‘Better things in the shape of a sweet little actress,’ said Langley, drawing her shape with his hands in the air, and they all laughed.

‘Whilst your better things come in the shape of an opera dancer,’ returned Tom.

‘Have you a mistress, Bertram?’ asked Hargate.

When I said no, he said, ‘We must find you one.’

‘Edmund has no taste for mistresses,’ said Tom with a sly glance at me. ‘He is more interested in horse flesh. There is a certain little filly that has caught his eye.’

‘Have you put a bet on her?’ asked Langley curiously.

Before I could reply, Tom said, ‘No, but I have put a bet on him. I think brother Edmund will be lucky, and if he is, the filly in question will bring him twenty thousand pounds.’

‘Twenty thousand? What sort of odds must you have to get... Oh! well said, Bertram. A fine filly indeed!’

I tried to get Tom to be serious but it was not to be, and the evening was spent in similar vein. The conversation turned to an outing on the river they were planning and Tom said, ‘Come with us.’

He would not take no for an answer, and I have promised to join him on Tuesday.


Monday 27 February

I went to see the solicitors this morning and had a long consultation with them. I feel I am better prepared to take the step of matrimony, if Mary will have me.


Tuesday 28 February

The day was unusually mild and we spent a riotous afternoon on the river. When it was time to turn for home there was a good deal of confusion and one of the boats overturned. Tom fell in, I went with him, and the result was that we missed Maria’s party.

‘The weather is too fine to stay in town. I have never seen such fine weather in February, it is hot enough to be May! We are all going out of town for the races next week. You should come with us, Edmund,’ he said, as we changed our clothes in his rooms. ‘It will do you good to have some fun for a change. You need not worry about Mary missing you. By all accounts, she is enjoying herself in London, with a constant round of parties and friends, and she will not even notice you have gone.’

That was not what I wanted to hear, and I said, ‘I thought you had done with gambling.’

‘Always my conscience, Edmund? You may rest easy, I am not going to bet on a horse, I am going to ride one. Let other people bet on me,’ he said, as he stripped off his wet shirt.

‘And do you think you have a chance of winning?’ I asked him, not sure whether I liked this new turn of events, for although Tom was a good rider, some of the races were brutal.

‘As good a chance as anyone else. I have an excellent mount, Imperial Caesar. You have never seen such an animal. Langley is lending him to me.’

‘Have you seen him race before?’

‘No, but Langley assures me the animal is a winner.’

‘And is Langley betting on him or against him?’

‘Stop worrying, little brother!’ he said with a laugh.

He tried to tempt me to go with him, but I refused, and after arguing the matter back and forth for some time, at last he accepted defeat.

‘If you change your mind, you know where I am. I will be here until Saturday,’ he said. ‘After that, I will not be in town for several weeks.’

When I returned, I found an invitation from the Frasers waiting for me, asking me to dine on Friday. So on Friday I will see Mary, and discover if I am to be made happy.

MARCH

Friday 3 March

And so it has been and gone, the best and worst evening of my life. I took a hackney cab to the Frasers’ house and entered it full of apprehension and hope, for although there had been no mistaking Mary’s indulgence the last time I had seen her, I was afraid that in London, with her fashionable friends around her, her feelings might have changed. My eyes ran round the room and when they alighted on her I thought she had never looked more lovely. She was flushed from conversation, and her eyes were bright. Her dress was the whitest silk, and her skin was glowing in the candlelight. I could scarcely wait to greet her, and made my way across the room to where she stood with her friend. She looked up; my heart leapt; I joined her; but as soon as I began to speak to her I felt a sense of foreboding.

‘You were not at your sister’s party,’ she said to me, when we had greeted each other, and though there was something playful in her manner, there was also something accusing there.

‘No.’

‘You were converting some poor old woman in Thornton Lacey, no doubt?’ she asked me in a derisory tone of voice.

Mrs. Fraser positively crowed. ‘See how he avoids the question! It was a young woman, I have no doubt.’

Mary’s lips set in a tight line. She did not seem pleased, and I was no more pleased at the notion that she really believed me capable of making love to another woman in her absence, as Mrs. Fraser’s remark implied.

‘I was with my brother,’ I said.

Mrs. Fraser gave her a knowing look, and I could see she did not believe me.

‘It is a pity you missed the party, whatever the reason,’ said Mary, ‘for then you would have seen Maria in all her glory, showing us all round the house like a woman who has got her penny’s worth and knows it. It is a wonderful house, is it not, Catherine?’

‘It is indeed,’ assented Mrs. Fraser. ‘It is the best house in Wimpole Street. If Fraser would only apply himself more, we might have a house like that ourselves.’

Fraser, standing at his wife’s elbow, ignored this remark, and escaped into his wine.

‘Have you ever been in the house, Mr. Bertram?’ Mary asked me, playing with her wineglass and turning glittering eyes on me.

‘No, I have not.’

‘I was in it two years ago, when it was Lady Lascelle’s, and prefer it to almost any I know in London.’

‘Lady Lascelle made a good marriage. She has moved on to even better things,’ said Mrs. Fraser, in an aggrieved tone of voice. ‘But then, Lascelle knows how to rise in the world. He has ambition.’

‘Ambition! That is what a man needs above all things. Do you not agree, Mr. Bertram?’ asked Mary.

The evening got no better. Every word was a barb. If not for the fact that I was sure she was being led astray by Mrs. Fraser and her sister I would have left the house there and then. But I knew Mary was capable of better things. Her worldliness had dominated her worthier feelings in her early days at Mansfield Park, but since Christmas her more natural feelings had been in evidence. I knew she was not really the cold, calculating creature I was seeing before me; her true nature was warm and tender and kindhearted. Her generosity to Fanny, her warmth to me, all told their own tale. And so I swallowed her insults and hoped for better things once her friend had left us.

‘And how do you like Mrs. Fraser’s house?’ she asked me, when Mrs. Fraser had moved on.

‘Do you approve?’

‘It is very elegant,’ I said, ‘but very cold.’

‘Then you do not approve.’

‘No, I do not.’

‘A pity. I like it here.’

‘You like the people?’

‘Yes, I do. Do you not?’

I looked around. They were dressed in the finest clothes and wore the finest jewels, but their glitter was all on the surface.

‘I do not believe there is one single happy person here,’ I said. ‘This is not the place for you.’

‘Do you want to save me, Mr. Bertram?’ she asked me in a droll voice. I replied to her seriously, ‘Yes, I do.’

‘But I am not one of your parishioners.’

‘I rather hoped you were more than that.’

‘Did you?’

‘Ah, my dear Mary,’ broke in a voice.

The interruption could not have come at a worse time, for beneath her drollery Mary had been warming to my words, I was sure. But the arrival of Lady Stornaway put paid to any rational conversation, and gossip — ill-natured gossip at that — took its place. And so I came home, less hopeful than when I went, jealous of the fashionable world with all its glitter and habits of wealth, and wondering if I had the right to ask her to abandon them. She was entitled to everything she longed for. But if she married me, even with our incomes united, we would not be able to afford the luxuries she craved.

If I did not believe she had some regard for me I would go, leave London and never return. But I am convinced she is not without a decided preference, and so I accepted Mrs. Fraser’s invitation to dine with them again. I cannot abandon Mary to avarice and spitefulness. If she pursues her present path she will end up like her friends; wealthy, indulged and unhappy. I love her too much to leave her to that fate.


Tuesday 14 March

I am becoming a frequent visitor at the Frasers, and though I like Mrs. Fraser no more than I did, I am grateful to her for inviting me to her house so often. I could not get near Mary to begin with, for she was surrounded by a crowd, but as Crawford was there I lost no time in asking him about his visit to Portsmouth, for I knew he had been there, and I was eager to hear news of Fanny.

‘Ah! You have heard about that. I could not stay away,’ he said. ‘I meant to remain in town after my return from my estate, for I was hoping that absence might do its work, but in the end my need to see Fanny was too strong for me. I put up at the Crown, not a bad establishment, and was soon at the Prices.’

‘And how did you find them?’

‘Well, all well. Mrs. Price was very busy, but Mr. Price invited me to see the dockyard, then on Sunday we walked on the ramparts. How good it was to be with Fanny, so that we could both rejoice in the view. It was a fine day, hot for the time of year, indeed it was more like June than March, and I believe the fresh air did her good, for I will not conceal from you, Bertram, she was looking less blooming than she ought. She misses the air of Mansfield, and counts the days she is away. Her family, alas, are a sore trial to her, lacking the refinement she is used to, and although she loves them, it is not difficult to see that their ways affect her nerves. I have offered to take her home at a moment’s notice, should it be inconvenient for your father to send the carriage, for I do not believe that Portsmouth agrees with her.’