by Lauren Lane
“It was my father’s last request to me,” replied her husband, “that I should assist his widow and daughters.”
“He did not know what he was talking of, I dare say; ten to one but he was light-headed at the time. Had he been in his right senses, he could not have thought of such a thing as begging you to give away half your fortune from your own child.”
“He did not stipulate for any particular sum, my dear Fanny; he only requested me, in general terms, to assist them, and make their situation more comfortable than it was in his power to do. Perhaps it would have been as well if he had left it wholly to myself. He could hardly suppose I should neglect them. But as he required the promise, I could not do less than give it; at least I thought so at the time. The promise, therefore, was given, and must be performed. Something must be done for them whenever they leave Norland and settle in a new home.”
“Well, then, let something be done for them; but that something need not be three thousand pounds. Consider,” she added, “that when the money is once parted with, it never can return. Your sisters will marry, and it will be gone for ever. If, indeed, it could be restored to our poor little boy — ”
“Why, to be sure,” said her husband, very gravely, “that would make great difference. The time may come when Harry will regret that so large a sum was parted with. If he should have a numerous family, for instance, it would be a very convenient addition.”
“To be sure it would.”
“Perhaps, then, it would be better for all parties, if the sum were diminished one half. Five hundred pounds would be a prodigious increase to their fortunes!”
“Oh! beyond anything great! What brother on earth would do half so much for his sisters, even if really his sisters! And as it is — only half blood! But you have such a generous spirit!”
“I would not wish to do any thing mean,” he replied. “One had rather, on such occasions, do too much than too little. No one, at least, can think I have not done enough for them: even themselves, they can hardly expect more.”
“There is no knowing what they may expect,” said the lady, “but we are not to think of their expectations: the question is, what you can afford to do.”
“Certainly; and I think I may afford to give them five hundred pounds a-piece. As it is, without any addition of mine, they will each have about three thousand pounds on their mother’s death — a very comfortable fortune for any young woman.”
“To be sure it is; and, indeed, it strikes me that they can want no addition at all. They will have ten thousand pounds divided amongst them. If they marry, they will be sure of doing well, and if they do not, they may all live very comfortably together on the interest of ten thousand pounds.” To punctuate her point, Fanny then began to employ the tactics she had learned early on in her marriage would get her anything she wanted. Biting her lower seductively and locking eyes with her husband, she slid her chair closer to his and traced one finger lazily across his thigh.
John watched his wife’s fingertip slowly moving north and swallowed audibly. “That is very true, and, therefore, I do not know whether, upon the whole, it would not be more advisable to do something for their mother while she lives, rather than for them — something of the annuity kind I mean. My sisters would feel the good effects of it as well as herself. A hundred a year would make them all perfectly comfortable.”
His wife hesitated a little, however, in giving her consent to this plan. She slid even closer and continued tracing patterns on her husband’s breeches, adding a bit of pressure.
“To be sure,” said she, “it is better than parting with fifteen hundred pounds at once. But, then, if Mrs. Dashwood should live fifteen years we shall be completely taken in.”
“Fifteen years! my dear Fanny; her life cannot be worth half that purchase.”
“Certainly not; but if you observe, people always live for ever when there is an annuity to be paid them; and she is very stout and healthy, and hardly forty. An annuity is a very serious business; it comes over and over every year, and there is no getting rid of it. You are not aware of what you are doing. I have known a great deal of the trouble of annuities; for my mother was clogged with the payment of three to old superannuated servants by my father’s will, and it is amazing how disagreeable she found it. Twice every year these annuities were to be paid; and then there was the trouble of getting it to them; and then one of them was said to have died, and afterwards it turned out to be no such thing. My mother was quite sick of it. Her income was not her own, she said, with such perpetual claims on it; and it was the more unkind in my father, because, otherwise, the money would have been entirely at my mother’s disposal, without any restriction whatever. It has given me such an abhorrence of annuities, that I am sure I would not pin myself down to the payment of one for all the world.”
Fanny then shifted her skills of persuasion into fuller force. She crawled lithely into her husband’s lap, straddling one leg on either side of him, and lowered her the bodice of her dress so that her full breasts were exposed and just inches away from John’s waiting mouth.
“It is certainly an unpleasant thing,” replied Mr. Dashwood, looking into Fanny’s eyes desirously and beginning to grind his growing arousal against her, “to have those kind of yearly drains on one’s income. One’s fortune, as your mother justly says, is not one’s own. To be tied down to the regular payment of such a sum, on every rent day, is by no means desirable: it takes away one’s independence.” He leaned forward to take one of her breasts into his mouth, but she leaned back, just out of his reach, teasing him.
“Undoubtedly,” she said with a coquettish smile, “and after all you have no thanks for it. They think themselves secure, you do no more than what is expected, and it raises no gratitude at all. If I were you, whatever I did should be done at my own discretion entirely. I would not bind myself to allow them any thing yearly. It may be very inconvenient some years to spare a hundred, or even fifty pounds from our own expenses.”
“I believe you are right, my love; it will be better that there should be no annuity in the case; whatever I may give them occasionally will be of far greater assistance than a yearly allowance, because they would only enlarge their style of living if they felt sure of a larger income, and would not be sixpence the richer for it at the end of the year. It will certainly be much the best way. A present of fifty pounds, now and then, will prevent their ever being distressed for money, and will, I think, be amply discharging my promise to my father.”
“To be sure it will.” To show her approval, Fanny finally let John close his mouth over the firm bud at the tip of her breast. His mouth was hot and moist and she squirmed against him in delicious pleasure. “Indeed, to say the truth, I am convinced within myself that your father had no idea of your giving them any money at all,” she continued breathlessly. “The assistance he thought of, I dare say, was only such as might be reasonably expected of you; for instance, such as looking out for a comfortable small house for them, helping them to move their things, and sending them presents of fish and game, and so forth, whenever they are in season. I’ll lay my life that he meant nothing farther; indeed, it would be very strange and unreasonable if he did.” John pulled her other breast to his lips and darted his tongue around one nipple, up the crease formed by his pressing her breasts together, and down around the other nipple. Fanny shuddered and reached down between them to caress his hardness. “Do but consider, my dear Mr. Dashwood, how excessively comfortable your mother-in-law and her daughters may live on the interest of seven thousand pounds, besides the thousand pounds belonging to each of the girls, which brings them in fifty pounds a year a-piece, and, of course, they will pay their mother for their board out of it. Altogether, they will have five hundred a-year amongst them, and what on earth can four women want for more than that? — They will live so cheap! Their housekeeping will be nothing at all. They will have no carriage, no horses, and hardly any servants; they will keep no company, and can have no expenses of
any kind! Only conceive how comfortable they will be! Five hundred a year! I am sure I cannot imagine how they will spend half of it; and as to your giving them more, it is quite absurd to think of it. They will be much more able to give you something.”
In one swift move, Fanny stepped out of her dress and shed her undergarments. Completely naked, she knelt before her husband, lowered his breeches, and took him into her mouth.
“Upon my word,” said Mr. Dashwood through his moans of delight, “I believe you are perfectly right. My father certainly could mean nothing more by his request to me than what you say. I clearly understand it now, and I will strictly fulfill my engagement by such acts of assistance and kindness to them as you have described. When my — oh, yes, Fanny — when my mother removes into another house my services shall be readily given to accommodate her as far as I can. Some little present of furniture too may be acceptable then.”
Fanny gave her husband one last lick, and then stood up. “Certainly,” she returned as she pulled him to standing and removed the remainder of his clothing. “But, however, one thing must be considered. When your father and mother moved to Norland, though the furniture of Stanhill was sold, all the china, plate, and linen was saved, and is now left to your mother. Her house will therefore be almost completely fitted up as soon as she takes it.”
“That is a material consideration undoubtedly. A valuable legacy indeed! And yet some of the plate would have been a very pleasant addition to our own stock here.”
Fanny dropped to the floor, lay on her back, and lifted her legs in the air. “Yes; and the set of breakfast china is twice as handsome as what belongs to this house. A great deal too handsome, in my opinion, for any place they can ever afford to live in. But, however, so it is. Your father thought only of them And I must say this: that you owe no particular gratitude to him, nor attention to his wishes; for we very well know that if he could, he would have left almost everything in the world to them.” She waved one finger, inviting John to join her, and then teasingly put the finger in her mouth, moaning as she sucked.
This argument was irresistible. It gave to his intentions whatever of decision was wanting before; and he finally resolved, that it would be absolutely unnecessary, if not highly indecorous, to do more for the widow and children of his father, than such kind of neighbourly acts as his own wife pointed out.
Unable to hold off any longer, Mr. Dashwood pounced on his ready, waiting wife and thrust himself inside her, thanking God for bringing him such an intelligent, clever woman.
CHAPTER III
Mrs. Dashwood remained at Norland several months; not from any disinclination to move when the sight of every well known spot ceased to raise the violent emotion which it produced for a while; for when her spirits began to revive, and her mind became capable of some other exertion than that of heightening its affliction by melancholy remembrances, she was impatient to be gone, and indefatigable in her inquiries for a suitable dwelling in the neighbourhood of Norland; for to remove far from that beloved spot was impossible. But she could hear of no situation that at once answered her notions of comfort and ease, and suited the prudence of her eldest daughter, whose steadier judgment rejected several houses as too large for their income, which her mother would have approved.
Mrs. Dashwood had been informed by her husband of the solemn promise on the part of his son in their favour, which gave comfort to his last earthly reflections. She doubted the sincerity of this assurance no more than he had doubted it himself, and she thought of it for her daughters’ sake with satisfaction, though as for herself she was persuaded that a much smaller provision than 7000L would support her in affluence. For their brother’s sake, too, for the sake of his own heart, she rejoiced; and she reproached herself for being unjust to his merit before, in believing him incapable of generosity. His attentive behaviour to herself and his sisters convinced her that their welfare was dear to him, and, for a long time, she firmly relied on the liberality of his intentions.
The contempt which she had, very early in their acquaintance, felt for her daughter-in-law, was very much increased by the farther knowledge of her character and her apparently severe aversion to modesty, which half a year’s residence in her family afforded; and perhaps in spite of every consideration of politeness or maternal affection on the side of the former, the two ladies might have found it impossible to have lived together so long, had not a particular circumstance occurred to give still greater eligibility, according to the opinions of Mrs. Dashwood, to her daughters’ continuance at Norland.
This circumstance was a growing attachment between her eldest girl and the brother of Mrs. John Dashwood, a gentlemanlike and pleasing young man, who was introduced to their acquaintance soon after his sister’s establishment at Norland, and who had since spent the greatest part of his time there.
Elinor and Edward’s first meeting was rather unremarkable. They greeted each other in the usual way and made their pleasantries, and then Edward was whisked away by Fanny to come see her child.
But as the days went on, Elinor and Edward began to notice one another. When Edward came in from riding, Elinor’s gaze lingered on the way his hair swept across his forehead and fell over one eye, and she felt a sudden inclination to sweep it back with her hand. When Elinor bent down to pick some wildflowers in the front of the house and her bosom spilled slightly more than usual over the top of her dress, Edward could not stop himself from staring at the soft line between her breasts and wondering would it would be like to bury his face there.
Though nothing was said aloud on the matter of their budding romance and though the young couple never crossed the line from intimacy of the emotional kind to that of the physical, it was clear to everyone in the house that the two had eyes for only each other.
Some mothers might have encouraged the intimacy from motives of interest, for Edward Ferrars was the eldest son of a man who had died very rich; and some might have repressed it from motives of prudence, for, except a trifling sum, the whole of his fortune depended on the will of his mother. But Mrs. Dashwood was alike uninfluenced by either consideration. It was enough for her that he appeared to be amiable, that he loved her daughter, and that Elinor returned the partiality. It also did not go unnoticed that Edward was the complete opposite of his dreadful sister in every way — where she was crude, he was erudite; where she was ostentatious, he was mild-mannered; where she was selfish, he was kind. Mrs. Dashwood knew that when Mr. Ferrars married, he would never take up the uncouth behaviours that came so easily to his sister. Mrs. Dashwood knew that Edward was the perfect man for her Elinor. It was contrary to every doctrine of her’s that difference of fortune should keep any couple asunder who were attracted by resemblance of disposition; and that Elinor’s merit should not be acknowledged by every one who knew her, was to her comprehension impossible. Edward Ferrars was not recommended to their good opinion by any peculiar graces of person or address. To most, he was not handsome, and his manners required intimacy to make them pleasing. He was too diffident to do justice to himself; but when his natural shyness was overcome, his behaviour gave every indication of an open, affectionate heart. His understanding was good, and his education had given it solid improvement. But he was neither fitted by abilities nor disposition to answer the wishes of his mother and sister, who longed to see him distinguished as — they hardly knew what. They wanted him to make a fine figure in the world in some manner or other. His mother wished to interest him in political concerns, to get him into parliament, or to see him connected with some of the great men of the day. Mrs. John Dashwood wished it likewise; but in the mean while, till one of these superior blessings could be attained, it would have quieted her ambition to see him driving a barouche. But Edward had no turn for great men or barouches. All his wishes centered in domestic comfort and the quiet of private life. Fortunately he had a younger brother who was more promising.
But though by most people’s standards Edward Ferrars was nothing exceptional, to Elinor,
he was perfect. The handsomest, kindest, most wonderful man she had ever known.
The two began spending more and more time together, going on walks alone and taking their tea together in the garden, away from prying eyes and ears. They discussed everything — politics, literature, religion, dreams for the future — and found they were alike in nearly every way. Elinor drew for him, and he admired and complimented her work with such fervor it was as if she were Leonardo da Vinci himself.
Elinor lay awake in bed at night, listening to the nightly antics of her brother and his wife (who, since Edward’s arrival, had taken to entertaining themselves only in the evenings), and found herself wondering less about what it would be like to have a husband to do those sorts of things with and dreaming more about doing those things with Edward — with or without a marriage proposal. He made her feel differently than she’d ever felt before, made her consider doing things she’d never before considered. She wanted to feel his skin against hers, to have him touch and taste her in all her most intimate places, to graze her own mouth and fingers against his muscled torso.
The desire to all of these things — and more — grew each day that she walked along side him and with each night that she felt the house shake with John and Fanny’s lovemaking. Her need for Edward became so great that one evening, under the warmth and protection of her bedclothes, she succumbed to the aching want and began to explore her own body. Cautiously at first, Elinor brushed one finger across her fine hairs, shivering from the tickle her touch caused. Then, as Fanny loudly and unabashedly directed her husband from a few rooms away, Elinor grew bolder.