“Miss Julia Bertram has a tolerable dowry, but nothing out of the ordinary,” Mary confided. “She is still a beauty, though approaching three-and-twenty. She is the daughter of a baronet—although the name is somewhat tarnished. Her sister Maria threw herself at my poor brother and disgraced herself, and then her father lost his fortune.
“Rich tradesmen are the natural prey of girls in Miss Bertram’s situation. There are no small number of men who, having secured their fortunes through trade, seek to acquire a gloss, a polish, on their unfortunate origins. It would be folly, absolute folly, for Julia to give her hand to anyone for less than three thousand a year, and I am inclined to believe she could find a mill-owner or merchant with an even heavier purse, especially if she is not exacting as to his youth or appearance. In fact, entre nous, the older the better—look at my friend Janet Fraser! Only a few years more, and she will be wearing black ribbons, I think, and a very wealthy widow she will be!
“My friend Julia should do very well for herself. I am only saying what all the world knows, except for foolish girls who read novels.”
This latest embellishment concerning her in-laws, her new assertion that the Bertrams sought a mercenary match for their daughter, aroused no scepticism amongst her friends.
Mary Bertram could still command a home with her friend Janet Fraser whenever she was in London. Janet had captivated the widowed Mr. Fraser four years before, but choosing a much younger lady for his second wife had not, as he perhaps intended, successfully arrested the passage of time. Mrs. Fraser lived for society, bustle, and consequence, and showed no indication of tiring of London life; her husband more and more came to prefer their quiet country home in Twickenham. He complained of her extravagant spending and her flirtations, while she protested that he did not make allowance for her vivacity and youth.
Mrs. Janet Fraser’s step-daughter Margaret, as yet unmarried, and viewed without disguise by Mrs. Fraser as an encumbrance, was another source of discontent in the union. Margaret, an earnest, bashful young lady, was only two years younger than Janet’s friend Mary Bertram, but worlds apart in sophistication and ease of address.
Since Margaret was no sparkling wit, and was too short and plump to appear to advantage in a ballroom, Mrs. Fraser held her step-daughter very cheap, and noisily despaired of Margaret’s ever making a good alliance, however many balls or soirees the girl was dragged to. It was a grievance Janet Fraser resorted to frequently, even when her friend Mary was sitting at her harp.
“Ah, Mary, if only Mr. Fraser had consented for Margaret and me to stay with you in Brighton,” Janet exclaimed. “I told him it was for Margaret’s sake! We might have found her a husband!”
“I could hardly have exerted myself for her in Brighton,” replied Mary, placing her hands flat against her harp strings to silence them, “for I was excessively unwell the entire time I was there. Lord Elsham was so insistent I should go, but I have inherited my late aunt’s prejudice against the sea. The sea air—which everyone claims to find so invigorating—is vile! Rotting mussels and seaweed! Why not bring Margaret to Bath instead? There we may husband-hunt in some comfort.”
“You know why not—Mr. Fraser, that tiresome man, refuses to stir anywhere, not even to Bath, which might do him some good. But, so soon as I propose a thing, he is certain to refuse it.”
“You have made the most elementary error, Janet, in promoting the scheme yourself. I blush for your simplicity. Ask his physician to advise it to him, ask one of his friends, ask his valet, ask the man who lights the street lamps, and he will be ordering the carriage ‘round. He will be announcing it to you— ‘we had much better go to Bath, Janet,’ —even if he directly refused you, his own wife, a fortnight before. I believe this rule was formulated by Mr. Newton, or it ought to have been, because it is just as reliable as one of his theorems.”
“Until then, Mary, and now that you are back, you must help me take Margaret about. Could you not display her at Lady Delingpole’s weekly receptions?”
“I did not realize our little Margaret was interested in political gatherings.”
“Who cares what might interest her? Whig or Tory, what does it matter? I have had word of a gentleman newly arrived in town, from Bristol—a Mr. Meriwether. He is a widower, with a very handsome fortune. In the wine trade, I believe. He is making a lengthy stay in London and my friends tell me he is looking for a wife!”
“Janet! What luck!”
“Please watch out for him, and make his acquaintance if you can.”
“Of course, my dear Janet. It would be my pleasure to help in any way I can.”
“How glad I am to have you back in London, Mary! I began to be quite jealous of your friendship with Lady Delingpole, and suspected you loved her more than me.”
“Well, supposing I do, dear Janet, you will be happy to know that Lady Delingpole has no plans to return to Wales until next summer, and therefore cannot tempt me away from you.”
Mrs. Fraser smiled. “You will not be surprised when I hint to you, that some persons wonder if Lord Delingpole does not admire you even more than his wife does.”
Mary laughed. “Only someone unacquainted with Lord and Lady Delingpole could surmise such a thing. I do not object to gossip, but there should be some ingenuity behind it. This is the laziest sort of speculation. Simply
