Edmund Bertram's Diary

I returned to my room to dress for the ball, and my head was full of Mary. I recalled every nuance of her voice and her expression, and by and by I began to think that I had lost heart too easily, and that things were not so very bad. It was playfulness, surely, and not rejection, for even in London there were clergymen, and she could not refuse to dance with them if they asked her. With these happier thoughts in my head I went down to dinner. My humor was so far improved that I was full y able to appreciate Fanny’s beauty and elegance of dress, and to compliment her on it.

‘But what is this?’ I said, seeing her cross hanging from my chain.

‘Miss Crawford’s chain was too big. It would not fit through the hole,’ she said. ‘Yours was just the right fit. I thought it only proper to wear Miss Crawford’s chain also, as she had been kind enough to give it to me, and so I wore it on its own.’

I saw Mary’s chain hanging beside mine.

‘An excellent solution. The amber becomes you, Fanny. You are in looks tonight. You must keep two dances for me; any two that you like, except the first,’ I said to her. No sooner had the ladies withdrawn after dinner than the carriages began to arrive. Mary looked more lovely than ever, her hair arranged in the most becoming style and her dress as faultless as ever. To my delight, Crawford sought out Fanny. They made a handsome couple, and admiring eyes were turned on them. My father looked pleased, and Mama, too, smiled, as Fanny walked on to the floor.

And then I had eyes only for Mary. When she smiled upon me, I banished the last of my fears and gave myself over to an enjoyment of the evening.

‘It was very kind of you to supply Fanny with a chain for her cross. It shows to advantage against her delicate neck,’ she said, as I led her out on to the floor.

‘No kinder than it was of you. I know she wanted to wear your chain with the cross, and was prevented only by its being the wrong size.’

The music started. I bowed, she curtsied, and the dance began.

‘But she is wearing it anyway. I believe a better girl does not exist. She seems to be enjoying herself,’ she said, glancing towards the top of the set, where Fanny and Henry were dancing, adding, ‘though she seems to be looking at William as often as she looks at Henry.’

‘She has seen so little of him these last eight years, I believe she feels she must keep her eyes on him in case he disappears!’

‘Which he will do all too soon, alas.’

‘Yes. It is good of your brother to interest himself in William. My father has done all he can to help, but he has little influence in the Navy and can do no more. If your uncle would take up William’s cause and help him to a commission as lieutenant, it would mean a great deal to him. We would all like to see him do well.’

‘He is ambitious,’ said Mary approvingly. ‘He tel s me that, if only he can be made a lieutenant, he means to rise through the ranks and not stop until he makes Admiral. It will be a lucky young woman who wins his heart. A handsome young man with a fortune, to say nothing of a uniform, will always be popular with the gentler sex.’

‘He has many years of bachelorhood ahead of him yet. He is only nineteen, hardly more than a boy!’

‘He has achieved a great deal for someone who is hardly more than a boy,’ she returned. ‘He has had adventures many an older man might envy.’

My heart sank, as I suspected where her conversation was tending. Sure enough she began, gently at first but then with more passion, to tel me what a fine career the Navy was, and how a man might take a pride in his achievements, whereas there was no glory in being a country parson, and I was left to realize that her remarks to me this morning were not in jest, after all.

‘Would you have me do something for which I am unsuited, and in which I have no interest?’ I asked her, as the steps of the dance parted us.

‘I would have you use your talents and abilities instead of wasting them,’ she said, as we came together. ‘You have it in you to make your mark on the world. There is a need for men like you in public life. Great orators—’

‘I am hardly that.’

‘You underestimate yourself. I have heard you reading from books with Fanny, and you have a power that other men would envy,’ she said coaxingly. ‘Your words could sway others and bring you renown. London would be at your feet.’

‘I prefer the country,’ I returned.

‘But could do so much more in the town. It would give you more scope, and a greater stage for your endeavors.’

‘I thank you, but I have had enough of stages. I have no taste for acting,’ I returned.

‘Indeed,’ she said, and there was something vulnerable in her voice. ‘I rather thought you liked it.’

I was reminded of the scenes we had performed together, and softened.

‘As Amelia you did not seem so set against the clergy,’ I said more gently.

‘As Amelia I was not.’

The dance parted us, but when we came together again I tried to make her understand.

‘If I could only make you see that the life you want for me would not bring me happiness,’ I said.