Sir Thomas kept to his threat of punishment, although Edmund, feeling that his father was being overly harsh, managed to convince him to be more lenient than he had originally planned. She was, of course, forbidden from seeing Mary, and was for the moment mostly confined to her room (and, after a while, the East Room - thanks to Edmund) but Sir Thomas had been so furious that he could well have done worse. William would have gladly stayed with her during that time if he could, but, due to the impending end of his shore-leave, he was regrettably forced to depart early in the morning after the ball - accompanied part of the way by Henry, who claimed to have some business in London. Only Edmund remained to keep her company, and even that wasn't for long; in another day he had to depart in order to take the church orders that would make him a clergyman.

And so Fanny was left miserable and alone, where previously she had been so happy. She longed desperately for the company that seemed to have gone away all at once, in no small part because, with so little to keep her occupied, her mind often rested on Mary and her confusion about the nature of their relationship. Her ability to deny her own feelings was gradually failing, no matter how much she might push against them, and Mary's actions left her feeling uncertain. Was it possible that Mary could be in love with her? No, not at all! Fanny's mind recoiled from the idea. Mary could not - she could not be like that. No, no, it was only something wrong with her that was the problem. Part of her, a very powerful, large part of her, hated herself for such feelings, but she still couldn't help but think of Mary with joy, couldn't help but wish she was there with her. Oh, how she longed for the simplicity of the past!

Mary was also, in her way, thinking about Fanny. She knew on what business Henry had left for London, and could not help but think that after such a great service on behalf of William, Fanny could not help but love him. Indeed, it would be a great thing for the two of them to marry; Henry was not looked down upon by Sir Thomas as she was - any objection he might normally have would be willingly ignored because of the Crawfords' money and Henry's not inconsiderable estate - and it would still mean that she could be close to Fanny. The more she thought about it, the more she thought it the best idea, for she lacked the faith to believe that Fanny would have enough courage to stand up to her uncle in order for their friendship to truly resume.

But Fanny's influence had instilled some sense of morals into Mary, and even as she began to think upon the best course available to her for forwarding the match, she felt a guilty voice in the back of her mind. Fanny might well have been beneficial for Henry, but Mary did not truly believe that he would be good for her, and she almost worried about the cruelty of pressuring her into a marriage that might do more harm than good.

A few months of friendship with Fanny Price did not, however, counteract years of amoral behaviour and bad company, and so she brushed aside the thought; her only concern now was to be close to Fanny no matter what she had to do to ensure it, and regardless of whether the course of action she chose was most, or indeed at all, pleasurable to her friend.

Henry returned soon enough, armed with good news. William had been promoted to lieutenant; indeed it seemed that he had been promoted due to the influence of Henry's uncle. At this news, Fanny became more cheerful than she had been since the night of the ball, and for a while barely thought of the losses of Edmund, William, and Mary.

Henry's arrival, in itself, brought far less joy. He visited without his sister, knowing, perhaps, of her lack of popularity with Sir Thomas, but he had soon, after a talk with the man himself, secured Fanny's company for the afternoon, a privilege which included permission for her to visit the parsonage. There was something about Henry which unnerved Fanny, and she would have shown greater reluctance - even with the hope of seeing Mary - had a fear of defying her uncle not made her agree with far more eagerness than she felt. This, coupled with the knowledge that she now must be indebted to Henry due to the service he had performed for her brother, made her more silent than usual during the walk to the parsonage.

Henry had his reasons for delaying the proposal he intended to make; the first was that he hoped some time to ruminate on the benefit he had been to William would soften her. The second was that he firmly believed that he had a better chance to win Fanny's hand if he had his sister's support, given how close the two of them were.

"It was necessary for me to consult with Sir Thomas almost immediately after I had the good fortune to inform you of your brother's promotion," Henry told her, finally bored of the silence, "and so I was not able to judge your reaction to the news. I presume that it was a happy one?"

"Oh! Yes, I am very happy indeed, Mr Crawford. And most grateful to you, I am sure, for securing his happiness," Fanny replied. She felt nervous, and almost sighed with relief when, not long after, they reached the parsonage. Mary was looking out of the window, and when she saw them approaching she ran out immediately, despite the cold; she gave a cry of joy and embraced Fanny with all the warm affection of true friendship.

"Oh, Fanny," she exclaimed. "Oh! How I have missed you!" Her grip tightened. Fanny returned the hug.

"Miss Crawford -"

"No, no, you must call me Mary. We are surely close enough now for that!" Mary broke out of the hug and held Fanny at arm's length. "Why, Fanny, I hardly thought it possible, but you have grown even more beautiful since last I saw you! Any man would be lucky to marry such a charming woman, though whether nearly as many would deserve it is debatable."

Fanny blushed; Mary's eager reception of her meant she was even more confused as to where they stood than she had been already. Henry was completely forgotten, standing awkwardly beside the two reunited friends. After a few more effusions of joy from Mary's side, the three of them went inside. For a short while the room was filled with cheerful talk and Fanny felt herself content. Alas, it was not for long, for Mary soon disappeared discreetly from the room - although not before having dropped several more hints about the advantages of matrimony. Dr and Mrs Grant had been earlier prevailed upon to take a walk, and so she found herself left alone with Henry. Fanny began to feel her earlier nervousness creeping back into her mind.

"Miss Price," he began. "I did not forward your brother's career solely due to good will, or because of a particularly fond friendship between he and I. Part of my motivation for doing what I have was in order to win your affections. For, Miss Price -"

"Oh, Mr Crawford, please do not -"

"- I am deeply in love with you, and I entreat you to do me the honour of consenting to marry me." He stopped and gazed at her expectantly.

Fanny felt awkward. Of course she couldn't, in good conscience, agree to marry him when she didn't love him - he hadn't even been a consideration until that moment! But, equally, she didn't want to let him down.

"I am most grateful for your attentions, Mr Crawford, but I cannot repay them," Fanny began. "I am very sorry to refuse you, but refuse I must."

Henry looked taken aback. Anger flickered across his face. At some point, curiosity had caused Mary to slip back into the room in order to discover what Fanny's response would be. She looked greatly disappointed.

"Fanny," she said, "may I talk to you for a moment?"

Fanny consented, and they went to a secluded corner of the house, where neither Henry nor the Grants - should they return - were likely to come across them or to hear them.

"I must beg you to reconsider, Fanny," she told her. "For - and I do not think that this is entirely proper to say, but I must tell you, if only to forward the happiness of you both - for you are Henry's soulmate, and I am afraid that he will be very greatly disappointed should you refuse." She didn't stop to consider the effect her words would have on Fanny; she was only desperate to keep her close, no matter the consequences, even if it meant Fanny's marriage to Henry.

Fanny looked shocked. The guilt she had been feeling due to her refusal doubled. If she said no then she would break his heart, perhaps for ever, but she couldn't agree. Her conscience railed against it. She longed dearly to be able to love him, to transfer her affections from his sister, not because she particularly liked Henry, but because the alternative had been torturing her for months.

"Mary," she said tremulously, "I do not love your brother. It would be wrong of me to marry him with that knowledge. Without my love, I fear his own satisfaction at the match would soon be gone."

"Nonsense!" Mary scoffed. "Many happy matches have been made without a romantic attachment between two partners. Why, we need only look at Mansfield's - or Sotherton's, I should say - own Mrs Rushworth for that to be proved."

Fanny shook her head forcefully. "I am very sorry, Mary, but I cannot marry your brother."

Mary let the matter drop, but an air of resentment remained in her demeanour. They made their way to a more comfortable area of the parsonage, and the conversation turned to other things until it was time for Fanny to return to her uncle's house.

Another attempt to persuade her was made that evening. Henry had been invited to dine with the family at the park, and he brought with him a note from Mary.

I am very sorry that we parted on less than excellent terms today, my dear Fanny. Of course you do not want to marry him yet, but if you would only give it some thought then I am sure you will come around to the idea in time. Only think - we shall be sisters if you consent to the match, and will be able to spend as much time around each other as either of us can possibly afford to spare. Please reconsider your choice - for my sake, as much as Henry's.

Fanny stared at the note. Something in Mary's handwriting - as dear as could be, and yet the subject matter so repulsive to her! - made her feel an emotion which she did not have the courage to fully acknowledge. To be close to Mary, that was desired above all, but to marry her brother to achieve that goal seemed impossible - more than impossible; to be going against everything that was right, to throw away her own beliefs, her own self. And to what ends? To knowingly deceive Henry due to her friendship with his sister? She did not like him by any means, but that would be too cruel.

If Henry had hoped that such a letter would encourage her to reconsider his proposal, he was mistaken; it left her in a near stupor for all of the time that he was there, and she would barely reply when he attempted to talk to her, something he did far too often for her liking.

Sir Thomas, upon discovering that Fanny continued her refusal even after several days, made his displeasure strongly felt. The Crawfords were rich, and especially considering Fanny's background, it was a very good match. He had thought that a few days consideration as to what she owed to their family would have been sufficient, but it was not to be. It was impossible that she should have some prior attachment, not with the limited nature of her acquaintance, and so he became convinced that this whim was pure stubbornness on her side. His anger was such that it reduced Fanny to tears, but she stood firm. She would not sacrifice her belief for anything; she would not marry Henry Crawford - no, not even if the whole world was against her!

News had quickly reached London, and soon Fanny experienced an unusual occurrence; a letter from Julia, addressed specifically to her. It spoke largely of her luck (how Julia would have liked to be so especially preferred by Mr Crawford!). Fanny hadn't expected any encouraging words from her, but the support of the match from all quarters, the assumed inevitability of it, stung. Julia's letter did, however, contain something of note. A comment on her soulmates.

As much as I envy you such a match, I cannot help but think of the names on your wrist. I know that at the time you first showed them to us we all assumed them to be the names of true friends, but having observed your especial closeness with Miss Crawford...perhaps I am reading too much into these things, but please be aware that you are not the only person with - unconventional, shall we say - soulmates.

Fanny stared at that part of the letter for a long time. A show of comfort from Julia was most unexpected, almost as unexpected as a proposal from Henry, but she felt some comfort in it, some suggestion that she was not entirely obligated to follow the path that Sir Thomas had chosen for her.

The small hope afforded by the letter was soon quashed firmly when Edmund returned, now proudly ordained. He seemed as eager as the others for her to marry Henry - perhaps more so given Mary's support of the match. At first she had hope; he seemed to understand the impossibility of marrying a man she did not love, but unlike Fanny he was firm that that love would come if she was given some time to truly know Henry.

"Henry Crawford is not a bad man, Fanny," he told her one day. "If you would only acknowledge that, and open your heart to him, then perhaps you would soon be in love, and could marry with a clear conscience."

She didn't reply.

"Fanny," he tried again, "I truly believe that this could be good for you. Everybody is keen on this match."

"Everybody but myself, Edmund," Fanny replied quietly. "And am I not the one who must live with the choice?"

"Fanny, you might never make another match so fine," Edmund said.

She smiled thinly at him. "I cannot and will not marry a man I do not love, no matter how much others may wish it for me."

He sighed heavily. "Of course you cannot. But please do not reject him outright. I am sure that in time you will love him so much that you will laugh at this."

In vain she tried to make it clear that she could not like Henry, not after she had seen his inappropriate conduct during the staging of Lover's Vows, and she certainly couldn't love him, for other reasons that were best kept to herself. But Edmund wouldn't believe her, and was in fact more convinced of Henry's eligibility by the events that followed; one evening, he read Shakespeare to the company after tea. Edmund took one look at Fanny's rapturous gaze as he read the speech and was satisfied. Perhaps he would have been less so had he known that she would have appreciated anyone who could read it well, and that she had spent most of the time imagining Henry's sister in his place.

"Why cannot you see how beneficial this shall be for our friendship?" Mary cried in vexation. When he had seen how eager she was for the match, Sir Thomas had begrudgingly forgiven her for her past transgressions and allowed her to see his niece.

"Surely our friendship can be sustained without my marrying your brother?" Fanny asked.

"Certainly - but if you are wed then we are sure of always being close!"

Fanny felt very upset; even those she thought she could trust were against her on this matter, and she felt worn down and doubtful. She would still not yield, but it was becoming tiring.

"Mary, you know that I cannot -"

"If only you would think for a moment then you would see that this is the best course for you!" Mary said angrily. "I do not understand you, Fanny! Surely there is no one else in your heart?" To her, Fanny and Henry marrying was a way to stay close to her, and she was too impatient a person to stand Fanny's repeated refusals. Weeks had slowly destroyed any patience she might have had to begin with.

Fanny looked at her, shocked. There was someone else in her heart, but she wouldn't say it; Mary could never know.

"No...but-"

"Or is it perhaps because you are waiting ever so faithfully for whoever you believe to be your soulmate? Show me your wrists!"

Fanny was horrified. For Mary to demand knowledge of such a private thing… She was disappointed; she had thought Mary a better person than to ask for that, even in the heat of anger. She had been so used to ceding to others' requests throughout her life, but now she dredged up some courage and refused outright.

But Mary was not to be swayed; grabbing both of Fanny's wrists, she forced the sleeves up to reveal two names before Fanny could stop her.

Edmund Bertram.

Mary Crawford.

Fanny pulled away from her before she could take in all that they meant. Once the understanding did come to Mary, any joy garnered from the knowledge was destroyed when she caught Fanny's expression. Mary was not used to feeling guilt, but now she felt the full weight of her terrible mistake come crashing down on her all at once.

"Fanny," she began, not sure what she was going to say, but feeling a terrible longing for forgiveness.

"Miss Crawford, I think that you should leave," Fanny said in a trembling voice. "Now."

Mary practically bolted from the room. If there were tears in her eyes, she was careful to conceal them.

Fanny collapsed onto the floor and started to sob.

They barely saw each other in the next few weeks, and when they did each took great cares to avoid the other as much as was possible. Fanny, despite her confidence that Mary had been the one to act wrongly, could not help but feel guilty about refusing the knowledge to her. She almost felt that if she had acquiesced to Mary's request then they would still be talking; part of her believed it was her who should apologise. But she tried to ignore that part; she knew its falsity; the blame was entirely on Mary's side. And yet she could not help but doubt herself.

Mary had been putting off her return to London for some time now. She had intended to leave Mansfield to visit her friends Mrs Frazer and Lady Stornaway for a long time, but there had always before now been some reason to put it off. Now that she and Fanny were no longer speaking, the time of year became suddenly perfect for the journey, and she became eager to leave as soon and as quickly as possible. On the day that she left Fanny avoided her even more than usual, and in fact the only glimpse of Mary she got the entire day was, when coming down the stairs, she heard her voice, saying her goodbyes. She stopped on the stairwell, then began slowly retreating her way upwards. It was too late; Mary walked into the hallway and caught her eye. They both stood stock still for a moment. Then Mary looked away and, without even a second glance, left. That was the last that Fanny saw of her.

William's next visit on shore leave barely served to comfort her. As much as he was concerned, and despite his attempts to comfort her as much as he could, it was to no avail. How could she possibly explain to him how she felt for Mary? How could she possibly explain Mary's transgression? It seemed to her impossible, and so instead of trying she remained aloof from him - as much as it pained her, and no doubt him as well. For her it felt as though as though, in the span of a few months, all of her relationships had been ruined. How long ago the joys of December seemed now, when she was all alone, isolating herself even from those who would help her.

Sir Thomas soon decided, for the first time in over eight years, that Fanny must miss her family, and therefore he suggested a trip to Portsmouth, with her accompanying William back. The idea of leaving Mansfield horrified Fanny, but there was nothing she could do. And perhaps, after all, it would be a good thing to visit her parents, to get away from the house that must now have so many painful recollections attached to it. She wrote accordingly, was accepted, and soon she was ready to return home with William.

The parting was painful. Edmund said goodbye with all of the earnest care that she had come to expect from him, but she was greatly saddened that Mary was no longer around to see her leave. Of course, she shouldn't miss her, but she could not help herself, and now that both of them were travelling away it felt as though they were farther from each other than either would have thought possible mere months ago.

As the carriage began to move, William looked at her with a smile, which quickly dropped when he saw her expression.

"Fanny," he asked gently. "Fanny, is anything the matter?" It was a question that had been sitting on his tongue since he had first seen her, but each time he had begun to ask it he had been brushed away.

Fanny gave a choked sob, and tried to hold back the tears that threatened to overwhelm her.