* * * * * *
Henry Crawford was feeling sorry for himself. Why were the pleasures of the flesh so all-consuming and yet so fleeting? Why did he have to expend so much of his time to obtain them, through weeks and even months of patient gallantry, and, having finally achieved his desire, did boredom and disillusionment replace ardour and passion so swiftly? His once-enchanting Maria now seemed to him to be a common trull, no better than one of the blowzy little actresses he picked up at the theatres, and with the devil of a temper.
He had done his best to keep his distance from the silly girl, his supposed betrothed, at no small inconvenience and exertion neither—he denied himself the pleasures of several receptions and gatherings, upon receiving the intelligence that she would also be there, and on several occasions he watched for her and Mrs. Norris to set out on their morning visits, before dashing to their front door and leaving his card with the butler. He contrived to always be where she was not, and to not be where she was, but had still succumbed to his weakness when it came to entertaining her privately in his hotel room.
She had insisted on coming to see him today—only a few days having passed since their last rencountre—because with her brother Edmund’s return to the city, another pair of eyes would be watching her comings and goings. She found Henry distracted and distant, to which she responded with pride and resentment, and the worst of their tempers were soon on display to each other.
“I must leave London for a time, my Maria. When I return, we can talk some more.”
Henry pushed her back into the bed, pinned down her shoulders and began nibbling on her neck, working down to those delicious breasts. He was tired of Maria, but he would miss those breasts.
“Henry, how long will you be away? Let us set a date for our wedding before you go—ow! Not so roughly!”
Henry released one fat pink nipple and replied, “Set a date? We are a long way from being able to set a date, don’t you think?”
“What do you mean?”
L-rd, the woman was aggravating! Deciding to eschew further preliminaries, Henry pushed her legs apart with his knee and entered her without ceremony.
“Well, firstly—there is the question of your—wedding settlement—from your good father—for rumour has it—about town, I am—sorry to say—that Sir Thomas is—somewhat embarrassed at—the present and—may find it difficult to—come down with—all of your—dowry.
“Secondly, and—by no means of lesser import—is that Sir Thomas does—not smile upon me—and I scorn to—join in an alliance—with a household that—does not welcome me—with the due consideration—that any self-respecting—gentleman would expect.
“So—on both—these points—the remedies — are—in your—hands—rather—than—mine—and—I—shall—not—trouble—myself—any –further—to—give—my—good—name—to—a—little—slut—who—has—ahhhhhhhh! Sorry, m’dear.”
Maria sat up and pushed him away, her eyes blazing.
“You dare call me a slut!” She slapped him hard, across the face.
His eyes narrowed, he rubbed his cheek. “You shall regret that, Miss Bertram.” He paused, sorely tempted to teach her a lesson right there and then. But, as he reminded himself, la vengeance est un plat qui se mange froid.
* * * * * *
“Good day. Is Miss Bertram within?”
Mary heard Edmund’s voice in the hallway, talking to the butler, and she dropped her newspaper and jumped from her seat.
He had come to Mrs. Fraser’s house looking for his sister—nothing could be more natural, except of course, she was not there—the butler opened the door and presented “Mr. Bertram.” Mary gave him her most dazzling smile and went to meet him.
“Mr. Bertram. What a pleasant, pleasant surprise. Welcome back to London.”
“Miss Crawford.” He took her hand and held it for a moment. She looked up at him—she loved to look up at him—his person, his height, his air, were all excellent, and she felt a tingle which had nothing to do with the alarm which was making her heart beat faster. How to explain Maria’s absence?
“Well, Miss Crawford, and how did you and Mrs. Fraser enjoy the concert last week?” he smiled.
“Oh, very well, I suppose. The crowd was insupportable, but we secured tolerably good seats.”
The friendly light died from his eyes.
“Miss Crawford, I must explain the reason for my lack of ceremony. My aunt tells me that Maria has been a frequent guest here at Mrs. Fraser’s, and that upon Maria’s return to our London home, she describes the suppers she has eaten here, the games of cards she has played, the parks and the concerts she has visited and so forth, with Mrs. Fraser and you and her other guests. But…” he released her hand and walked over to gaze out the window, though he saw nothing of what passed outside. “Miss Crawford, I have heard from a source I do not doubt that Mrs. Fraser has been away from London these past two weeks. I shall be perfectly candid with you—can you, without giving me the pain of enumerating them, understand the doubts, the fears, and the suspicions which now prey upon my mind?”
“Oh, surely, Mr. Bertram, there must be an explanation.”
