This story assumes that Pride & Prejudice and Mansfield Park happened as in canon.
————————
“Only one more week,” Caroline said softly, “and it will never be the same.”
“No,” Mary agreed, her thin, dark fingers toying with one of Caroline’s curls, “but we always knew it would end.”
“But do you think-,” Caroline paused, she had never dared suggest it before, “do we really need to part?”
Mary laughed and sat up. Her loose dark hair fell forward and she shook it back. “Caroline, be serious.”
Caroline sat up, “I am perfectly serious.” She tucked a single loose curl back behind Mary’s ear. “When we are in control of our fortunes, we could take a house. We could live in the country and pretend we are sisters.”
“Who would believe us?” Mary said, still smiling and taking a lock of Caroline’s light blonde hair in her hand, as if to prove how distinct they were; how unlike family.
“They would not believe anything else,” Caroline insisted.
“Caroline,” Mary said, seriously now, “we are both going to marry. I have never taken much time to consider-” she paused, and then said with conviction, “this is a flirtation.”
Caroline looked down so that Mary could not read the pain in her face.
“Please,” Mary said, her hand on Caroline’s cheek, turning her back. “I did not mean… it is more than that. Our language does not have the proper words to express- is there something between friendship and- friendship and love?”
With desperate urgency, Caroline took Mary in her arms and kissed her. She wanted to somehow impart the same resolution she felt to her companion. She wanted Mary to understand how much she loved her.
“Tu penses à l’impossible,” Mary whispered as she took a moment to breathe.
“Jamais impossible,” Caroline replied, “seulement difficile.”
“Ç’est ridicule,” Mary replied. But then in a softer tone, and with far more affection, she added, “I am in danger of falling in love with you, if you keep talking like this.”
Caroline tried to hold back the tears that threatened to spill from her light blue eyes. She had long known that her attachment to Mary was far stronger than the reverse. She knew Mary was not in love with her, though she could not understand why not, or what she could do to somehow force Mary to love her. Or only to acknowledge her love. Caroline thought Mary must not know her own heart.
“We will still see each other,” Mary said, trying to comfort her, “our families move in the same circles. I will visit, once your brother purchases an estate.”
“It will not be the same, we will never have so much time.”
“It will be better that way, we both must move on,” Mary said, she was squeezing Caroline’s hand affectionately, as if to assure her of the veracity of her words.
“I never want to marry.”
“We must marry, how else can we live? I mean to be a great lady someday.”
Caroline shook her head, “I would rather be nothing, if I could be with you.”
Mary almost laughed, but she checked herself and instead said, “Everyone says they can bear poverty until they are faced with it. You would miss society and fashion before the end of six months.”
“We would never be poor.”
“Neither would we be rich; I mean to be very wealthy. I have every expectation that I will be someday. But there is no reason for this to end, for us to never see each other,” Mary said, and she ended her short speech with a kiss.
Caroline could not stop herself from indulging fully in those last stolen moments. Too soon would they need to part. It would be curfew soon and Caroline must dress and walk back to her own small room.
It was only a week until they both left school forever and returned home. Mary went to her house in town with Admiral and Mrs. Crawford and Caroline went back to the north, where she, her brother and sister lived with their grandfather. They may not see each other until the next season in London, nearly six months hence. Mary had promised to write. Caroline had begged to be allowed to remain in town. Even if she had stayed, it would not have been so simple. It would be a thing of stolen moments and hidden rendezvous. It seemed to Caroline that they would never be so close again.
——————
“Here,” said Mary softly, and the two girls, in their finest ball gowns, slipped into the closet. Louisa had married Mr. Hurst and Caroline was staying at their house in town for the season. Mary had slipped away from her watchful aunt.
“No one will find us?” said Caroline softly, looking at the plain china and linens surrounding her.
“My brother told me about it, it locks from the inside,” Mary whispered, turning the lock until they heard the satisfying click of real privacy.
Caroline wondered why Mary’s brother would know, and what else might have been done in this small closet, but she did not ask. It was too important to reach for Mary in the darkness and to reclaim her lips after so long a separation. She no longer cared about brothers and their secrets as she felt the warmth of Mary’s body through their thin muslin garments. She had only arrived in town a week ago and this was the first time they had seen one another.
“We cannot stay here long. Someone will be missing us,” Mary whispered.
“I missed you.” To emphasise her words, Caroline held Mary tighter.
“Careful!” Mary said. She held Caroline’s face in her ungloved hands, keeping them apart for a moment, “We cannot let anyone imagine the wrong thing. Do not hurt my hair.”
Caroline promised and Mary kissed her again.
“When will I see you again?” Caroline asked, as she felt their time drawing to an end.
“I will visit.”
“But can you stay?”
“I do not know.”
Caroline should have left at that moment. She was allowing Mary to break her heart, piece by piece. Yet, to be destroyed by her was more delightful than being loved by anyone else. She was devoted to Mary, more than she should have been, too much to protect her own heart. It was Mary who was both prudent and careless; Caroline was all passion.
There was one last embrace and Mary hesitantly opened the door. No one saw them together. Soon they were both back in the ballroom. Caroline found her brother, who was talking to a tall man she had never seen before. He asked her to dance and she accepted.
His name was Mr. Darcy.
—————
Every time they met it felt like they had never been parted, or at least that was what Caroline thought. She knew those dark sparkling eyes; they haunted her dreams and memories. She knew the feather-light touch of those fingers and the soft texture of those lips. Every moment that they had known each other was treasured in her heart.
They had first seen each other the first day of school, while moving into their private rooms. The poorer girls shared, but not Mary or Caroline. They had not met, not really, until the next day. Then Mary had smiled while saying her name and Caroline had blushed and had not understood why. They had become friends, as young girls of twelve do, without knowing that there would be something more to come.
Ambitious and competitive as they both were, it may seem strange that they were so attached to each other, but a strong preference to interact with those of their own set had first drawn them together. The girls who shared rooms had nothing to do with them! While they were both beautiful, their beauty was so distinct that there could be no comparison. Caroline was tall, stout, and fair. Mary was petite, slender, and dark. Their preferences were accordant enough for mutual understanding but disparate enough to discourage competition. Mary preferred the harp to Caroline’s pianoforte. Caroline excelled with watercolours while Mary chose crayons. In their mutual love of novels, fashion, and the finer things of life, there was fertile ground for a fast and lasting friendship.
One night when they were both fifteen, they had been dancing in Caroline’s small room. They were practising the steps the master had taught earlier in the day. Caroline danced the male part, as she was nearly a foot taller than her friend. They were humming the tune together and Caroline was looking into those dark eyes. Somehow, she did not know how, they had kissed and then broken apart in giggles.
They parted and went to bed.
Then they woke up and did it again. And again and again.
It was Mary who drove them forward into greater physical intimacy. Caroline knew almost nothing but what her own body’s inclination suggested. Mary had seen and heard a great deal at her uncle’s house which other young women were often carefully shielded. The unfortunate nature of these discoveries was lost on Caroline, who could only admire the superior knowledge of her friend.
“Last summer,” Mary said with a sly smile, “I snuck out of my room during one of the evening parties. I meant to watch the ball from the windows outside. I discovered that several couples were outside, amid the bushes and shrubs.”
Caroline’s eyes were wide and Mary spoke in an urgent whisper. “What were they doing?” she asked.
“The one I saw, before I ran back inside, were doing what only a husband and wife were meant to do. ”
“Were they married?” Caroline asked.
“No!” Mary exclaimed. Then she said very seriously, “That is to say, they were not married to each other.”
Caroline gasped.
“It is a regular thing,” said Mary dismissively. Caroline looked so incredulous that Mary explained, “My poor aunt has to frequently pretend she does not know that my uncle has a mistress- a woman that he has relations with who is not his wife. He even invites her to the cottage at Twickenham. My aunt told me that it is only what most men do, but those who are more considerate towards their wives’ feelings are more discrete.”
“Only more discrete? I wonder anyone marries at all!”
“Men who claim to be in love are only trying to take you in,” Mary said sagely, “the best recipe I know for domestic happiness is a large income. Nothing else can be depended on.”
“What is it that men and women do when they are married?” Caroline asked, blushing.
Mary, with her imperfect knowledge, described it as well as she could, to Caroline’s equal interest and disgust. For some reason, not just the act itself, but the idea that it would be performed by some gentleman was distasteful. She did not quite understand it herself, but she had no inclination to allow a man such liberties. But with Mary, everything was different.
——————-
“I am going to live with my half-sister in Northamptonshire,” Mary explained. It was late at night, the rest of the house was still. The Hursts, Caroline knew, were long asleep and Charles was visiting friends. Mary had come to stay with them to escape the shame of her uncle’s home for a few weeks. Her aunt had died and Admiral Crawford had publicly taken his mistress under his roof. Mary could no longer live in her adoptive home.
Caroline nodded, “Do you think you will like the country?”
“I fancy it will be very dull. There will be hardly anyone to visit, no parties, few balls. And what I have heard of those who attend assemblies! If only I could have convinced Henry to reside at Everingham, that would be a very different thing.”
Was it too much to have hoped that Mary would miss her? Caroline was used to her time with Mary bringing a near equal amount of pain and pleasure. The knife twisted again in her heart, but the heart was still Mary’s to do with what she willed.
“My brother has taken an estate in Hertfordshire. We are going to join him there,” said Caroline.
“Why does he not purchase?”
“He cannot decide where he wants to reside.”
“He has a very easy temper, I wonder you have not persuaded him.”
“In some matters, he can be stubborn. But I have great hopes for him marrying Miss Darcy. Her brother is encouraging it. If he marries her, I think he will finally settle.”
“How advantageous for your family! She is the niece and granddaughter of an earl. He could do no better.”
“No,” said Caroline. She was remembering her recent conversation with Louisa. Caroline had yet to form any serious attachments during her years in society and her sister was near demanding that she try for Mr. Darcy. They would be together for at least three months that autumn and were invited to his estate the next week.
“And you ought to try for the brother,” Mary said. Caroline flinched. “Oh come now, he’s a good man by all accounts, and a very rich one.”
“I do not want to marry.”
“Caroline, you will marry sometime or another. You cannot let this prospect pass when he is right before you.” Then, with a tenderness that nearly killed her, Mary added with a soft caress, “How could he not be in love with someone as beautiful as you?”
Mary left the next day and for the first time, Caroline did not feel herself shatter at the separation. The hold that Mary had on her heart had finally been loosened, though she did not know how. Why not marry? Why not try to attract Mr. Darcy? There could be no higher ambition, if what her heart truly desired was really beyond her reach. If she could not have Mary, she may as well try for the best man she could.
———————
Mary walked under the avenue of large trees without really noticing where she was or how long it had been since they had left Miss Price alone, resting on a small bench. She was on Edmund’s arm, and despite her recent discovery that he planned to go into the church, she knew she was falling in love with him. She tried not to notice how very similar he looked to Caroline.
She thought of everything she knew of him as they walked under the trees. He was kind, sincere, and steady. She had begun to even believe that if they married, he would not do the sorts of things that had caused her aunt such constant misery. He was good, trustworthy, and yet, and yet… He was not ambitious. He would never be wealthy unless his very healthy brother died. It did not seem very likely. Could she really accept a second son?
As she contemplated living in some parsonage, secluded from most of society, she could not help but imagine a different companion. A small house in a village. Mary opening the door to find not a husband, but her.
Was it too late? Caroline’s letters had taken on the cold tone of distant acquaintance. Mary found her heart torn in three directions: she wanted Caroline, she wanted Edmund, and she wanted wealth. Each rose in prominence from one moment to the next. Yet, there was nothing she could change when it came to Caroline, she had no idea how they might live together and enjoy society without censure.
Mary did not know how she might ever be happy, but her best chance must be Edmund.
———————-
Caroline nearly ran from the room, seething with rage. She had always known it was unlikely that a man like Mr. Darcy would propose to her. He had all the choice in the world. But to choose a woman like her? It was unaccountable! It was absurd!
Louisa entered behind her. “That was foolish,” she said coldly, “you will drop all resentment now; his choice is made.”
“Eliza Bennet!” Caroline cried, “he chose her!”
“I will not deny the ridiculous nature of his choice, but our object now is to secure our place within his circle. Without a connection through marriage, we must rely on friendship.”
“You have given up hope of an alliance between Georgiana and Charles as well?”
Louisa sighed, “You heard him last night, since seeing Miss Bennet he can only think of her elder sister. Charles has never been ambitious, he does not know what is best for him.”
The sentiment struck Caroline. Her anger drained away in an instant. She had always known what was best for her, and it had never been Mr. Darcy or Pemberley. If Charles was free from family obligation, why could she not be?
“When will we next be in town?” Caroline asked.
“If Charles is to return to Netherfield, I would much rather return to London than witness that humiliation.”
“Yes, I will accompany you,” she said.
Caroline swept out of the room and went to her guest room. She began to write a letter.
—————————-
Edmund was gone. It was over. Mary shut the door and walked upstairs for privacy, but she did not weep.
Mary took the letter from her desk that she had not yet been able to answer. She did not know what to do; she could not bear to lose Caroline as well! It was too much, too quickly. She had really begun to imagine a better life. She had been in love with him. Mary did not think she would ever meet his equal among the idle heirs and wealthy men of her acquaintance.
She did not know what to write. Caroline wanted to see her again.
She loved Caroline. She always had. She had loved her from the first stolen kiss. Loving another woman had never fit into her plans for matrimony and she had always thought it best to be the rational one for the both of them. Mary knew she had hidden her regard and pushed Caroline away. What choice did she have? There was no possible future where they might be happy together! There was nothing to be done!
Something of fear and longing moved Mary’s pen as she asked Caroline if she might visit, when there was less gossip. She did not want to endanger Caroline’s chances. They must both still marry. There was no choice but to marry.
—————————-
“You are risking your reputation, Caroline.”
“I have no use for my reputation! I do not want to marry, I want you!”
Mary sighed, “If it were possible.”
“It must be! We are both of age; we can go away together.”
“I cannot lose London!” Mary cried, “I cannot be an outcast forever. What would they think of us?”
Caroline had tears running down her face unchecked, “Mary, I would do anything. I would bear any disgrace if I could have you.”
Mary took her hand, “I cannot ask so much.”
Caroline wept. Mary held her. Thoughts arose unbidden, ideas that might make everything possible.
Mary took Caroline’s face in her hands, “If we could be together, would you marry?”
“Marry a man? But there would be expectations, I could not bear it.”
Mary shook her head, “Not if the man that I am thinking of agrees.”
———————————-
“Why are you at Everingham, Mary? I thought we agreed that it was better for me to stay away?”
Mary embraced him affectionately, “I missed you.”
“That is not why you are here.”
Mary smiled, “No, I want you to do me a favour.”
“Anything,” he said, sighing. “Will it involve some society at least? I am going out of my mind.”
“The best society, for it would mean that you and I could live together, permanently.”
Henry frowned, “I doubt you could remain here with me now and preserve your reputation. You know that better than I.”
“If you were to marry a woman of respectable character, there would be no difficulty with your unmarried sister residing with you.
“I am not marrying, Mary. I will never marry if I cannot have Fanny Price.”
“You will never have Miss Price, Henry, and you never will have anyone like her.” Mary knew she might be hurting her brother, but she pressed on, “No woman of her character would ever have you now. Your folly with Maria has closed you out of that sort of marriage forever.”
“Then who is this friend who wants to marry me? I am not marrying someone like Maria, or even like yourself,” asked Henry angrily.
“She’s the woman I love. Who if it were allowable, would be my wife.”
Henry looked at his sister in complete disbelief. He laughed bitterly, “You want me to marry your paramour?”
Mary nodded firmly, “Everything will appear perfectly proper. You can carry on your flirtations to your heart’s delight, without hurting anyone.”
“And you will never marry?”
“No.”
“Then who will inherit Everingham? I assume your lady wants nothing to do with me.”
“You must have children somewhere,” Mary said dismissively, “we will take one and rear it. As long as it resembles you, no one will question his parentage.”
“You have all the answers; everything is all perfectly arranged. You forget you would deprive me forever of the ability to marry for love.”
Mary’s face was dark as she replied coldly, “You gave up your right to marry as you pleased when you destroyed my chances with Edmund. He is the only man I have ever respected enough to marry. Both of us could have been happy, but you could not resist another flirtation. No woman who loved you deserves what you would do to them if you married.”
Instead of being angry, Henry looked defeated. “Will you at least tell me her name?”
“Caroline Bingley.”
“You were close to her in school.”
“More than close.”
“The whole time?”
“Yes.”
“You have been better at discretion than I,” Henry said mournfully.
“And we will continue to be. Your wife and I will be the best of friends, and you can do whatever you wish. If any rumour arises about your conduct, the perfect composure of your wife will convince the world they must be mistaken.”
“Will you give me a few days to decide?”
“Of course.”
Mary knew he would consent in the end; she saw the look of resignation in his eyes. She tried to conceal her joy until it was absolutely certain. Mary saw a life laid before her, with the only other man she could trust not to do her harm. Caroline and herself, safe and in love. With a home and a respectable appearance. It would be everything.
Mrs. Grant (who had accompanied Mary to Everginham) Mary, and Henry all returned to London together. The week of absence from his wife, and the three large institutional dinners which had been the result, had reduced Dr. Grant to a state of convalescence from which he would not recover. The next week Dr. Grant succumbed to apoplexy and in respect for her husband, the Crawfords joined her in mourning for the next three months. This circumstance was a great service to Mary, as Caroline visited often under the guise of consoling her friend, without raising any suspicion of an attachment (or supposed attachment) to her brother.
Henry liked Caroline; the more he knew of her the better he liked her. She was not the type of woman that he would have chosen to marry, but she was well suited to his sister. Whenever they were together they seemed to be able to talk forever. Their tastes and prejudices were nearly the same, or only so different in the way that they would create spirited but amicable discussion. He began to feel that it would be right, that perhaps it would be some sort of penance, to sacrifice his own happiness for his sister.
Besides this, he was becoming more and more convinced of the truth of Mary’s assertions. It was his first time back in town. Henry was still welcome in most of the circles he had moved in before, but he was no longer accepted by some families within those spheres. He was acutely aware that more moral and prudent mothers whispered to their daughters when he arrived and avoided him in public. Unless he left England, a step he did not wish to take, there was no possibility that he would be able to find or attract another woman like Fanny Price.
At the end of three months, he agreed to marry Caroline.
—————-
Charles, Jane, Louisa, and Mr. Hurst were all gathered in the drawing room one evening when Caroline decided to broach the subject, “I have received an offer of marriage.”
Louisa brightened, “Did you accept?”
“I have.”
“Who is the man?” said Charles, with a smile.
“Mr. Henry Crawford.”
Charles frowned and looked at his wife; Jane glanced anxiously at Caroline and then lowered her eyes; Louisa gasped; and Mr. Hurst sipped his brandy in complete serenity.
“Caroline, you must know about Mrs. Rushworth,” Louisa began.
“I do,” Caroline interrupted, “but Mr. Crawford has expressed a good deal of regret for his part in the affair. He is sincerely attached to me, and I have faith in his constancy.”
Charles shook his head, “Caroline, you will certainly be rich; but I want you to be happy. As happy as I am myself. To marry a man such as him? I have no power to forbid you from taking such a step but I would not advise it.”
“I am fully aware of the risks.”
Jane added, “You should not feel pressed to marry the first man who has shown interest. You are but one-and-twenty.”
Caroline laughed affectedly and then said, “I am well aware that I am years from the danger of spinsterhood. We are well-suited to each other and I have great esteem for him.”
Charles, Jane, and Louisa urged these same points a few times over, in slightly different language, until seeing that she was entirely resolved, they dropped the argument. Caroline had feared most of all that Charles would forbid Mr. Crawford’s presence in his house, for the only relationship she truly feared to lose was that of her brother, but he gave no such ultimatum. On the contrary, Mr. Crawford was to come to dinner so they might all know him better and, Caroline suspected, judge his attachment for themselves.
The formidable dinner occurred and went off as smoothly as could have been hoped. Henry liked Caroline well enough and his ability to act was second to none. Caroline only imagined that he was Mary. In every question and discussion, she answered as if she spoke of Miss Crawford and therefore in her mind she told no falsehoods. The deception was nearly impossible for even the most prudent observer to detect, but Caroline did not face so difficult a trail. Charles was disposed to like whomever his sister chose and Louisa was only happy to see Caroline finally expressing “proper” feelings towards a man of fortune.
———————————
Three months later everything was settled to the satisfaction of all the concerned parties. It was a very proper wedding. The bride was elegantly dressed; the bridesmaid looked extraordinary pleased; her brother gave her away; Louisa stood with a handkerchief in hand, expecting to cry; Mr. Hurst was anticipating the best claret in the cellar later that night; and Mrs. Grant was delighted to see at least her younger brother married. She had kind, but ultimately futile plans for Mary’s wedding to come soon enough.
Mrs. Grant had been invited to reside at Everingham for as long as she wished to stay. Consequently, she accompanied the three young people to Norfolk and settled there with them. Mary feared little from her loving sister; if she did discover their secret, Mary did not think she would share it.
A comfortable and busy household was established in Norfolk. It seemed there were always friends willing to visit, nearby sites to explore, and dinner parties to be enjoyed. It was only the two elegant ladies that attended Caroline and Mary who knew the whole truth, and they were paid very well to keep their silence. They kept up the ruse so well that Mrs. Grant remarried without ever suspecting that her sister and sister-in-law were anything more than the best of friends.
——————-
Ten years passed in peace and felicity, at least for the true married couple. Caroline and Mary remained strongly attached and adding to their general happiness, most men had completely despaired of ever attaching Mary. The only possible drawback to their domestic satisfaction was a longing for children, which despite hints, judiciously timed statements of longing, and outright discussions, Henry had consistently refused to resolve upon. It was not something he wished to think about at present: he was discontent and his restlessness had been increasing for some time.
Henry had spent a few years enjoying his freedom. He avoided flirtations unmarried women entirely, with a strong distaste that had arisen from reaching the worst conclusion of that sort of game, but there were many women unhappy in their marriages, or widowed, who sought him out. For some time, it was enough to satisfy him. He was scrupulously discreet and as his character was known, no other woman believed that he loved them as Maria had done and exposed their affair. Publicly, he and Caroline always looked so perfectly content together, for they were by now very good friends, that few took the time to speculate about his faithfulness or her unhappiness.
In time however, Henry grew tired of everything. He had his fill of fleeting affairs, empty intimacy, and malcontent wives of other men. Mary was pressing him to bring home a child, but the thought of raising what children may have resulted from such affairs so devoid of any proper feeling disgusted him. Not that he had left any woman in a difficult situation, he would have taken in a child if it had been the only option left.
Henry found himself craving a real attachment, but it must be impossible. He was married, and no woman of character would take what he had to offer. She would have to consent to be a mistress but never a wife; to bear a child that would be the heir, but not acknowledged as the true mother. It seemed to be an impossibility; at least for him to find a woman he would actually love, or at least esteem.
Feeling some pity for her brother and knowing that her happiness had come at his expense, Mary thought of Henry’s plight as they prepared for their yearly trip to London. She sought out several lonely women, shunned by most of society, forgotten by their husbands, and though still young in years, old in sorrow. Out of these, there were a few who agreed to at least consider the offer. However, Mary persevered until she found the perfect candidate.
Her name was Mrs. Mainwaring and for the last five years, she had been separated from her husband who was enthralled by the infamous coquette, Lady Susan, a married woman herself. Despite being faultless when it came to her husband’s inconstancy, Mrs. Helen Mainwaring had been excluded from most of society and estranged from her young son. She had no recourse, legal or sentimental, and no hope of recovering what she had lost. She had remained in hope of reconciliation for many years and staunchly refused to follow her husband into immorality. Yet, in the end, her principles were not worth her happiness.
It was not the work of a single visit to bring the neglected wife and Henry together. Fortunately, they did like each other’s company, but there were some scruples to be overcome and assurances to be made. Everingham was not entailed. The will was drawn up to provide for all acknowledged children of Henry and Caroline’s marriage. As far as could be done within the law, Helen and her possible children would be provided for and she would never been forced away from them.
That summer, when the Crawfords moved back to Norfolk, Helen Mainwaring accompanied them and took a house in the neighbourhood. Mrs. and Miss Crawford treated Mrs. Mainwaring as a dear friend before the eyes of the world. Later that year, some clever adjustments to gowns, a physician-advised trip to Bath, and a well-timed period of supposed illness brought the first child into the Crawford household. Two more followed in time. The family was finally complete.
—————-
Caroline had not fully understood how much she wanted a child until her namesake was placed into her arms. She had wanted to raise a child for Mary’s sake, who had always wanted children; the burst of affection she felt was unexpected. She was to claim the child as her own by agreement, but she did so with her whole heart.
There were few children who passed a happier infancy than the three raised in the Crawford household. They saw Aunt Helen every day. She was as dear to them as a mother and undertook the greater portion of their education herself. Aunt Mary and the woman they called “mother” were affectionate and attentive. Their father loved them in his own way, which he expressed by indulging them in every small want, allowing them to ruin their clothes out of doors, but in all matters of greater consequence he deferred to the excellent judgement of their Aunt Helen.
The two little girls lived at home and when the time came, the boy was enrolled in school and university. As their children grew, Mary and Caroline contemplated sharing the truth of their unique family with them, but it was always put off. After all, the children were happy, was it fair to burden them with such a deep secret? Would they feel betrayed; would they hate their origins and scorn their true parents? They had been taught principles and their religion far better than it had ever been taught to Mary or Henry. Would their own careful upbringing turn them against their parents? There was too much to fear and seemingly so little to gain that the subject was never raised.
Yet one winter, when the girls were almost grown and young Harry was at university, Caroline became very ill. The physicians shook their heads and looked grave. The whole family gathered at her bedside. She could not resist beginning, “There is something that we need to tell you, that perhaps we should have said long ago,” she began.
“That you are not our mother?” said her daughter and namesake.
Their elders were shocked. This required explanation!
“When I was fifteen and there was a ball, I snuck outdoors to see the dancers from the window. I saw Aunt Mary and our mother walking together. After looking about her to see that no one was nearby, they embraced. I was aware at that moment that all was not as it seemed.”
Harry added, “And when Carole told me, I began to think how much we all resemble our father. None of us look anything like yourself, mother. Then I met Oliver Mainwaring at school and we look like brothers.”
The youngest, Marianne, named for Mary’s beloved Aunt Crawford, added, “And then I suggested that perhaps Aunt Helen, who looks a great deal like our father…”
“Once we had an idea of what might be the truth, it all fell into place,” said Carole.
“You never said a word!” Mary exclaimed.
“It seemed to be a great secret,” explained Carole, “and in the end, what did it matter? Were we to regret being raised by four parents instead of two?”
“Oliver told me what happened to our mother,” Harry added, “what else was she to do?”
It was the completion of Mary and Caroline’s happiness, to be known for what they were and still loved.
FINIS
Comments are always welcome!
For more short stories, go here
For my crossover romance, check out Prideful & Persuaded
For my Mansfield Park variation, here Unfairly Caught