Edmund Bertram's Diary

‘I should like to go to a ball with you and see you dance. Have you never any ball s at Northampton? I should like to see you dance, and I’d dance with you if you would, for nobody would know who I was here, and I should like to be your partner once more. We used to jump about together many a time, did not we? When the hand-organ was in the street? I am a pretty good dancer in my way, but I dare say you are a better.’ And turning to my father, who was now close to them, said, ‘Is not Fanny a very good dancer, sir?’

‘I am sorry to say that I am unable to answer your question. I have never seen Fanny dance since she was a little girl; but I trust we shall both think she acquits herself like a gentle-woman when we do see her, which, perhaps, we may have an opportunity of doing ere long.’

‘I have had the pleasure of seeing your sister dance, Mr. Price,’ said Crawford, leaning forward,

‘and will engage to answer every inquiry which you can make on the subject, to your entire satisfaction.’

Fanny flushed to hear herself so flatteringly spoken of. Fortunately for her modesty the conversation moved on to ball s my father had at ended in Antigua. So engrossed were we all In listening to him that we did not hear the carriage until it was announced. I was about to take Fanny’s shawl to lay it round her shoulders when Crawford did it for me. I glanced at Mary and she smiled at me, wishing us a safe journey back to the Park. And now, back in my room, I feel the time is coming when I must put Mary’s feelings to the test, for I cannot hide my own any longer. I am in love with her, and I wish to make her my wife. Once Christmas is over and I have been ordained, I will be in a position to know exactly what I have to offer her.

But will it be enough? When I think of all the encouragements she has given me, the smiles and playful comments, the thoughts and feelings shared, then I think yes. But when I think of her comments on the necessity of wealth and her decided preference for London life, I am sure she will say no.

Friday 16 December

This morning my father announced that he intends to give a ball in honor of Fanny and William, and I was relieved and pleased. Relieved, because it would give another turn to my thoughts, which are at present occupied by the serious considerations of my ordination and the torment of wondering whether Mary will marry me. And pleased, because Fanny has little opportunity for dancing, and I want her to be given the pleasure.

My aunt was soon busily deciding that she must take all the care from Mama’s shoulders, and Mama had no objections to make.

My father suggested the twenty-second, a date my aunt declared to be impossible because of the shortness of the notice, but he was firm.

‘We must hold it soon, for William has to be at Portsmouth on the twenty-fourth, so we have not much time left. But I believe we can collect enough young people to form ten or twelve couples next week, despite the shortness of the notice.’

As soon as I had a chance to speak to my father alone, I said, ‘I am very happy at the idea of a ball, for it has been troubling me recently that Fanny has not yet come out.’

My father was surprised to learn of it.

‘Mama felt that her health made it wise to wait until she was older.’

‘Just so,’ he said. ‘Well, this shall be her come-out ball then.’

The invitations were sent out this afternoon, and as I happened to be going past the Parsonage, I took the Crawfords’ and the Grants’ invitation in person. I was pleased to see Mary’s eyes sparkle, but learned it was not with thoughts of the ball. She had just then received a letter from her friends in London, and they had invited her to stay.

‘I thought you were fixed here,’ I said, my spirits sinking.

‘And so I am, but you would not begrudge me a visit to my friends, I am sure,’ she returned.

‘Henry has kindly agreed to remain at Mansfield until January, so that he might convey me to them.’

And so, before January I must offer her my hand, for if I do not, I may miss my chance for many months, or, if she decides to stay in London, forever.

Wednesday 21 December

William and I went into Northamptonshire this morning and I collected Fanny’s chain, which Tom had sent on for me. William was pleased to see it.

‘It is exactly the sort of thing I wanted to buy for Fanny, to go with the amber cross I bought her, but as a midshipman my pay would not stretch so far.’

‘Your time will come,’ I reassured him. ‘When you are a captain, you will be able to buy Fanny as many chains as you wish.’