Mrs. Dermot, more of a mother to her series of lodgers over the years than a landlady, emerged from her home waving her white lace handkerchief. She was a lady of middle age and of a decidedly portly nature, owing to her penchant for the very food that kept her lodgers happy. Her cheeks shone pink with anticipation at Bertram’s arrival, and she clasped his hand as he came forward, following his trunks.
“My dear boy! How was your trip? I hate to think of you traveling all that distance.” All of this was said very quickly, and Bertram knew from years of experience that he need not respond to the concerns that would have befitted a young lady more than a young gentleman. “Here, here. Set the young man’s things here and Thomas will carry them up.” Bertram had still not yet spoken when his eyes lit upon a young girl sitting in Mrs. Dermot’s parlor. Having met his eye, her gaze quickly fell back to the book in her lap, and Bertram bowed slightly, figuring that she was watching him nonetheless.
Thomas, Mrs. Dermot’s man, entered the room and shouldered one of Bertram’s trunks, and Mrs. Dermot sighed and held her hand to her chest as if it was she that was doing the lifting. “I do think it would be better for all involved if there was not so much going away and coming back,” she said shaking her head. “But now I suppose you would like some tea, and if you will sit down inside with my niece there, I shall have it out in a moment.”
It was not usual for Bertram to have tea or any of his meals with Mrs. Dermot, but on occasion, such as his return from break, she would often ask him to sit with her, which he did without refusal. Mrs. Dermot had already hurried away to fetch his tea before properly introducing him to her niece, thinking her beneath such importance. Bertram stepped into the parlor, clearing his voice in an attempt to gain the young lady’s attention, which was a decided success. The girl popped out of her chair and dropped a curtsy. “Miss Amy Lincoln, sir. I’m staying here with my aunt.” Bertram bowed and smiled at the pretty young thing, surprised at her alacrity to speak for herself. “Michael Bertram. Pleased to meet you, Miss Lincoln.” Bertram took a seat opposite Miss Lincoln, and she sat down as well, flipping through to find her page in her book, which she had shut during her quick ascendance. “What is it that you are reading, Miss Lincoln?” Bertram asked. She looked half annoyed at being bothered to stop her pursuit, but answered cheerfully, “Evelina; I don’t suppose you know of it.” Bertram smiled to himself. “I only know of it, because my little sister has read it, and thinks the world of it.” Miss Lincoln smiled in spite of herself, and put the book down on the side table before getting up and bounding out of the room.
Mrs. Dermot bustled into the room, and set the large tray down on the table and began pouring tea. She looked around briefly before handing Bertram his teacup. “Where then has Amy gone to?” “I believe she had something to do,” Bertram said smiling into his cup. “Ah,” Mrs. Dermot said flopping into her chair with a sigh. “She is my youngest sister’s eldest, and my dear sister seems to think that she’ll be of some help to me.” “And she isn’t?” Bertram asked suppressing a smile as he continued to watch his cup intently. “Well, she is a dear child. I think she is more used to watching her younger brothers and sisters than keeping an old lady like me company.” “Mmm, without a doubt,” Bertram said nodding his head with approval and sipping his tea. “But should she begin to annoy you, my dear boy, well you just tell me.” “I doubt there will be a problem, Mrs. Dermot.”
It was true that having just turned fifteen, Miss Lincoln made far better overtures to Miss Moppet, the large white cat Mrs. Dermot kept around the back room, than she did with the adults around her. Had she been raised within society such would not have been the case, but Amy was one of a rather large family in the countryside of Kent. Her mother’s idea of Amy being some help to her sister in Cambridge was based on ulterior motives, it must be admitted: she hoped that through the exposure to some company and something of a more urban setting, however small Cambridge might be by normal standards, Amy might become more of a young lady and less of a playmate for her 6 younger siblings. So far, however, little progress had been made. Mrs. Dermot had not even seen fit to explain to the girl who Bertram was, saying only that he was a lodger, believing that his position in society would be completely lost upon the girl.
Despite Mrs. Dermot’s worries that her niece would bother Bertram, he never brought up any complaints, and Mrs. Dermot seemed unaware that the two ever even spoke. Bertram thought the girl extremely pretty and even more so, because it was clear that she was completely unaware of herself or him. On account of this behavior, he assumed that she could be no more than thirteen years of age, that of his sister. Being dearly fond of his sister, he set about treating her in a similar manner. On his walk back from Grantchester he gathered flowers in a meadow, and presented them to her, bowing gallantly. He spoke to Miss Moppet as if she was a real person, deserving of respect, when in Amy’s hearing, gaining inestimable admiration and a good deal of laughter from her. On a good day, he might even grab the poker from the fire basket and brandish it like a sword, declaring himself to be one of her storybook heroes come to save her from tyrannical imprisonment at Mrs. Dermot‘s hands.
Truthfully, at twenty-one years of age, Michael Bertram was not much of an adult himself. Unquestionably, he could be one of the most admired young men of his set among adults and the opposite sex, but then, he was also less than the most admired scholars at Christ’s College, having little attention or devotion for anything yet. He had the look of someone not yet made for serious minded things: his eyes were blue and sparkled more than is common, his skin was somewhat darkened by riding and other outdoor pursuits, he was tall and strongly built, and his hair was the color of heather curling loosely all over his head. It was not a decision for him when he was met with the choice of punting on the Cam or working on his thesis for political theory. He was not ready to be the master of Charlecote, nor was he ready to be a member of the governing body of Great Britain, all of which his father was well aware. Therefore, he was at Cambridge for roughly the same aim set by parental authority as Amy.
The winter holiday was close upon them, and Bertram was actually studying for his half term examinations, tapping his foot to stay warm in his apartment, which he was purposefully keeping colder than usual so as to fight the urge to simply go to sleep. A knock sounded on the door, and Bertram looked up from his work, glad to be disturbed. “Come in,” he called, thinking that it must be Mrs. Dermot with his afternoon tea. The door nudged open to reveal Amy carrying the tray, instead of Mrs. Dermot. “I asked if I might bring it to you instead, for I know you’re working. Shall I distract you?” She asked with a smile. Bertram set down the heavy leather book that was resting in his lap. “You can put it here,” he said sitting forward to brush off the papers from the table. “It’s rather cold in here,” she said as she leaned over Bertram to set the tray down, but he made no answer. She straightened back up. “Shall I stir the fire some? It is nearly dead,” she said already taking up the poker. “Ah, yes,” Bertram answered somewhat distractedly. Amy kneeled down, her dark red skirts spreading around her as she worked with the glowing embers. “There, that is some better,” she said standing back up. “Now, I’ve been of use to you, and not much of a distraction. I fear I would please my dear aunt very much. I’ll go before anything else goes wrong,” she said with another large smile, but Bertram was now staring straightforward with his brow knit together.
“I don’t know whether I liked Mr. Bertram anymore, auntie,” Amy said as she settled back down in front of the kitchen fire, grabbing a piece of string to dangle in front of Miss Moppet. “Why is that?” Mrs. Dermot asked distractedly. “I fear that he is becoming a serious student,” she answered with a sigh. “Have you been bothering Mr. Bertram?” Mrs. Dermot asked with some despair. “There is no disturbing him. He is like an old gnome up there, nose buried in a great big tome. I think I have lost him forever.” “Hmm?” Her aunt replied, having not paid much attention to what her niece said.
That evening, Bertram came downstairs, looking for some company after hours of being closed up within his cell, but he found that Amy had already gone to bed, and only Mrs. Dermot remained in the parlor, working on some bit of needle work. “Miss Lincoln has retired for the evening?” He asked as he sat down. “Oh yes, hours ago. I’m afraid that she found my company rather tiresome tonight.” Bertram sat looking down in his lap for a few moments. “How old is Miss Lincoln?” He finally asked. “Oh, she is but fifteen, she celebrated her birthday a few days before you returned this term, I believe.” “Fifteen?” Bertram asked with amazement. “I thought her my sister’s age.” “Oh no, she is fifteen, which makes her behavior all the more disappointing. But then, my sister’s family lives a very simple life,” she said somewhat apologetically. Bertram sat for a moment longer and then stood up abruptly saying goodnight to Mrs. Dermot, and going out to find one of his fellow students.
Bertram, as previously stated, had thought of Mrs. Dermot’s niece as something of a little sister. He knew she was an attractive girl, but he felt sure that she possessed no attraction for a young man other than that of something of a toy. After all, she was completely without charm and too young besides. Then, when she had entered his room, actually being useful, as she said, rather than a tease, he thought she looked rather sweet. But when she bent over him, innocently enough, his perception of this little girl changed rather suddenly, and he was struck silent. For a good number of hours he hated himself for thinking such things about a girl no older than his sister, but then Mrs. Dermot had told him that she was fifteen: still young, but not ineligible under normal circumstances. Except, this was no ordinary case of a society girl, and she seemed unaware of him as well. With his new outlook on Miss Lincoln, Bertram left for the winter holiday feeling as if he was something of a thief, and he vowed that upon his return he would speak on the matter with Mrs. Dermot so as to determine what would be most appropriate course of action.
The new term began, and Bertram returned to Mrs. Dermot’s home, thinking that it might be better if Miss Lincoln did not come back from Kent after the holiday. Yet, as he drove up, and was greeted by the young occupant of the house, rather than the elder one, he felt his heart give a stronger beat than usual and his smile was brighter than it had been in a number of weeks. She waved and smiled brightly as well, before coming forward to take his hand. “I’ve been waiting for forever long for you to come today, for there is something I must show you,” she said quickly, drawing him along with her around the house instead of inside of it. “What is it?” “Oh, you’ll see in a moment.” There was a very thin layer of snow lingering on the ground from the last storm, and Amy lifted up her skirts with her one free hand and picked her way through the grass and snow as they came to the back enclosure. There, tied to the large tree, which spreading branches occupied most of the enclosure, was a Great Dane, who, upon seeing the two young people, began to pant. “What’s this?” “Oh, it is my dear Templeton from home! He followed me all the way back, and could not be made to turn back. Is that not charming?” Bertram came forward and patted the dog. “What a fine animal. He must like you very much,” he said with a smile. “Well, auntie hates him, and says he must go as soon as possible. Will you plead his case? At least so that he may not be tied to this tree until my brother comes to fetch him.” “I shall do my best, but I’m afraid my word with your aunt shall not mean much more than your own.” “Oh, fie. I know that to be a lie.” “Well, I shall try then, but let us go inside, you shall catch a cold in this wet,” he said gesturing towards the house.
“Mr. Bertram is here!” Amy called as they pulled the kitchen door shut, and she bent over to brush the lingering wetness off her blue indigo skirts with her white hands, the contrast striking Bertram. Mrs. Dermot hurried into the kitchen, puffing as she came. “Oh, heavens! Why have you brought Mr. Bertram in through this door? You must forgive Amy, my dear boy.” “Oh, Mr. Bertram thinks nothing of that. He has been admiring Templeton with me.” “That animal has been nothing but a bother to me,” she said as she tried to maneuver Bertram from the kitchen and into the parlor, thinking that he might up and leave after having seen the back apartments of her house. “Now, Amy will get you some tea, as she should have already, and you must tell me how your family is.” Amy was therefore left in the kitchen, and Bertram sat down in the parlor once again with Mrs. Dermot, who was eager to hear any news of the great Bertram family of Charlecote.
“Oh, everyone was in good health, thank you, Mrs. Dermot. And how was your holiday season?” “Oh, very quiet, very quiet, my dear Bertram. My niece went back with her family, and I stayed here alone, not that I minded it for one minute. Ever since Mr. Dermot passed on, I have learned to tolerate solitude very pleasantly.” Bertram inclined his head in response. “But then, I imagine that you spent your time as all young people do: dancing at parties, riding about the country, and all such pleasantries.” Mrs. Dermot had not been young for many years, and she had never been part of the ton set in society, being from Kent herself, but she did long to hear of the gaieties engaged in by society and especially the younger members of society. “I did have a busy schedule, Mrs. Dermot.” “I wish that my sister’s children could be exposed to some better society. I’m afraid Amy will not meet with much society here, other than you, of course, my dear boy,” she said as Amy carried in the tray and set it down between them. “I don’t mind, auntie. I don’t feel as if I’ve missed anything. Why, just look at Bertram,” she said with mock seriousness, which her aunt failed to interpret correctly, and dutifully looked Bertram over with some measure of judgment. “Well, Mr. Bertram is very ton, so I understand. Oh, yes, I’ve heard that much. And, frankly, I’m not impressed,” she said with a flip of the head before hurrying from the room. Mrs. Dermot turned a bright shade of pink and held her hand to her chest, for fear of fainting.
“Oh, you must forgive my niece, Mr. Bertram. I have never known her to be so disrespectful. I don’t know what has come over her. Indeed, she is young, but she has always been a good girl.” Bertram laughed, “oh, Mrs. Dermot, do not fret. Miss Lincoln is merely teasing me. I suppose she thinks I am too fond of myself.” Mrs. Dermot continued to fan herself and mutter words of apologies for her niece. “She does not behave as other young girls her age, whom I am acquainted with,” Bertram admitted after a few minutes. “I am not surprised. You must be familiar with the most genteel ladies in England, my dear.” “She is just unpracticed, though, Mrs. Dermot. There is nothing essentially missing.” “Perhaps, but it is very good of you to make allowances for her, Mr. Bertram.” “No, there is nothing generous about it, Mrs. Dermot. There is something that I feel needs to be addressed concerning your niece and I.” Mrs. Dermot turned pale, fearing that her most prized lodger ever was displeased with her niece. “She has come to my attention in a more feminine way than before, and I thought it best that you knew, so as to make a proper judgment as to what is to be done.”
For a few moments, Mrs. Dermot sat silent, an unusual occurrence to say the least, and then she cleared her throat. “Are you to say that…?” “Miss Lincoln is a very attractive young lady, Mrs. Dermot, if you will permit me to say so.” Mrs. Dermot smoothed the small white decorative apron in her lap. Bertram was feeling decidedly embarrassed, a feeling he was not accustomed to, usually being the master of any situation. “I must say that I am surprised, although of course I knew that Amy was quite the beauty. She is just so…” “I am well aware of that, Mrs. Dermot,” he said tracing the patterns in the Oriental rug with his eyes. “Do you have any intentions towards my niece, Mr. Bertram? I feel as if I must ask on behalf of my sister, for she is not here to supervise.” “Yes, yes, that is good of you, Mrs. Dermot. Truthfully, I don’t know what to tell you, Mrs. Dermot, although I wish I could give you a definite answer. I am yet rather young, and had no such plans for marriage. And, while Miss Lincoln has caught my…I know very many attractive girls.” Mrs. Dermot seemed to get some control of herself, and added slowly, “of course, you know I think her quite safe…I trust your intentions, should you even have any, but I am not even sure that my niece thinks on such things.” Bertram stood up, nearly laughing at himself, “and I am fairly certain that she does not. Thank you for your time, Mrs. Dermot.”
To Bertram’s dismay, his words seemed to have a marked effect, because one afternoon, returning from a lecture, he came upon Amy sitting on the steps half way to his apartments in tears. She quickly used her apron as a handkerchief, dabbing at her eyes when she heard his steps upon the stairs, but too late, as Bertram pulled out his own, and looked upon her with concern. “What is the matter, Miss Lincoln?” “My mother must have me home. I suppose I have angered my auntie in some way, even though I have tried very hard to be useful.” Bertram joined her on the stair, waving off the return of the handkerchief. “I doubt your aunt is sending you away so much as your mother wishes you back with her. You must be a very large help to her.” Amy sniffed. “I thought Templeton would to be sent back, but now I find it to be me. How fickle the world is!” “Indeed,” Bertram answered quietly, wondering whether his discussion with Mrs. Dermot a fortnight ago had caused this change. “You know things shall not be as bright here without you,” he added seriously. “Oh yes, I’m crying half for you and half for me,” she said, smiling for the first time. “Will your brother come for you?” She nodded her head, tracing the pattern of the lace bordering her wet apron with her slender white finger. “You should like to be with your family again, I dare say.” She leaned her head up against the wall without answering, lost in thought.
Abruptly Amy turned her head to look Bertram in the eye: “I don’t suppose I’ll ever see you again, Mr. Bertram, after I leave.” Without waiting for an answer, she stood up, and went down the stairs in a quick and light pattern of one two, one two.
Bertram thought the best way to deal with the situation was to ignore it completely, therefore he said nothing to Mrs. Dermot and he asked nothing of Miss Lincoln, not bothering to find out when she would leave. But then a Sunday afternoon came, and he could tell that directly after services, something had happened to his little doll, and finding himself in low spirits, he hired a coach and headed off for London. He was more than 3/4ths of the way there when he felt the coach slow, and the driver called back to him to tell him that there was an accident ahead. “See if we can offer them any assistance,” Bertram called, leaning his head out to see ahead. A small conveyance was overturned in the road with the driver holding the horses and what appeared to be one passenger standing next to him. It was obviously a lady, and Bertram was glad he had told the driver to stop.
They pulled to a halt, and Bertram heard the two drivers begin to converse, but feeling ungentlemanly sitting inside the coach, as it had begun to rain, he decided to get out and see if the lady could use his assistance. He opened the coach door and descended, placing his tri-corner atop his head to protect from the drizzle. “Mr. Bertram!” A feminine voice cried out in surprise, and he immediately recognized it as Miss Lincoln’s. He took a few steps to come to her side, and took her elbow with his hand. “Miss Lincoln are you all right?” “Yes, I escaped unharmed, but my uncle’s driver says that the coach is not salvageable.” “No, I should think not. You shall have to join me.” Amy pulled back her elbow, surprising Bertram with her action and answer: “oh, no, Mr. Bertram. That would not be appropriate.” Never before had she ever mentioned propriety before, Bertram considered. “Miss Lincoln, I cannot in good conscience leave you here in the rain by yourself. I’m afraid that it is not safe for a lady to be alone. I am sure your mother and aunt would not wish it. As a friend, please join me in my carriage.”
The rain was beginning to come down heavier, and Amy looked miserably around her, as the driver continued to talk without any seeming solution. “But I was going home, Mr. Bertram,” she said, her resolution to avoid Mr. Bertram’s dry carriage wavering. “I was going to London, but we are nearly there, and Kent is not too far off now.” “Oh…I couldn’t. You could perhaps leave me off at my uncle’s who is in London, however,” she replied, allowing Bertram to put his arm through hers and pull her towards the carriage. “Here, quickly Miss Lincoln before you become any damper,” he pleaded, helping her into the vehicle before calling to the driver to drive on to London. “Miss Lincoln is going to her uncle’s and I shall tell him where the carriage is. Join my man up there, sir,” he directed Miss Lincoln’s driver.
Bertram shut the door and seated himself opposite Miss Lincoln still watching her with some concern. “It worries me, Miss Lincoln that you were traveling alone.” “The driver is one of my uncle’s servants,” she said smoothing some of her slightly damp hair back into place. “I should not want my sister traveling in such a way, and I wish I had been informed so that something might have been arranged,” Bertram answered feeling somewhat discontented with Miss Lincoln’s situation. “If you mean to say that it doesn’t look right, then so be it. This does not look right either, and for all this concern, you never troubled yourself with me the last week or so, so why begin now?” The rain spoiling her dress and hair had made Amy irritable, but Bertram had never heard Miss Lincoln speak so seriously, and he was fascinated rather than angered by her truthful comments. “I was avoiding you on purpose,” he explained, not knowing quite why he bothered to explain himself. “Well, that makes it even worse, now doesn’t it? I feel as if I could bound from this coach, knowing that you dislike me so.” Miss Lincoln set her face sternly and watched out the window. Bertram sat for a moment without knowing what to do. Finally, he took the hand that rested in its owner’s lap and leaned forward with a pleading face. “You must forgive me, Miss Lincoln, for I have indeed behaved abominably for quite some time now. And I must also ask you to believe that I do not in any way think ill of you, but to say anything beyond that would be terribly improper here together like this,” he finished with a smile. Miss Lincoln actually blushed for what might have been the first time in her young life, having never felt embarrassed before, and drawing her hand back laughed, “you’re a tease, Mr. Bertram, and that isn’t nice.”
The coach pulled up in front of her uncle’s house in a respectable part of London. Mr. Howard was a lawyer, whom had never seen fit to marry, and thus had a rather fixed existence uninterrupted by his female relations, except at holidays in which he condescended to visit either Mrs. Dermot or Mrs. Lincoln more to suit them, than to suit himself. Therefore, Amy had seen her uncle for only a parcel of days out of her existence, and she somewhat trembled as she climbed out of the coach, helped by Bertram, who had called for a servant to fetch an umbrella, which he dutifully held over her head. The servant woman hovered nearby, in case she was needed, being unfamiliar with serving such a young girl, who seemed to promise to be a lady of fashion, being accompanied by such an obvious man of it. “Is Mr. Howard in?” Bertram asked of the lady as they climbed the stone stairs to the door, which Miss Lincoln’s driver was holding open for the pair. “Oh yes sir. He’s inside his study, but I shall fetch him directly,” she said hurrying by, glad to be given the air of importance.
The door was shut, and Bertram looked around the entry hall for signs of a house servant that might be able to bring Miss Lincoln some tea, for he felt her shiver as he held her arm. He could see a fire glowing in the sitting room to their left, and without instruction from any servants, whom seemed in absence or non-existent, ushered Miss Lincoln in the room and seated her in a large chair closest to the fire. Just as this was accomplished, Mr. Howard appeared. Like his sister, Mrs. Dermot, he too was round, but his dress was somewhat more formal and his hair was completely white. He seemed utterly in shock and unclear as to what steps he should take concerning his youngest sister’s eldest girl’s arrival.
“Mr. Howard,” Bertram said, bowing. “Michael Bertram, a friend of your niece.” “Ah, yes, Mr. Bertram, you lodge with my sister.” Mr. Howard, having a legal mind for details, read every letter from his sister as if he was going to use it later as evidence in a case; therefore, he knew Mr. Bertram was a third year lodger with his sister and that Amy had grown two inches since the Christmas before last, when he last saw her, but beyond that, he knew nothing. “Your carriage is crunched to pieces, uncle,” Amy said with a sigh, wondering when her uncle was planning on addressing her. “That is indeed unfortunate, but I am much obliged to you, Mr. Bertram for bringing my niece here. Perhaps she should not have been traveling alone, but I did not think everything would go so wrong.” As Mr. Howard spoke, he ran his hand over his face, as if trying to rub the troubles away. “You could not have foreseen this,” Bertram commented, trying to assuage the man of his ill comfort. “Perhaps you will send a messenger to let mother know I am safe,” Amy hinted at her uncle with raised eyebrows. “Oh, yes, yes indeed,” he said turning distractedly around. The poor man was not accustomed to worrying about anyone but himself when it came to domestic issues, and the thought of having his niece stay with him for the night until some other arrangements could be made towards her removal was generally disturbing his train of thoughts. “Well, then, Miss Lincoln, I see that I can be of no more help to you, so I shall leave, but please, relay my regards to your mother,” Bertram said bowing and taking her hand as he spoke before striding from the room.
Bertram came to London for the season, having graduated from Cambridge in the late spring. He had been in London for over a month when he was asked to a small party at the Carols. Edmund Carols had been one of Bertram’s friends since their Rugby days, and his sister, Marianne, was a long time companion as well. The Carols were a part of the new aristocracy, and Bertram found their house a bit too garish and over done in comparison to his family home of Charlecote. This tendency towards the overdone seemed to be mirrored in his friend Edmund, as well, but Bertram had always thought him rather entertaining, and saw no harm in the continuance of their friendship.
Bertram was greeted by Miss Carols as soon as he arrived, and then rather devotedly stayed with him. She was rather tall for a lady of her times, and not as womanly as some may have liked in build, but she had very normal features and warm dark brown hair that matched her deep brown eyes. Her dress was very ton, and Bertram thought her looking very well. They walked slowly around the room, arm in arm, and there were not a few guests present who thought that Miss Carols might be well on her way to securing Mr. Bertram for herself.
Abruptly, Bertram stopped his slow progress forward, and stared straight ahead, amazed by what he saw: sitting in the very next room was Miss Lincoln, attended by none other than Edmund. “How is it that your brother attends Miss Lincoln?” He asked completely perplexed. “You know Miss Lincoln?” Marianne returned, equally as stunned. “Indeed, I am…” Bertram stopped, unable to think of a term to apply to his acquaintance with Miss Lincoln. “Well, I must say I’m surprised, for she has only been here a few months, I understand. She is Mr. Howard’s niece, and he is a long time friend of my father’s. She spends a good number of evenings with us, but otherwise she is not much in company, as far as I know.” Bertram still stood unmoving. “You did not expect to meet with her in London?” Marianne asked, trying to ascertain the nature of his relationship with Miss Lincoln, more out of natural curiosity than a jealousy. “I am the one that brought her to her uncle’s, these few months ago.” Marianne raised her eyebrows, even more confused than before, but Bertram did not mind her.
Finally, Bertram began walking forward again, but on the point of entering the room in which Miss Lincoln sat, Marianne made the error of offhandedly mentioning her brother: “I believe Edmund to be rather fond of little Miss Lincoln.” Bertram bristled at the idea, and let her arm slip. “She is awfully young for Edmund to have such designs upon her.” “Is she?” Marianne asked, having been exposed to an Amy very different from the one Bertram had teased and toyed with in Cambridge. “She is indeed,” he insisted. “Then I suppose he might wait for her; that would not be terribly unusual, and I believe she might be good for Edmund.” Bertram snorted, “yes, I suppose she would be, but then she could do better than Edmund.” Usually Marianne was the biggest critic of her brother, but she felt insulted by such an old friend making such censures. “Perhaps you should go to her, instead of speaking of her to me,” she said icily, before gliding away.
Bertram waited for a moment when Edmund would leave Miss Lincoln’s side for nearly a quarter of an hour, and finally he was rewarded. He strode up to Miss Lincoln, bowing as soon as she turned her head. “Miss Lincoln, how good to see you here.” “Mr. Bertram!” She cried with surprise, turning a shade of rose in the process. “Have you seen my uncle, I am here with him.” “No, I have not had the pleasure. Are you here for the season?” “I am here for as long as my uncle should wish.” “You haven’t been here since the day I brought you?” “Things being as they were, yes. I am my uncle’s companion now, instead of my aunt’s. I have changed one position for another, and you are here as well, oddly enough,” she said with a pleased smile. Bertram was struck with how well she carried herself, and she did not seem as young as he had remembered. “It was good luck our meeting like this,” Bertram added warmly.
Just then Edmund returned, and threw out his hand to greet his friend. “I see you’ve met Miss Lincoln.” “We’ve known each other for some time,” Bertram said, wishing to out-due his friend in length as well as intimacy. “Truly? Well, I’m jealous of it then,” Edmund said addressing Miss Lincoln, who looked up at Bertram with a smile and twinkle in her eye as Edmund mock bowed. “Am I in danger of being supplanted in your favor, Miss Lincoln?” He asked grabbing at his chest. Amy merely sighed before standing up, and touched Bertram lightly on the shoulder. “It was good to see you again, Mr. Bertram.” “We may not be so lucky again,” he said following behind her as she walked away, not caring whether Edmund joined in the train. She stopped and looked back over her shoulder at him. “Perhaps I could call on you at your uncle’s?” Bertram asked with some indecision in his own mind as to the very nature of the question. “Yes, if you like,” she said, before going to her uncle’s side and becoming inaccessible for the rest of the evening.
When Bertram had come to Amy’s assistance on the road some months earlier, his words to her had caused her to feel somewhat differently towards him. Perhaps in jest he had hinted that he might be fond of her, and this instilled in her the option to like him as well. She considered it only a school girl infatuation, not being entirely contaminated by romanticism, but she nursed the crush rather healthfully during his absence, and she found herself to be nearly entirely lost to her feelings upon his surprising appearance. She was nearly sixteen, but she had not thought that she would even consider marriage for another four years, so her dreaming had been innocent enough. Now his presence made the games seem all the more dangerous, and she was not sure whether she wanted to play anymore. For one thing, she now knew Bertram to be of a rather ancient and wealthy family: in short, someone entirely out of her circle. So, how would she fare in such an uneven playing field? Mr. Bertram had the reputation and breeding of a gentleman, but the thought frightened her nonetheless that she might be drawn in over her head. These were the thoughts that clouded her mind and gave her the more mature air that Bertram immediately recognized.
She was also somewhat more advantageously dressed than she was in Cambridge. Her uncle was paying for all sorts of little pleasures that she was unused to, due to his great fondness for her. He had feared having her for one night, and after one night, he could not bear to part with her. So, she adorned his household like a pretty doll, much like she had done in Bertram’s life. Yet now she was no longer the simple country girl with patents and home made dresses. Now she was dressed fashionably, although still simply, and her hair was dressed by the housekeeper, who thought her the dearest thing in the world. Bertram had been unable to speak for a few moments upon first seeing her, because he thought he had been so blind as to how beautiful she actually was. Her profile was striking with a delicate nose and defined chin. Amy was gifted with perfectly smooth skin and color in the cheeks that gives the appearance of health in addition to bright blue eyes and nearly black hair that hung in ringlets without any effort on her part. She seemed nearly perfect now with her clothes so well tailored and complimenting her coloring so naturally. These sorts of things went a long way to impress someone like Bertram, who had been raised in a world of fashion, however un-foppish he was himself.
It was not yet beyond Bertram’s capabilities to forget about Miss Lincoln for a time, but it was the unfortunate luck of Miss Carols to over estimate her friend’s attachment, and through her mistake, cause him to think on her once more. “I had thought that owing to your close relationship with Miss Lincoln that you would be present at the party her uncle had for her last week,” she said during conversation over cards at the Carols’ home. “He had a party for her?” “Oh yes, Edmund and I went, expecting to see you there, I must admit. It was her sixteenth birthday.” Bertram sat musing on the fact that she was now sixteen, and officially of an age when most girls are brought into society. “It was a rather small party. Don’t think I meant to brag, Bertram,” she said pressing his hand. “Oh no, I am only feeling somewhat guilty myself,” Bertram explained. “And for what may the perfect Bertram be blamed?” She said flipping over a card with a laugh. “Not perfect. I had said that I would call upon her at her uncle’s and I certainly have done nothing of the sort.” “You should not have made a promise, if you did not intend to keep it. Many ladies would agree with me.” “I had intended to keep it, Miss Carols,” he said leaning back in his chair. “Ah…well then, you should remedy the fact.” Bertram sat upright, still immature enough that he acted on impulse a good deal of the time, and threw down his cards. “Thank you, I believe I will.” And with that he stood up, grabbed his coat and strode from the room, leaving Miss Carols with no partner.
Bertram called at Mr. Howard’s house, but the servant who answered the door informed him that Mr. Howard and Miss Lincoln were out for the afternoon. So, he was forced to leave his card. When Miss Lincoln did return with her uncle from a walk in the park, the housekeeper brought her the card that Bertram had left as soon as she entered the entry hall. As she unhooked her cloak, she looked at the card as it lay on the marble round table in the middle of the hall. It sat under the vase of flowers, which she always saw to, one of the many feminine touches to which her uncle was so unused and so pleased by.
Of Charlecote of Warwickshire
_________, London
