“Don’t suppose that I have any objection to putting a bullet in Crawford’s chest on behalf of my poor deceived sister—now that we know we would not be making a widow of our cousin—but I wanted you to understand that Fanny’s virtue is intact, if not, as you reckon these things, her honour and reputation.”
Edmund shook his head. “If I have been too quick to judge others, brother, my own affairs have brought, and will bring, for the rest of my life, a lesson in humility. I believe I was too apt to look upon the foibles of others, too apt to condemn, but now, with the examples of my own errors and blindness before me, I must be more compassionate of my fellow creatures.”
“With the exception of this Crawford fellow, of course,” put in Anderson. “There is a limit, after all.”
“Come to remark on it,” Tom interposed, “The bare fact that I am not in such a passion as Edmund over this whole business, provides another reason why it is I and not he, who should meet Crawford. Mine is the cooler head. Edmund is so determined to punish Crawford he has forgotten that, if he kills him, he is killing his own brother. I believe his marriage has already been a source of some disappointment—what will it be if his wife regards her husband as the murderer of her brother?”
Edmund’s head snapped up, astonished. He had indeed forgotten, in the intensity of his fury, the consequences to his marriage should he have assassinated Crawford. “Tom, if you finish what I began, how could I ever repay you? How to surrender this duty to you, how can I watch you put your own life in peril, to spare me from the consequences of my own folly?”
“Of course, I will attempt to settle the matter without recourse to a duel—but if needs be, I will take on the responsibility of protecting the honour of the Bertram family—just this once. I may fall, and if I fall, I will atone for much. If I live, watch to see how completely and utterly I relinquish those duties and expectations which are the lot of the first-born son. One hazard in exchange for the life I want to live. I will wager everything on those odds, gratefully.”
Edmund, who lately had only been able to view life as a series of duties, was dumbfounded at the apparent insouciance with which his brother was able to walk away from title, estate, and family. Finally, he croaked, “But you are a Bertram. Can you truly ever forget it?”
Tom smiled, “And, if I never mentioned it, I’m proud to be your brother, Edmund Bertram. Let us not pretend that our dear father doesn’t regard you as the steadier character—and who, in all candour, could disagree with him? But I do not harbour any resentment against you on that account. I wonder if he will be proud of me for this night’s work—what a novel sensation that would be!
“You cannot know for how long I have struggled with this dilemma. It is not merely that I have the greatest antipathy for the responsibilities and restrictions attendant on becoming Sir Thomas Bertram, the baronet. There is more. I think, Edmund, I think you know that I am a confirmed bachelor. Our father will never cease urging me to enter into matrimony, and the thought of deceiving some poor innocent girl, tricking her into marriage, for her to spend the rest of her days feeling unloved and disillusioned, sickens me. You know I have always been interested in horses—”
“—and the handsome young fellas who ride ‘em—” put in Hedgerow.
“Shush, Hedgerow. As I was saying, the plain truth is that horse bloodlines interest me more than perpetuating the Bertram bloodline. So, from tomorrow, it’s up to you, brother.”
“Hear, hear! Up to you, Edmund,” from his friends.
“But to leave your family, Tom, to leave us all and go to Virginia. We may well never see you again.”
“So please don’t be hurt when I say I can barely wait to be off. My horses are stabled near the Liverpool dockyards and as soon as I’ve taken my shot at Crawford, I will bolt across country for my new life. A life where I can breathe free air and follow my own pursuits.”
“And,” added Yates helpfully, “in Virginia those pursuits are not capital crimes, as they are here in England. Only one to ten years’ imprisonment!”
Edmund blushed at this open reference to Tom’s propensities, which he had suspected since their school days. “Tom, I trust you know that your family loves you.”
“Of course they do. I am a lovable chap. Who would not love me? If anyone had cause to hate me, however, it would be you. I owe you my deepest apologies, for all the debt I ran into a few years ago, so that father had to give your living to Dr. Grant. That was unspeakably selfish of me. At the time, I was unhappy and confused, and tried to lose myself in drink and at the gaming tables. I promise you, our father will never have to pay my debts again at your expense. He has generously given me, the prodigal son, the funds to start my horse-breeding venture, and what remains of the family fortunes will henceforward be in your hands, Edmund. You may keep the fatted calf, with my compliments—do not worry that I will come back to claim it.”
Edmund yielded, and added, sadly, “Then, friends, please untie my right arm so that I may drink a toast to my brother.”
His wish was obeyed, the port was poured and the two brothers toasted each other.
“God bless you and keep you, Tom.”
“The same to you, Edmund. I wish you a long and happy life, with many little Bertrams clustering about your knees, and a
