Murder at Mansfield Park - Lynn Shepherd [127]
They were silent.
‘It is true,’ she said gently, after a pause, ‘that you are not the happy and prosperous Mr Norris whom first I met.’
‘In truth, Miss Crawford, I was neither, even then. I did not know, at that time, that my prosperity was as much a chimaera as my happiness. You, by contrast, might now have both.You might marry whom you choose.’
‘And I do choose, Mr Norris. Do you think my feelings are so evanescent, or my affections so easily bestowed? Do you think I care for what people think? And though I have lived all my life under the narrow constraints of comparative poverty, I am now in the happy position of discarding such wearisome economies for ever. You talked just now of fine ironies; here is another: the fortune that will now provide for me, is the fortune you should have had. Had you married Fanny, as everyone wished, you would be the master of Lessingby now, and not my brother.’
He shook his head. ‘Your words only serve to remind me of my own shame. I should never have allowed the engagement to persist so long. It was cowardice—rank cowardice. I should have spoken to Sir Thomas long ago; had I done so, he would never have allowed the connection to endure as long as it did. I would have been released, and she—she might still be living today.’
‘But everyone—every thing—was against you. Duty, habit, expectation. Such an arrangement—established when you were so young, and supported as it was by your whole family—it would have taken great courage to give it up.’
‘A man should always do his duty, Miss Crawford, however difficult the circumstances. Indeed, there is little merit in doing so, unless it demands some exertion, some struggle on our part. Long standing and public as was the engagement, I had a duty to her, as well as myself, not to enter knowingly into a marriage without affection— without the true affection that alone can justify any hope of lasting happiness.’
His words struck her with all the force of a thunderbolt. She knew—had always known—how wretched she would be if she were to marry a man she did not love, and yet only a few hours before she had been giving serious consideration to just such an alliance. She had even reasoned herself into believing that Maddox might be the only man in the world who could place a just value on her talents, and that they might—as he had insisted—have much in common; not merely a shared literary taste, but a general similarity of temper and disposition. But now the truth of her own heart was all before her. Whatever the inconveniences that might lie before them—whatever the attractions of another course—she loved Edmund Norris still; loved him, and wished to be his wife.
She rose to her feet. ‘I will detain you no longer, Mr Norris. I must find Mr Maddox, and beg a few minutes’ conversation with him in private.’
Had she doubted his affection before, she could do so no longer; the expression of his face sank gradually to a settled and blank despair. It was as if a lamp had flickered and gone out.
‘I hope you will be happy, Miss Crawford,’ he said, in a low voice, turning his face away.
‘I hope so too, Mr Norris; but it will not be with Mr Maddox, if I am.’
It was said with some thing of her former playfulness, and when he looked up at her, he saw that she was smiling.
‘I have decided to refuse him. After all, how can I marry Mr Maddox when I have already given my heart to another?’
CHAPTER XXIII
It was a very quiet wedding. Neither Mary nor Edmund had any inclination for needless ostentation, but it would not have escaped the notice of those schooled in matters of fashion, that the refined elegance of the bride’s gown owed as much to the generosity of her brother, in sending for silks from London, as it did to her own skills as a needlewoman. They had been obliged to wait until the three months of deep mourning were over, but that period had been, all things considered, a happy time; Mary had worked on her wedding-clothes, and wandered about the park with Edmund all the autumn evenings, under the last lingering leaves, raising