Amy tucked the card in the corner of the mirror sitting above her dressing mirror, liking to look at it while she was at the table. Then she collapsed on her bed, closing her eyes so as to imagine better what she would have said had she been home when Mr. Bertram called. And what would he have said? As for that, she had a harder time imagining.
The next day, Bertram set out on the same errand, hoping that this time he would catch Miss Lincoln at home. He was rewarded for his persistence when the housekeeper answered that yes Miss Lincoln was indeed home and receiving visitors in the afternoon sitting room. She announced Bertram to Miss Lincoln, and he was ushered in after Miss Lincoln quickly arranged her skirts. Bertram bowed and Amy immediately broke into a smile, genuinely delighted to see him again. “May I wish you a belated happy birthday, Miss Lincoln?” “Oh, indeed, and how did you know it was my birthday?” “I have my sources,” he said taking a seat next to her and turning so as to face her. “Yes, I grow very old indeed. I believe that I might be catching up with you, Mr. Bertram.” “You appear as though you are,” Bertram answered flippantly, but the double meaning caused Amy to blush and look down at her hands.
Bertram struggled to find something that they could discuss harmlessly. “I believe we have a friend in common,” he said, testing this line of discussion. “Miss Carols?” “Yes, indeed, her as well, but I meant her brother, Edmund. He is an old school chum of mine.” “Is he then? Then I shall not tell you what I think of him,” she answered archly. “I believe you must now that you’ve begun,” Bertram urged, not liking to be left out of anything. “No indeed, I see you have come here as a spy and not on a friendly visit as I had hoped,” Amy teased. “He does not even know that I am here.” “Now I have caught you, for he has been here earlier and seemed to think that you came yesterday. There is no denying it now, Mr. Bertram: you two are a pair of crooks.” A ball of yarn sat on the floor, being batted by a small fluffy gray kitten, and in the past, Bertram would have tossed the ball at Amy, but he withheld. “What are we stealing then?” “You work on behalf of Mr. Carols to steal my heart, but I will have none of it.” Bertram grew somewhat serious. “Edmund has toyed with you then?” Amy considered before answering. “No, I suppose not, but for a simple girl as me, his teasing and play gallantry goes too far for my liking.” Bertram leaned forward. “But, we used to play act, Miss Lincoln.” Amy swallowed and bent over to pick up the feisty kitten. “That was different,” she said without looking up at him.
“Have you heard from your aunt then?” Bertram said after another pause. “You haven’t come to discuss my aunt, have you?” Amy asked with dismay. “Oh…well…” Bertram sputtered, thrown off. “There, now I have made you uncomfortable,” she said with a smile before depositing the kitten in his lap. “You delight in that?” “Oh yes, for it is usually me that am made uncomfortable here, but now I have made the great Mr. Bertram uncomfortable. The great Mr. Bertram of Charlecote of…” Amy trailed off, pretending to have forgotten. “Warwickshire,” Bertram provided, smiling at the playfulness of Miss Lincoln’s character.
“Now, I must confess to some degree of disappointment at the fact that I have not seen you out since our last meeting,” he said stroking the kitten that wormed in his lap. “Indeed? I thought sure you would not ever think to miss me,” she said playfully, but feeling somewhat surprised in truth that he had indeed missed her. “Well, we were great friends.” “Yes, I suppose we were,” she said, giving clear emphasis to the past tense. “But then, you are not likely to see my uncle and I out, for we rarely mix in company.” Bertram was decidedly baffled, enjoying company and an audience as much as he did: “In London! Not go out much! Well, that is simply wrong. You must come to my masquerade party then.” “You are having a masquerade party?” Amy questioned, her eyes lighting up at the prospect. “Yes indeed,” he said with a smile, realizing that he had lighted upon something that caught Miss Lincoln’s fancy. “I shall send over an invitation directly. You and your uncle simply must come. I am counting on your presence now.”
Miss Lincoln had never been to anything half as grand as a masquerade party. Her uncle had come to dote and depend on her so completely, that he agreed to attend the party with her, although he usually shunned such frivolous entertainment. He also saw to it that she had a large allowance for her costume, but Amy was unaware of how to prepare for such an event, and so she sought Miss Carols’ advice. Miss Carol, although viewing Miss Lincoln as a disturbing rival for attention, truly found the girl sweet and innocent of her dangerous charms, and therefore, she found it impossible to deny the girl the help that she needed.
So Miss Carols’ own seamstress was called in to make measurements and even suggestions, for Amy did not even have an idea in mind. The fact that she could be anyone in the world, past present, and future seemed to her an overwhelming amount of choices from which she could never fairly choose without offending some past personage. Finally both ladies decided upon a costume, and Amy was left with some time to imagine and dream about her coming fanciful departure from reality.
In the mean time, Amy was surprised by the frequency of her unintended meetings with Bertram. He seemed to be everywhere she was, even though she was so few places. She met him in the park, she saw him at the theatre, and she saw him at the Carols’. Every time she saw him she felt as if a growing part of her was being taken over by something more than just a girlish fancy, and yet she remained sure that he felt nothing more for her than friendship and good natured fashionable flirtation.
Once again they ran into each other in St. James‘ park: she was walking with her uncle, but he had grown tired, and they were turning back for home. Bertram came upon them, walking with a cane and dressed stylishly. As he was approaching, her uncle inclined his head towards his niece: “this young Mr. Bertram is quite the gentleman to know, I understand, Amy dear. He is rather smart looking.” Bertram had reached them, and was bowing to Mr. Howard and Miss Lincoln. “How are you doing, Miss Lincoln, Mr. Howard?” “Very well, very well,” Mr. Howard answered in his burly voice. “May I join you in your walk?” Bertram asked, smiling in his charming way at Amy. “You may walk with Miss Lincoln, if you like, but I am worn-out, and I believe I’ll go home.” “Oh, uncle, I couldn’t leave you.” “Nonsense. I’ll be fine. You make me sound old,” he grumbled mildly. Amy bit her lip, knowing that her uncle was unaware of the kind of position he was placing her in. Bertram put out his arm. “I’m sure I can entrust you to her, young sir. And see to it that she gets back all right?” “Oh, yes sir. I’ll do my best,” he said with a slight laugh. Amy finally took Bertram’s arm, and they walked off in the opposite direction as her uncle.
“Perhaps you were ready to retire as well, Miss Lincoln. Have I been presumptuous? I don’t wish to tire you out.” “Oh, no. When have you ever known me to tire out from a walk? I believe I am almost your match,” she said with a laugh. “You think so, eh?” Bertram asked, arching one eyebrow. Bertram laughed. “You laugh!” “Indeed, I do.” “Then you must give me some opportunity to prove myself to you,” Miss Lincoln insisted, feeling the urge to stomp her dainty foot. “I certainly will not challenge you to a foot race, if that’s what you mean,” Bertram said, laughing yet harder. “You’re only afraid of losing,” Miss Lincoln said with a smirk, knowing full well that she was nothing of an athlete, but enjoying the banter. “But, I suppose it wouldn’t be appropriate, you’re right. But I could play you at chess and no one would think the less of you for it.” Bertram stopped. “You play chess?” “My father taught me when I was little.” “We must play then, come along,” he said turning around and leading her in the same direction in which her uncle had gone.
Sitting across from one and other, Bertram knew that he had the upper hand in the game, yet Miss Lincoln was still playful and cheerful, which made Bertram smile. “You are looking rather oddly at me,” she said after her move. “I’m considering my next move.” “I believe that you are considering throwing the game.” “Indeed?” Bertram said laughing. “In truth, I would never willing lie to you, Miss Lincoln.” “Oh...I had hoped you were going to throw the game then, perhaps,” she said with a smile, as she slyly tried to move another piece prior to her turn. He stopped the advance of her hand with his own, which resulted in three pieces being knocked from the black and white board onto the Oriental rug that carpeted the room. Both leaned over to retrieve them, knocking heads in the process, to Bertram’s dismay.
“Oh, heavens!” laughed Miss Lincoln. “Shall I call for some assistance?” “My head is harder than that, but thank you,” she said brushing back some loose hair and attempting to collect herself, but giggles kept escaping. “I doubt that you usually knock heads with your lady friends.” “That would be a correct assumption,” Bertram agreed. “Perhaps chess is more dangerous than we both thought?” she offered with mock seriousness.
They gave up the game, and Bertram wandered over to the harpsichord that sat in the corner. “Do you play, Miss Lincoln,” he asked looking back over his shoulder before sitting on the bench. “Not at all, I’m afraid. We haven’t one in Kent.” “Your uncle should have seen to it that you did,” he said lightly touching the keys so that barely any sound emanated. “My uncle has been very good to me,” she said as she moved to the sofa, feeling as if she must defend the man who had become her protector. “Certainly he has. I am in debt to him as well.” “Why is that?” “Because, if he was not good enough to have you here, I would not have the joy of seeing you,” he said looking once more over his shoulder, but Miss Lincoln’s back was to him, and it was a good thing for her, because she was set a glow by his words.
He got up from the instrument and joined her on the couch. Lately a question had begun to drive him to distraction in regards to Miss Lincoln, and he no longer felt able to contain it. “Is it true what you said about my friend Edmund, or were you only playing.” Miss Lincoln was unsure how to respond, and was not clear as to what he was referring. “Pardon?” “You said you think him a tease. Is that still true?” “Why? Tell me you haven’t come on some errand of his.” “Not at all, but I confess that I have some...curiosity concerning your relationship.” Miss Lincoln laughed before looking down at her hands. “We have none to speak of, Mr. Bertram.” “His sister, Miss Carols thinks otherwise.” “Are you more likely to believe gossip, Mr. Bertram?” Miss Lincoln’s scolding was gentle, but Bertram felt it acutely. “Pardon me,” he said quietly. “Oh, Mr. Bertram, don’t think that I’m angry with you,” she said looking up from her lap. “I couldn’t possibly be angry with you. After all, we have spent such a lovely afternoon together. We are friends, are we not?” Bertram smiled, put as ease once more: “certainly, Miss Lincoln.”
Miss Lincoln was a mystery to the majority of London society, outside of the small sphere into which her uncle had introduced her. Bertram was largely unaware of the enormity of the move he made by inviting her to what was essentially one of the largest social events of the season, being given by the Bertram family and on a grander scale than most could ever afford, let alone dream of. When Bertram spotted her, surrounded by gentlemen and blushing behind her mask as she sat looking decidedly stunned and undeniably beautiful, his feelings were mixed.
“You look as if you were not pleased with Miss Lincoln,” Miss Carol said pulling down her feathered mask to address him. He turned to look at her, but did not answer, returning his gaze to Miss Lincoln. “Is it her costume? I helped her decide, and I think it is quite delicious. Do you not see the meaning in it?” she asked, sounding half annoyed at how her help had succeeded so completely. “She is stunning, but I don’t know what she is,” he said somewhat confused. “You have no imagination, Bertram. She is the morning star.” “She appears overwhelmed,” he said with concern evident in his voice. “I would not worry about Miss Lincoln: she only needs a few more years to become a master of herself, and then I’m afraid that her charms will become deadly for any man.” Miss Carols raised her mask again and began to step away from Bertram, letting go of his arm as she did. “Go, go rescue her. She is young, innocent, and bright...oh, it is too delicious.”
Bertram approached the small group of admirers, and Amy spotted him immediately: he smiled when he saw her face brighten behind the mask, which she was only half holding up to her face. She was decked in silver brocade and her mask was silver as well with tiny fluttering silver threads that moved as she breathed. Her nearly black hair was thrown into strong relief against this nearly blinding white silver that reflected every candle in the room, and her usually rosy skin seemed to shimmer transparently as well. The other gentlemen barely noted Bertram’s arrival, although Edmund stuck him in the side with his elbow.
“Miss Lincoln, I’m so glad that you have come,” he said taking her free hand. She sighed softly and smiled. “May I show you around?” he asked, bowing slightly from the hip. Besides wanting to be somewhat alone with Amy, he also wanted to help rescue her from this crowd of gentlemen, by whom she seemed quite unnerved. “Oh, yes, thank you,” she said as she stood up and nodded to the other gentlemen before gliding past them on Bertram’s arm. “I didn’t know any of those people, excepting Edmund, and I must confess that I’d rather escape that acquaintance. There are so many people here, Mr. Bertram.” Bertram smiled down on her. “I hope you are enjoying yourself, then. You certainly look lovely.” “Oh...thank you...” Amy said quietly, unable to accept compliments with the practiced air that the other ladies had in the room. “And your uncle is here?” “Oh yes, he is speaking with Mr. Carols, I believe.” “Very good then. And will you dance with me later tonight, Miss Lincoln?” they were now leaving the last room being employed for the party, and the pleasant sounds were drifting away into the background. The hallway in which they stood was lit by candles set in the wall on either side, but it was somewhat darker than the rooms in which they had left, and Amy almost wished she could fade back into the dark red papered walls. “I...I...don’t think that I should,” she finally muttered, looking about her in confusion, as she did not want to be rude, but she had never danced at a formal party, only at small country dances, and she thought that she would only make a spectacle of herself if she did. Such things never occurred to Bertram, who had never thought that there existed people with lives very different from his own, unless you counted servants and the poor. “Are you all right, Miss Lincoln?” he asked concernedly. “I’m not sure,” she answered truthfully. “May I fetch you some wine?” “Yes, thank you,” she answered quickly, glad to have at least dodged the rest of his questions. “I shall be back directly,” he called as he hurried off.
Amy stood for a moment in the hall until she saw Miss Carols walking past in the connecting room, and she followed after her. “Miss Carols,” she called. “Oh, Miss Lincoln,” she said as she turned around and extended her arm. “You look lost my dear, but I shall see to it that you are well taken care of, for who may count on men? My brother and Bertram cannot be counted on.” Amy wanted to explain that Mr. Bertram had just gone off in an attempt to aid her, but she felt embarrassment at the whole situation, and therefore, she took Miss Carols’ arm with silent thankfulness. “I’m sure they’re not as bad as you say,” she offered after a few moments. “Oh, they are...and worse, for they pretend to be the best gentlemen in the world, but they are all the same,” Miss Carols said pleasantly as she gestured around the room. “How dreadful that you should think so,” Amy replied, feeling very sorry for such a cynical person. “Oh, you only think so, because you are not yet aware of exactly what they are. Once you know, you will see your place and then you will make your way in the world quite happily.”
Amy blushed, knowing that Miss Carols was making a reference to her own very different social situation; she hated to think that a lady as polished and intelligent as Miss Carols would be rude, but her behavior appeared undeniably so to Amy. ‘Perhaps she is merely trying to very gently remind me, so that I do not get hurt,’ she thought to herself. “I have no plans, Miss Carols,” she replied shyly. “Oh, no, heavens no! I would not think that you were scheming in the least, my dear, but then, I think you might do better to entertain thoughts of some of these professional gentlemen, for you could do quite well for yourself by marrying one of them, and they could not do much better than you, considering what a charming thing you are.” Amy looked away from her companion, embarrassed at Miss Carols being so forward in regards to gentlemen and the “catching” of one of them. “You know I only say this as a concerned friend,” she said patting Amy’s arm. “Oh yes,” she answered quickly, hoping that the conversation would now turn to some other subject, and almost wishing that Mr. Bertram would return.
They continued to parade around the room, and abruptly Miss Carols pointed to one of these professional gentlemen to whom she was alluding with her feathered mask. “Mr. Billings, he is a very eligible match for you, for example, but then you need not limit yourself to him...he was only meant as an example, mind you.” Amy blushed brightly and bit her lip. “Frankly, my dear, I fear for you,” Miss Carols said in hushed tones. Amy’s silver threads trembled: “you fear for me?” “Yes, for a girl like you is...well, vulnerable to men of leisure such as my brother and Mr. Bertram. You appear quite pale my dear, but I simply felt as a friend I must say something, for I’m sure your uncle would never breach such a topic with you. It is just that as sweet and tempting as you are, they must marry elsewhere, but in the meanwhile...damage could be done.” At this moment, Bertram pushed through the crowd, and approached the two ladies, the one who had grown quite pale and was nearly shaking.
“Miss Lincoln appears unwell, Bertram, perhaps you should fetch her uncle,” Miss Carols said. “I have brought this wine for you,” he said handing the glass to Amy, which began to tremble as soon as it passed into her hands. The touch of Mr. Bertram’s hand against her own had felt like an electric shock to Amy. “Perhaps you are overcome with the heat?” Bertram offered, selfishly not wishing to fetch Mr. Howard, ending Miss Lincoln’s evening. Something in the way Bertram spoke to Miss Lincoln and continually touched her arm delicately made Miss Carols sigh with exacerbation. “Honestly, Bertram...you would think you didn’t know when something was wanted of you. I shall simply fetch Mr. Howard myself. Could you at least move Miss Lincoln out of this crowd?” “Oh, yes, certainly,” he answered distractedly, as he took Miss Lincoln’s arm and led her through the crowd towards the entry hall, where the cool air of the evening came in through the grand doors.
Finally they reached the entrance, and Bertram urged her to sit in one of the red plush armchairs that were set against the wall. Miss Lincoln held the glass of wine without quite knowing it was there, having still not yet taken any. Bertram took it out of her hand and kneeled down before grasping her hand. “Are you feeling any better, Miss Lincoln?” he asked, peering up at her glowing face. “I believe...I believe so..” she said quietly. “Here,” Bertram said, taking her mask from her as well, which he set next to the glass of wine on the side table. Now he took both of her hands and silently watched her, causing her to blush once more and breathe somewhat quickly.
“Mr. Bertram, you mustn’t tease me,” she said abruptly, tugging somewhat on her hands that were held snuggly. “Tease you, Miss Lincoln? Surely you don’t think that?” he asked confusedly. “Indeed, I’m beginning to think so. Truly, I did not expect it of you,” she said nodding. “No, you mustn’t think that at all, Miss Lincoln. I would never...” Bertram trailed off, unsure of what he wanted to say. Amy succeeded in retrieving one of her hands and she quickly wiped at a tear that was forming in the corner of her eye. The very thought that he had made her cry wrecked havoc with Bertram’s clear thinking: no lady he knew would ever betray such a genuine feeling in front of a gentlemen, and the fact that Miss Lincoln was still as open and innocent as ever seemed to him nearly impossible. Surely she was something ethereal and otherworldly, after all. He sat forward on his heels and lightly touched his lips to her own, and immediately Amy stood up, now fearing that everything Miss Carols had said was true. Bertram stood up as well, immediately regretting his foolish impulse. “Excuse me, Miss Lincoln...I...” but he could not finish for Mr. Howard entered the hallway, nearly white himself from the news that his niece was ill.
“Uncle, I wish to go home, please.” “Of course, my dear,” he said taking her arm and already making his way for the door. He did not even pause to say good night to Bertram, who was attempting to get Miss Lincoln’s mask for her, but he was left holding the trinket alone in the hallway, feeling as if he had made a mistake that he would in all probability be unable to make up for.
Bertram was unaware of the fact that only two days later Miss Lincoln removed from her uncle’s home back to her mother’s house in Kent, despite the pleading of her uncle, who thought his world might just fall to pieces if she left. Miss Lincoln was determined on returning to her “place”, thinking that her heart, let alone her reputation could be at risk should she stay in London a moment longer. So, Amy returned home, and Mr. Howard was left to fend for himself, hoping that she would return quickly when she had gotten over this fit of emotionalism, as he termed it.
Bertram was moody and unsocial for nearly a week, ignoring all of his duties until he could not avoid Miss Carols and Edmund’s visit. He almost wore a scowl, something completely foreign to Bertram’s perennially pleasant visage. Miss Carols noted this, and believed that he knew of Miss Lincoln’s departure: the fact that he was set in an ill mood by her removal put Miss Carols in a poor mood as well. “You’ve been a hermit, Bertram,” Edmund said as he sat down. Bertram made some noise in response. “He is love sick, dear brother,” Miss Carols said icily. Edmund cocked his brow, having himself already forgotten about Miss Lincoln, since a new lady had caught his eye during the proceeding week. “Truly?” “Oh, weren’t you aware? Miss Lincoln has completely broken his heart by leaving.” Bertram quickly sat forward, appearing to be somewhat alive for the first time since their arrival. “She has left?” Now Miss Carols was confused, and could find no reason for his ill temper. She hedged: “Well, yes...that is what I understand, at least.” Bertram slumped back again, and looked out the window. He said something under his breath. Edmund was watching his friend with some bemusement. “You’re not serious, Bertram. Tonight you will come with us to the Baltimore’s and everything will be put right again. I won’t have you acting in such a manner,” he laughed. “I have not received an invitation from the Baltimore’s,” Bertram said dispiritedly. “I spoke with Frank yesterday, and he hoped you would be there. Have you even read your invitations for the week?” Miss Carols asked with some annoyance. “I suppose not.” Bertram paused for a moment and then sat forward again. “You’re sure she has left? Has she gone home to Kent?” “Oh for heaven’s sake, I’m not her keeper,” Miss Carols said standing up. “Edmund, I’m tired. Are you coming?” Edmund shrugged his shoulders. “You’ll be there tonight, won’t you?” he asked Bertram, but Bertram did not answer, employed in staring at the floor in front of him.
Miss Carols hurried down the stairs to the street below where their equipage was waiting for them. Her skirts rustled behind her, and she wore an angry look on her face. “Slow down, sister!” Edmund called after her. “Heavens! What has come over you? We were not there five minutes, and I’m sure you did nothing to convince Bertram to join us this evening.” Marianne climbed into the carriage with the assistance of the Bertram’s footman. “I’d rather he didn’t come.” Edmund joined her in the vehicle and shook his head. “At one time I thought you rather fancied Bertram.” “You were wrong.”
***
“I received a rather odd letter, Amy,” Mrs. Lincoln said as she flipped through her small correspondence. Amy and Beth sat with their mother in the small sitting room, while the other children ran outside in the yard. “Should you like to read it?” her mother asked holding out the letter to her eldest. “Me?” “Yes, it rather involves you.” Her mother picked up her reading glasses again and began to ply her needle, having set aside her letters. Beth stopped her work and strained to see what it was her sister was reading. Amy quickly scanned the letter:
Dear Mrs. Lincoln,
I must begin by expressing my regards to yourself and your family. I am afraid that we are not acquainted, but I am rather familiar with your eldest daughter, Miss Lincoln. We met at your fine sister’s establishment over a year ago, and similar social circles in London have connected us since that time.
While trying not to take up any more of your time, I fear that I may be too direct when I ask for the privilege of writing to your daughter, as well as asking her own permission, for I have as of yet sought no such intimacy with her. I know not how she will answer, but I thank you for your consideration, and I assure you of my honorable intention in regards to your estimable daughter.
Your Humble Servant,
Michael Bertram
Amy let the letter fall in her lap. And her sister continued to try to read what it was, tilting her head at an awkward angle. Amy stared at her mother with wide eyes. Finally her mother glanced up. “I never thought I’d receive such a letter,” Amy said in awe. “Well, I never thought that I would either, my dear.” “Who is it from!” Beth jumped in, unable to contain herself anymore. “A lodger of your aunt’s,” Mrs. Lincoln quickly answered, and Beth pouted, knowing more was being left out than exposed to her. “I know of this gentleman, Amy,” her mother continued, looking back down at her needlework. Amy swallowed. “Nothing bad, I hope,” she said quietly. Her mother smiled. “I am not in the social circles of the ton, nor have I ever been, but I do know who the Bertram’s are, even if your aunt had not reminded me everyday.” Amy blushed. “Do you think you oughtn’t to answer him, mamma?” “That is up to you, my child.” Amy stood up and hurried away, quickly followed by Beth.
Amy hurried outside, but ran right past her siblings, unaware that her sister was following her. Beth was remarkably similar in appearance to her elder sister, but she was three years younger, and having just turned thirteen a few months prior, was on the doorstep between childhood and adolescence. Finally she stopped and threw herself down under an apple tree. The apples were beginning to fall, and they threatened to stain her skirts, but she didn’t seem to notice. Beth sat beside her and put her arms around her sister’s neck. “Why are you sad?” she asked innocently. Amy wiped at her face. “I don’t know what to think, Beth.” “Who was the letter from?” “Mr. Bertram.” Beth’s face grew incredulous. “I thought you said he was a bad man.” Amy shook her head: “no, he’s not. I just said that.” “What did he say?” “He wants permission to write to me.” “Oh,” Beth said quietly, thinking that this wasn’t as exciting a development as she had supposed. “I can’t let him write to me. And I certainly can’t write to him to tell him that.” “Why?” “It would be inappropriate; it would imply that we have...an understanding.” Beth sat forward, her hands on her knees. “Do you?” “No, not at all.” Beth smiled. “Is he handsome?” Amy straightened herself out, having regained control. “Yes, he is, but that doesn’t count for everything.” “It counts for a great deal,” Beth countered seriously. “Is he very rich and elegant?” “Oh...I don’t know. He seems at first very different from anyone we know, but then...in truth he really isn’t. Only he doesn’t know how different I am.” Amy stood up. “What will you do?” “Nothing, I’ll tell mother not to write to him,” she said as she marched back towards the house.
Bertram waited for a fortnight, and then determined that he was never going to receive an answer from Mrs. Lincoln. Miss Lincoln must have denied any wish to receive his communications. So, in his rash way, Bertram one day dressed and left for Mr. Howard’s residence. The elder man was not expecting any visitors, and was unable to think of why such a young man of the ton would simply drop by without invitation, but he saw him nonetheless, as any man would do for someone of Bertram’s standing.
“Good morning, Mr. Howard, thank you for seeing me.” “Have a seat, Mr. Bertram.” “Thank you,” Bertram said flipping the tails of his jacket back as he took a seat in the tall backed wooden chair that faced Mr. Howard’s desk. “Is there something that I might help you with, Mr. Bertram?” “Actually, yes, and I must admit it will seem like a rather odd request.” “Well, if there is anything that I can do...” he said puffing on a cigar. “I believe there might be. I should hope that you are acquainted with my standing in society...that is to say my honor as a gentleman.” “I have heard nothing but good things about you, Mr. Bertram. Have you come for legal advice concerning your good name?” “No sir, I believe that to be generally intact, but I have come to ask for your support on a personal matter.” “Go right ahead, then, my boy.” “I believe you are aware that your niece and I had been on rather good terms before she left London.” “Yes, indeed,” Mr. Howard assented, incapable of divining what this young man was trying to get at. “I have since tried to contact Miss Lincoln by seeking Mrs. Lincoln’s permission to write to her, but I have received no reply.” Mr. Howard knit his brow, and tapped his cigar in the ashtray. Bertram adjusted himself in his chair, feeling that sense of awkwardness that had become such a familiar sensation for him of lately, whereas before he had constantly felt the master of every situation.
“I would like to press an offer of marriage to Miss Lincoln, sir, and I thought perhaps you might advise me as to the best way to go about this matter, since I feel as if Miss Lincoln is...is perhaps angry with me at this time. If I have no way of apologizing to her in a letter, I have no right to ask her to marry me.” Bertram spoke rather quickly, and Mr. Howard straightened up in his chair, truly shocked by this information. “My niece is angry with you, and you wish to press an offer of marriage?” “Yes, sir,” Bertram said swallowing. “I know none of the particulars, but my niece is not generally an angry person, Mr. Bertram.” “Oh no, sir. I did not mean to infer that. Only, I have certainly done enough to make her so.” Mr. Howard pondered for a moment. “Young people tend to be of a volatile nature, Mr. Bertram, and yet quarrels are also as easily mended. If you wish to make an offer to my niece, I certainly have no objections, although I think her rather young.” “Yes, sir, she is young.” “Have you then considered what a change such a marriage to a gentleman as yourself would pose in her life, especially considering her age and experience.” Bertram looked down at his feet. “I have been somewhat selfish in the matter, I suppose you mean, sir.” “I only ask you to think it over, and then if you come to the same conclusion, why not simply go to Kent. That would please her more than a letter of apology, I presume,” Mr. Howard said with a slight smile. “Thank you, sir,” Bertram standing up and taking Mr. Howard’s hand. “You have been most helpful.” “No, nothing at all, my boy, nothing at all.”
Bertram did his best to follow Mr. Howard’s advice, although serious contemplation that flew in the face of Bertram’s immediate pleasures and desires was still a rather overwhelming task for the young gentleman. Bertram was, however, destined to become a thoughtful man, and he now saw the necessity of his being extremely thoughtful not only in regards to his wishes, but also the best interests of Miss Lincoln, as well, who might not be well served by his interests. Therefore, he consulted with his father, something that, although a dutiful son, Bertram was not oft to do.
“I’ve never met, Miss Lincoln,” his father answered after Bertram introduced the subject. “I was lax in introducing you to her, sir, when she was here for the masquerade.” “Indeed...why did you not? Are you ashamed of her?” his father asked as he folded up his newspaper. “Oh no, sir. Miss Lincoln is certainly nothing to be ashamed of.” “Then you have been amiss, if you wish to introduce her into our family.” “I know, sir. I was simply being selfish at the time.” “No, you mustn’t apologize to me; you must apologize to Miss Lincoln, for you make it look like these intentions of yours are merely an afterthought. Do you see my point?” “Yes, sir.” His father sighed. “Some people would warn you not to marry outside of your circle, my son.” “Would that be your advice?” Bertram asked, trying to steady his voice. “I would advise you to not marry outside of your intellectual and emotional sphere, whereas “circle” implies social and economic concerns. If Miss Lincoln is your equal in these other areas, we do not lack in the social ones, and therefore, to my way of thinking, her lack should make no matter to us.” Bertram exhaled. “Then you would not be displeased?” “No, I would not.”
Bertram sat in the parlor of a friend’s home, having finished dinner. The Carols were present, but he had not spoken to either of them in days. Bertram was so much involved in his own problems that he had not even taken note of their silence. So, when Miss Carols came to sit beside him, it did not produce the effect she had been hoping for.
“Well, I have decided to forgive you, Bertram,” she said with a pleasant smile, having decided that sugar was always better tasting than vinegar. Bertram nodded absentmindedly. He was in the business of assessing each woman one by one in the room: Miss Cunningham was shallow, Mrs. Darcy was a snob, Mrs. Lovett was stupid, and now he turned his focus on Miss Carols. What was Miss Carols? She had always been a great friend of his, and while he had never thought her as attractive as some of the other ladies, he had sometimes thought that she might make him the best wife of all. And yet, now he had no plans to marry her, let alone any of these other ladies. There was something decidedly artificial in the way Miss Carols had begun to speak to him. “Excuse me?” “I inquired after your family. Where is your head, Bertram?” she said laughing. “My parents are fine.” “And your sister? I must go see her some day this week. Is she to come out soon? I should so love for her to be in society.” “I’m not aware of any plans to introduce her to society,” Bertram said looking off again, watching everyone move about the room.
“Are you looking for someone, Bertram?” she asked sweetly. “Not at all.” “I thought perhaps you might be looking for someone,” she replied somewhat lamely, wishing she could probe his feelings without blatantly bringing up Miss Lincoln. “I only ask, because I’ve worried about you and Edmund,” she said in a hushed voice. Bertram laughed shortly, but didn’t turn to face her. “I know you must know what I speak of, and yet I believe Edmund is out of danger.” “No doubt,” he said shaking his head. “I don’t believe he was ever in danger,” he said after a moment’s contemplation. “Perhaps you are right, but having spoke to Miss Lincoln, I think she was very much indeed, and it is probably better that she left when she did. I would not have wanted anything to happen to the innocent thing,” Miss Carols said as she looked up to indicate some thoughts of a higher power. Bertram turned to look at her for the first time: “Forgive me, Miss Carols, but I don’t believe that you are correct.” “In what manner?” Miss Carols said trying to ascertain his feelings once more. “Would you rather she stayed?” Bertram evaded her question by once more looking around the room. “I have heard nothing of her returning,” she said quietly again in the sweetly intoned voice. Bertram still didn’t respond. “Have you heard anything, Bertram?” Bertram resigned himself and turned to face Miss Carols before standing up: “When I visited Mr. Howard to discuss the possibility, he was unaware of any plans on her part to return to London.”
