happy a couple.
She was still mulling over the same thought later that night. In the darkness of her room, she thought of her good friend, rich, beautiful, and accomplished. How she loved to dance, sing, and perform the script of a well bred lady before London. Then she visits the country and falls in love with a second son, a clergyman. Had her father lived, she would not have been given the same freedoms as her brother allowed. With no fortune, Mr. Edmund Bertram married her and made her the happiest woman in Anne's acquaintance.
Anne Croft, arguably as rich and accomplished as Mary, lay instead in her bed, with an iron heart weighing her down...
He was a handsome young man, and so painfully humble. He was kind and gentle in a way that touched everyone around him. When Fanny had excused herself, he had sat with Lady Bertram and conversed with her out of the goodness of his heart. He was void of the pride and vanity that afflicted the other young men of his position.
While Anne pushed and fought against the current, he stood steady at the center, breaking the current with his firm and collected manner.
They were so different, she and he.
The armor on her heart cracked and she felt the tears slipping again from her eyes.
There was something about the darkness that provoked a weakness to the barriers she created. Or perhaps it was seeing Mary so in love, or Fanny so in pain, that made her reflect on her own dreadful circumstances.
Shifting to one side, Anne allowed the tears to spill as she allowed her mind to float into unconsciousness.
A few streets over, Lucas himself was staring into the darkness of his own room.
Like the object of his musings, he was shifting through the moments he had lived in the same space with her this evening. It led to past memories of the time they had spent together. Mansfield Park was the longest they had been in each other's presence.
She was beautiful, strong, and a force to be reckoned with. He had never been happier than when she included him in her schemes. She possessed a fierce attitude toward life that drew everyone around her closer.
The memories were sweet and he did not want the bitterness of reality to set in so he replayed them in his mind.
Henry's confession did not change anything, but it changed everything.
It colored his memories more vividly, and it provided an even greater what if.
Alas, it was not meant to be, but he trapped himself in the beautiful cage of his mind at least for the night.
Back toward Wimble street, Henry Crawford paced his own room. His heart kept him at a steady pace.
Her gentle smiles, her gentle words, ….
Everything was gentle about her.
But she had a strength of character. She could not betray the loose affiliation that had not even been properly announced. She stood firm on her morals, regardless of external pressures and the obvious pain it caused.
He was richer than Tom, he had better connections and was better regarded all around. He did not have a spoiled family that would continue to use her. She would be the sole mistress of Everingham, not a soul to tell her otherwise. She was already friends with his sister, they would get along fine.
She had all but confessed her feelings.
Even with his past, what made Tom a better candidate with the past he had?
He stopped his poisonous thoughts...
This was precisely the reason he did not deserve Miss Price.
He returned his thoughts sadly to revel in the day they had. No matter how he rationalized, the thoughts circled back, with no definitive answer.
He needed a distraction.
Sally sat with Fanny for a while. They talked but even after confessing everything that occured that night, she did not feel any better. Poor Sally could not console her, but she was glad to have such a caring friend.
After Sally's departure, Fanny tried to rest. She was exhausted. Her mind, however, kept churning its thoughts even when her eyes closed.
She would see him again and again. Worst of all, she saw his sadness and his vulnerability. The warm tears squeezed through her closed eyes. She threw up an arm to soak them and to press against her lids to no avail.
Her dark thoughts from before resurfaced. She was not good enough to deserve him.
Her pulse throbbed over her eyebrow, keeping time like a clock. She kept the rhythm in her breath, two for every inhale, two for every exhale.
It was unfair.
No matter how she cried, how she twisted her thoughts, it remained unfair.
When she was young, when the love for Edmund had blossomed, it had been painful as well. It had been different though. Her little naive heart still had hope, a childish fantasy that somehow, it would come to pass. That dreams do come true.
She felt decades older now, centuries even.
Of course she had loved Edmund. He was kind, handsome, and she was starved for attention and love.
It is impossible not to fall in love when you are that vulnerable.
Now …
Now, she felt as if she stood as an equal with Mr. Crawford, even when she had never been further from a man in all aspects. He did not hide her from danger, but he protected her at the same time. He threw her into uncomfortable situations because he trusted she was capable of them. He stood beside her to support her, not to patronize her. He drew her opinion from her, and challenged her.
While some criticized his sister and her friend on their independent spirit and strength of character, he enabled them. He conversed, argued, and agreed with them. He believed Fanny would get along with them because he must see her as strong as them.
Oh how she dearly loved him for all that and more.
Fanny released a breath she had caught in her chest.
Three rapid knocks startled her into a sitting position. Although they were quiet, the sound thundered in the silent room.
She was rising to her feet when Sally slipped in through the door, a candle high before her.
"Sally!?" Fanny asked in a hushed tone.
She rushed forward to see if her friend was hurt anywhere.
"Miss Price," Sally caught her arms, out of breath. "There's been terrible news. The manservant… we are friends you see. With all the gossip about you... I asked him to keep me updated… the quickest I told him…"
"Sally, calm yourself," Fanny pulled her to sit on the bed. "You must catch your breath."
"It is Mr. Crawford…" Sally shook her head, fighting to get all her words out quickly. "And Maria Rushworth, they have been caught by Mr. Rushworth…"
Fanny sank into the spot beside Sally on the bed.