As she ran and spun around, something caught her eye, and she looked towards the dirt road that ran from the small town center. She came to an abrupt stop, and some of the children stopped as well, seeing a gentleman on a large white steed. She recognized him immediately as Mr. Bertram, and as he reined his horse in and dismounted, she willed her feet to carry her forward, until Beth hurried up and touched her elbow. “I’ll take Carrie,” she whispered, and the exchange was made. Bertram had now dismounted and walked his horse forward. The animal was wet from riding, and his owner was dressed for a day’s ride, his hair somewhat blown out of it’s small ribbon that normally kept the loose curly locks from falling in his face.
“Miss Lincoln,” he said bowing from the hip slightly. Amy brushed back a wisp of hair as she dropped a curtsey, and Bertram blurted out, “don’t trouble yourself, you look lovely, and I see that I have interrupted your sport.” He immediately regretted his compliment, for she looked discomposed by it, and her already heightened color rose to the tips of her ears. “Excuse me. Would you rather I leave?” he asked with concern. Now Amy knew that she had to act, for Bertram had come all this way, and she couldn’t let her embarrassment and confusion create a situation in which he would have to leave. She turned to call to Alex, her eldest brother, who was only one year her younger, and had been watching everything from the steps in front of the house, thinking himself a little too old to be playing with the rest. “Alex, come and take Mr. Bertram’s horse.” Alex hurried up, anxious to be of some use, and in awe of this mysterious man. Bertram handed the reins over to the healthy looking boy, and hit the side of the horse to made him to walk with Alex to the small stable on the far side of the house.
“You must wonder why I’ve come,” Bertram started awkwardly. “Indeed, but I’m glad you have,” Amy said sincerely. Bertram smiled, and tried to get her to look up at him, but she stared resolutely at the ground. “I’m glad to hear you say that, Miss Lincoln.” Beth had come up behind her sister, holding Carrie on her hip and looking sheepish. Bertram looked over Miss Lincoln’s shoulder at this smaller version of the object of his visit. “And this, I presume are two of your sisters?” Amy turned around. “Oh yes, this is Beth, she is the oldest but myself and Alex, and the child is my mother’s youngest, Caroline.” Beth dropped her best curtsey, although she was saddled with Carrie. “Shall I fetch mother?” Beth asked so quietly that Amy had to think for a moment. She turned back to Bertram, looking at him once again, and was somewhat frightened by the intense look he returned her. “Would you come in, sir?” “Certainly.” “Yes, thank you, Beth. Hurry in and tell mother that Mr. Bertram is here.”
In her nervousness, Beth began to run and almost tripped on her skirts, before picking them up with her free hand. Amy swallowed and inclined her head: “if you will follow me, sir?” Bertram followed carefully a full two feet behind Miss Lincoln, aware that he was still causing her some discomfort. They entered the house, and Beth reappeared and took Bertram’s navy tri-cornered hat, which he had been holding in his hand since alighting from his horse. Then Amy led him into their parlor, where her mother was sitting.
Bertram had expected Mrs. Lincoln to look much like the other two elders of the clan with whom he had been acquainted, but he found her to be quite different: although her hair was certainly showing signs of age, the majority of it was nearly as dark as her daughter’s and her eyes had much the same quality as well. In her form she was no longer a young girl, but she was also not as amply endowed as Mrs. Dermott, even though she had brought seven children into the world. Most impressive of all, perhaps, was the quiet composure with which she received Mr. Bertram, someone with whom she had little in common. Her mother’s composure and poise helped calm Amy, and as she sat down she attempted to apply those same qualities to her own behavior.
“And how were the roads, Mr. Bertram?” “They are excellent, as is usually the case this time of year. No dirt and little to impede one’s progress.” “Very good. And are you in the neighborhood for some time, or merely passing through?” “I had meant only to come to speak with Miss Lincoln, and you of course, mum.” “I see,” Mrs. Lincoln said as she looked to her daughter, who refused to meet anyone’s eye. “I would say that it is good fortune that you find us here, but then fortune has nothing to do with our rather small neighborhood,” she said with a smile. “I think it very charming. Our home in Warwickshire is very much in the country as well, and it suites me very well,” Bertram said as he looked from Mrs. Lincoln to Miss Lincoln, but the latter was still unable to meet anyone’s eye.
Mrs. Lincoln did her best to converse with Bertram, but she could tell that not only was her daughter unlikely to provide any help, but she was also aware of the young man’s divided attention. Bertram would look from Mrs. Lincoln, provide whatever answer was required of her comment, and then turn his attention back on Amy, who after some ten minutes was finally able to glance up at him momentarily. She was fearing that she would lose his attention entirely when Alex hurried in with a letter in his hand. “It’s from the parson, mother,” he said handing it over to her. She took the letter, and briefly looked it over before looking up at Bertram and then her daughter. “I believe I must attend to this, but perhaps we may speak later.” Bertram stood. “Would Miss Lincoln care to speak with me privately?” Mrs. Lincoln had put on her reading glasses and looked over them at her daughter. “Amy, dear, you may take Mr. Bertram into our summer sitting room, if you like.” Amy wordlessly stood up, and began to leave the room, before managing to glance back and say in a near whisper: “if you’ll follow me, please.”
Bertram sat down opposite Amy, and began directly. “I can see that I’m making you uncomfortable, and I wish that I might put you at ease, Miss Lincoln.” Amy was wearing a crisp white apron with one large pocket, and she slid her hand into it pulling out a letter, which she held in her lap. “I confess that I’m confused at to why you’ve come.” Bertram looked down at his hands, which were placed on either knee. “Can you not guess?” he asked. “To tease me? You have come an awfully long way to do so, if that is the case, Mr. Bertram.” Bertram was visibly confused until Amy handed him the letter that she held in her lap. “I feel showing it to you is somehow betraying a confidence,” she said as his fingertips touched hers, which she quickly withdrew. “But as it directly concerns you, I think I will not be too much in the wrong,” she finished. Bertram quickly scanned the letter. “This is from Miss Carols.” “Yes, it is. She wrote to me a few days ago, and I received the letter this morning in the morning post. She tells me that I am to congratulate you.” Bertram looked back down at the letter more carefully after hearing Miss Lincoln’s words.
As Bertram read the letter and realized what it was undeniably implying, his face turned red, and he could barely look up at Miss Lincoln. Amy waited patiently, not knowing what to expect, but not expecting much. “What you must think of me,” he muttered as he folded the letter before handing it back to her. “I think nothing,” Amy said as she placed the letter on the table next to her. “Thinking as you did, why would you be glad to see me?” he asked with warmth. “I thought perhaps that I would never see you again...why would I not be glad?” This caused Bertram to almost fall to his knees before Miss Lincoln, but with some effort, he constrained himself, fearing her reaction. “I have made no such promise to Miss Carols...indeed, I have never made any lady such a promise, or had the intention of giving anyone such an idea.” Amy was becoming flustered. “You need not explain yourself, Mr. Bertram. I only thought I should wish you one thing, and now I am told it is not so, that is all.” “I would have never come, if...this is simply not true, Miss Lincoln, and I know Miss Carols knows it not to be true as well. I cannot attest for her motives, but I assure you that she is far from being misled.” Bertram was certain that this was some ploy on Miss Carols’ part, and not some tragic misunderstanding, and he wished for Amy to believe this as well, so that she might not feel sorry for Miss Carols after he said what he had come to say.
Amy sat for a few moments silently absorbing everything, and then she raised her eyes to Bertram, who was waiting for some sign to begin. He smiled tenderly at her. “I don’t wish you to be unhappy, Miss Lincoln. Are you all right?” “Yes, thank you.” “I’m glad to hear it.” Amy sighed and smoothed her apron, so as to have something to do with her hands.
“Miss Lincoln, I have come here after a good many weeks of thinking. My heart had been telling me one thing, and now I find that my mind is in complete accordance. So, I have come here to ask you your feelings, and if they are in agreement, to ask you to marry me,” Bertram said all of this very softly, and as he did so, he leaned forward to lightly touch the small hands that were folded in the lap in front of him. Amy had looked down at her lap as soon as he began, and she could not raise her eyes, though she tried. “Amy, dear?” he prodded. “Oh, Mr. Bertram,” she pleaded in choked tones. “What is it? I must know your mind, even if it is to...” “No, no...please stop, for I don’t like for you to say these things.” Bertram sat up, relinquishing her hands, and yet he did not leave, as Amy had half hoped he would. Bertram felt as if he were glued to the chair in which he sat by the slowing of his pulse that was draining his energy. “I couldn’t in all good conscious tell you ‘yes’, despite my feelings on the subject,” she said raising the apron to her face to wipe a stray tear. This “despite” gave Bertram the power of speech once more: “What are your feelings then? Do be honest with me,” he pleaded. “Oh, that is too cruel, Mr. Bertram, for I believe you can tell what my feelings are, and yet by my admitting them, it will only make you and I miserable,” she said looking up with pleading eyes. “How is that? I believe that it would make me deliriously happy, Amy, dearest. I have dreamt of nothing but hearing you say such words to me since you left London,” he asserted strongly. “Would it truly make you happy? Would you then go away?” Amy asked innocently with the wish to make Bertram as happy as she possibly could. “It should make me extraordinarily happy,” he said without answering her last question, and once again he took her hands. “Oh, no, I daren’t, for I can see that you won’t leave if I do,” she said struggling for her hands.
Bertram stood up exacerbated: “No, why should I?” Bertram was in truth, somewhat spoiled and used to getting what he wanted, and in this the most important of desires, he found himself thwarted. “Because, you would be making a mistake in staying,” Amy answered quietly. She glanced nervously towards the door, worrying that any moment someone might enter, and the way Bertram was stalking around the room and the state she was in did not make for a particularly standard scene.
“I’ve considered this all very carefully,” he said stopping in front of her and softening his tone once again. “I should only be the happiest of men. There would be no mistake.” “Forgive me, but I see reasons that would make our...” Amy could not finish. Bertram kneeled down. “What is it, Amy? I shall convince you otherwise,” he coaxed. Amy swallowed. “I am too young, Mr. Bertram to entertain thoughts of marriage.” “You did not look too young to me when you were holding your baby sister,” he said causing Amy to blush brightly and draw in her breath quickly. “Perhaps you mean that you do not wish to marry so young? If that is the case, I will wait for you.” “Oh, Mr. Bertram...I fear that I’m not being plain enough, and yet it is very hard for me to say this.” He took her hand and looked her in the eyes, wordlessly asking her to go on. “I think perhaps I am too young, but even after a few years I will not be up to the task you set before me. You need someone quite different than me.” Bertram knit his brow. “I wasn’t aware how very different your life was from mine until I was in London, and it was all very...overwhelming, and not particularly pleasing. I was not at home there.” Bertram began to speak, but Amy interrupted him. “I simply can’t do you the disservice of accepting, for everyone would immediately see my blunders. I could bear everyone else’s scorn, but I could never bear yours, Mr. Bertram, never,” she said shaking her head. “I think your lack of training in society is what makes you superior to everyone in it...even myself.” “Oh, no, Mr. Bertram, don’t say that. You have always treated me as if I was just the same as you...” “And so you are.” Amy sighed, “I said to Beth that you were not so different from me: if you had been raised here in my family, you would be no different from the rest of us. Perhaps I insult you by saying this?” “Not at all. The idea of an aristocracy by birth and blood is an idea that is slowly dying. The Carols are prime examples, and yet they are not of the same superior stuff as you, my Amy.” Amy blushed once again, and looked back down into her lap.
Bertram let go of her hands and gently pushed her chin up so that she would look at him once again. “I love you, and you won’t get rid of me so easily. I shall sit here all day and night until you see things my way, Amy sweetness.” Amy half smiled. The door, being ajar for reasons of propriety, was pushed open slowly by Beth, who peered into the room to see Bertram kneeling before her sister. Bertram stood up quickly, and Amy turned her head, biting her lip.
“Oh, excuse me,” Beth said, turning to leave, but Amy stood up to stop her. “No, come in, Beth.” Beth shyly reentered the room, and looked apologetically from her sister to Bertram. “Mother sent me to ask Mr. Bertram to stay for dinner.” Bertram looked to Amy, but she had looked back down at the floor, flushed with embarrassment. “Mr. Hundrum will be coming as well,” Beth continued. Amy looked up at Bertram, attempting to recover: “Mr. Hundrum is our parson; he has only been with us for some months now.” “Well, I should like to meet him then, if you would be agreeable to my staying.” “Of course I am,” Amy answered softly. “If you would tell Mrs. Lincoln that I would be very glad to stay, I would much appreciate it, Miss Beth,” Bertram said smiling.
As the afternoon went on, Bertram felt as if he must eventually be triumphant, as it was clear that Amy cared for him. She only needed time to adjust to the idea, he assured himself as they walked around the small park behind the house and as she introduced each of her charming siblings to him. Amy was playing a game of horseshoes with a few of her siblings, while Nathan, the youngest of the boys at age eight, was showing Bertram his little soldiers. Mrs. Lincoln had come outside to join them, and was sitting in a lawn chair.
When Nathan was finished with his roll call, Bertram excused himself to join Mrs. Lincoln. “Excuse me, mum, for appearing unannounced this afternoon. It is very kind of you to have me for dinner after such behavior,” he said seating himself on the ground, flipping his tails behind him as he did so. “Nonsense. I know what it is to be young: everything is a momentary whim. There is no shame in it.” Bertram leaned back on one hand, but rested his other on the one knee he had bent. “I should hope you don’t think that everything I do is a momentary whim. I have some steadiness to my character.” Mrs. Lincoln turned her head to face her young visitor. “I can see that, Mr. Bertram. And since I can tell that you are good sort of young man, I will do you this favor. Just now when we were all in the parlor I received a letter.” “From the parson. Indeed, Miss Lincoln told me a bit about Mr. Hundrum.” “Yes, that is him. I have been inviting him nearly every week on this day to have dinner with us. He is a good man, and not too old. What I mean to tell you though, is this: Mr. Hundrum wrote to ask for my daughter’s hand.” Bertram looked over to where Amy was still throwing horseshoes. “Miss Lincoln?” he asked quietly. “Yes, Amy.” Bertram was visibly disturbed. “I don’t believe it possible that she is partial to him, mum. If you’ll forgive me.” “No, I believe you are correct, Mr. Bertram. I doubt Amy has any such thoughts in her head, but as her mother...” “You support Mr. Hundrum’s request?” Bertram asked quickly, afraid that his voice was growing too loud. Mrs. Lincoln leaned over to pat Bertram’s hand with her own. “Now, I can see that I have upset you, but I only meant to kindly warn you. I only support Amy’s happiness, and I think my confidence in you must be made clear by this little talk we have just had.”
* * *
Bertram thought Mr. Hundrum exceedingly boring, old, and simpering, although his view was nothing but biased. In truth, Mr. Hundrum was rather simple, in a country parson sort of way, no more than thirty, and only seeking to please the family of the girl whom he had picked out as his future wife. The contrast between the two men though left something to be desired on the part of the older challenger, which, had Bertram been the least bit arrogant, Bertram would have realized and felt safe. Instead, he felt threatened by the man’s presence, and took the first opportunity of drawing Amy to his side after dinner to speak with her on the subject.
Bertram’s voice was hushed as they stood in the corner by the window, and he held on to Amy’s elbow as he began to speak. “You receive Mr. Hundrum’s attentions rather stoically, Miss Lincoln.” “I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean, Mr. Bertram.” “I suppose I am asking whether you receive them stoically, or whether you receive them with quiet pleasure?” Bertram swallowed. “No one here pays me attentions, Mr. Bertram, except for perhaps you.” “Of course I have paid you my attentions. Amy, dear, I have asked you...” “Shhh...” Amy advised, bringing her finger up to quiet Bertram. “Someone will hear you.” Bertram sighed and moved her farther away from the others and closer to the window. “I suppose, though that you think that it would be more appropriate for you to be Mr. Hundrum’s wife, than mine.” “No, certainly not,” Amy answered emphatically. “But then, I think you mistake the matter, for Mr. Hundrum and I barely know each other, and he is far too old...” “Indeed, he is,” Bertram eagerly agreed giving her elbow a slight squeeze. “Then...Mr. Bertram, what is all this fuss about?” “He has asked your mother for her permission to marry you.” Amy’s mouth opened in astonishment. “No, surely not.” “She told me earlier.” “I believe I was safer in London!” Amy said rather loudly, causing more than one person to turn their attention towards the two in the corner.
Mr. Hundrum, in particular, had been observing the exchanges between the two young people. He knew nothing of the Bertram family, but from his appearance and deference being paid the young man, he could ascertain that Bertram was of some high standing in the land. Yet, he did not think there reason to suspect an attachment on either part; at least he thought that until the exchange at the window, which seemed somewhat heated and clearly intimate. Therefore, being a simple man and straight to the point, he thought this the best time to test the issue, and excusing himself to Mrs. Lincoln, Mr. Hundrum traveled across the room to join the pair.
Bertram stopped speaking as Mr. Hundrum drew near, and belatedly let go of Amy’s elbow. Amy blushed and looked down at her hands, worried that Mr. Hundrum had heard their discussion. “You are somewhat of a family friend then, Mr. Bertram? Having lodged with Mrs. Lincoln’s good sister in Cambridge?” “I would not be so presumptuous as to call myself such, but I believe I’ve become rather closely acquainted to Miss Lincoln through my time there and in London as well.” “Ah, I see. And the purpose of your visit...?” “I have come to see Miss Lincoln, for I was not assured of her return to London,” Bertram answered straightforwardly, noticing the change in Amy’s coloring.
Mr. Hundrum growing fears that he was already too late were now growing, but he had not yet heard anything from Miss Lincoln that might affirm the speeches of her young friend. “Since Miss Lincoln’s return from London, I thought it known that she would not return. You said as much to me, did you not?” Amy turned her attention from a spot on the wall that had been receiving all of her concentration to Mr. Hundrum. “I did say that, yes sir.” “It is very good of your friends then to come and visit you, since you are not inclined to spend much time in the town.” She looked shyly at Bertram with a slight smile. “Yes, they are very good.” “I cannot say that I was surprised to hear that Miss Lincoln had no wish to stay in London, although I am sure her uncle is a very good man and was very kind to keep her.” “Miss Lincoln was somewhat vital to his happiness, I believe. And I find it not surprising that he would allow her to stay with him, when I can only imagine how pleasant it was to have her there with him.” Bertram was somewhat irritated, feeling as if the parson was attacking him through his London, making an implicit statement about his own character. “Of course, of course, I will not argue that point with you, Mr. Bertram, but being a country man, myself, I perhaps see London with a different view than you do.” “It is not such an evil place, sir,” Bertram said, continuing to bristle. Amy put her hand up to stop them and speak. “I thought London very pleasing in some ways. I was raised in the country, and shall always prefer it, but then in town I met with many things that I shall always...” Amy trailed off, having been about to say ‘love’, but stopping herself, she lacked another word to put in it’s immediate place. “Yes?” Bertram inquired quietly, inclining his head as he did so. “It is not so simple as picking the country over the town. When I came home, I felt as if I could no longer reside in town, but I would not wish to make any definitive assertions against living there in the future.” “I should hope not,” Bertram added in the same quiet tone of voice.
Mr. Hundrum began to feel as if he was privy to a personal discussion, rather than being a part of the common country or town dialogue often touched upon in countryside parlors. Their looks and intonations seemed to point to their almost entirely forgetting his presence. “And I have a country home, Miss Lincoln. One which my family has lived in for years, and in which I myself spent the entirety of my youth.” Amy smiled on Bertram at the same time as Mr. Hundrum quietly excused himself, going back to join Mrs. Lincoln and Beth by the small fireplace. Amy turned to face out the window, resting both delicate hands on the windowsill, peering out over their side lawn in the growing twilight. “Tell me about your Charlecote, Mr. Bertram. I have heard it much mentioned, and yet you never speak of it yourself. I should like to know how you spend your time there.” Happy to oblige, Bertram leaned against the wall, watching the glow of candlelight play on her face as he began.
“Warwickshire is beautiful. I know that as a member of the ton, it is not fashionable for me to spend too much time away from London, but I must confess that I have always enjoyed my time there nearly as much.” “You are made for town, Mr. Bertram.” “True. But, I am not so out of place in the country. We shoot and hunt and ride. And then there is the leisure time with one’s family that is not so frequent when in town. There are families to visit, but dining with twenty families is not so daunting as perhaps fifty or more in town that require attention. Country dances, fishing, reading...I am even known to read when at Charlecote,” Bertram said with a smile, brushing one of her hands with his own. Amy laughed quietly. “You could have been a serious student, if you tried, Mr. Bertram.” “Yes, I think you’re right, Miss Lincoln. Do you fault me?” Amy could give no answer, being too embarrassed to comment on his character, thinking it nearly faultless, despite having at one time found great pleasure in teasing him about his imperfections. Bertram paused for a few moments before resting his hand over Miss Lincoln’s and whispering, “Amy, my dear, I would love Charlecote all the more if you were there to love it with me. I can see myself quite happy spending the greater part of my time there, if only you were by my side.”
Amy closed her eyes, a smile playing on her lips. The thought of living by Bertram’s side in Charlecote did not seem so daunting, and it pleased her very much to imagine briefly what it would be like. “You would love it, Amy, I am certain. And everyone would love you as I do.” Amy opened her eyes again, and bite her lip, slowly withdrawing her hand, in case someone should look in their direction. “Should your family...does your father know of me?” she asked quietly, knowing Mrs. Bertram to have passed away some years prior, leaving only Mr. Bertram, Michael Bertram, and his sister Emily to reside at Charlecote. “Yes, yes dearest...” Amy interrupted with a “shhh,” worried that he was being not only too familiar, but too familiar within the hearing of too many. “I spoke with my father on the subject, and he wishes us happiness. I only wish to introduce you to both my father and my sister: Emily has never had a sister, and I think she will look on you quite as fondly as one.” Watching Amy’s reaction to his words, he saw there a softening in her resolve against his proposal that began to warm him.
“Please, return with me to town. Allow me to introduce you to my family. They would be overjoyed to know you, my dear. Bring Beth along with you: she would be your companion, and she would enjoy the town, I think.” Bertram spoke quickly, and as he did, it did not sound like an ill-formed plan to Miss Lincoln. “You are not traveling back to town so late tonight, are you?” “Surely there is an inn near by where I might stay tonight?” “Yes, there is. I will speak to my mother tonight, Mr. Bertram.” “And may I come tomorrow?” Amy began to blush, considering that she was embarking on something in her concurrence: “yes, yes you may.”
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