AUTHOR'S NOTE: I think I need to clarify a point here. I haven't read Mansfield Park, therefore I was completely unaware of the character named 'Henry Crawford' in it. My character was certainly not based on that character, although they are very similar. However, apart from the rakishness, they don't have anything else in common. So yeah, no Tinley or Wickham in the future chapters. Besides, that might make it a borderline crackfic. Err…(lol)
Charles and Isabella were on their way back from a trip to the local fruit seller.
"Issy, I have some important work pending at Mr. Masen's residence. Would you mind if we make a little trip down there? I mean, I can take you home first if you want… you have the choice." He looked at her expectantly, waiting for a reply.
"Umm—how long will it take?" She stared at the bags in her hands, pondering about the fruits in there. "I don't want these to rot while you work." She took out an apple and traced its shiny skin with her fingers, mentally preparing herself to face the eerie fortress again.
"I don't think they will wilt so fast." He laughed at her.
She made a face, earning another hearty laugh from him. "Fine, I don't mind. But please, Uncle, don't take too long. I tend to get weary. There's nothing to do there. It's tiresome… waiting and waiting and waiting for you."
"It won't take that long. If it does, then I'll send someone to take you home. Happy now?" He shook his head in amusement.
She nodded, sighing heavily. The gloomy mansion always made her feel depressed. She couldn't quite understand its charm. The only thing that she had liked there was the assortment of art that adorned the waiting room. Some of them are quite old. Mr. Masen must have gotten them from a legacy. Others, well… they must have cost a fortune. But, of course, he can afford it. I suppose being rich comes with such advantages.
Like the last time, Charles left her in the waiting room and went inside to do his work. Isabella immediately walked towards her favourite piece, in which a beach was depicted. She leaned on the wall to get a closer look at it, bouncing the apple in her hand.
"Something interesting in there?" The velvety voice of Mr. Masen resonated inside the room.
Isabella froze in shock, and the apple slipped from her hand. He caught it swiftly and offered it back to her, holding it in his hands like a treasure. "That's a very healthy looking apple."
She peered at him curiously, looking into his eyes. She couldn't whip her eyes away from his now amber ones. Even though it had been weeks since she last saw him, the memory of his maroon eyes wasn't a hazy one for her. Golden—brown? How…?
"You want to have it? I'm not feeling hungry anymore," she mumbled distractedly, shocked by his changed eye color.
"No. Apples aren't good for me." He flashed his typical crooked smile at her. "So don't tempt me… I might just take a bite." His smile broadened into a grin, baring his sharp, pearly white teeth to her. He was pleased with the innuendo.
Her gaze shifted to his mouth for a split second, appraising the perfection of his jaw. Realizing that she was literally gawking at him, she averted her gaze from his face, feeling the heat of the blush on her cheeks. "I wasn't expecting to see you here."
"Where else do you expect to see me? It is, after all, my home, Miss Swan."
He cautiously took a step back, swallowing the venom that had collected in his mouth. Her blush always made it difficult for him to control his hunger. However, he could feel the difference this time. It was easier to handle it as compared to the last time.
"I meant… here, the waiting room."
"Perhaps… so, what were you observing in that piece?" He pointed at the painting.
"Oh, I uhh—well, I like this one. I was just looking at the brush strokes. They seem very free and uncontrolled, yet they work a magic into it. After a while, I can actually see the waves moving."
He noticed her enthusiasm and was pleased to know that they shared a love for art. "It's a Monet. He's known for this particular style of painting—Impressionism."
Her brown orbs twinkled with excitement as he explained the style. For a few minutes, she completely forgot about the tension she always felt around him.
"I have more art inside. Would you like to take a look?" he offered in a seductive voice. He knew she wouldn't refuse.
She nodded and followed him towards the grand hall, trying hard to fight off the feeling of déjà vu.
His manor was like a small art museum in itself, with all the rooms and halls filled with various works of art that he had collected over the century. Artwork even spilled out onto the walls of the corridors.
Isabella was lost in the charm of his collection, completely oblivious to anything else for a while. She was embracing her inner artist once again.
Edward took this time to observe her instead. He looked at her rich brown hair, the way her tresses came down to her waist in thick waves.
Silk…
He wanted to touch it but restrained himself. She'll not take it lightly, and you don't want to scare her away. There's a time and a place for doing that… her bedroom… at night. He almost groaned at the thought, overwhelmed by the pleasure it brought.
As they entered yet another room, she became aware of the uncomfortable silence that had taken over. A feeling of apprehension grew inside her. She turned around and found him standing right next to her. His approach had been silent, and it startled her a bit.
"Umm… which room is this?" She struggled to forge a conversation.
"This is my room." He still hadn't moved away from her. "These are my favourites." He pointed at the paintings that adorned the room. The talking eased the tension for the time being.
She looked at his fingers as he explained a piece to her; they were long and beautiful. From his perfect fingers, her gaze travelled up to his face. She was once again reminded of his changed eye color, as she observed him.
This is so odd. How can a person's eyes change color? I remember the shade they had before, quite distinctly... I'm sure they were maroon—deep red—but now they are golden-orange, I can't put a finger on it. They appear to be changing their shade, like an orb filled with swirling liquid. Never seen such phenomenon before…
"What are you thinking?" He could sense that she wasn't paying attention to his commentary. He wondered if she had noticed too much about his eyes.
Feeling the full force of his penetrating gaze, she struggled to form an appropriate answer. "That… you have so much art. It's overwhelming."
She didn't want him to catch her lie once again.
He couldn't tell if she was being truthful this time. Her heartbeat wasn't helping; it had been erratic for the past few minutes.
"Hmm…" He rubbed the back of his neck. "Most of them, I got from my father. The rest… I bought. I like collecting art."
She eyed him skeptically, wondering what made him so uncomfortable about his admission.
The room fell silent again, and she took a few steps away from him to ease the growing tension. Then, like a God-sent relief, a house attendant came in to give him a message.
"Sir, Mr. Langley has sent for you. He wants to discuss something important." She looked to be in a hurry to go back.
He didn't even look up at her. Instead, his gaze was fixed on one of the paintings. "I'll be there shortly. And…" He snapped his head in her direction this time, giving her a full glare. "Do not barge in like that in the future. Always remember the instructions I gave you." Motioning for her to go, he turned his attention back to the painting.
Isabella gaped at him. She had never seen him courting such an ill temper before. He appeared to have been repelled by the very sight of the woman. Isabella felt fidgety and shaky, wanting to go back to the waiting room. Being in his room had never felt so threatening before.
"You will need to excuse me, Miss Swan. But I assure you that I won't be long." He gave her a tight smile and disappeared out the door.
She breathed a sigh of relief as he left the room. Feeling more freedom to move around, she observed the room more intently now. It was set in the usual style of Edward Masen, with luxurious furnishings and expensive accessories. The bed itself was monstrous in size, with thick cushions accompanying it. Overall, it looked like a model bedroom, perfect in every way.
Spoiled in luxury…, she thought.
She stroked one of the cushions with her hands, trying to imagine how it must feel to sleep in such a comfortable and cozy bed, with silk quilts and soft pillows. The thought immediately brought a blush to her cheeks.
Well, he's not that bad, is he? She was reminded of what Angela had said to her a few days ago, and it embarrassed her.
Yes, go on. Imagine yourself in the strange man's bed now! ... No, I was just acknowledging his physical attributes. One cannot deny that he's very handsome indeed—Isabella, you're surpassing the limits of your imagination now. He may be good looking, but he's scary otherwise, remember?… Yes, but he has never been improper towards me, like Angela said—Oh, God! Stop thinking on those terms. You should be ashamed of yourself, Isabella. She mentally scolded herself and moved away from the bed.
Isabella got back to appreciating the paintings in the room, trying to distract her mind from the strange thoughts she'd just had. Upon paying attention to the paintings again, she noticed something that had slipped her detection before. The paintings in his room contained darker and somewhat melancholic themes, as compared to the brighter and livelier ones of the halls. She wondered if it was a conscious decision.
Soon, she grew tired of waiting for him and decided to move ahead and see the paintings in the next room. Besides the curiosity to see the rest of his art collection, there was a nagging feeling inside the pit of her stomach that pushed her to move out of his room. She felt ill at ease, standing in his room, waiting for him, as though she was a captive in there.
The adjoining room, to her surprise, was a library. Being an avid reader, she felt like a child in a sweetshop. She traced the hardbound books with her delicate fingers, her eyes sparkling with excitement.
This is heaven! I've never seen so many books inside a house. This is like a huge library. Oh, and he has some of my favourite authors… some titles I've never read before. Oh my… She almost squealed with joy, biting her lip to keep it in.
Her eyes narrowed down on an Austen title—Mansfield Park—and she reached for it. The book was on the highest shelf, therefore, she had to get on her tiptoes and stretch herself to grab hold of it. About the same time as she reached for the book, another hand came up beside hers and retrieved it. She whirled around and collided with the hard frame of Edward, almost toppling over from the impact. His strong arms caught her and held on.
"Be careful, Miss Swan." He steadied her, still holding her close. "You could have waited for me." He didn't want to let go of her; the warmth emanating from her body felt extremely pleasurable to him.
She gasped for air, realizing that she had been holding her breath. Then, like a ton of bricks, it hit her. His smell… it's the same smell—my nightgown—NO! That can't be! But it IS the same scent!
Her jaw dropped, and her eyes widened. She took another breath, drawing the air in slowly. The scent was more powerful this time, almost intoxicating.
"Are you all right?" He asked cautiously, for he hadn't missed her reaction. Why does she taunt me like that? This is one of those moments where I feel like knocking her head open for the sake of reading her mind!
"Umm… err." She tried to form a valid response, but the whole situation overwhelmed her, making her feel mentally stunted for a few seconds. "I… uhh—my Uncle must be w-waiting for me." Even Isabella herself couldn't recognise her strained voice; it was as hoarse as a crow.
"No, Miss Swan, he's still working down there. You can breathe easy." He knew that she was trying to evade him again, but decided to be patient with her. "Would you like to read anything from here? I have more of Austen's works. Let me get them for you."
She just nodded in response instead of speaking, knowing full well that her voice would come out as a frog's imitation again. He moved toward the stack again, taking a few books out and handing them to her. She gingerly tucked them in her hands, feeling jittery.
"Oh, and don't worry about returning them in a hurry. Take your sweet time with them. I'm sure you'll like them. Do you want any others?" He tried to coax her to speak again, feeling irritated with her sudden silence.
"No thank you, Mr. Masen. These will do… for now." Her voice came out a little shaky, but she managed not to stutter.
"Well, then, let us go downstairs. Your uncle will be free in about a minute." Charles was winding up his meeting, and Edward could very well hear him. He grasped her arm gently and guided her back to the waiting room.
Charles had just gotten there and was searching for her when they both entered the waiting room.
"I took your niece for an art tour around my house, Charles. I hope you didn't mind."
Edward gave him his best intimidating, yet friendly gaze. He knew that Charles was in no position to have a say, given the fact that he was a mere employee, but he wanted to keep him under tabs nonetheless. He could hear the resentment in Charles' thoughts.
"Not at all, Mr. Masen. I believe you may have saved her from the boredom of the waiting room." Charles wasn't happy to see his niece roaming around the house with Edward, but he tried to cover it up with humor. "We shall now take our leave."
As they settled inside the carriage, Charles turned toward Isabella to have a chat with her. "Issy, can I ask something of you?"
She nodded.
"Could you please keep your distance from Mr. Masen?" His face was grim with concern.
Isabella's face turned pale as she absorbed the expression on her uncle's face. "Why do you say that, Uncle? Is he… bad?" She debated whether to tell him about her encounter with the strange smell on her gown and its relation with Edward.
"No, well, it's just that… he seems strange. I keep my distance as well." He didn't know how to explain his fears to her.
She saw the tormented look on his face and decided to comply. "I will. Don't worry."
The Webbers were enjoying the dinner hosted by the Swans, and Henry Crawford had tagged along to get close to Isabella.
"I must pay my compliments to your niece, Mr. Swan. She's a fine cook. Kudos for preparing a great dinner, Miss Swan!" Henry smiled at Isabella and then turned his attention to Charles, who was beaming at her. Her resultant blush satisfied Henry. He wasn't going to give up any chance of trapping her under his charm.
She smiled nervously, feeling extremely uncomfortable. She could see the disgruntled look on Angela's face, who wasn't even trying to hide her dislike for Henry.
"I believe a good dinner is completed by good company. That being said, my contribution was only to a part of it. It's your whole family that has made it a great dinner by giving us your company." She gestured toward the Webbers.
"Our pleasure, my dear. Glad that you and your uncle invited us over for dinner. Now, I must reciprocate and invite you in return. Dinner at our place next Friday! Ehh, Charles?" Mr. Webber was in a jovial mood, oblivious to Angela's anger.
"But, dear, we can't." Mrs. Webber gently rested her hand on her husband's shoulder. "We have the Grand Ball at Ford's, remember?"
"Oh! I completely forgot about that. Thanks for reminding me, dear." Mr. Webber patted her hand reassuringly. "So, Charles, how about after the Ball? Saturday evening?"
"Sure." Charles answered by raising a toast.
Angela shifted closer to Isabella, and whispered in her ear, "Issy, I hope you're coming to the Ford's Grand Ball."
"I'm not sure if I want to. Why?" The very notion of facing a huge crowd was enough to deter Isabella, but it wasn't the only thing that bothered her about the ball. She was afraid of dancing, because every time she tried, she floundered. It always resulted in either her partner being injured or her falling flat on her face.
"Issy! It's The Grand Ball!" Angela hissed. "Why not?"
"I don't want to embarrass myself, or my uncle."
Angela looked at her quizzically, trying to decipher the meaning behind her stunted answer. "And how are you going to embarrass yourself there?"
"I can't dance… please have mercy on me, Angela. I can't go to a ball. I'll have to dance at some point, and I cannot handle it well. So, don't even think about it." Isabella could already see herself falling gracelessly mid-dance in a hall full of people.
And they'll give you disapproving looks all night long for being the clumsiest dancer ever. She shuddered at the thought.
"Oh, come on, Issy. No one can be that bad. Besides, it's the girl's choice to dance or not, so you can always refuse. Right?" Angela wanted her to attend the Grand Ball. Being her friend, she knew that Isabella needed to socialize.
"What if someone insists? It's not going to be pretty. Angela, I beg of you, don't make me attend the Ball, please." Isabella turned her head away.
Angela poked her side, making her utter a low yelp. "Listen to me, Issy… you will attend the Ball, and I'll make sure you do," she threatened.
"Make me." Isabella put forward her best 'stubborn' face. Deep down, she was a little scared of her friend's determination.
"Mr. Swan, I believe you and Isabella will be attending the Ball?" Angela peered at Charles with an imploring look.
"Well, I personally don't go to such events… since Clara…" He couldn't bring himself to complete the sentence. The loss of his wife still caused a lingering pain in his heart.
"I'm sorry…" Angela was taken aback. A Ball was the last thing that she had expected to bring grief to Charles.
"But… I'm sure Isabella can go." Charles looked at Isabella expectantly.
Angela was elated. Charles had made it too easy for her. "Yes, oh yes, she can!" She turned towards Isabella. "Issy, I'm sure you won't disappoint your uncle?"
"I—but Uncle! No, no—I can't… please." Isabella searched for a valid excuse, besides the embarrassing one that was actually stopping her from attending the Ball.
"Why not, Miss Swan? I'm sure that you'll make the Ball even more special with your presence. If you're afraid of socializing, then I can be your chaperon, to save you from being picked at." Henry was his usual generous self. He was already looking forward to seeing Isabella at the Ball.
"But I thought you were heading back." Angela's eyes narrowed at him. He merely shook his head in denial.
"Besides, I'll be at Isabella's side at the Ball… all the time." She tucked Isabella's arm into hers, a gesture to tell Henry to back off. "I'll look after her. You needn't worry."
"Yes, Issy, you should go to the Ball. Have a good time there. I'm sure you'll like it." Charles knew that the Webbers would take care of his niece; and he wanted to encourage her.
Isabella shrugged and tried to repress the whole issue.
After the dinner, the Webbers--along with Henry--took their leave. Charles escorted them to their carriage, while Isabella busied herself with cleaning up. Upon clearing the table, she noticed that Henry had left his antique timepiece there. She picked it up and ran outside, almost bumping into Charles, who was returning after seeing off the guests.
"What is it, Issy?"
"Uncle, Mr. Crawford… he left his timepiece—I mean, he forgot to pick it up from the table." She showed it to him.
"Oh, it must have slipped his mind. Don't worry, Issy, I'll return it to the Webbers when I go to their place in the coming days." Charles patted her head affectionately. "Keep it in a safe place for the time being."
She agreed and did as he said.
Later, Isabella sat in her rocking chair having a look at the books that Edward had given her. She had read only two works of Austen so far—'Sense and Sensibility' and "Pride and Prejudice'—but she had come to love her writing style immensely. She flipped the books in her hands, having difficulty in deciding which one to read first.
Emma can wait for the time being. Hmm… Mansfield Park or Northanger Abbey? Can't decide; both look tempting…
With a deep sigh, she decided on 'Mansfield Park'. After reading it for a while, she broke into a laughing fit, seeing a character named 'Henry Crawford' in it.
This is beyond humorous. He even appears to be like Mr. Crawford… well, at least, the way Angela describes him. I wonder if Angela has read this book. If not, then I MUST show it to her. Jane Austen could very well be prophetic here.
She kept giggling at the funny coincidence, especially whenever the name 'Crawford' came up in the book. The random giggles kept flowing until after midnight, when she finally put the book down and decided to sleep.
Half an hour later, when she was about to doze off, a sudden realization hit her. Jerking her head up, she glanced at the books on her table. On one side were her own copies of Austen, the only ones she had read, and on the other side were the ones that Edward had lent her—Emma, Mansfield Park, and Northanger Abbey. They were mutually exclusive.
I had seen the copies of 'Pride and Prejudice' and 'Sense and Sensibility' on the stack… along with these other works of Austen. Yet, Mr. Masen only took these out for me…, she pondered, looking at the three books she hadn't read.
How did he deduce that? How COULD he guess what I have or haven't read? He can't…
She sat up in her bed, running her fingers through her hair nervously.
He cannot possibly know about my literary possessions. Then, how did he instinctively know which ones to suggest to me? He can't, unless… he knows… Goose bumps rose on her skin at the thought.
Besides that, he had that same smell on him, the one that I had smelled on my clothes the other day. How can that be? This is so absurd… yet, I know that I'm not hallucinating. My senses aren't so weak; I can detect that smell in a heartbeat. It's unlike any other smell. Much too pleasant… but… She almost pulled at her hair. Her thoughts were in a frenzy.
He seems to know certain things… things he isn't supposed to know. But how? And why? Oh, God, calm down, Isabella!
She rubbed her temples in an attempt to calm her ruffled nerves. It did little good, as the source of her anxiety was somewhere else, out of her control. She reached for the glass of water on her side table. It wasn't magic, but a few gulps did calm her down a bit.
You're over-thinking. It's not as bad as you're making it inside your head, Issy. He didn't do anything wrong when he was around you. How can you even think on those lines? For heaven's sake, he was the one who saved your life that night… never attempted anything sinister even then. This is all just a big coincidence, nothing else. She tried to convince herself, but in the deep recesses of her mind, she knew that something was amiss.
She hardly slept that night. The anxiety made it hard for her to relax and fall into a peaceful slumber.
"Take care, Issy. I'll be back at my usual time." Charles hugged Isabella and left for work the next morning.
As his carriage galloped off, Isabella stood at the door, looking at the grey sky. It looked similar to the day when she got caught up in the awful thunderstorm, hence, it made her feel uneasy.
She went back inside and started working on her incomplete embroidery endeavour. It was a white table-cloth, on which she was trying to embellish patterns of various flowers.
Endure… I believe the patterns will be ready by the time I'm an old hen.
She wasn't very accomplished at stitching or sewing, but her mother had always made her practice. It held no interest for her, but her mother told her that she'd need it one day. Same was the issue with cooking and cleaning. Isabella did cook well, but she found it completely unexciting.
"It's an art that every woman ought to know to be a good wife," she repeated her mother's words, feeling nostalgic again.
She peered out of the kitchen window. The sky was getting darker, and the wind was picking up. The whole scene was disconcertingly familiar to her. Feeling disturbed, she put the cloth aside and went to her room to read. She wanted to distract herself from the ominous weather that had enveloped the whole area of Forks Prairie.
Settling into her rocking chair, she opened her favourite book—'Pride and Prejudice'—and started reading. She was halfway through the page when a faint knock on the door pulled her out of the book.
"Who can that be?" She moved down the stairs tentatively, pondering upon whether she should respond or not.
Another knock greeted her; this time, it was louder.
"Yes, coming!" She hurried to the door. It could be someone who got stuck in the storm like me… must check.
She opened the door, only to see a very pleased Henry Crawford at her doorstep. He smiled wickedly at her. "Hello, Isabella."
"Hello, Mr. Crawford. I wasn't expecting to see you at this time of the day." It hadn't slipped her notice that he had used her first name.
"I believe you have something with you that belongs to me." He grinned like a Cheshire cat.
She suddenly remembered his antique timepiece. "Oh, yes. I've kept it safely with me. I'll be right back with it."
Isabella rushed towards the teak cabinet in the drawing room, where she had kept the timepiece. He followed her inside quietly, ready to make his move.
"Here—" She gasped as she felt his hands on her waist, gripping her tightly. "Mr. Crawford! What are you—"
"Shhh! Hush, my dear Isabella. You should be quite happy that you've attracted my attention," he whispered in her ear, pushing her forward, his chest pressing into her back. She struggled against him, but he held on. "Look, I brought you a token of my affection." He held her with one hand and dangled a diamond necklace in front of her with the other.
"Mr. Crawford! LET GO OF ME!" She shouted with as much force as her lungs allowed. He pushed her further, bending her over on the wooden chest. "Isabella, it'll be better if you stop the phony struggle and listen to me. I know you like the bauble. You can have it. It's for you only, my darling."
"NO! Get away from me! I don't want it!" she shrieked and pushed the necklace away, angry tears welling up in her eyes. Her bent position made her feel filthy and degraded.
Henry put the necklace back in his pocket and continued, "Isabella, give in… you know you want to." He pushed his body into hers, making her yelp as her body collided with the cabinet.
Resolving to fight him off, she kicked him in the shin, eliciting a groan from him as he staggered back. Seeing this as her moment of escape, she hurried towards the stairs in order to get to her bedroom.
He caught her ankle and tripped her right on the first flight of stairs. She fell and landed on her shoulder. A sharp pain shot through her shoulder as she tried to sit up. He was already pulling her back, his hand on her ankle in a vice-like grip.
"Stop it! PLEASE!" Her strength was no match for his, he was bigger than her slight frame, but that didn't stop her from struggling.
"Oh, what are you going to do? Huh? Stop me? Trust me, Issy, it feels really good once you let go. You'll like it. Heck, you'll come to enjoy it later on, darling. And I'll give you whatever you want. I'll keep you like a princess." He moved on top of her and pinned her down with his weight, dipping his head to ravish her mouth.
She pushed at his chest and turned her head to avoid his lips, but he was unyielding. His lips moved to her cheek, and he bit on it while his hands started roaming over her shoulders, slowly moving downwards to her breasts.
She felt completely helpless, knowing full well that no one could hear her screams for miles. For once, her situation looked completely hopeless to her. She closed her eyes in disgust, hoping for a miracle to save her somehow.
Oh no I didn't?...
Oh yes I DID! hehe...
REVIEWS! They are my apples! whoops! temptation...lol
More Darkward coming in the next chapter.
(Edward the Sadist) + (Edward the manipulator) = ?
(((Watch this space)))