Mary: To Protect Her Heart (Other Pens, Mansfield Park Book 3)

by Leenie Brown

  “You are a sailor?”

  He nodded just as the music began. “Not in the navy. Privately. The captain of my own ship.”

  “You own a boat?” she asked as they joined hands for the first turn.

  “I have funds tied up in several now, but five years ago, it was only one.”

  For several steps, they were separated. Then as they joined hands to proceed down the line, she asked, “Are you a harsh master?”

  He shrugged. “I am a fair one. If at times that requires harshness, then I will be harsh. However, it is not my desire to be so.”

  They separated again. There was something in how Mr. Durward spoke and the way his eyes watched her closely that told her he was not naturally harsh. Indeed, if he were close friends with Tom Bertram, he could not be excessively severe. That would be too reminiscent to Tom of his father, and she knew that Tom and his father mixed about as well as oil and water. That was something to recommend Mr. Durward to her. The admiral was harsh and not always because he had to be. Sometimes it was simply because he enjoyed seeing people scurry before him.

  “You are not a landed gentleman then?” she asked at their next meeting of hands.

  He shook his head. “Never intend to be, but one never knows. I am yet young. I have little besides myself and my business of which to think.”

  “Mr. Bertram seemed to hint that you think of your business a great deal.”

  “I do.”

  Two words? That was very little information. “Why?”

  “Because it is my business and the source of my livelihood.”

  That was a slightly better explanation. She would have to be satisfied with it, she supposed, as they were once again separated.

  “I like it,” he added when they next met. “I cannot imagine being idle.”

  The gentleman next to him leaned toward him. “I hear there is a prize in the harbour.”

  Gabe patted the breast of his jacket. “I have a list of her contents right here, and I understand the court will hear the case in two days.”

  “You are intent on purchasing it?”

  Gabe nodded. “The contents are worthy.”

  Mary listened with interest as they wove in and out and around.

  The same gentleman continued, “Was it one of yours which took her?”

  Gabe shook his head. “Not this time.”

  “A privateer?” The question flew from Mary’s mouth as quickly as her brows rose in surprise.

  Gabe gave a sharp nod of his head. “It’s my way of defending against the enemy’s success.”

  “While promoting his own,” the man next to him laughed.

  “Not unlike what the naval men do. However, I try never to sink my opponent.”

  “Oh, I am not faulting you,” the gentleman hurried to assure him before they were separated to take a different place in the line and hear the last few notes of the music fade.

  “Do you not approve of such activity?” Mr. Durward asked Mary as they formed a circle for the second dance of their set.

  “I have never really considered it,” she answered honestly. “I guess I just thought that the men who did such work were,” she paused, “less refined.”

  He smiled at her whispered final words. “You are likely correct. I find all of this rather taxing at times. But, I would, at some point, like to marry, so it must be endured.”

  She returned his smile. He was delightfully refreshing from the gentlemen with whom she was usually partnered. They were constantly attempting to be what they were not as they crowed their delight about one dance or another. It was part of the game — the dreadfully, boring game in which she found herself ensconced.

  “And you, Miss Crawford? Do you enjoy this?” He waved his hand to indicate the room.

  She looked around her. What did she enjoy about this? It was not the posturing of the people. It was not the heat that increased with each dance. It was not the endless list of rules to be observed. Nor was it smiling when she wished to be serious.

  “I enjoy dancing,” she said at last, “but otherwise?” She lifted and lowered her shoulders in a shrug as a smile which was not forced or intended to entice or cajole curled her lips. “Not a thing. Not a single thing.”

  “Well, Miss Crawford,” Gabe replied, “then we shall have to endure it together.”

  She took his hand as they began the dance. “I should like that very much, Mr. Durward.”

  ~*~*

  “Miss Crawford,” Lady St. James approached Mary and Gabe as they took a turn around the ballroom before returning to where Tom awaited them in the card room. “I have heard the most interesting news.” She gave Gabe an appraising look, allowing her eyes to roam from his face to his feet and back. “And who might this dark and daring looking gentleman be?”

  “Lady St. James, this is Mr. Durward. He is a friend of a friend. Mr. Durward, this is Lady St. James.”

  “Durward? I am unfamiliar with the name.” She tapped her fan on her hand. “Are you in parliament?”

  “No, my lady.”

  “Do you have an estate in Kent?”

  “No, my lady. I am in trade. My father was with the company, but I have set myself up.”

  Lady St. James’s eyes grew wide, and she looked at Mary with concern. “Trade, you say?”

  “Yes, my lady.”

  There was a firmness to Mr. Durward’s jaw and a defiant look in his eyes. Mary could well imagine that he had met with many who responded in such a snobbish fashion.

  “Oh, this will not do, Mary,” Lady St. James said in a non-discreet whisper.

  “What will not do?” Mary asked, feigning ignorance.

  “My husband has standards,” Lady St. James said with a tip of her head and a pleading look in her eyes.

  Gabe leaned toward them. “I do not intend to be your husband’s mistress, so he has very little reason to assess whether I meet his standards or not,” he whispered in the same non-discreet fashion Lady St. James had used. “Miss Crawford, do you care to continue to the card room or would you prefer that I leave you with Lady St. James and extend your regrets to Mr. Bertram?”

  Lady St. James gasped twice — first at Gabe’s comment about her husband’s mistress and then at the name Mr. Bertram. “So, it is true? You have been with Mr. Bertram this evening?”

  Mary pulled her eyes from Gabe’s stern expression. There was no mistaking that he had been affronted and that he was indeed capable of being harsh when necessary. “Yes, my lady, and I am afraid I am engaged to Mr. Bertram for this next set. So, if you would excuse me.”

  “In the card room?” Lady St. James said with a laugh.

  “His leg prevents him from dancing every set,” Mary explained.

  “That is now two sets you have spent with him. Are you attempting to snare the elder brother to punish the younger one?”

  Mary shook her head. “No! I am not attempting to snare anyone. I am simply renewing acquaintances and forming new ones.” She smiled at Gabe.

  “New ones?” Lady St. James lifted her chin. “Such things might cost you your old ones.”

  Though it was hidden behind a sweet tone, Mary did not miss the venom in her friend’s words. Continuing on to the card room with Mr. Durward was a dangerous proposition. However, it could not be avoided, for Mary had no desire to remain as she had always been, and she quite liked Mr. Durward. He seemed open, honest, and interesting, and she would not mind being his friend even if it did cost her her old friends.

  “It has been a pleasure, my lady. I do hope we meet again.” She turned to Mr. Durward. “We should not keep Mr. Bertram waiting.”

  With determined steps and her head held high as she shuddered within, she allowed Mr. Durward to guide her from the room.

  “Well done, Miss Crawford,” he whispered. “That was a valiant first step in making a fresh start.”

  Mary shook her head. “Valiant it may be, but I am uncertain if it was wise.”

  He patted the hand that lay on his
arm. “We are never certain of the wisdom of a thing such as this until we are well into it, and even then, as the smoke from the cannons swirls in the sky, we may waver and distrust what we know to be right. Stand strong, Miss Crawford. It is the only way to take the prize.”

  “Will you stand with me?” Mary asked. “I will need some friends.”

  Gabe pulled out a chair for her to have a seat. “With pleasure, Miss Crawford. With pleasure. However, you should know that I am prone to giving orders, so do not be offended if I occasionally present advice as a command.”

  Tom chuckled. “He did not rise to the positions he did without knowing how to give orders, and it seems it has either become part of his fabric or he was always thus. Now, tell me, why you will need friends to stand with you, Miss Crawford.” He leaned forward eagerly.

  “She has set her course without your guidance,” Gabe replied.

  To Mary, there was a hint of pride in Mr. Durward’s tone, which was excessively pleasing. How long had it been since someone had been proud of her? “Lady St. James was not pleased to see me with a mere mister.”

  “From trade,” Gabe added.

  “You told her you were in trade?” Tom asked in surprise.

  Gabe shrugged. “She was rude.”

  Tom rolled his eyes. “She has a Lady before her name. Of course, she was rude.”

  “I do not approve of rudeness. I will not accept it from those under my command, nor will I tolerate it with any amount of complacence when it is whispered in front of me in such a fashion as to pretend I am not there while guaranteeing I know what is being said.”

  Tom shook his head. “You will have a very hard time finding a wife with such an attitude. Word of a snub of Lady St. James will spread like fire did through London in 1666, and it could be just as damaging. Rebuilding will not be easy or quick. Ouch! I see no need to kick me.”

  “I do.”

  Mary blew out a breath. She had just ruined herself. How was she to find acceptance and a husband of any worth if she were to be shunned? She knew very well how vicious Sarah could be.

  “Miss Crawford, the cannons will run their course and when the smoke clears you will have your prize. Do you know what that prize is?” He shot an angry glare at Tom while speaking gently to her.

  She shook her head.

  He took her hand. “You will have destroyed the admiral.”

  Mary blinked.

  “You will have destroyed the admiral,” Gabe repeated.

  She nodded, a skitter of excitement danced up her arms, causing them to shiver. She would like nothing better than to destroy every trace of the admiral who had found his way into her behavior.

  “We,” he shot another glare at Tom, “will not let you take on water.”

  “Right,” Tom agreed, looking rather sheepish now that he had caught on to why Gabe had kicked him. “I take it my plan is not needed?”

  Mary shrugged.

  “I was going to start by suggesting cutting ties with old acquaintances, but it seems you have already done so.”

  “And then, you were going to send her brother to visit her, were you not?” Gabe leveled a glare at Tom once again.

  Tom shrugged. “I was?”

  “Does he know where you are staying?” Gabe asked Mary.

  “Oh, yes! I am staying with our sister and her husband.”

  He looked at Tom. “Go tell him.”

  “See what I told you. He is very good at giving orders.” Tom stood and gave Gabe a salute. “I shall do my best to locate Mr. Crawford and deliver my message, Captain.”

  “Go away,” Gabe said with a grin. “But return quickly,” he called after him.

  “You are very good friends,” Mary said as he turned back toward her.

  Gabe nodded. “We are. A bit of an odd mix – what with him being the next Sir Thomas and me just commanding ships.”

  Mary shook her head and chuckled. “I doubt very much that you are ‘just commanding ships.’ If I were a gambling woman, which I am at times, I would hazard a guess that you do more than own part of several ships. There is likely a warehouse that stores the goods from your boats as well as a fleet of merchants who come to you to buy those goods.”

  He smiled. “You would win that wager. Now, before my friend returns, I do not know where your sister and her husband, Mrs. Grant and –”

  “Dr. Grant,” she supplied. “He has a stall at Westminster.”

  “Indeed? How very happy for him.”

  “Both he and my sister are pleased.”

  “Are you pleased?”

  Mary nodded her head. “I am. My sister is very loving. Dr. Grant is a bit of a bore, but he is kind. They deserve to be happy.”

  “And where do they live?” Gabe asked.

  Mary took a calling card from her reticule and wrote the direction on the back of it.

  Taking the card from her, Gabe slipped it into his pocket. “You shall have a call from at least one friend,” he said with a wink. “And two if I can put Tom up to it.”

  “He does not have to call,” Mary said quickly. “I am certain he would rather be rid of me.”

  Gabe tipped his head and looked at her for a long silent minute. Just as she was beginning to squirm, he said, “then you do not know the new Tom Bertram.”

  He shook his head as he opened her mouth to speak.

  “You are worthy of his notice, Miss Crawford.” He tapped his pocket. “As well as mine.”

  Chapter 4

  Mary picked up her pen for the second time in three minutes only to return it once again to its holder.

  “It is only an invitation,” her sister, Margaret said, looking up from the book she was reading. “I can write it if you cannot.”

  Mary shook her head. “It must be from me. I have created the trouble between Henry and me, so it stands to reason that I should be the one to attempt the repair.” She picked up her pen once again.

  “He would not come call on us?”

  “No, he would not.”

  Tom had attempted to persuade Henry to call on Mary, but even though Tom insisted that Mary was indeed ready to repent of her behaviour, Henry held fast to his position that if she were truly repentant, she would be the source of the invitation, not a friend. Mary had been a bit shocked that Henry had refused Tom. She had been confident that the surprise of being approached by Tom in a friendly fashion would have made Henry compliant. However, it had not. Henry had been gracious in welcoming Tom, and he had, according to Mr. Bertram, extended a very heartfelt apology for his behaviour in the affair affecting Tom’s sister Maria. But he had been unyielding when it came to his own sister’s poor behaviour.

  Dearest Henry,

  She began before contemplating how she should approach the subject of her guilt.

  Henry knew all her schemes. To attempt anything other than being completely honest would only make him scoff and refuse yet again to see her. Therefore, when she applied her pen to the paper to continue, her thoughts would not arrange themselves neatly for there was no structure to the play. Indeed, there was no game afoot. There were only the contents of her heart to spill upon the page.

  I cannot express to you just how great my sorrow is when I contemplate how I behaved toward the Bertrams. To have been party to the destruction of a marriage is reprehensible. I see that now, thanks to Mr. Bertram’s conversation with me at the ball last night. However, that atrocity pales in comparison to how I have dealt with you, my dearest brother, whom you know I love better than anything in this world.

  To have been the source of your sorrow with Fanny and then to have attempted to replicate that sorrow again with Miss Linton is unforgivable. Regardless of that fact, I would try to beg your forgiveness anyway as I miss you. So very greatly. It is as if a part of me has been removed. I truly thought that the removal of Edmund was the most profound sorrow I would feel from my actions, but it is not. While I am sure I could have loved Edmund and that I perhaps did, it is the loss of you which I regret the
most. Oh, I fear I am rambling.

  I do not know how to best express myself to you with paper and ink. Please, my dear brother, come to see me so that I might say these things to you in person. Our sitting room will be empty or nearly so, and I shall be at home every day this week, as I do not expect to have any friends left after last night’s ball. I would rather not commit the details of that incident to paper as it would take a great deal of explaining as to who Mr. Durward is and why he should cause me to break ties with Sarah.

  I know this is poorly written and jumbled, much as my mind is of late. I pray you would overlook the wandering thoughts and only see that I am truly repentant of all the sorrow I have caused you and wish only to see you again.

  Margaret is also anxious for a call. Do not make us wait any longer.

  Your loving, though sadly misguided, sister,

  Mary

  She read it once over, handed it to her sister to read, and then, having gotten Margaret’s approval, she folded and sealed the missive.

  “We will see it delivered at once.” Margaret took the envelope from her and left to send someone to deliver it to Henry’s house. When she returned, she did not come alone.

  “Mr. Durward,” Mary greeted with a smile. “It is delightful to see you.”

  “I am a man of my word, Miss Crawford.”

  “I do not doubt that, sir,” she replied as she fiddled with the lace on the wrist of one sleeve. How did one entertain a friend from whom she did not require anything?

  “Did you drive?” Margaret asked, sneaking a peek out the window. Margaret enjoyed carriages of all sorts, though curricles were her favorite.

  “No, I rode,” Mr. Durward replied. “The weather was ideal for it today, so one must take advantage of it when he can.”

  “Oh, indeed!” Margaret cried. “This time of year can be challenging for both man and beast. Why just the other day, Mary and I were going to take a tour of the park. We had planned for it all week, and then just as we were eating breakfast and making our final preparations, there was tap, tap, tapping at the window. Such cold rain it was, too. As you can imagine, we did not go to the park.”