Page 58 of To Love And To Cherish (Pride And Prejudice Variation #3)

Mary sat quietly amid the bustle of the drawing room, her thoughts occupied by their guest, Mr. Bertram.

He had spoken cordially to William after the service, but made no attempt to greet the ladies.

Instead, he had turned down the lane, his hat low over his brow, and entered his carriage without so much as a glance.

Perhaps he was beyond the reach of feminine attentions.

Still, Mary determined to do what she could for Kitty, who looked particularly well that morning in a pale rose day dress and a straw hat trimmed with ribbon, set at a flattering tilt over her coiffure.

Lizzy had done her sister a true service when she purchased her wardrobe.

Mary made a mental note to write and tell her so.

William stood at the head of the table, carving the leg of lamb with habitual precision while the dishes circulated among the company.

Dr. Clark, the parish physician, and his wife had arrived in good time, as had Mr. Jones, the apothecary, accompanied by his unmarried sister Cecilia.

Mr. Jones, at eight-and-forty, seemed unlikely ever to marry, but was a kind and steady presence nonetheless.

At last, Mr. Bertram arrived. Mary had nearly instructed the party to begin without him. After being introduced to her guests, he offered an apology for his lateness.

“You must excuse me, Mrs. Bennet,” he said, his voice low and courteous.

“Miriam is laid down with a cold. I very nearly remained at home this morning, but her nurse coaxed her into taking some willow bark tea, bitter though it was, and her fever has since abated. I drove home to check on her, and finding her sleeping, I ventured back.”

Mr. Jones, ever the professional, asked, “Shall I send down headache powders, James?”

Bertram paused, then nodded. “Yes, I believe that would be helpful.”

Mary placed him beside Charlotte at the table, though she noted his attention strayed. No doubt his thoughts remained with his daughter.

Mr. Bertram’s abstracted manner, his gaze often fixed on some private thought rather than the company before him, convinced Charlotte that he harbored no inclination toward matrimony or, indeed, toward women at all.

Still, kindness cost her nothing. She addressed him with gentle civility.

“Your daughter suffers from a headache, sir?”

“Yes, and a cough and fever.”

“Have you tried hot bricks to the feet? Or a mustard soak? Heat drawn to the extremities often clears the head and relieves pressure.”

At this, Mr. Bertram looked at Charlotte fully and smiled. “Thank you. I shall ask Nanny Wilkins to try that. I believe Miriam would enjoy a foot bath if I present it as a game.”

Charlotte gave a soft laugh. “Children can make a game of most anything. How old is she, sir?”

“My daughter has just turned three and is as precocious as they come, and she allows me very little latitude. I cannot say I understand her.”

Charlotte’s expression softened. “I teach in the Sunday school of our parish. I must agree, children of that age are often quite decided in their opinions. But once you find your way to them, they are delightful.”

Mr. Bertram’s smile faltered. “I wish I could say the same. Miriam lost her mother at birth. I have never quite known what to do with her. She throws tantrums and once even fainted. Her nurse was beside herself. By the time I arrived, my daughter was sitting up perfectly well. Mrs. Wilkins is not strong enough to manage her, and truth be told, I am not either.”

Charlotte appeared to deliberate before speaking.

“We had a boy in Sunday School like that, Jack Hanson. When he threw himself on the floor during Sunday school, I asked the other teacher to leave him be. I ushered the other children out and left the door ajar. I told Jack he could find me when he was ready. He screamed another minute, then rose, came to me, and asked for water. He tried once more after that, but has not had a tantrum in six months.”

Bertram’s eyes lit with something like hope. “I shall try this. It sounds so simple. Where is your home, Miss Lucas?”

“In Hertfordshire, sir, in a village called Meryton.”

Charlotte kept him engaged the remainder of the meal, and when they adjourned to the drawing room, Mary was more hopeful of a potential match between the pair.

William then drew attention to their purpose.

“We would like to establish a parish fund for the care of the indigent,” he said.

“Mary has begun gathering volunteers to sew clothing for the children, and we would also like to provide medicines and tinctures. At present, Dr. Clark and Mr. Jones bear the cost of charity entirely.”

He went on to propose an annual fundraiser, with Lady Catherine’s generous donation of five thousand pounds as a foundation.

“We hope the other principal estate owners will be willing to pledge an annual sum as well. Finally, if we can persuade the other parishioners to give what they can in time and effort as well as in monetary donations, I believe our program will succeed.”

Both gentlemen agreed. Mr. Jones offered to teach any willing parishioner the making of tinctures, and Dr. Clark expressed his gratitude.

“One in three house calls I make is charity,” he said. “But how does one turn away a mother with a sick child? I cannot do it.”

Mr. Bertram proposed setting aside a substantial sum as capital for investment, with the parish using the interest to assist the poor, and the others readily rallied behind the plan. Both Grant and Bertram agreed to have their solicitors investigate suitable investments in the coming month.

William volunteered to visit each household in the parish to collect small weekly contributions for what they would now call the Health and Welfare Fund, and Mary resolved to rally the married women to sew and assist in preparing extracts under the physician’s and apothecary’s direction.

Once the business was settled and tea taken, the guests dispersed into smaller groups. Mrs. Grant and Daniel sat in a corner chatting with Kitty. And Mary was pleased when Mr. Bertram sought out Charlotte once more.

“I wonder,” Bertram said, “if you might offer counsel on how to persuade a child to bed at a reasonable hour.”

Charlotte listened as he described a nightly ordeal of chaos and defiance. Miriam, it seemed, had never known boundaries.

In her measured way, Charlotte said, “In my home, my younger brothers played outdoors daily, were bathed, and then their nurse spent an hour reading to them. Lanterns were extinguished by half-past seven. They were allowed to talk in bed, but not to rise. All four were asleep within the hour.”

“Oh, what I would give for sleep at eight,” Bertram muttered. “At ten, she is still racing the halls.”

Charlotte offered murmurs of sympathy and no judgment. She understood now that this was not a man nursing romantic wounds, but one floundering beneath the weight of a strong-willed child, desperate for help.

The following morning, Charlotte worked in the kitchen garden with Mary and William. The mid-March day was dry and fine, and they took full advantage, laying plans for the coming fundraiser. They were pondering over the details when the sound of carriage wheels interrupted them.

Mrs. Tilney appeared in the doorway, breathless. “Mr. Bertram, ma’am.”

All three looked up as Mr. Bertram stepped into view. He turned directly to Charlotte.

“Miss Lucas, might I persuade you to walk out with me?”

She removed her gloves and apron without hesitation. “Gladly.”

He turned to William. “We shall remain upon the main road. I will return Miss Lucas within the half hour.”

Charlotte slipped inside to fetch her bonnet and shawl. When she returned, they passed through the garden gate together.

Mary watched them go, a pleased look softening her features. “He is speaking quite animatedly,” she remarked.

William raised a brow. “I wonder what matter brings him out so early.”

Charlotte was equally curious. Morning calls before eleven were unusual, and she wondered what urgent thought had driven Mr. Bertram to the parsonage so soon after breakfast. They walked in silence for a few moments, the gravel crunching beneath their feet, before he spoke.

“The hot water worked,” he said. “I had the maid fill the hip bath and gave Miriam an old toy boat I’d kept. Her head cleared. She said it did not hurt anymore.”

Charlotte relaxed. He wished to speak of his daughter.

“I have studied hydrotherapy,” she replied. “It can be quite effective. I’m so pleased it brought her comfort.”

He grew more serious. “As for bedtime, I took her outside and we played ball, actually, I threw and she chased. She seemed tired. Mrs. Wilkins bathed her, and I read to her. I had not realized she was old enough for stories. Her nanny cannot read, and I am ashamed to say, I had never done it before. She nearly fell asleep, but just then, Mrs. Wilkins entered to put away laundry. Miriam leapt from bed, shrieking that we could not make her sleep. She finally dropped to the floor at ten.”

Charlotte listened with quiet sympathy. The tale, though comical in parts, spoke of a man truly at his wits’ end.

They reached the bend in the lane when Mr. Bertram stopped. His face was sober.

“What my daughter needs,” he said, “is a mother.” He looked her directly in the eye. “Miss Lucas, would you do me the honor of accepting my hand in marriage?”